another christmas

The snow is falling slowly
looping through downward path
the streets are full to brimming,
people rush by as i walk past.
and yet i feel like time is crawling
like time can't move too fast
and i can't get excited like i used to about holidays.

It seems every year this comes along
a reminder of what is lost among
dates and times and months and a year.

i realize i'm lost as well.
i'm trapped within each time,
days will fly to no avail the month still longer looms
another year gone without you,
but i will see you soon.
Oh God i'll see you soon.

you're the reason i'm trying so hard,
the reason i still care,
because with each effort i make you proud
with each i draw more near...
but it feels like it's not enough
like i'll never quite break free.

As i grow daily older,
I hate the things that made me laugh
for they're now trite and meaningless.

In this happy time i am alone
I am without my love.
as my room is laid more bare,
the feeling of home fades.
the decorum disappears
to reflect the space within

what is home without you?
i'm like an empty home sometimes.
a shell with purpose stripped.

how can my pain taint this time?

We have but a few precious days
And then I learn how to be alone
Once more to spend christmas alone
Once more to pine for you.
As soon as it comes our time has past.
Alas so quickly it's escaped!
And as you fade from my mind
I am less.

I know the bed as it weaves through my mind
I feel the feathers marking me,
lightly, barely they pierce my back.
the pricks mere caresses of memory.

8-30

Well, today is the day that my last week was building to. And yet it's been kinda blah for me. lol. as it turns out the package i made for sara did get there on time despite the fact i only mailed it out on sat. her second gift hasn't arrived yet but is she is equally excited to get that as she was to recieve this package life will indeed be quite good. i've been writing more creative stuff lately and have really been focusing on using my full vocabulary. also i'm trying to make them personal without being incredibly melancholy. those who know me see the happy side almost exclusively while that melancholy side remains sublimated and only sometimes finds the surface. when it does it's usually in my writing. my countenance isn't usually concerned with such gravity of thought as my heart is. so yeah, but even the poems are showing more and more hope now. the fact i'm in love has something to do with it just as the prospect of moving to seattle in june to be with my love is titillating and i wish it were now. i'm not an impatient person but with this it is nearly impossible for me to bear the waiting. On the school front i'm gaining a better grasp of French the further along we are. i'm finding the conjugation of suis is much like the Latin equivalent of sum. that's comforting. the rules on when to use the masculine for crowds are the same, as well. very exciting. i'm really enjoying it. Micro is still getting rolling. we're doing basic stuff right now and i find my mind wanders a lot. it'll get more interesting, i'm sure. i'm very excited for pathogenics and just learning all about microbes. now, i have to go. hope you are all well, bon soir.

Snapshot of my girl

I've been missing sara more than i can really say lately. monday is her birthday and i have found myself fondly remembering waking her up one morning. here's part of the snapshot i wrote of it...
If i tried i couldn't describe to you the beauty of her eyes as she's waking. the brilliant blue emerging then exploding from behind the contented, heavy eyelids as she looks into my face. her rosy skin is alight but is relaxed into her cheekbones and brow. the gentle slope of the plain of her forehead is disrupted by errant blonde hairs which linger then slip onto the pillow. Her face is bright and innocent like that of a child as she peacefully drinks the dazzling dream between sleep and wakefullness.

end of the week

well, that's the first week of school. i've still got a bit of french to do but other than that i'm actually caught up. Why's this you ask? because i've decided i don't want to be such an indolent slacker anymore. really. i know, i was wierded out too, lol. yeah, so i'm happy with all my classes and am actually genuinely excited to go to each and every one for a different reason. Ethics is going to be great at helping me see other people's arguments and will also increase my knowledge base in such endeavors. Microbiology is just plain amazing fun for me. I love little buggers and viruses especially. French is just completely new to me and i'm actually getting it. I'm having to work a little for that but my Latin and Spanish help a lot. Then we have English...what can i say about that? i'm already learning more about writing than four years at d'evelyn could have done. Why don't they have this book? i don't get it. i'm actually caring more about writing and reading. i'm also caring more about what i put down in writing rather than just the process of it alone. right now i'm even worried about you, dear reader, slogging through my boring blog. things on the homefront are looking good. Sara is sad, of course, but then so am i at being alone again. seems to be a half normal way of being to me anymore. her b-day is monday and i'm all happy for it, lol. i've been waxing reflective on our experience as this juncture. it's amazing to know someone for so short a time and yet to feel like they've always been there. it's wierd to think of a world without sara. really wierd. so yeah, school is helping me take my mind off of her for short times and then thinking of her is helping me with school. it's almost an odd paradox but it works for me. i'm ready to have a few days to just work and read and enjoy myself. pho is in the plans for sunday down off of federal. i hear it's the best in town so i'm going to go see. i had some good pho tonight, though, so i'll last that long. other than that it's back to slaving for the espresso deprived for three days. i'll see you all next week, toodles

