An Archaic Honor on Day 40

Wow...forty days of college already? Seriously?

Today, I gave a copy of those three poems to Professor Roghaar. He was sorta busy at the time, but he briefly looked them over and read through Sonnet 11 once. At first he only said, "I already have some things we could talk about." I didn't want to press it, but what he said made me nervous. "Good things, or... bad things?" He said, "Some of both." I think he realized how unsettling this was for me, so he elaborated.

"If you were to try to get this published, it would probably have to be in a collection of only sonnets, and even then, sonnets written in a more traditional style. It's a wonderful poem... to be honest, I don't think I could suggest any changes. It reads just like a Shakespearean sonnet. It's great how it is. But if you took this to a modern poetry reading, the audience wouldn't really be interested. I'm not going to be like some English teachers and just tell you 'oh, you're an amazing writer, you don't need to do anything'... because that wouldn't be true or fair. While you don't need to do anything to this poem, what we're going to be doing in the future is trying to help you appeal to a more modern audience. And the truth is, reading more modern poetry will help with that... what kind of poetry do you read the most?" I answered, "Probably more traditional stuff." He said, "Then our readings in class as we get into the more modern poets will probably help you. The truth is, every poet has, at some point or another, written a sonnet like this one. As we get farther along, these skills you already have will be very rewarding. But this is a great little poem."

I think we're still going to have a more in-depth discussion sometime in the near future, but for now, I'm actually pretty happy with how they went over. He liked Sonnet 11! He said it reads like Shakespeare. That, to me, is a great honor. It really is. Only... it's an honor that would have been more promising five hundred years ago. I'm just a little behind, is what he was saying. And that's okay. People have told me that before, and I know it's true. And besides, this verdict was made after only reading Sonnet 11. Which, honestly, is not my most modern sonnet. Take number 18, for instance. Nothing Shakespearean about mortgage, right? And that's not my best poem, but it does show that I'm not completely stuck in an archaic style. Maybe Sonnet 12 and Memorial Day will demonstrate that a little better.

I let Alyssa (one of Rachel's roommates) and Taylor (my poetry class friend) read all three poems before I gave them to the professor. Both of them agreed that Memorial Day was their favorite. Rachel also really likes that one. I guess that's a good example of how modern styles are more appealing than the old Shakespearean sonnet, although that poem does have a bit more going for it than just form. It's not bad, I guess. It could be better, but it's a nice start.

Anyway, it's bedtime. I think I'd like to write a poem tomorrow. One that doesn't sound old. Maybe kinda like my latest sonnet. It's written in a pretty modern style, right? And I do like it. I'd like to keep trying to head that direction.

Oh, and one final thing... although everyone thinks of Edgar Allan Poe as a weird, creepy guy who wrote stories about death and abnormal talking birds... he has written some of the most beautiful poetry I've ever read. Not that I've read much, but it takes my breath away. Seriously, check out "Annabel Lee" sometime. You've probably heard it before, but it's always worth anothe read.

Episode 3 - Taylor by Jack Johnson

Wake Up, It's Day 39

WARNING: I say little of import in this post. You probably have better things to do.


If I may say so, I think I like how my blog is turning out. Visually, I mean. I've been adding all sorts of fun new things lately, and it's coming together quite nicely, without being over-crowded (I hope). The poll and NaNoWriMo word counter at the top of the page may be a bit much, but that poll will be gone before too long. I might start another, but I'll see if I can find a better home for it. I'm always experimenting, finding out what works best. I can't say I do it all for my readers, because I want it to look nice too, but... to some extent, it is for you guys. Nobody's going to come around if they can't navigate my page.

Anyway. I made it to class on time today! Isn't that crazy?! I skipped breakfast, but I think it was worth it. And actually, I have a fruit bar thingy in my pocket that I'm going to eat as soon as I get out of the computer lab.

Rachel is sick this morning. She's still at her apartment, probably sleeping or at least in bed. I feel bad and I hope she's okay. Apparently she texted me half a dozen times last night after I had gone to bed, and apparently I responded to three of them, but I don't remember any of it. My responses were remarkably coherent for being the work of a sleep-texter. But I guess she was still having a hard time with something, and I wasn't there. And now she's feeling sick at home, and I'm here at school. *sigh*.

But things are good. Man, I feel like I don't have anything to say in this post. Maybe I don't. Um... NaNoWriMo is starting soon. Rachel said she'd do it with me this year. I'm really excited. Looking back on it, I have no idea how I managed to get through last year. I'm still surprised I won. Fifty thousand words... wow. And people complain about writing two thousand words for English class? Bwahaha. I laugh in their faces. I write almost that much per day during November.

Story ideas? Well, I had one a while ago that was sorta a throwback to my old Orphan Wars ideas, only different enough to actually be new and hopefully successful for me. It involves paint. Zidaiku (or whoever takes his place) doesn't go out and battle Faction members at night... he goes out with his spraypaint and... either creates street art (and this story could take an interesting turn for me and end up being about the value of street art and the struggle of one boy against society... but I really have no experience whatsoever in this area, so it's unlikely) or paints over Faction tags. Yeah, instead of fighting each other, groups claim areas of the city with graffiti.

But now that I think of it again, it sounds a little ridiculous and somewhat gang-related. I think it was partially inspired by that Square Enix game for the DS, "The World Ends With You." It's got that sort of style going on, and I thought it was sorta neat for a while. I think it's wearing off.

I had another idea a long time ago about two lovers in a society where touching is illegal. Kinda like The Island, only not...?

And maybe it'll include vampires again. The past two years have included vampires. This has absolutely nothing to do with Twilight, whatever you crazy people might think. I'm actually not sure why I've chosen to include vampires. I don't even like them. When I was younger, I was afraid that Dracula was going to come into my room and suck my blood every night. I would sleep with the covers wrapped around my neck... even in the summer. Of course, that was before Buffy the Vampire Slayer assured me that vampires could not enter my house unless I invited them in. Phew.

Campire - n. A vampire who lives in the wilderness near a camping ground or cabin, particularly those regularly visited by partying college students, and who feeds on said college students. "Johnny, there's a campire living in those woods!"

But whatever my NaNoWriMo novel ends up being about, it will hopefully be a lot of fun to write and to read, and I'll be posting throughout November either on deviantArt or here. Probably both. And I encourage everybody to go over to the NaNoWriMo website and participate this year. It's the most fun you'll ever have... probably. Maybe. But seriously, how many of us have said, "Oh man, I would love to write a book"? How many of us have actually done it? Isn't it about time to get going on that? NaNoWriMo teaches you the skills you'll probably need, even if you don't write your intended novel. It teaches you how to loosen up and have fun, and most importantly, how to get the dang thing finished. Because with a rough draft, the faster you write it, the better. Revision is where you can spend years sweating over every sentence, every word. Rough drafts are child's play in comparison, and they should be treated as such.

Anyway, it's class time, and I really want that fruity bar.

But Day 38 Does.

I missed a day. :(

Anyway, I'm back home now. Nothing real great has happened, with the exception of hanging out with Nick and taking some photos with my mom's nice camera. Going back to Salt Lake reminds me of how grateful I am to be living up here now. There are good things about living back there, but I really do prefer it up in Ogden. (I hope my family doesn't read this. Or at least certain members.)

So, here are the two photos I've edited so far:

Music

Raindrops

The first one is totally cliché and looks like something you'd find on myspace. But I guess I'm okay with that. When I posted it on deviantArt, I predicted that it would gather a couple +favs within the first few minutes, and nobody would leave a comment. I was right. How predictable. I've adopted this new policy that if somebody doesn't leave me a comment when they add something of mine to their favorites, I won't go to their page and give them a pageview. I'll just ignore the fact that they did it. Because really, what does your favorites list even mean if you're adding twenty new pieces every day? (And most people add a lot more than that...) Usually, people just do that so everyone will go look at their page and they'll be "popular." I admit, I watch my pageviews too, but I don't try to put myself out there more than any regular guy. I want my work and word-of-mouth (or the internet equivalent) to be what draws people, not stupid shennanigans.

Anyway. I have maybe two more that I haven't edited, but I'm not sure if I will. The two I've already done are probably the best of the group.

I feel like writing a poem. I might do that soon. Oh yeah, and I have to print out some of my poems for my professor... I think I'm going to go with Sonnets 11 and 12 and Memorial Day. I think they represent my style pretty well. Besides, these aren't the last poems of mine he's going to read.

