Sunday, November 30, 2008

Come True

The layers of beauty surround me
As I sit here alone
We both know who created this
Now I want you to be here
To share this with me
And not just now, but forever more

The quiet here is thrilling
But the scratching of my pen
Reminds me of where my heart has been
I can hear your whispers
From far away in my ear
Will you ever walk the path with me?

I’m afraid to write about you
Afraid it is not due
Scared to wish on a melody
For fear it won’t come true

I find myself pondering
Why it changes so suddenly
Will inspiration ever find me?
I feel my soul unwinding
Hiding behind a story book
Perhaps the tale should not be told

One day I want to be lost
In the sea of your eyes forever
And in the sounds of your stunning harmonies
You’ll never believe the affections
That sprung from our recent farewell
Ever since I’ve been blind to everything…

If you want to hold
My heart in your arms
Just tell me, I’ll let you
I know you’ll do it no harm


Thursday, November 27, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving!

That's all I have to say.

Beware of leftovers...yeah. But even if you're sick of them, be thankful, or they might make you sick.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Le Papier est Fini!

If you haven't noticed, I've had a little obsession with typing/posting in French.  If it's annoying you, I am sorry.  I just really want to learn more French and I don't have time.  So I am just going with what I know.  That means that if something I want to say happens to translate into French in my brain oh-so-magically, then I will say/write it without much of a doubt (except perhaps on the correct pronunciation....)

So I am done with my last research paper for the semester and I am rejoicing, of course.  Yes, doing the Highland Fling and other dances I am famed for.  I haven't blogged a real blog in a long time.  The last time I told you how I was doing was for that "Tag" thing, and that doesn't really count because there was this thing entailed known as "structure."  I don't like structure.  It bothers me.  Organization is not bad, but structure...I won't even go into how it just messes up things.

So things are about to get drastically different.  I have re-thought my life plan for the 7,000th time since last summer.  Not this summer, just last summer.  I am going to stop having getajobaphobia and I am, instead, going to get a job.  I really want to work at either a bookstore or a pet store.  I am working on a write-up on everything about myself, putting my social security number in big print on the cover page, and giving that package to random people I see in stores.  

Next semester I am not going to go to college.  Every time I sign up for a college class I forget all the negative things like sitting in classrooms, being lectured, writing papers, taking tests, being told what to do, and things like that.  For the rest of my life I am vowing not to make that mistake again.  I DO NOT like being told what to do.  I am going to do what I want...and that is...

1)  Study music theory
2) Study creative writing more intensely
3) Read more books
4) Write more (poetry, stories, etc)
5) Compose more (like, music, you know?)

These would be done when I am not working, of course.  And I am going to use my money to either travel the world, buy myself a house (in North Carolina.......), or as my own marriage dowry or something.   Or maybe just...oh, never mind.  

In other general news, we got our piano tuned yesterday.  It's an understatement that I am quite ecstatic.  We haven't had it tuned since we got it 14 years ago...sad.  So now it sounds next to wonderful.  It's an upright, so it will never sound like a grand, but it's pretty pretty!  Also, Saturday I got to go to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert!  It was ABSOLUTELY AMAZING!!!!!!!!  And that is also an understatement.  I'll be talking about it for the next decade.  :D

I really need to be getting on important things like chores since I haven't done much because I've been working on my paper.  It is a terrible paper.  I will fail the class.  < /low self esteem >  That's okay though!  I really don't care.  I enjoyed it, but what do grades matter when I'm not going to go to college and I am not going to change my mind about going to college???

I will write again soon.  I have to write lots of tiny paper summaries for my classes and study for a couple of finals (ugh...I sound so school-ish...I disgust myself), but I think I will have more time because I don't have to spend so much of it thinking about something I don't want to think about.  Isn't that liberating?  I'm considering re-naming this the Blog of Liberation again!

Anyways, talk to y'all later!

Monday, November 24, 2008

Video of the Week

They need no introduction...

Thursday, November 20, 2008

A Liberation

I’ve said I felt this before
But is it real this time?
Love stranded on an eastern shore
See the path to its west – a bending line
Has something liberated me?
Seeing he’s different in that he’s the same
My heart is unconstrained– my mind set free
Never again will worries maim
My soul feels the breeze blowing through
It has opened up its unused wings
Feels a sudden thrill, urges to fly to
The place where all spirits sing…


Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Video of the Week

I'm not sure if you should listen to them....

Monday, November 17, 2008

In Which Jessica is Tagged and Also Tags...

Lizzie tagged me!

  • Link to the person who tagged you.
  • Post the rules on your blog.
  • Write Six Random Things about yourself.
  • Tag a few other people at the bottom of the post.
  • Leave comments on their blogs, letting them know they've been tagged!
  • Let the person who tagged you know when you've written the post.
1.  I cannot decide whether I like winter or not.  I don't like it because the weather is cold, harsh, unforgiving, and uncomfortable.  However, I like it because when it's cold I can snuggle up and feel warm and cozy inside, read a book, drink all manner of hot things such as cider, hot chocolate, coffee, and tea...and there's Christmas!  