Exercise 2

4. In Thai cooking the chef always attempts to balance the four flavor groups to create a dish that will please the palate.

What are the four flavor groups?
Why should they be balanced? If one is out of place won't the dish still taste good?
Is this used in other cooking styles?


3. a. Who is this boy? What did he love so much about his rabbit? Was it his security item? These are the questions that come to my mind because the author gives us very little information about who the boy is or why he loves his rabbit so. I want to know, curiousity is driving me to keep reading. This sounds like a fairy tale but not quite because of the bunny. What's the catch? This sentence does put the reader at ease, though, and is the beggining for all our favorite childhood stories. A beginning fitting for a piece on Mr. Rogers.

b. What was the verdict? Why does any verdict on "Jenny Jones" even matter? What were the implications of the verdict? What arguments are going on as a result?
The fact that this sentence hints at a very controversial issue is part of why it is so interesting. I want to know more about the verdict and what has happened as a result of it. He might use this interest created by the line to draw the reader into the essay more effectively.

c. Which column? About what? How is this related to that column? Why should i care?
This sentence lacks a lot of interest. I'm not drawn into the essay the ways the first two did for me. This sentence fails to engage me as a reader but serves as a context for the rest of the piece. As long as the second sentence picks up a little this could work to let the reader know what this is about and why it was written.

d. How sad. Why would a man kill himself at 86? Why were the eulogies so reverent? Was he a community leader? This, while somber, serves to fill us in on a little background and create and interest in the life of a man passed. What could follow this opening sentence? The author could use this to dive into the heart of his essay or could take a slower approach and make his points in a slow, somber way as fitting for the dead. This is a versatile topic sentence.

big bang?

today i was discussing an interesting but yet surprisingly simple idea with corvin. suppose, if you will, that einsteinian physics is correct and each body makes a well in the fabric of space and this is what creates gravity. suppose also that black holes do the same but make deeper wells because they are so immensely dense and have such mass. what would happen if every bit of matter slowly fell into a few black holes and those few black holes combined until only two were left. these two would necessarily be strongly attracted to each other and it is possible that these final two black holes would accelerate toward each other from opposite sides of our known galaxy. by the time these two hit each other they would be going extremely fast and the impact could set off nuclear fission or perhaps fussion. this explosion would cause all the matter of the universe would be spread out anew to form a new universe completely with new worlds and all. so cool!!