--10:44 pm edit:

Oh yeah, one more thing before I get to bed (on time! *gasp!*)

I beat Super Mario Bros. 3 while I was home. You know, the one on NES. The one with the raccoon suit that lets you fly. Yeah, that one. I used two whistles. There are three that I know how to get, and it wouldn't really make any sense to have more, because as soon as you get to World 3 you can use two whistles to go straight to Bowserland. Anyway, I breezed through most of the first two worlds. I think I might have died once. I had 25 lives when I used my two whistles and warped to the end.

World 8 is hard. There are cannons all over the place, hard jumps to make, tricky things you have to do to get by. I was doing alright, but my stock of lives and items was going down fast. There was one particular level I kept dying on over and over again. It was ridiculous. But after wasting six lives on it, I discovered a 1-up I could reach almost every time, and that took some of the pressure off.

Eventually, I got through that level and continued toward Bowser's castle with maybe six lives left. I reached the front gates, charged in, and... some random laser beam zapped me to death. I was down to five lives. The next time, I discovered a shortcut but missed it, and I died avoiding fireballs. After that, it got a little better beacuse I once again discovered a 1-up box. But I wouldn't always make it there, and I was slowly running out of lives, with only a couple useless stars left in my item hoard.

With one life left, I finally reached the Main Man himself--Bowser. I soon learned that jumping on his head is not the way to kill him, unlike his Koopa bretheren. I fell victim to a fireball and died.

With zero lives left, I was carefully making my way through the castle toward the 1-up safe point. I hit the box, but the mushroom fell out of my reach! I dove after it, but just inches from safety, Mario got zapped by one of those spinning energy thingies. I died. Game over. I was so close.

But it let me continue. It gave me four more lives. And I didn't have to do the whole world again. Plus I still had my worthless items. (I think maybe this game is a little too forgiving, but I appreciated it anyway.) This time, I made it to Bowser again. So I fought him, and I was doing pretty good. He shoots about two slow-moving fireballs at you, then does a big ground-pound. But it's not enough to just get out of the way when he jumps up, because he'll sorta follow you in the air and come down right on top of you when you think you're safe. The way to win is by manipulating this attack to get him to break the floor and fall into the bottomless pit of lava.

It was Mini-Mario vs. Big Bad Bowser. One hit, and I would be a goner. Bowser jumped. I jumped. I dodged a fireball, but I didn't see Bowser coming down on top of me, and... I was still alive?! How could this be? Bowser and Mario were occupying the same space, and Mario wasn't dying. It was weird. I just froze. Whatever was happening, I didn't want to ruin it by moving. When Bowser jumped again, I got safely out of the way and thanked my lucky stars. I hopped down into the deepest hole Bowser had created with his ground-pounding. He jumped again. I jumped again. But the hole was too deep! I couldn't escape in time...

And I was spared again! There I was, standing by Bowser's foot and not dying. Once more, Bowser did a ground-pound, and this time he broke through the floor and fell into the pit of death. The fanfare played, and I was able to walk through the door and find Princess Peach waiting for me on the other side.

Did I feel gyped? Well... I don't know. The game let me continue with no penalty whatsoever, and my fragile life was spared by some glitch. Twice. I wasn't sure if I deserved it or not. But nonetheless, I'd never beaten that game before, so it was an accomplishment.

There was even a little joke waiting for me at the end. A narration box pops up and the text slowly appears:

"Thank you for rescuing me! But the princess is actually in another castle..."

Me: "WHAT?! There's more?! For the love of Luigi!"

"...Just kidding! Ha ha ha!"

Ah, it even ends with hearty laughter.

Day 37 Doesn't Exist!

Driving on Day 36

Driving makes me so obscenely angry. I can go from point a to point b with extremely simplified instructions or if I've done it a hundred times, but anything other than that--finding addresses, trying to navigate parking lots and side streets--makes me furious and frustrated. I hate driving and i would love it if all the cars in the world (but not busses) were destroyed.

On Day 35, I Slept In

Today was a good day. I missed logic class because I was sleeping in... but to be honest, it felt nice. When I did actually get up, I felt really good about myself. There was all this positive energy in me. And I've managed to somehow stay on top of my homework, yet I feel like I should be floundering... I feel like I haven't done enough work to have it all done. But maybe something's been sneaking up on me. That can happen. And then again, maybe there was so much hype before college about endless piles of homework that I've over-compensated. Maybe I expected more. I dunno.

In any case, things are all right for the time being. I'm going back "home" tomorrow to chill with the fam and Nick. And to do laundry. And maybe score some free food. It should be good times. I also want to do another vlog episode with Nick and Rachel, maybe in the form of a mini-movie. When we get together, we can be quite, um... "creative." I'd also like to maybe borrow my mom's nice new camera for a bit and play around, so you might be getting some photos soon. Photos taken with a supernice camera. I'm so jealous.

Oh, and I did a tiny bit of revision on Sonnets 11 and 12 today. I'm still not sure which ones I'll give to the professor, but I feel good about these two, at least. We'll see. I'll keep you all updated.

*

I wrote a poem for you.

Sonnet 29 - Sometimes I Think of You


Sometimes I think of you and see my face.
Sometimes I want your hand and take my own.
Sometimes we occupy a single space.
Sometimes I think it’s all I’ve ever known.

Sometimes, when I get up to sleep at night,
I think I see you breathing next to me.
Sometimes, when I turn off the bedroom lights,
I think I hear you watching silently.

Sometimes, my reason tells me I’m insane,
but maybe I’m in love with the idea.
Sometimes, I tell myself I’m not okay;
at other times, I can’t be so sincere.

Sometimes I can’t forget you’re not two-sided
when every time you’re here, I am reminded.

from dA:

This poem started off as a happy love poem (and it still might be... I honestly can't tell)... I've said the first line to ~Tsirachel before, and that's what I started with. But when the first draft was finished, I was unhappy with it and almost left it alone. I decided to just try some changes, and the whole poem took an interesting new direction, which I liked and followed. So, the product is now 90% fictional. I was pleasantly surprised to find all the little oxymorons and snippets of irony waiting for me. The whole thing is somewhat mixed-up, sometimes in fairly subtle ways. And to tell the truth, I had a really hard time deciphering the final couplet. :D I'm happy with it, at least for tonight. :) Please enjoy and leave a comment!

Note to self or anyone who cares: Another possibility for the last word of the poem is "divided." As it is now, the couplet focuses more on the forgetting/reminding, but "divided" would change that focus to "two-sided" and throw another layer of confusion in there. It might connect better with the third stanza, or it might make the whole thing more pointless than it already is... which in itself could be good or bad. I'm not sure what to do. Ideas?

Espacio~! (Day 34)

The Advisor on Day 33

Today, I met with my Intro to Poetry professor, Prof. Roghaar, to talk about the English with creative writing emphasis major. Apparently, it's a really unique program... I honestly don't know anything about other majors, but in either every English major or only the creative writing emphasis, every student has to have an advisor and meet with them regularly to discuss the student's progress and get information about special offerings and programs and whatnot. I have to have a portfolio of at least fifteen poems (if poetry is what I choose to specialize in) by the time I graduate. Not a daunting task, but they do have to represent my very best work. So as I write poems I think I'd like to include in my portfolio, I have to sit down with my advisor (who is going to be Professor Roghaar... he pretty much advises all of the poetry kids) and discuss them, maybe see how I can revise them and make them better. Then at some point I have to do a public reading of my work, which sounds scary but also like a ton of fun. And the way they set up the classes is so that technically, I could choose from only the classes listed on the "creative writing" list and graduate with a plain old English degree, if I wanted. The creative writing emphasis is less of its own major and more of a smaller little bubble of extra, non-class stuff--the advisement, the portfolio, the public readings.

He kept telling me, "now, this isn't as hard as it seems, it's not as bad as it sounds..." but to tell the truth, I get excited thinking about all of this. I really liked the relationships I had with my English teachers in high school, and now to be told from the professor himself that I should make an effort to stay in touch and up to date with him, to ask him how things are going and talk to him on a regular basis outside of class... it's kinda like something I've always wanted, though it still frightens me a little. Professor Roghaar has a sense of humor that sometimes is hard to figure out, he's tall and bald, and he's got a huge moustache. I'm a little intimidated at this point, because I really don't know how to act around him. Not to mention the entire college experience has been a bit unnerving. But I do honestly hope he and I can develop some semblence of a "friendship." And I can see it happening. I mean, I do like the guy. I look up to him because of the fact that he's a practicing poet and he obviously has a deep passion for poetry and reading in general. He's a smart guy who knows a lot about a lot. I'm always in awe of people like that, and I'd like to be one someday. So maybe once some of those barriers get a little more comfortable, I'll open up. He's basically my "best friend" in the English department, so keeping in touch on a professional basis should be something of a priority for me. That's basically what he told me, too... I need to be the one making appointments, I need to be the one asking the questions, because it's my major, and I'll get out of it what I put into it.