2.  I have a tendency to get ahead of myself in just about every area of life.  The latest has been a nice little habit of doing google searches for mountain retreats/bed and breakfasts with my honeymoon in mind....not even a particular person.  Just the honeymoon.  

3.  I have recently discovered (like, two days ago) that I play piano VERY EXTREMELY by ear...I was sitting down at the hotel in DC, with my "Alfred's Basic Keyboard Chart" (please don't ask...) (and who is Alfred anyways?) thinking that I could start musically notating a piece I am working on.  I tried to play it on the piece of paper, but I couldn't really remember what keys to press.  I was writing it down, but I have no idea if I'm right or not.  I kept thinking...if only the piece of paper made noise...and I thought I was a "doer" but I guess I'm just a "hearer."  I wonder if there's any hope left for me....

4.  I used to be very much a feminist/tomboy when I was, like, ten or something.  It was one of those embarrassing phases of my childhood, so I'm not quite sure why I'm telling you.  I just thought that boys had all the fun, and why can't girls go do things the boys did?  So I made a point to go against the pressure there was to be a girl and just do what I felt like doing.  While I've basically grown out of rebelling against anything girly, I'm still not an extremely girly person....however, I am NOT a feminist any more....

5.  I can carry cash into a clothing store and come out with it still in my wallet.  But I have to make a point of leaving all my money at home if I am going to the bookstore.  

6.  I have a large collection of countless notebooks that I've filled up over the years...and I keep  most of them in my bottom dresser drawer.  Come to think of it...that is my largest collection...

I'm going to tag Michelle and Chris.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

I Feel Like the Blogging Muscle Guy...

Maybe Matt, Sarah, and Lizzie might know what I mean by that, or we may have all forgotten...but nonetheless, here is another one of "those boredom/lazy blogging things":

Random Facts About You:

1. Favorite book(s) of the Bible: 1st and 2nd Peter
2. Largest collection that you own: 18 assorted jackets and hoodies
3. What instrument(s) do you play (if any)? Guitar and piano mainly, and to save my life I can get by on the bass, mandolin, Irish whistle, recorder, and ukulele.
4. You ultimate desire is: To be a mother and a writer
5. The song in your head right now is: "7 Wonders" by Nickel Creek
6. One thing you have never done is: Traveled anywhere outside the US *cries bitterly*
7. Your most common catchphrase: Um..."Oh, bothersome elephants!" (???)
8. Your favorite actor/actress: Johnny Depp
9. What is on your mind the majority of the time? Probably music...and wondering about life's complexities
10. What's your favorite drink? Those Bolthouse Farms coffee drink things.
11. Nobody could pay you to: Vote for Obama....?
12. Your favorite author: Charles Dickens
13. What book did you just finish reading? "Rainbow Valley" by L. M. Montgomery
14. What are you about to do once you finish this? Write a letter


Sunday, November 9, 2008

Video of the Week

Ron Paul on Obama...

Saturday, November 8, 2008


I wondered who would care
When I found you I went there
Nothing original, I discovered
All around you they hover

I’m less than a face in the crowd
Your boasting and their cheering so loud
I sit, mesmerized and lost
Life swallowed you up at such a cost

I think I thought that I loved you
And I don’t understand why they still do
But I guess you’ve never known
How to live life on your own
And you’ll never accept this as truth

When you look into the screen
Into my eyes it seems
You must know that’s what they all see
They don’t ask, “would he seriously look at me?”

I still wish I held your affections
You know there have been some tensions
When you grew into the boy you are
From my expectations you’ve fallen so far

I know your heart belongs to no one
Not even yourself
Do you even have one now, I have to wonder
What are you in this for anyways?

Whatever happened to the time
When we were young
When I thought I knew you?
It left with your soul years ago…

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

This Isn't Going Anywhere...

I guess what the dialogue does is introduce you to the characters, but, like for the one about the two people on the lake, the beginning few pages do little more than that. They have nothing to do with the story I had in mind. Perhaps, I have to think to myself, I was/am just doing some "prewriting." I had already created these characters in my mind, and created the situation they were eventually going to end up in. But now that I really think about it, I'm getting to understand how they interact and live in normal life before the story enters into the main part where real things happen. If I use any bit of this in the real book, it will be much shorter.

