 |
|
The Topic of the Day is: Wednesday, September 20, 2006 | |
| w | w |
I like the way that blogger's posting system has the label of "create" To click it is to begin something that is more than simply words to feed the great soulless void of Internetspace... to start somewhere, a blank page hungry in its own way. I found a fragment of the sky the other day. I wanted to hold it in my hand, to take a picture--I wish I could capture it. But a picture removes all the details and blurs the memory to generic. It is not specific enough. What my eye sees are moments, breaths of existence. I observe things as beautiful. The camera, all unmoved by shards of glass and silver backing, dissipates the essence of what was seen, removes those aspects that make the moment steal a cold little gasp from my lips. The ice wind, sending ripples through my skirt and raising goosebumps down my arms. The feeling of rain awakening every nerve in my skin, rousing inches of me that are never noticed--on my throat, behind the ears. The inner elbow, the very edge of the palm, in between each toe, the very tips of the fingers. Crisp leaves reeking of decay, the rasping, satisfying sound of something harsh disintegrated under foot, the whispering scratch of each curled, dead splotch across the pavement. There's nothing that can evoke the sensation without experiencing it again. I cannot take a picture of the wind off the lake and the power it gives me when it flows under my arms and around my neck, like a cloak gathered and billowing off around me. I cannot record sufficiently the hunger of the lake, ravenous and pushing at its shore, the sound of the waves approaching. I skipped rocks and with each double splash I felt as if I had never lived before that moment. The creepy sensation of feeling dirty, of having fine substance in contact with minute portions of skin, from the handful of small rocks and squishy mud and filthy kelp. How can I explain how my lips tasted after the long walk, the feathered texture against my tongue and the strange satisfaction of applying moistness to their length? You know this feeling but there is nothing more to it THAN the feeling. It is not enough to say that this looked like this and that felt like that. It was only in living it that I felt poetry. That I felt alive. . . Ballroom dancing lessons are entertaining, and I am happy when my feet ache after the two hours on Monday nights. Yet, practice on Wednesdays is painful. Not physically, but everything I do there, it seems that I am on the outside looking in again. Not an expert, and never going to be part of it. How can I be an expert if I don't try? And yet when I could be 'trying' I sit back in mere apathy and seek nothing. Where is my motivation? Everything I feel, every urge to "do" is so mild and inconstant. I am most motivated to do my homework and study about an hour before class... and most of that is guilt at not having done it already. I can daydream blazingly but when I sit down to write ideas and storylines flit by, insubstantial, and I lazily attempt to catch them and usually fail. I end up doing things that require no thought, no effort... watching anime, reading my own works... I already know how they're going to end and I like to look at the shiny words... frustrating. On the other hand, I did all but finish my astrophysics homework (a whole day and a half before it's due!); I just have to plug in numbers and rewrite it neatly. And I did a fair portion of the online homework for math, which isn't actually due but is pretty informative. And I tried perhaps 8-10 math exercises before I got stuck. that doesn't mean I still don't have a lot to do. No, you won't get the list here; I've learned not to publish those. Maybe I'll have internet this week. joys. shout out to Gretchen in Ireland, biznatch. teh heart. :D and Louise and Patrick for the fun time Saturday too. oh, yeah, and Jackie cause she's a whore :o I've been thinking a lot about several topics. These mainly include: what I want to do with my life; about being a twin; about love; and about my body. I could rant for pages on each of these, but let it suffice to say that things... puzzle me sometimes, frustrate me others.... make me wish for--... things I don't even know about. *sigh* |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
My Other Writing Sites | |
|
 |
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Webcomics | |
|
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Stories I'm currently working on. | |
|
|
***Tbook1 (Time and Chaos, needs a new name, needs to be edited) ***Book of Sun (Just needs to be edited. Tis a Nano novel) ***Book of Whispers part 1 (Does not jive at all with part 2; needs to be rewritten to fit and to have less suckage) ***Book of Whispers part 2 (Needs some rehaul editing, needs some loose ends tied up, needs to fit) ***Book of Whispers part 3 (Needs to be finished... then needs to die o.o Not sure if I need a third part in the series) ***Dium's Story (Needs a point, progress, anything... needs to be integrated into Tbook1, since that is what it is a part of, mainly) ***Trio Story with Jackie and Louise (Maybe we should get together and work on this, guys) ***Demon Story (This is working out pretty good so far. I like the plot, it's a bit convoluted, and the characters are interesting) ***New Witch Story (It's only 30 pages long, dang) ***Dragon's Voices (This has SO much potential! wee!) | |
|
|
|
|
1 Comments:
*smile*
let's point out the sizeable portion of beautiful prose, followed by saying you never sit down and make beautiful things???
<3
Ireland is beautiful, but so is home. I think the more places one goes, the more likely one is to realise that one is learning to take one's home and heart with one, and simply to feel in all moments. Of course, this is an invaluable life skill which one can also learn at home, as I see you're doing.
Post a Comment
<< Home