So anyway. I told him about my intentions of serving a mission, and he said he'd like to get to know me and my writing pretty soon, definitely before I leave. So I'm thinking I'd like to take a couple poems in to him next week, to see what he thinks. The hard part is, which ones? Rachel suggested Since We Were Five, which I do like, but... I don't know what he'd think of it. I guess there's no real way of knowing until I show him. She also suggested Sonnet 18. I was considering Sonnets 11 and 14, as well as Fountain of Recycled Youth, with some possible revision. Maybe Sonnet 12 would be a good choice... I spent a lot of time on that one. Maybe Memorial Day. I was thinking that three would be a good amount to start with. And none of them necessarily have to get into my portfolio... it's a little early for that anyway. But I'm really interested in seeing what he thinks about my writing, about where it's at right now. That's really the most important part.

If you've read my stuff, let me know what you think. :) Thanks for reading.

Episode 2 - Fish and Chocolate (Day 32)

I made tacos for dinner tonight. They were amazing. I think it's probably the first thing I've made up here that hasn't tasted funny, other than maybe a frozen pizza. It was definitely nice.

They were so good, in fact, that I almost want to dedicate my life to making them for everyone I ever meet and spreading the deliciousness throughout the world.

Almost.

Day 31

Had a good day. Spent a lot of time with rachel and her roommates. We played games, watched movies, ate a bunch of food... We basically had an awesome time. I really like them... I would say they're definitely my new friends. Hooray. Tomorrow is back to school, and once more i'm up way too late... But hopefully someday soon I'll actually figure out how to break these bad habits.

Day 30 was relaxing

Today was mildly productive. It was a good day. I started off by sleeping in to get as much sleep as my body needed, and then I wasted some time watching internet videos and trying to figure computer-type things out. After a while, I took a shower and cleaned my room and apartment. This is the first time it's happened, which isn't that crazy because I've only been living here for a few weeks. But it's nicer and cleaner now, so I'm happy.

I will say, though, that I really dislike cleaning up after my roommates' dishes. I've been putting mine straight into the dishwasher, which makes it so easy. But at least one person has been leaving all sorts of dirty (and fragrant... eww!) dishes in the sink. And not just for one day, either. There's this pot that's been sitting there for probably a week and a half. I purposefully didn't put it in the dishwasher last time I did the dishes, because if that person wants it clean, they can put it in themselves. But it became an eyesore, not to mention some of the other dishes stank like some food I didn't like, so I just cleaned them all up. I probably shouldn't have. It's a little early to really tell much, but I think I'm going to be playing Mom a bunch. But this really shouldn't come as much of a surprise for me... I did say on my application that I kept my room "messy." I'm sure that helped match us up. But the room is one thing... that doesn't deal with germs or rotting food so much. The kitchen does. I do want the kitchen kept clean, whether I have to do it or not.

Anyway, then my family came up to see me and take me to dinner, which was fantastic. My mom bought a new camera with her bonus from work. I am so jealous. It's a digital SLR, a photography-quality camera. I played around with it for a bit and... geh. I want one so bad. You can point that sucker at anything and it looks good. Of course you have to know how to work it and have a good eye for things, but you get the point. I would be doing so much more photography if I had one of those.

Then I spent the rest of the day with Rachel, playing Mario games. We got all the way to World 7 on Super Mario Bros. 3, and I decided I should probably go home.

I also squeezed in a bit of homework, but there will be much more of that coming tomorrow.

So, no depressing thoughts or horrible tragedies today. Just a nice, genuinely relaxing day. I need more of these on a regular basis. (Doesn't everyone?)

*

Look, I'm on Youtube! (Sorry for the crappy quality and the extreme quietness. I tried to keep it level, though, so don't worry to much about turning up your speakers.)

Betwixt 29 and 30

So as I was heading into my apartment building just now, there were five or six guys standing around in the parking lot. I didn't think much of it, but as I was walking, they called out to me and walked over to me. The first guy, who was wearing a red shirt and had really wide eyes, told me he wanted to give me a high five, which he did. I was scared... I mean, it's one thirty in the morning, so being approached by anyone is a scary thing. The first guy told me I seemed scared, and not to worry. They just explained that they were waiting for some chicks, and they asked me if I did any drinking or partying. I said no, I didn't. They smelled of alcohol, and I think it's safe to say they were drunk. One of the other guys had a two-liter plastic container sticking out of his jacket. Another was pretending to mow the lawn. Weber is a dry campus, so I guess they were breaking the rules... but I'm not entirely sure what those are exactly, and even if I did I don't think I'd have enough info to report them anyway. Although the first guy did introduce himself. But I couldn't recall his name if someone asked me to.

Anyway, I just told them that I didn't party or drink, and then they were like, "Alright guys, let's leave him alone, he's cool." I wished them a good night and they let me go into the apartment building. They seemed harmless enough... I really hope they don't get into a car and drive, of course, but at least they didn't mug me. They totally could have, very easily. It's a scary thought. I think next time I'll go in another way, just to be safe.

So since coming to college (actually, in just over one week), one of my essays has been plagiarized, a girl I've just met has seen me naked, and I made it safely past six drunk men at one thirty in the morning.

And you thought college was boring.

Day 29 also contains this picture:

This took me WAY too long, but it's finally done! It took me maybe twelve hours. Sad, really. But anyway, I feel like this piece has helped me grow as an artist, and I'm kinda proud of it. Today has improved. :)

Day 29 contains more words

Sometimes I wish I were more of a poet in real life. Sure, I can sit down and write something decent if I really try, but sometimes I get to wondering. That's what last night's odd post was all about, by the way. I had written this long, ugly post, and I decided not to post it because it really wouldn't do any good. Yesterday was sorta bad.

Anyway. I found this one blog a while ago, I'm not sure how, where this guy seriously talks in verse. It's... strange, I suppose, but its also pretty cool. And I know I've mentioned before how some of the writing geeks on deviantArt pretty much talk in verse.

But I remind myself that I don't have to do it like everybody else. In fact, I shouldn't. I need to figure out what works best for me, what my own process is. That's what every piece of writing advice I've ever read has said. "Find out what works best for you."

Have I done that? Have I figured myself out?

Lately, I really don't feel like I've figured anything out. I mentioned the widening effect college has had on my mind, which is still true... and I've learned a couple strategies for essay-writing and such that will probably come in handy... and my poetry class has been eye-opening (perhaps too much so)... but at the same time, what am I really learning about myself? I sometimes feel like I don't even know what's going on with me. It's not so much that I get sad "for no apparent reason," although that's what it would look like to everyone else. I know what makes me sad. But sometimes I don't know why it makes me sad, or at least I'm too afraid to admit anything to myself.

Fear. Yeah, it's a big part of me. Fear and guilt. Fear of... failure and/or obscurity. Guilt for my many failures.

Do you ever start talking and you realize you really like what you just said? And then you get sad because it isn't written down and it's just words on the wind, never to be heard again? I have to hope that an angel is sitting next to me and writing down the things I say. I hope there will be a small book of sayings from my life when I get to the Spirit World. It saddens me to think any of them have just gone to waste, although they did serve a purpose at one small time.

Everyone says poetry is a great way to release strong emotion, and this is true, but... it's sort of hard, in a way. Not because you don't have any ideas, but because some of the ideas are so well-executed and beautiful when they come out of your fingertips that they distract you with their new shininess, and you lose whatever strand you were holding on to in the first place. You start doing something really well and you frighten yourself, but by the time you realize it, it's too late and it's gone. I hate this. And I think maybe if I wasn't so vain, this wouldn't happen.

But there's the other end of the spectrum to consider. Sometimes I hold on to every shred of pride I can get my fingers on, because without it, I don't know that I would even sit down to write at all. I have to believe that what I have to say is valuable in some way over your average everyday jumble. Even when part of me knows this isn't true in the least, it keeps me going a little longer...

Sometimes I know what I need to do. But most of the time, I'm too afraid or weak to do it. There are plenty of good things going on in my life, but there is too much of them and not enough hours in one day. But how can I tell them I want less of them...? Or pick one over the other?

I feel like I've lost control of my life. I feel like I'm being led around on a leash all the time. I am a dog. Resistance doesn't really do much for me either, except make me feel guilty. I do know a few ways to fix things, but by fixing them I would break other things. I break the collar, I break my neck.

What is poetry anyway.