Anyways, in that case, and keeping what I just said in mind, comment whatever you feel like, but if you have something to say about character development, that would be most appreciated. It's very hard to explain, but basically with me, I sit down to write about these two or more people, with this plot in mind, but then I start to write an introductory interaction, and all of a sudden I see the two talking in front of me, and they sort of carry on their own conversation without my direction/guidance...something saying, "okay, it's time to stop chatting and time to start introducing other elements of the plot." It's also much harder to dictate what happens in story ideas that come from dreams. If it's normal every-day stuff, it just flows into what I'm writing, which usually happens to be normal and every you get what I mean? It's like...if you are playing piano kind of randomly, and just sort of picking here and picking there. You have a specific direction you'd like the song to go in your mind, but then your fingers are doing something else. It may be good, it may sound not as good as you had hoped. All you know is that the music is just playing itself now, and it's no use trying to control anything till the music is done being in charge.


Okay, here it is:

The sun had decided to rise on that day. A day like any other day, seemingly. It may have occurred to some readers that, in fact, the sun rises everyday, we just don’t see it some times. And those same readers may agree with me when I say that those some times happen to be the times when life seems at the peak of gloom; the kind of days when one would much rather simply stay inside and sleep away the day.

Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on whether the reader is an optimist or a pessimist), on the day on or in which this story begins, the sun shone in the bright blue sky with such radiance, that every resident that resided on the long, thin strip of land that was Seahawk Island, North Carolina, USA, couldn’t help but rise from their beds with a sense of hope and joy, and an unexplainable energy that everyone felt simply must be channeled into doing a million productive things at once, and preferably out of doors.

This is the kind of attitude that possessed 17-year-old Amber Barton, a certain dweller on the said island, to throw off her covers, bound down from the top bunk in the room she shared with her 10-year-old sister Catherine, and dance towards the kitchen gleefully. Perhaps it had occurred to her that she was in no need of caffeine, perhaps not. Nonetheless, she quickly brewed some double-strength coffee, poured it over ice, added sugar, chocolate syrup and topped it off with whipped cream. The reader must understand at this point that Amber Barton was certainly, if anyone, liable to do and over-do most tasks she set her heart to. So this Amber did in the case of her coffee making that fine morning.

After preparing such a treat, she ran to retrieve White Fang by Jack London from atop her dresser before heading outside with these two finely paired items to execute the undertakings usually associated with coffee and a good book. Her boxer, the most loyal companion whose name was Wiley, was at her heels as Amber went out the front door. He lay down beside her contentedly as she sat with her back against the large oak tree which predominated the front yard of the Barton home. Occasionally Wiley would glance up at his owner, as if he was wondering if Amber was going to feed him yet. Otherwise he would relax; he was most likely sure that Amber would feed him once she was done with her present occupation.

Wiley became distracted for a moment as a figure appeared in the doorway of a house slightly further down than the Barton’s house on the opposite side of the street. He raised his head and his ears perked up. Amber’s head never changed position, but her eyes followed where Wiley was looking. She spotted the figure, and made a point to make sure he didn’t see that she had seen him. “No Wiley,” Amber commanded as the boxer inched forward excitedly. “Stay here.”
Wiley obeyed reluctantly, laying his head down but still watching the figure as the latter walked through his own yard, down the street and into Amber’s yard. Wiley let out a little whine.

“Alright,” Amber consented. Wiley eagerly got up and traipsed over to the visitor. Amber looked up from her book as Wiley led a tall blonde boy of eighteen towards her.

The boy smiled at her. “I see the sun woke you up early, too.”

“Yes it did, Omar. What are you up to this morning?” Amber smiled casually back.

“I was about to go on a run, actually.” Omar patted Wiley as he said this. “Would you like to come along?”

“I don’t think so,” Amber declined, shaking her head and looking away from the burning green eyes of her visitor.

“You don’t like running, do you?” Omar teased, squatting down on the ground.

“Not really. I function better in the water.” Amber expressed. The conversation was going nowhere. They were always like this. As much as she liked him, for some reason the conversations between them were monotonously about shallow, meaningless things. Amber and Omar had developed a good relationship based on small talk, but Amber wondered why it never got any deeper. If Omar really wanted to get to know her, he would make attempts at different topics of conversation, such as, “what view do you take regarding women in the corporate world?” or “what is it about dogs that you find so fascinating?”

Somehow, conversation starters such as these were a rarity.

“Well, just tell me if you ever change your opinion on running. It’d sure be nice to have a running partner,” Omar mused, glancing down the road, as if scoping out his destination, mentally preparing for the trip ahead.

“I’ll be sure to,” rejoined Amber, once again looking up into the green eyes. Her heart was, for a moment, filled to the top with admiration for the green eyes, though she was not sure why such a thing would stir up a great bout of emotion in anyone. With the fear that she might melt away in the presence of the eyes, which to her were quite the equivalent of a sweet, mourning Celtic melody, she averted her own quickly.

“You know,” Omar piped up, staring at Amber, unaware of the effect his staring implements were having on the person whom they were staring at, “you really should broaden your horizons.”