Exercise 1

For every thing i wrote in my early years i had some kind of feedback but this feedback has turned from possitive and constructive to quantitative in a destructive way. When i first started to write poetry seriously in 4th grade, i had an excellent teacher who encouraged me in that and offered me insights into what patterns my poetry feel into. However, when i entered high school these forms of writing were all but distained as personal writing. We studied poems, reduced them to their constituent elements and analyzed what we had in front of us. For me this always took most of the joy out of reading the poetry. Lately i've been getting back to enjoying writing as a result of writing lyrics for various bands i jam with. This is helping me to explore my writing in an environment that once more encourages me to take risks and offers critiques of what i write and how i present it.
While i have a few memories of writing before 4th grade that year was the trully formative year for my entire primary school experience. I wrote about everything i could think of. Cars, roses, the floor, people were all subjects i used. I found myself trying things i hadn't thought of before, reading Robert Frost and the like. I strove for a simple power, and elegance in the simplicity of form of what i wrote. For the most part, i didn't meet what i was striving for. Honestly, they were simple dabblings into language and verse. But i loved to do it, i smiled as i wrote and i loved to write. i had three notebooks full of writing by the end of the year. After this, though, i had some more negative experiences through the rest of my schooling.
In 5th grade i had a teacher much more concerned with making me bow under the load of homework that with what i wrote. Although i did submit poems to publications they lacked the joy of the previous writings. The motifs were dark and quite nihilistic, a pattern that would stick with me for my high school career, as well. I found that writing was no longer a joy and that it was harder to motivate myself to really care. It began the hibernation of my writing for fun.
All through high school i can remember being forced to write essay after essay. We never did any creative writing only logical argumentation through writing. It was boring and unengaging to me. Even reading took on a negative light as we were made to read and overanalyze book after book. It got to the point where i would deliberately not read a book until the year after it was covered so that i could enjoy it on its own merits and appreciate the artistry of the work. I understood the technicalities and they were always in the back of my mind but i didn't let them pervade my reading of these books. It was a solace for me.
My latest class in english here was much more enjoyable. We engaged the reading but didn't over-reach to understand it. I came away feeling like there was a good balance of appreciation and analyzation. I enjoyed reading and began to write for fun again. With Micah i wrote lyrics and i began to write some poetry again. While i didn't force the muse to come, when she did it was an amazing experience. Just to know i was creating something and feeling like it was great filled me with the joys of writing again. Also, my girlfriend helped with this. She always offered constructive criticisms of my writing. She would notice patterns i fell into with my language and comment on them. Owing to the fact i hadn't noticed these before i worked at fixing them and still am working. Trying to incorporate lost vocabulary is tough to do but i want to so it will happen.
So far this year, i am already beginning to feel like i'm getting back into writing more and more. I want to make sure this class will help me greatly and help me to find what i have lost. I almost feel wierd and sappy saying these things, like i should be guilty for saying them at all. But there they are, my most notable experiences in writing to date.

8-26

looking forward to yet another exciting day in classes. i love the fact that i have more than enough variety to work my mind out in myriad subjects. i've seen and talked to a lot of the friends i made last semester yet again and that's a comfort. even talked to emily. she's doing well as nearly as i can tell. it's not so much fun without someone to look like my twin only a girl here, lol. other than that it's back to life as usual. ethics promises to be a great class overall. we already started in on the mental workouts and i didn't do all that well. i need to get my mind all tooled up again. i've been listening to a lot of different music lately, just skipping around amongst my cd's. lately was Tori Amos, Jeff Buckley, the Stills, the Unicorns and some Death Cab for Cutie (who are currently inexorably stuck in my head). i'm enjoying the hell out of myself outside of classes. i've been reading a lot more than last year and that's always a good thing. the real question is whether or not i can keep that up when all the class reading hits. i think i'll have plenty of time to finish off my C. S. Lewis trilogy. past that i'm going to go caffeinate and get to class. yay for a good day ahead.

8-25

just another day of joyous school. actually not too bad. i was late for french because i was far too busy looking into the microscope in my micro lab and not the clock. i was a few minutes late but didn't really miss much. i feel like i'm getting a lot of what's going on so far and even a little more wouldn't be unmanageable. i'm hoping to get more read in Perelandra by C.S. Lewis tonight. i'm utterly engrossed in his series of space books right now. so far Ransom, the protagonist, has been to mars by accident and now has been sent to Venus, known as Perelandra, for a mission of solar importance that he hasn't been filled in on yet. He's met the "Mother" of the world, the only female on it so far, Eve, if you will. Perhaps that thought is just the point...we'll see. I'm getting to like my classes and teachers more even though i fully expect that that will change in a few weeks, lol. i'm really wishing i were in seattle right now. it's saddening that i'm not but is a major motivator for me to do well this semester, so all is not lost. this whole blog project is a fairly novel idea to me. i'm not coming up with any seed ideas yet. not surprising considering i'm not quite sure what they're for, per se. easy to get confused in the early parts of the year, too. i'm really not too sure what else to write so i'll conclude it at this point and sign off. thanks for reading all and hopefully i'm not being intensely boring...yet.