Sorry, everybody. Maybe I should just come out and say what I mean. But, like I said, Fear and Guilt are the two schoolyard bullies picking on me every day. They've got a nasty one-two punch--one paralyzes me and the other knocks me down.

Case in point: "I am brilliant."

But that does no good for me. I think I'd like to ignore it.





Honestly, I'm still working on that painting. It's almost done. I'm sick of it.

And then I'll try writing some fiction, perhaps. Dear Diary still wants to be finished.

But I don't know if I can. I don't know if I will.

Day 28 contains words

There were words here,

but now there aren't.



This post is just so I can say
I've posted each and every day.
(And when I rhyme, I sure sound gay.)



(and by that I of course mean no offense to homosexuals.)

(because who would want that?)


losers, thats who



and sir(s),

i am no loser
?

Revised on Day 27

Blogger won't let me do the correct spacing in my poem, *sniff*, so you'll just have to imagine it or check it out on my Deviant Art page.

Girl no. 3

She led a pink and ivory bicycle out of the Sixties
with a few books tossed into the front basket
and hammered on the crosswalk button
while grinning.

beep-beep beep-beep
beep-beep
beep-
beep

I like it a little better. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'd like to explain why. (You may stop reading now if this bores you.)

I took the whole concept of me out of it. I was the observer and I did have a personal reaction to it, but the poem just didn't really allow for that much dimension. It's a small poem, an unassuming poem, and it just wants to be left the heck alone! Plus, this fits better with my first two girls. I wasn't in either of them, so seeing as this was Girl 3... you get the picture.

I like "led" better than "walked." "Walked" is friendly and slow. You walk with your girlfriend, holding hands. You walk through the peaceful forest or along the beach at sunset. But "lead" is different. You lead an army. You lead a nation, you lead your own life. It's more confident, more powerful. And I wanted to portray this girl as self-confident and unafraid to indulge in the pressing of the button.

"A few books" was "a pile of books" for a moment, but piles of books suggest a studious person. And while this girl certainly isn't a slacker, she isn't overloaded, either. A few books was good. This was also the reasoning behind "tossed." Not "placed." Not "neatly stacked." Tossed. She's casual. She's doing enough, but not too much.

And "pressing" the button was just too darn plain. There was no emotion in it. And while that's what she really did, I decided to spice it up and have her "hammer on" the button! It's more exciting and I think it helps to convey the concept a little better, even if it's not exactly what happened.

I added "while grinning" because she had to be having fun. Since I took out the line about me also appreciating it (thus implying that she did), I had to add in some other way to convey that. Otherwise, I think the meaning and emotion would suffer.

And then I added some more random beeps because it was fun and it felt like the right thing to do. More excitement or more potential annoyance for those of you who dislike these beeping buttons.

And there you have it! Metacognition!

It's class time now, so I must go. I might write more later. Bye!

Doubts on Day 26

I got up late. Ugh.

I know it's not, like... two in the morning, but I think I'd like to do my daily post now.

Before I went to sleep last night, I took another look through my Puzzles book. It was interesting to read some of those poems and journal entries. Most of them were from not-so-long ago, and yet I can already see that I've grown a little bit. Possibly. I just saw little things in my poems that I might not do now. And yet, I sat down to write a poem today in between classes (Rachel is feeling sick today, so I actually went outside with my notebook and tried to write), and it... well, it didn't feel that great. It was interesting to note that as soon as I got outside and sat down, this girl caught my eye. She had this bike that looked like it could have been her grandmother's, in a good way. It was... old-new. She walked it up to the crosswalk and pressed the button ten times, just like I do. It's fun, because they put in these new ones that make beeping noises when you touch them. Rachel and I just go crazy pressing them whenever we have to cross the street. And so this girl was doing the same thing. It made me smile, to see that I wasn't the only one that appreciated this little happy thing. Remembering my "Two Girls" poem I wrote at the end of high school, I wrote a few lines and called them "Girl #3."

I watched her walk that pink and ivory bicycle out of the Sixties
with her books tossed into the front basket
and press the new crosswalk button a dozen times.
Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
Beep-beep.

It reminds me that I'm not the only one who appreciates it.

Yeah. That was it. Does it have a point or purpose? Does it contain grand hidden meanings and insights into the human condition? Nope. And yet, it scares me to think that if I want to have my name spoken in the same sentence as Sidney, Poe, Milton, Donne, Whitman, Wordsworth, and Williams, these things will be expected of me. There's a certain quality expected of these works, and nobody really knows how to define it. I wasn't really putting a ton of effort into what I wrote today, so I couldn't expect it to be great, but I feel so far down on the ladder right now that I wonder if it's even worth it to try anymore. It seems like even when I do put a lot of effort into my poems, they only improve by slight amounts, and it's just not good enough.

Our professor read us a poem he wrote today in response to Donne's Sonnet 10, aka "Death be not proud." It was flipping amazing. But then he said, "this isn't something I'd try to get published." He said it wouldn't really work out in today's market and stuff, unless it was a part of a specific collection of poems like it. Which makes sense, but it got me thinking. I think my best poems are sonnets. I'm four hundred years behind today's trends. That's a lot of ground to make up.

There are a myriad of rebuttals to these thoughts, though. Roghaar himself said that any poet who calls himself a poet has to write a sonnet at some point. Every time he mentions that "poets have been writing about this for ages, and will always be writing about it," it's always a subject that I've touched in a poem at some point. That makes me feel like I'm at least on some kind of right track. The last line in one of Sir Philip Sidney's sonnets makes me feel a little better. After writing about trying all sorts of methods to improve his writing and make it amazing, he adds: "'Fool,' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart and write.'" He covers more of this sort of stuff in his Sonnet XV. I also like the song "Walking on Air" by Kerli. It's been on the radio for a while. To me, it's about needing the courage to be true to your talents and ignore your doubts.

So, I guess I'm just a little conflicted. Writing about it has helped a little bit, though.

Anyway, I gotta go. I hope you're all doing well.

Feeling Normal (?) on Day 25

Not a very productive day. I did a few things, like write a short paper for English. But not much else.

Rachel and I actually went job hunting today at some local shops, though. There are like five tiny little trinket shops around the area, and apparently they're all run by small circles of friends or something, so there aren't really any opportunities there. We tried the UPS store, Beat the Bookstore, and... some third one I can't remember... but they said the only possibility was a seasonal job. So I'm thinking we're going to try this again at the end of October and just live off what we have until then. It shouldn't be a problem. I, for one, am secretly glad. I don't want to work if I don't have to. At least not yet. Money is for CHUMPS!

I also made some food. Oh snap, I really accomplished things today. But seriously, it was kinda neat. Microwave Nachos--nah, that's a dumb name. Let's call them Nuclear Nachos. Oh yeah. Here's the recipe:

• Put pre-cooked and taco-seasoned hamburger on a plate.
• NUKE IT!
• Sprinkle it over some Fritos Scoops.
• Put some grated cheese on top.
• NUKE IT!

It works out really well. It takes all of three minutes.

And then we played Paper Mario for the rest of the day! Woo-hoo! Look at us awesome children achieve things.

But you know what? Today was the first day in a while up here that I've felt somewhat like my old self. I remember being afraid a few months ago, worried that someday I wouldn't be me anymore, that someone else was going to take my body and my life away. It sorta happened. But some things changed yesterday. I reached a breaking point, and it looks like that break was in the right direction. It's curving back to the way I'm used to feeling. That's not to say I won't stop trying to improve myself and my life, but I don't want to lose myself along the way.

I also feel suddenly sarcastic as I write this post. Sorry 'bout that. It is a strange and wondrous natural phenomenon over which I can exert no effective measure of control.

Also: Science!

Anyway, I really hate getting up late. When I do, I disgust myself. So I'm going to bed now, to hopefully avoid that situation. Good night, kiddies.

The Awkward Story of Day 24

I somewhat apologize for the following post. Today was a strange day and it reminded me that the world is a big and foreign place, filled with all sorts of new ideas and people that I've never met before. This post is a step toward understanding and accepting new ideas about life that I might benefit from. It's about humanity and the way real life works.

*

So, I'm a pretty open guy. I pretty much wear my heart on my sleeve. Most of my readers are close friends, and hey, we're all human. So, if only for the sake of posterity and future laughs, I don't mind telling you this:

One of Rachel's roommates saw me naked today.

How did this come to be, you ask?

First off, those girls are pretty comfortable with themselves, if you know what I mean. Not in a bad way, but their apartment is sort of like a girl's locker room. Nothing wrong there.