“They are quite broad enough, thank you,” Amber responded icily, avoiding the eyes. What if she looked at them and was so mesmerized that she forgot herself and did his every bidding? Though, perhaps when she was doing the talking she could spare a glance. This she did as she added, “Perhaps you need to find something else you like to do besides run all day, and make noise when you’re not running.”

“I don’t make noise, I’m practicing my music and expanding my repertoire of instruments I can master!” Omar protested defensively.

“Well, over here, it sounds like noise.” Amber stated, beginning to hope Omar would just go on and leave so she could stop being miserable about all of this shallow conversation.

“The sound probably just doesn’t carry right.” Omar concluded.

Finally, Amber could not stand it any longer. “Look, Omar, if you want to sit there and talk to me a while, at least we could talk about something deeper than the same old things we always talk and argue about, you know?” She scolded herself for being so cold, and immediately felt bad. Amber was not used to speaking so much of her mind.

Omar, to Amber’s surprised, was rendered speechless. On a couple of occasions, he opened his mouth to say something. At the end of the second attempt to speak, he clamped his mouth shut and simply glared at Amber.

Amber chuckled. “I suppose you haven’t the slightest idea what deep conversation is, Omar Pollard.”

In a most mature fashion, Omar stuck out his tongue at Amber, and promptly resumed his standing position, saying, “I’m going to run a mile—just one mile—and I’ll think about it.” He turned towards the road, breaking into a jog and yelling, “I’ll be back in a few minutes, don’t go anywhere!”

Amber, in the rebellious manner with which she was most comfortable, did go many places while Omar was away. She went into the kitchen to put a bagel into the toaster, finished White Fang, read three pages in the next book she intended to read, Under the Tuscan Sun, put honey on her bagel, prepared some superfood in some orange juice, talked to her just awakened Dad about putting a hammock in the front yard, and rolled out a picnic blanket.

Upon his return, Omar found Amber, on her stomach, relaxing upon this very blanket, eating her bagel, reading her new book, drinking her strange green drink and occasionally glaring at Wiley, who looked quite attracted to the bagel.

“Alright, I have it!” Omar grinned as he wiped the single bead of sweat as it formed and wound its way down his forehead. “As a matter of fact,” Omar continued, sitting down in the grass Indian-style, in front of Amber, who barely glanced up, and didn’t say anything, because her mouth was full, “I have quite a few questions to ask of you, but never have because…well, I don’t know. Since you seem to invite them, I guess I might as well ask them.”

“Proceed,” Amber said after swallowing. Wiley assumed this meant him, and made a lunge towards the bagel. With a snap of her fingers and a strict utterance of “no,” Amber sent Wiley back into his lay-down position. She took another bite of her bagel, and looked up at Omar expectantly.

Omar piped up, “Why are you always reading or writing? What do you write about? What do you read about? Do you like other things? Why does that dog follow you around? Does anything you like have to do with the fact that you constantly are exposed to chlorine and have water in your ears and a swim cap and goggles squeezing your head?” He huffed, throwing his hands on the ground. “That’s enough for now…” he muttered.

Amber slowly chewed her bite of bagel, looking up into the sky and contemplating her answers. She finally swallowed and took a drink. “First of all, it’s nice to know that you know how to start a conversation. Questions are always good. Not questions like, ‘do you want to go on a run with me this morning?’, but questions like you just asked. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Now, can you answer them?” demanded Omar.


“Then answer them and stop drinking that weird spinach drink!”

Amber cleared her throat as she set the glass down. “I am always reading and writing because I find them fascinating enterprises. I usually read about things like animals or foreign countries or anything else with exceptionally good writing or intriguing plots. I write about anything that comes to mind, sometimes utopian cultures or teenage girls or something else—either something I know everything about or something I can totally make up. This dog follows me around because I am his female. He adores me, and respects me. Wiley does not love me because I smell like chlorine”—

-“I never said you smelled like chlorine,” protested Omar.

“I said I smell like chlorine,” declared Amber. “Anyway, in that case, Wiley probably does know that my main smell is chlorine. And I am not in any way mentally incapacitated by chlorine exposure, having water in my ears, or by having my head squeezed by a cap and goggles. Ask anyone.”

Saturday, November 1, 2008

As I Sit Here Quietly

The evening is warm
Are we so close?
Hands are cold
A quiet drive home

Transcribing words in my head
Seems like my thoughts are all dead
Dusk comes and I say goodbye

Can you whisper melodies
Can they echo in the silence
Is there a way to tell a friend
A desire never murmured before?

To find a pair of green eyes
Against a mask of ivory
Are they surprised to see
My blue ones among the rest?

I am not the only one who hears
The inseparable polyphony…

Did you dream about me too?
Is it all different now?
I’m taken aback
How did this ever come about?
Such good friends, the three of us
Yet something separates us all…


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