Snapshot Essay

A Meandering Look at the Way I Write


Books and papers scattered around me. Word pulled up with sections of works I want to use cut and pasted in to form a collage of fonts and information. The random actually makes some sense to me, but who knows about anyone else. There’s a look of focus and purpose but not much else on my face. I want to get the paper done and turn it in. Glancing at the clock every few minutes to see how long I have left. I have pages marked out in the book, which is sprawled open on my lap with a page I’m using peeking and almost folding back into the one before it. A pen is on the desk on the right or in the spine of the book, waiting to underline another quote I may use. Black lines show on the pages. I scan over the work quickly, looking for what I need and nothing else. Only what I need matters now, no time for much else. A slight smile passes over my face as I find what I needed. Quickly it’s gone as I move on and pound out my point on the keys. The printer next to me spits out documents for other students as they bustle in and out. I hardly notice they’re there at all, too focused on the task at hand. Other times I’d be socializing but now I need to do this and it consumes me. Make the point, elaborate, move on. Never stay inactive, always make the argument short and effective, use precise language, what does the teacher want here? make sure to make sense. Thoughts cascade through my head. What was that one? It was good, but what was it? I know it fit right in and worked just like I wanted it to…Some thoughts I do grasp and in they go, into the cauldron. Those that slip will come back eventually. If it’s soon, great. Why am I singing now? Tori Amos and Jeff Buckley flood in and I’m almost at a loss to prevent them from transporting me away to where I won’t be stressed out like now. I can just hear the notes and the instruments and what could be added with just the right touch…but I need to work, focus and execute. Done! Print! Brisk walk to class and I’m slightly out of breath as I turn in the paper on time, beating that clock just one more time. * Scanning the text to remember just what went on there. Not quite sure where the author was going with that phrase. Ah! A firing of a synapse and instantly I have some idea and would just love to share, lol, I always share. I feel like I talk too much sometimes and slack off but then no one else talks. I don’t mind being wrong in the classroom, not at all. It doesn’t really matter. I’m here to learn to think more and in different ways but no one is thinking but the teacher, me and a few others in the class that share. It always was like this in high school, too. I know they are thinking something, I want to know what, I want to find out how they see this work…but still the oppressive silence. I look out the window to amuse myself with thoughts of how nice it must be out there. I only barely manage to pull myself back to the classroom and the thinking and writing and knowledge. Sometimes it’s easiest not to think and to just be there and take everything in without knowing why or what it is or how to use it in the future. It’s just like writing an essay, not too much and not too little. Where is that medium exactly? I always manage to find one side or the other and never, ever get it right on. I do try most of the time. It seems like when I don’t try I do the best and I don’t know why that is. I’d love to think that the more thought I put in the better it’d be, but I get too ahead of myself and write down far too many ideas at once. I do better when it’s just automatic. Looking back at the topic I realize how far I’ve strayed, yet again. Maybe this is why I can’t really ever write well, I get off on some tangent that my thesis never anticipated. Like this little exercise, I just want to go home already and I’m not quite half done. I want to stop writing but feel like much, much more is needed. I’m becoming apathetic, I almost missed a comma without caring. This is why school is so damned hard. You have to focus and do and learn and make your brain do exactly what it is you want it too for hours on end when it doesn’t really want to. The shift key on this thing keeps sticking, quite vexing. I didn’t know what went wrong at first. Now I’m straying again. Back to the snapshot not the scattershot of my thought. wow, internal rhyme there. The desk has a book on it, not necessarily on the right page, mind you. But usually I’m right on as far as that goes. Or I’m ahead, even, amazingly. I seem to be able to get what the authors try for usually. Or at least I try to make my own decisions about what they’re saying. Sometimes I’m validated and sometimes I’m reminded of how dumb I can be and how shortsighted. I usually leave my book closed when I’m writing about a story that’s been thoroughly covered. I rely on my memory to nail down quotes and then go find them as I need them and the page number. If I don’t know the material I’ll scan it quickly to see what points I can support. Then it’s off to the races, beat that clock. Kinda a theme in my life, huh? I’m working on it. Anyway, Ellison is not a terribly easy man to argue a point about. The characters are so changing and conflicted that they don’t fit into any argument at all well so I have to focus hard on what I’m doing. I have that look when I’m writing. It’s been sapped of all the joy it used to have for me. Now it’s just a formula into which you insert what you need and delete what you don’t. I can remember when I wrote something every day. I strained my vocabulary and worked to create