But tonight, I was over, and we were all watching a movie. Suddenly, I started feeling sick. I made it to the bathroom just in time; as soon as I closed the door and (tried to) lock it, I started feeling like I was going to throw up. You know the drill: spike in body temperature, lots of sweating, weakness in the muscles, tunnel vision... not to mention a decrease in awareness and judgment. I felt like I was dying, for Pete's sake. I hate throwing up, so I tried to just keep calm and do what I needed to do to keep it from happening. However, it was becoming apparent that some sort of calamity was inevitable, and I really didn't want to ruin my clothes (plus, my tempterature was going crazy), so I did what anyone safely locked in a bathroom in that situation might do; I took them off.

So I was sitting there, trying to compose myself and ease my stomach. I was trying all the tricks: focusing on my breathing, going to my happy place, everything. I was pretty close to passing out, and my awareness of the world around me was dimming.

Just then, the door swung open, and there were loud and surprised voices. I wasn't quite aware of who had suddenly somehow come through the supposedly locked door or just what they were saying, but I managed to add a weak, "I'm in here!" to the fray. But the damage had already been done. The door slammed shut again and there was awkward laughter and conversation from the other side. "Oh my gosh! Rachel--I think I just saw more of your boyfriend than you have." She didn't knock because she probably wasn't used to needing to. The door should have been locked (I think it needed an extra trick that I hadn't known), and she honestly thought it was vacant.

But even while everyone else was outside freaking out, I was still stuck back in my "oh-for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy-PLEASE-don't-throw-up!" state of mind. To be honest, I barely even noticed. Looking back on the moment, it was really quite embarrassing, not to mention probably confusing for them. Why the heck was I naked?! Who does that?!

At the time, though, it was more of an annoyance, like when someone walks in on you in a public restroom. It happens, and it's more irritating than anything that people don't knock. Not that I was annoyed with her--to be honest, I felt really bad. I think it was worse for her than me. I was nearly passed out, for heaven's sake, what did I care?

But I think everyone soon became more concerned with the fact that I was obviously very pale and not feeling well. They gave me some Pepto Bismol through the door, and when I was feeling better and came out, we all traded apologies and everything seemed to be okay. They're cool like that. And I feel good now, so I think it was just a one-time thing. Maybe I ate something funny.

So yeah. This is life, this is college. Welcome.

An Observation (on Day 23)

The moon always seems to be full whenever I notice it.

Day 22

Art time went really well today. Rachel took a nap whilst I worked a bunch on my painting. I spent maybe a good three hours on it, although you might not know it by looking at it. I think I paint slowly. So far, this picture has come out to maybe eight hours of work. I expect it might take about twelve. And I do actually think it might be one of the best drawings/paintings I've ever done. Don't get your hopes up... it's not really that amazing, but I have definitely put more effort into it than I usually do. I hope it shows. I'm trying lots of new stuff, discovering some very handy shortcuts, and figuring out what tasks I really need to do versus what tasks are basically a waste of time, as far as this painting goes. See, the first maybe two hours of this piece were spent cleaning up the basic lineart, which was a pencil sketch in my blue-lined notebook. But the thing is, I discovered that it will look even better without the lineart (which is really odd, considering my artistic background), so I've been using it solely as a guide. I guess I didn't need to work so hard to make that part of it look nice, huh? But hey, I'm learning a lot. That's important.

Tomorrow is Saturday. I have a few mundane things I'd like to get done. You know: cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping. I'm going to sanction most of my morning as art time, which I think I may start off with a poem. I'm feeling a little poetic, I suppose. Then I'll work on my painting again. I'm excited to show it off and see what everybody thinks, but it might not be for a few more days. Of course, homework is also on the bill. We've got to read As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner, the entire novel, this coming week. It's about a hundred pages in our book. I've read maybe twelve so far, so it's a good start, but I'll need to pick it up.

Tonight was Homecoming night at Weber. I feel so out of touch with everything around me. Allred was apparently playing here on Monday, and I missed that. And I didn't go to the dance or to any parties tonight. I spent time with Rachel and her roommates, playing video games and watching Deja Vu.

(Which was a pretty good movie, though I don't really think very highly of the genre. Cops 'n robbers thrillers are alright, but I think we see too much of the same stuff sometimes. It starts off with some happy gathering, some reception or party or something, and BOOM! a bomb goes off. In walks Mr. Hero, who proceeds to figure out the case. He meets some people along the way (one of whom is inevitably the bad guy), has some kind of moral dilemma, yada yada. When they finally corner the bad guy, they talk for a bit about his motives, which are always based on some misguided principle. Bad guy drops the standard F-bomb, there's some shooting, a couple more explosions, and happy day, all is well. If we're lucky, we get a kiss. You know, I've seen that movie before. But at least this one had time travel in it. Hooray for science.)

It was fun. Fun enough. Haha, I really did have a good time. Besides, I'm sure the dance wouldn't have been anything too great. Everybody likes (c)rap now, so what's the point? Plus I don't have much spare change, I don't have a suit, there was no preparation, etc. Maybe next time. Once I feel a little more settled. Once my equilibrium has balanced out a little more.

But Rachel and I have been reading the news. That's been somewhat enlightening. I read about McCain and Obama, the new particle collider they built over in Europe, and why people think it's a good idea to lower the legal drinking age.

A small side note about that last one: Lowering the drinking age is going to prevent underage binge drinking, huh? Yeah, because all of a sudden nobody's underage anymore! That is such bad logic. You know, murder is a pretty serious crime these days too. Maybe we should do something about that... I know! Let's make it legal!

I also heard that the U of U kids want to come visit Rachel and me up in lonely Ogden! That makes me happy. I'm not sure if Ogden just happens to be between SLC and Logan, but hey, whatevs. Visitors are always welcome. I could use some social interaction.

Poets have a really high suicide rate. I was reading a bit about Sylvia Plath today in my literature book. I don't know much about her, but from what I read, I could sorta piece together a fictional picture of her in my mind. It was interesting. She attempted suicide in between her junior and senior years in college. It also said she wrote most of the poems in one certain collection at an extremely fast pace (maybe two or three a day) just months before a successful suicide. They were all published post-humously. Sometimes I wonder... if I wasn't spending so much time with Rachel or if I didn't have any other friends, what would I be doing right now? I don't mean right now, but "now" in a general sense. Maybe I'd just shut myself in and write three poems a day. I mean, it's what I like to do, right? Sometimes that's what I want to do... I know that if I did just write all day, I'd get really good. But there are a lot of outside pressures keeping me from that. I bet Sylvia Plath didn't have a boyfriend or husband. I don't know this for sure, but it's my guess. If she did, they probably weren't happy. It's not often anyway that you find a guy willing to stick by you through depression and stuff, either. So she must have had a lot of free time. And now she's famous. There was a short essay or something on one of our AP tests that talked about how sometimes artists made a mistake by living too long. It suggested that maybe an appropriate time of death, a good time to step out of the spotlight of life, can be the difference between an artist's fame or obscurity. This is sort of radical, of course, but it makes a little sense. A good death grabs people's attention. "Oh, this person was a poet... I bet there are tons of answers in his/her pieces!" It gets people interested, and if you know you've got it made beforehand and all you need is a bit of publicity, hey... it just might work. You might "build it, and they will come," but it helps to get people looking in the right direction. Plus you'll never have to answer stupid questions or deal with people telling you your stuff is no good. It just is or it isn't. Easy.

But of course this isn't the reason it happens. I know that. It's just an interesting kind of... fringe benefit, in a way. Wow, I'm being sort of terrible. Haha.

Um... there was more. There shouldn't be, because it's long enough as it is... but...

Oh yeah. I watched the first episode of that TV show "Pushing Daisies" with Rachel and Melanie. It was pretty good. It's really creative and sort of light, despite the weirdness of the content. It's Tim Burton-ish in that way. This guy brings dead people back to life, and it's a happy little show. There's a narrator sometimes, and that makes it feel like you're reading a picture book or something. It seems like the kind of thing Nick would really like, to be honest. It's sort of an indie love story with a modern fairy-tale twist. The main character is sorta neurotic and/or shy, but he makes a lot of funny little comments. "It's like acid reflux, but in my eye." I'd like to watch more of it sometime.

Alright, it's bedtime. Hopefully you'll see a poem from me romorrow, and possibly a deceptively simple-looking painting. Yay, art.

Day 21

I'd really like to get to bed soon, so I'll try to make this short.

Today was good. I actually did some pretty good art time. I wrote maybe... ehh... a thousand words of Dear Diary, and then I worked a bit on that picture. Other than having doubts about the quality of the work I did, it was a somewhat productive session. I have to figure out how I want to end Dear Diary. I have a cool idea, but it would be foiled by logic... I don't want to police to show up until the end, but what's the first thing you're gonna do if there's a crazy kid who previously shot another student who wants to take the girl you like to the Winter Ball? Call the police. So I'm thinking there needs to be some sort of kidnapping/"If you call the police, I'll hurt her!" or maybe a clever ploy to outsmart the popo. Apparently Ender already escaped from jail, so... he could do some crazy stuff. I just have to remember, it's all in the name of fun and entertainment. I should stop doubting its value. Just finishing the thing would be worthwhile.

And, the painting is coming along nicely. It will most likely be a long while before its done, unless I can really kick it into high gear one day. It's moving at a snail's pace. I'd like to spend a bunch of Saturday morning doing art time, so maybe I can get a bunch done that day.

*

In other news, I've been robbed.

Sorta.

See, I posted my oh-so-amazing (not really) essay on Barn Burning the other day, right? Well, I come to class the day it's due, and lo and behold, who should sit next to me and trade papers with me but someone who apparently thought it would be a good idea to take my paper, change some things around, and put their own name on the top.

Yup. It was plagiarism all right.

At first, I didn't notice. I was sort of delighted: "Hey, this person has the same sort of idea as me!" But as the paper went on, it got a little uncanny. The quotes were the same, the structure was the same, the logic was the same. The clincher was the very last sentence. It was identical to one particularly loquacious passage in my own essay, and I knew this could not be a coincidence.

That was about the time when I got really shaky and scared. This had never happened to me before! Someone stole my essay? Who would have thought such a thing would ever happen? It was especially lucky (or unlucky, really) that she came in late and just happened to sit next to me. What craziness.

So, I tried to contain myself until the end of class, when I went up to the professor and explained the situation. He said he'd keep an eye out, and I told him that he could google a passage and find it no problem. I thought it would take him straight to the post, but I tried it and apparently it takes you to the regular page, the five latest posts. So, my essay is now at the bottom. But I'm sure he'd think to use Find. I hope so, anyway.

But there's a weird twist to this story. Before she let me read her paper, she tried to tell me something, and it sounded like "Be careful with that paper, okay?" She sorta mumbled it and I didn't understand, so I asked her again, and she said she'd tell me later. Ooookay... so I was a little suspicious, but I set that feeling aside. After the grand revelation, I whispered to Rachel about it. Then the professor happened to make a joke about going online and buying an essay about Barn Burning for six bucks. Everyone laughed. Then, under my breath, I added, "Or you could get it for free..." When class ended, I thought that maybe this girl would go up to the teacher and confess or try to turn it around on me, of all things. But she bolted out as soon as he dismissed us.

I didn't think about this until later, but Rachel said she looked really scared when she found out I was the Jaron. And I tried to be quiet, but I'm actually a little worried that she heard my whisperings and my little joke. To be quite honest, I'm genuinely worried that I hurt this girl's feelings or caused her to panic! Which is really odd. She stole my paper. She's getting what she deserves, right? And yet I still don't want to cause her any more discomfort than is necessary. I'm a weirdo. I guess all I really want is for her to write her own essay and to understand that cheating is lame. If she can do those things, then I'd be happy to forget about the whole thing.

If she is reading this for some reason: I really am sorry if I caused you a heap of panic and fear. Yes, plagiarism isn't cool, but I don't aim to torture you about it. Just write your own essay... it's not that hard. If it is, maybe you shouldn't be in this class yet...

And I would have taken the essay down already, but my professor wants me to keep it up in case he needs some proof. After that, down it goes. And no more essays are going up until after their due dates. Ugh.

But it is sort of flattering. :)

*

Rachel watched Moulin Rouge today. That statement sounds weird coming from me, but I was there when she started it, and when I came back from poetry class, it was just getting over. It was getting up to the climax, where all the awful tragedy happens. I'd seen the movie once before, years ago. Honestly, I don't remember much of it at all. It was at a movie night and we were all distracted. I did, however, remember that the ending was sad.

But I had no idea it was this sad!

I walked in with maybe ten minutes left, and when it ended, I was seriously crying. I'm not sure if it was because I was feeling particularly sentimental from poetry class or what, but I couldn't stop myself. It felt kinda nice to be reminded that I was still human.

But I wondered why it would hit me so hard now and why I apparently didn't think about it very much before. I settled on the fact that before, I didn't have any special someone to love. Now, I definitely do. Of course I can identify with the characters a lot more now. And to think of that happening to Rachel and me... *sigh*. It makes me very sad. The characters don't remind me of us as much as Landon and Jamie from A Walk to Remember do, but the same sort of this happens in the end, and for some reason, there's some part of me that identifies with it. I guess it's the same part of me that had the whole Memorial Day experience. Why I keep getting the feeling that one of us is going to die early, I have no idea. I hope it's just because I fear it.

Anyway. Sad stuff. But no more of that.

*

So much for being short.

One more thing.

I know I'm not Poet Extraordinaire, but I do wonder just how my stuff would stack up against the annals of time. Probably not very well at all. But say it did; what would people say about me and my work? What sort of symbols and messages would people get from my work?

In tandem with this thought, isn't it strange how writing is not only useful for writing down what we know, but also for finding out things we didn't know we knew? What I mean is how we really feel about things, the way we truly see them in our unconscious minds.

The particular example I thought of is the moon. (The mention of the Memorial Day poem brought all of this to mind.) I think I have maybe three or four poems with the moon in them. One of them is Sonnet 4, which only makes brief mention of a "clear" moon. There's Sonnet 15, which doesn't reference the moon directly but talks about the night sky. Then, of course, there's Memorial Day and Luna. In only one of these is the moon portrayed in a neutral way: Sonnet 4. Sonnet 15 talks about the hungry galaxy wanting to eat people, Memorial Day contains an "ivory eye and her wretched tears," and Luna is all about the moon as a demonic goddess of war.

I don't know about you, but I find this very interesting. I know I wrote them, but I never really stopped to consider the way I feel in general about the moon. It's always there, and I usually aknowledge it, but I don't think I ever stopped and said to myself, "you know, I think the moon means sadness, misery, and mal-intent towards the human race." But when I consider this, I find that it's true. I guess this is how I feel about the moon. Every time I look at it, I see some giant space beast somewhere in mid-blink. I can imagine a second moon and a great mouth appearing in the sky like a cheshire cat, and I can imagine it taking a big bite out of the earth. The eye just watches us all night long, every night. And yet, even though it's a little frightening, it's also very beautiful. Moonlight is a gorgeous thing. I can't say how many times I've wished for a nice camera so I could take a shot of the moon.

Maybe I'm a bit of a lunatic.

Anyway. I just thought that was interesting. Poetry, or just writing in general, has this cool way of helping us discover ourselves. That's one thing I love most about it. I never want to stop learning and exploring.

*

Okay. Now I'm going to bed.

Day 20

Greetings from the computer lab!

I want to talk about education for a second.

I love being in school. I mean, it hasn't always been easy or fun, but I realize that being in school is sort of analogous to breathing right now. We've been doing it our whole lives, and we wonder what will happen when we stop. I like feeling smart. I like feeling like I'm learning things. This didn't happen so much in high school (free public education... whatcha gonna do?), but I can feel my mind literally changing shape. I'm starting to think about things differently. And now that I think of it, a lot of that might be thanks to the fact that I'm living on my own. That's definitely been a big part in this Great Mind Shift. But I think it's for the better. We've had some really awesome discussions in my Critical Approaches to Literature class, some really eye-opening stuff that makes you think about your own beliefs, your own views, maybe how you can get out of your own box and into someone else's. One day we watched a movie on Hemingway and tried to analyze his brain based on his writing. It was a little frightening, to tell you the truth... if I become a famous writer, will people disect my mind like that? They'll find out all my secrets! Oh noes!

English 2010 is... okay. Just okay. The teacher apparently used to be a math teacher. She told us this on the first day of class, and from that point on, I've thought of her as somewhat of a traitor. Math teacher, turned English? Hmm, something fishy is going on there! She seems really left-brained, too. Which is probably why she liked math. I don't know why the heck she's doing English now. But anyway, we haven't really been learning much... we've been doing all these little exercises about prewriting and dialectical thinking and such. It's been useful, and I've discovered a few little tricks I'd like to keep around, but they're all coming from the book... At first, I did my homework at home (amazing, huh?), but apparently we're just going to be doing all these exercises in class, so I've stopped wasting my time. But again, I will say, I have learned a few things.