better similes and metaphors. I wanted to describe something beautiful in a way that was at least equal in beauty. Somehow D’Evelyn managed to extract all that joy and make it a field of barren logic. Only since I left have I managed to rekindle that spirit through music and writing songs, or at least trying to. I really do look quite joyless, actually. Uni-Ball in hand (the implement of masterpiece destruction), I’m like a machine writing, if you will. Emotion doesn’t play into it at all, it’s just point and quote, point and quote, next paragraph, conclusion and stamp it it’s ready to be sent up! * I still have the look of intent on my face, a focus. It’s more soft, though, like that of a jeweler observing his metal in the fire. I’m creating something from me, from what I am and have learned and think. I’m creating something that I want to make fit into something someone else has created and I don’t want to screw up their work with mine. I’m kinda nervous because of this. Fingers pick out a melody and strum or trill. So much to think about while still trying to write something that will sound amazing and move people and move me. I’m really the tireless critic of myself. I’m always changing, revising, refining what I’ve written. I’m sprawled on a ratty couch. The cloth is earthy, a khaki tone with ruddy accent and some slate blue. Boring but effective. The fabric is pilled from years of hard use and the cushions just aren’t that fluffy anymore. There’s almost a pattern of lines in the fabric although sometimes a line rebels and crashes into its neighbor. There are only two cushions on the couch, not three, it is relatively small, after all. Micah is on the edge, engrossed in his guitar work. I’m closing my eyes at times to hear and predict and feel what the notes are and will be doing. My pen moves quickly, I’m barely scribbling legibly but that’s ok. I need to get down what I’m thinking or it’s quickly destroyed by the notes that follow the idea into my mind to be processed. Once I loose an idea I have to make another to take it’s place. The second isn’t as good as the first and the song turns slightly from where it was. The only missed line cascades until all the lines must be reworked. One makes no sense without the other, after all. The floor is carpeted in a very light desert dun. An old and worn piano sits to my right. It’s for storage of knick-knacks now. It’s out of tune and the diploma that hangs above seems to have aged badly as well. The paper is yellowed and worn at the edges. It’s from an Illinois conservatory, which I couldn’t tell you if I tried. Perhaps it was Northwestern…I do not know. On my left are various cases. Two acoustic guitars, one in his hands, reside in these. So does a royal purple, four string Ibanez bass affectionately known as Katy. She’s got a scratch, as I recall, on her side near the base. It’s minute, really, but Mi almost had a heart attack when it happened, it’s his first baby. There’s a 70’s Stratocaster in natural wood with white plastic accents, also laying demurely in it’s dilapidated and nearly useless case. There patter looks like reptilian skin but is clearly plastic. The scrapes and scratches of many years fall from the handle to the broken bronze latches. Above these, like a tower, stands a jet black Steinway. It’s smooth, glossy sides reflect the cases as if to taunt them with their inadequacy. It’s the instrument that truly amazes me here, none of the others can match it. The top is in need of dusting, as it always is, but the keys glisten and you can see where fingers have worked and abraded them to a perfect finish. Sometimes hands pass over them with speed and grace I can’t begin to fully comprehend. That’s the beauty of classical movements, they are so beyond the human touch and ken. It’s as though the minds of those who wrote this are so expanded in areas I don’t even realize I have that I can’t know what they really meant to do. My Uni-Ball is in my hand as I attempt something near to this. It’s the finest pen for the student to use. But the fine tip, not the ultra-fine, is the one to use. The fine tip is delicate and precise but passes a line onto the paper that is of the perfect width and has a deeper, darker script than the ultra-fine. The ink flows better than a ball point, too, which lends it such superiority over these. The urge to create is evident again on my face as I smile over a line I just wrote down. It’s good, really good, good enough to make even Tori and Jeff take note. *

8-24

second day of classes went well. i'm not too overloaded as of yet but i feel like i will be soon. the fact that i'll have a lot of work when herbology goes onto my schedule is disconcerting but i'm sure i'll be ok. i'm debating submitting my latest verse for review...might help me out with my lyrical writing. we'll see how things shape up, though. ethics was already invigorating this morning despite not really getting into it. i like the fact that my mind will be working hard all semester. it's exciting to think that i'll be able to really talk about my views intelligently and argue them effectively. microbiology will be great, too, i can already tell. i've been wondering where ethics will take me, actually. if i can appear this erudite individual after or if that's really applicable at all in the first place. i know i hate feeling dumb but i also don't like to feel like people see me as an ass for being knowledgeable...it's a quandry indeed. we'll see, so far i'm liking the people i'm in class with, they're good eggs and i'll get along with them. here's to a good semester!