But one of the things I'm afraid of about all of this is that I'll forget everything I'm learning as soon as I stop going to school. And it's not really stuff I can just write down and keep on note cards; what I've been "learning" is more of a state of mind than anything else. And I like it! I don't want it to go away, and yet I'm having a hard time thinking of how to preserve it. I guess this is one way: writing. Just writing things. Writing about this and how I feel and what I've been up to. It's really a responsibility, or perhaps an investment. I owe it to myself, and I don't want to have to spend another three thousand dollars to take a class over again if, somewhere down the line, I lose track of this foundation I'm building right now.

Probably the best way to keep all of this stuff is to apply it. Which is sorta why I need my art time. I want to use these skills I've been learning on my work. I sometimes feel out-of-touch with myself, and I know this is because I don't create as much or as often as I should. Sometimes even when I do create, I don't dig down deep enough into myself to pull out what I really should be going for. I don't want to feel like this forever. And I know the Creative Writing program has suggested classes like Critical Approaches for a good reason. Getting so deep into other people's writing helps us get into our own and hopefully bring it up to par someday. But I don't think I've been doing enough.

However, I wasn't planning on doing any deep, philosophical writing for a while, with the exception of maybe a poem here and there, like usual. My current list goes like this:

• Finish coloring this picture.
• Complete Dear Diary.
• Win NaNoWriMo.

Dear Diary and NaNoWriMo aren't really going to be doing much for me on the critical side of things. Pretty much, I'll just be churning out words for two months. Which is great to know how to do. But maybe I'll have to throw in some poems now and then, to give my brain a chance to exercise its critical muscles (during the revision and editing process, of course).

In any case, I'm really looking forward to this creative stuff, and I hope you, dear Reader, are too!

Next topic: Bad habits.

I hate them. And when I think about it, it would be so easy to just eradicate them. It should be easy.

But it's not.

Going to bed too late is a horrible habit I've picked up recently. Really, it's because I get distracted on the computer. Stupid computer! (Just kidding, I like you.) There's so much to see and do out there on the Inter-Webz, and sometimes it just gets to be too much. I've beent trying to be better, but I still end up really tired in the morning and it leads to another bad habit of being late to everything! I hate that one too. I miraculously arrived to English 2010 moments before my name was called on the roll this morning, but I think today might have been the only day I've been on time. Too many more tardies, and my grade will start going down. I know, it's so high school, isn't it? But I do like the small class sizes.

I think I just need to take more initiative and sorta... discipline myself. That's the obvious answer, right? I just need to set a bed time and stick to it. I need to say, "______ website will be there tomorrow. For now, I need my sleep."

I feel like a geek for talking about being addicted to the internet. *sigh* Oh well. At least I try to be productive with it. DeviantArt is the worst offender, and at least there I'm doing something somewhat worthwhile. Since joining, I really have been more motivated to create. It's nice to have a gathering place where I can share my stuff with all sorts of other artists and share in their creations as well.

Well, Reader, I might as well leave you with a slice of the internet pie that I have found to be particularly tasty and distracting. It's a Rhett and Link song. I apologize to those of you (like Rachel) who don't like them... because I think they're really funny and I identify somewhat with Link. :D Here 'tis. Enjoy.



Oh yeah. Here's their site, if you like.

Day 19

oh NO! I think my mouse might be dying. That's not good news. I'll have to go out and buy batteries. Which isn't the end of the world, but I was just at the store today! Ugh!

I bought some meat and made tacos. They weren't really tacos in my head... Abby (one of Rachel's roommates) put some refried beans and cheese on a corn tortilla today, and I decided I wanted to do the same, but with meat and not beans. So, went and bought some. And I also had tomatoes. So, I put some of those on too. By that time, I realized the only thing it was really missing was lettuce, aside from the fact that the taco shells were different from usual.

Anyway. Whatever I ate, they were good, and now I have a bunch of extra taco meat in my freezer for later consumption. Score.

This happened last night too, as I was coloring. I told Rachel, "I'm going to paint this, not just color it!" So, thinking I was engaging in something totally new to me, I started doing it and realized that really, I've always colored this way--the only difference is that now I use the smudge tool to even it out a bit more, and maybe use a few more colors. But it's still very different in my mind. However, one real difference in that for some reason, this method looks decent when I take away the lineart (the basic pencil outlines). I might try to do without, if I can. It's an experiment, and it's fun. And hey, it's art.

*sniff*... I failed at art time today. There was none. I feel bad. But it was a busy day. Tomorrow, I hope to make up for it.

Yeah, so as you might have guessed, I have a little money now, thanks to the way the SL county pays employees a full month later for work they do today. I mean, once you've been working for two months, you don't even notice... but when you quit, you get two more checks. It's kinda nice and I like it. And yet, I still need a job. I looked at the Flying J corporate office website... that place is right across the street and they do have a customer service rep job or two open... but I'm not even going to be here for very long anyway, so I'm wondering if that's the best idea. Maybe I'll just go work at the Burger King down the street. :(

Spanish class is going really well. I swear I've already learned more than I ever did in my three years of Spanish in jr. high and high school. What a waste. (Okay, not a waste... the prior knowledge does come in handy. A little.) This class is great... the teacher talks in only Spanish for long amounts of time, and helps us get meanings and stuff through context and usage. I think that's probably one of the best ways to do it, even if it can be a little confusing at first. But today, he was firing out questions in Spanish and I could understand them a lot better and faster than I ever have before.

I was also on a bit of a mean streak today. :( I said some mean things without realizing it, and I feel bad. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe it was because I hadn't eaten tacos in forever! Maybe I'm cured now.

I love my poetry class. The professor is hilarious. I don't think he puts much thought into his lessons, but it works out because he is obviously very passionate about poetry, so he has no problem just talking about it for an hour and a half. He always goes off on tangents and adds afterthoughts to stuff after he's already stopped talking about it. Today, he spent maybe a good half hour telling some random story about an Indian tribe attacking some Western settlers, like something you'd see in a Western film. The only connection to poetry was that hearing a certain beat (like the war drums of the Indians) remind us all of common things, and poets use ideas like that in the meter and rhythm of their poetry to achieve certain effects. But other than that, he was just going off on some wild imagination trip. It was fun, of course, and it illustrated the point, but it was just so unusual. Refreshing, really. We just sat back and listened as he told us about circling the wagons and flaming arrows and muskets and whatnot.

He's the director of the creative writing major. I'm happy.

My mom texted me today, and apparently, my family has been sick. It sounds bad. And I've been feeling a little sick the past few days. My nose has been running and I've been sneezing, maybe feeling a bit congested. But I've also been getting a lot of vitamin C, so I think I might be okay, if I keep it up. I really can't get sick. Not badly, anyway. It would just wreck stuff.

Dang, this post has been poorly constructed, and I'll be honest, I really don't like it at all. But, I'll post it anyway. It needs to be done. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep.

Yo tengo sueño.

Day 18

It's two in the morning, but I think I'd like to write a short post every day, to add my own little thoughts to the Blogosphere. I like how its become alive again with college experiences. Very cool. I want in. :)

Today started out awful (a continuation of last night's mess), but it got better as it went on. I really like having only two hour-long classes on MWF. It gives Rachel and me tons of time to work on homework or go shopping or whatever. Tuesdays and Thursdays are really busy, but it all balances out. We have learned, however, that its best to just schedule everything in the morning. Our classes tomorrow are scattered all across the day, and it sucks because you really can't just do anything, you're always in between one thing or another.

I've decided that I'm going to dedicate around two hours each and every single day to the creation of art (visual, poetry, fiction, etc). This is just personal me-time, and it's something I've discovered that I really don't want to live without. I need it. I guess I really am a true artist... there was this advertisement for an art college I got a while back that said something cool... it was like "have you ever wondered why you aren't quite like everybody else? Why you have this extra need to create, to express yourself?" I mean, it wasn't quite like that, but I totally understood what it was saying. Most people are satisfied with their music or talking to friends as ways to get happy and express themselves and move on with their day, but that's just not good enough sometimes. It's a blessing and a curse, I guess. But I wouldn't give it up for anything. I love it.

But yeah, art time today was good. I'm coloring something, and it's turning out well. Rachel seems open to the idea as well. I know she'll be happier if she feels like she's accomplishing something worthwhile.

I wrote a little mini-essay tonight for Critical Approaches I suppose I could share. I'm sorta proud of it, despite its youth. The paper says it should be four hundred words maximum. That sounds okay, but it sucks. I had so much more to say. This is around five hundred fifty anyway. Here it is. Good night, friends.

*

Justice and Suffering

Barn Burning by William Faulkner is a work of short fiction about a boy, his father, and a small moment in their lives when everything changed. It seems easy to draw a final conclusion about the characters after reading through it once; however, there are mysteries to be solved within the text that shed more light on the tale and its more universal human truths. Specifically, Barn Burning contains two contrasting ideas about justice and shows how the actions motivated by these ideals can bring about different types of suffering.

The first ideal is made quite obvious in the text. The boy, the son of the barn burner, shows apprehension about being called on to testify against his father in court. On page 1791, his thought “…(our enemy he thought in despair; ourn! mine and hisn both! He’s my father!)…” shows us that the boy needs to remind himself that he should be on his father’s side, and as we continue, we see that this is solely because he feels obligated to be a dutiful son and fears opposing his father. Later, the father accuses him of being willing to tell the truth, and the boy does not deny it; in fact, he adds, “If I had said they wanted only truth, justice, he would have hit me again” on page 1793. Finally, the boy attempts to prevent his father’s latest crime, but he ends up alone, wandering into the forest. His strong, innocent conscience ultimately brought about the demise of himself and his family.

While we can quickly assume that the father is the villain in this story, a closer look reveals ambiguities about him. On page 1793, the narrator reflects on the small size of the father’s campfires. He finally reveals the true reason behind them: “that the element of fire spoke… as the one weapon for the preservation of integrity… and hence to be… used with discretion.” The father was burning barns to preserve some sort of integrity, for some reason of principle. Likewise, the father acts throughout the story “without heat,” or without anger. If we apply the earlier reflection, we might deduce that the father uses his anger, life fire, with discretion. Later, on page 1796, after the visit to the de Spain house, the father remarks, “Pretty and white, ain’t it? That’s sweat. Nigger sweat. Maybe it ain’t white enough yet to suit him. Maybe he wants to mix some white sweat with it.” These hidden hints compose a more honorable vigilante-like portrait of the father. His view of justice is to take from the undeserving. As he does, he brings small doses of suffering to those he targets, as well as to his family, but he does not bring about death, as the boy’s actions do.

One took the obvious path of justice and strove to maintain the law, while the other operated on a deeper level of personal moral motivation. Whether or not the boy or the barn burner had the most correct view of justice, Barn Burning illustrates, through the use of both clear language and ambiguity, two opposing sides of this universal idea and their results.

Chunks

Truth = Fantasy. Truth = Nothing.

I've always had this fragile little happiness bubble, and when any little thing comes along, it can pop.

The world is a festering wound teeming with misery and disgust.

I think it's becoming increasingly clear that everyone I know, including myself, has some kind of major problem.
(I think I'm becoming a recluse or a social freak or maybe I'm losing my mind)

I can't make sense of why everything up here is so different.
(the cheese and hot dog buns are very crumbly)

[The people on the bus are funny.] [Why won't she say it?] [How can they be so comfortable?]





maybe its all god's joke anyway

.

Continuation

I'm back at home again. Our family had a little going-away party for my aunt and uncle. They're moving to California, only forty-five minutes away from the beach. It sounds nice. So, that's why I came back. I'm glad I supported them, but other than that, I would have liked to stay up at school.

Although, I did get the chance to go see Janese run in her first cross country meet this morning. It made me think of all the things Thatcher used to say about cross country. It seems like a lot of fun, but I'm glad I wasn't one of those runners today. Janese did... well, good. She was one of the last ones, but she's only been training for a week, the course was very difficult, and the other teams were larger, so they could afford to send their very best, whereas the T-ville team is pretty small. Janese is on varsity, and she's a sophomore and just joined about a week ago. But for being what it was, she did great. She finished, and not far behind the others. She has another one this Wednesday, and I guess the competition will be a little weaker, so that's good. She was excited and happy about it, so that's the important part. There was one girl somewhere in the middle who completely collapsed about twenty feet from the finish line... She tried getting back up, but her legs looked really weak, and she kept falling down. Other runners tried to help her get up a bit, but as soon as they left her side, she went back down. Concerned onlookers wanted to help her up, but everyone was saying, "Don't touch her, or she'll be disqualified!" She ended up crawling over the finish line, and then they got her a drink and let her rest and stuff. She just looked extremely tired and dehydrated. We saw her walking around afterwards, relaxing and talking with her teammates. I'm glad she was okay... for a moment, I wondered if she was going to just die. That would have been... extreme. And very sad.

Once again, being down here has made me feel a little less secure than I'd like to be. Part of me wonders if at college I'm actually abnormally self-confident of maybe even ignorant, and home is actually where the "real" me comes out. I'm not really sure. Funny things have been happening, but there's no real way of knowing which are good and which are bad. Well, some of them are obvious, but some are hard to nail down. I do know I've been learning more and thinking differently. I assume these are good things.

So, significant events of this past week. I need to talk to my poetry teacher, Professor Roghaar, about my major, to sort of make sure I'm on the right track. I should be just fine for now. I'm taking classes I need, either for the major, or just general ed stuff.

Rachel and I played some video games with my roommates the other day. It was fun. I know everyone has this idea that college is this big fun party-time and roommates are best friends and stuff like that. And maybe it's true for a lot of people, but so far, my college experience has been nothing like that at all.

For some reason, I suddenly feel like writing all of this is stupid. I'm really sorry all you get of me are these detatched rants and stupid things. I think maybe all of this hard examination of other peoples' writing is making me feel a little unwell.




not to mention the fact that i have a really hard time not being a freaking loser



.

Politics and Why They Suck

Hello.

So, it's been two weeks since I moved up here. Two weeks of college. It's been... enlightening. Exciting. Extreme.

It makes me a little sad to think that nobody's really going to read this. It's not very likely, anyway. The Blogosphere hasn't been quite as connected as it was in the past. Which is alright... I mean, I'm not really writing this stuff so all of you will read it. Mostly, it's for me. And that's the best reason to do it. I write this because I haven't been writing in my journal (boo, me). I write this because this is an important time in my life and I don't want to lose it.

I watched John McCain's speech yesterday. I don't really follow politics. I hate politics... there's never any right answers, and no matter what you do, you got half a million people telling you you're dead wrong. Who likes that? At least with English, you can say "this is what it means to me, and there's nothing you suckers can do about it!" With politics, things actually matter. Lives are at stake, people get angry, they want their jobs and their rights and their educational system and all sorts of complex stuff with no right answer.

So, needless to say, I really haven't been keeping up with the presidential race. I haven't registered to vote. When I say that, I feel like an ignorant dirtbag. The truth is, I would like to vote, but I'm not gonna do it just because I "should." At some point, I'd like to actually do some research about McCain and Obama and figure out which one I really do want to vote for. If I can't decide, I either won't vote or I'll vote for the socialists or something just to be funny (but it's not like anyone will even appreciate that... no one's gonna know who I voted for, right? Secret ballot and all that) (and are the socialists even an option on the ballot? Maybe I'll vote for Ralph Nader).

But John McCain is really seeming like the better choice right now. And not just because I listened to his speech and not Obama's. He just seems more mature. He's got experience, for crying out loud. Being GOP takes a bit of that, right? Plus, as far as I know, I think he made an awesome choice in picking a vice president. I love that she's an "unknown." I guess we all sorta like that underdog concept, right? The truth is, I bet she's genuine, or at least more genuine than half of those corrupted Washington whoevers over there making all these horrible decisions for our country. She was the governor of Alaska, after all. Maybe this is short-sighted, but how bad could she be? It's Alaska. So, I'm glad we might have (what seems to be) a real person with good moral values, genuinely interested in doing good things for America as Vice President. It's just sad that some people are blaming her for her daughter's pregnancy. Nobody is perfect in every way! Besides, it was her daughter's choice, not hers. Rachel mentioned yesterday that the Democratic peoples probably have all sorts of the same issues going on, but nobody mentions anything about that because they're all about personal rights and doing whatever you want, blah blah blah. Which is nice, sure. But it seems like a bit of a double standard to be harping on Palin for what her daughter did when it happens all the time and the democrats are supporting abortion and stuff because they don't want to be accountable for getting pregnant. Oh snap.

I guess I'm more Republican than I thought.

But I must say, I really don't know much at all about any of this. It's all hearsay for me. Maybe it's the Republicans who have a problem with it and the Democrats are actually being cool about it. I wouldn't know. I'd like to do some research, but probably not for a while.

Anyway. I'll probably write more later. *sigh* Writing about politics always seems to lead people into corners. I feel a little cornered by what I just wrote, haha. I feel like I have to continue defending myself, setting up little safeguards and clarifying everything I think you might misinterpret. What a waste, really. This is enough.

Class time! I'll be back later...