10/5/11

I can only just remember standing, gazing, breathing down the nape of the neck of the Nile. Immense water pivoted downstream, carrying the reflection of my eyes and the heat of the sun upon the surface. Reeds shattered the waters surface in hues of yellows, like fire upon smooth stone. Grains of sand burrowed themselves deep into my palm, nearly invisible but harsh to the touch. Sand glittered underneath a deep crimson dawn that eclipsed over the far away horizon. A new day was burning.

Breaking through seas of crystalline, fine white dirt towered a kingdom, hidden in shadows at the deep darkness of noon. This was a kingdom unparalleled, the mother of all cities, the father of all societies. Bathed in stone, birthed under the ever watchful sun, she sought to bring forwards revolution before the word had been spoken.

In my palm, I held a single perfectly carved limestone shard, so finite that the pressure of my grip crumbled it to old dust. This kingdom was dead.

10/3/11

"Oh, not again," Jimmy sighed. His skeletons just refused to stay in that closet. He would hear a distant thump from the closet, open the door, and they would all come tumbling down, bones falling on the nice carpet. They just refused to stay on their hangers. They insisted on annoying him. He had things to do that didn't involve sweeping shattered vertebrae into a dustpan.

Jimmy glanced at his desk. Next to his clock a lone skull flickered in the waning light, the eye sockets gleaming ivory white where, once, eyes rolled. It held a macabre, eternal grin just for Jimmy. It reminded him of the face it once held, and he would smile back. This skull didn't belong in the closet, shoved away into corners stocked with cobwebs. It was the mantle piece, his most prized possession.

Jimmy heard a loud commotion from upstairs. He let out an exasperated, laughing sigh. Those skeletons just won't stay put! He trod up the stairs, flipping on the light switch to illuminate the depths of the corridor. The closet door hung wide open on bloody hinges, filled with emptiness. With a crooked hand clasped on the door, a skeleton, standing slate white, gazed at Jimmy without eyes.

"I told you to stay put," Jimmy whispered.

9/29/11

I can't stop laughing whenever Tim is around. We had to have been some of the most mischievous people at Vantage Point when we were together. We would play secret agents in the hallway and once I had to sling my arm around him and heave him back to Konstantin's class once because he got 'hit'. Konstantin was less than impressed. There was also the time when we made Maura scream when we jumped out at her from behind a door. I'm sure she remembers that well. We would do things like crawl under the desks in the library and hide. The other day, he came back afterschool and just like old times, we played secret agents again and I almost blew our cover because I couldn't stop laughing. It's a rare time that a person can keep a smile on my face that's not there merely because I want to humor them. Tim's one of those rare few that sees the real me. We were both alone at Vantage Point. Tim had people he knew, but no real friends. I just had no friends.We were soon inseparable. He may be gone now but I'll see more of him. There's always more Tim to go around.

The Real Meaning of Life Video

The first part of the video annoyed me. I used to have those thoughts, long ago. I'm cynical, sure, but I draw the line between cynicism and aged sentimentality. I hate it when people complain that the past was better or that this generation is composed of idiots, that this generation is the worst yet. You don't think anyone else has thought this about their generation, years ago, only to live and die next to revolutionaries? The past wasn't always better, in fact, the further back you go, the worse things get in terms of technology and the advancement of society. Watch yourself grow up hating your generation, only to be old and start to wish for the past, for the generation you forsook, when people were good and times were easier.

I enjoyed the optimism in the second part of the video, it was refreshing. I'm not cynical when it comes to the future. History has proven that with time, situations improve with the advancement of science and knowledge. The future will be different, but fearing what's different will only harm society, not advance it.

Most of this video, for me, bubbles down to individual choice. One person does not define a whole generation of people; you can choose to be optimistic and let the rest of your generation drown themselves in self pity. One choice you make will not represent your generation as a whole (unless you're rich and/or famous). One group of horrible people cannot represent a whole population of good people. Watch our generation be like every one before us-the technology changes, the whole society changes, but our words and our thoughts are the same when stripped of time and place.

09/19/11

This weekend, my mom, my dad and I went up to a house in the mountains that my grandparents built. I've been going there ever since I was a baby, and my mom since she was a kid herself. It's a very relaxing, serene place. It's fairly remote, there are neighbors one house to the side and a couple other houses, but other than that, it's just the endless woods. You can go days without seeing a soul. In the winter, the only warmth in the house comes from the old woodstove, which uses logs and matches.

After a night of relaxing and reading books, my dad and I went up to a ghost town nearby Idaho Springs. The road was dirt most of the way, and teetered over the edge. Near the top, you could see I-70 miles and miles below, the cars insignificant dots upon a green landscape. In the ghost town, there were several stone foundations and a partly burnt Victorian house. People did still live in the ghost town, and they even promoted tourism with a "ghost town frisbee course". It's rare to find a truly abandoned town, though I've been to a few.

After the ghost town, all of us went around the Georgetown Railroad Loop, a large set of tracks that looped around Silver Plume and back to Georgetown. The train was an old steam engine and ran with the beautiful stench of exhaust, the smoke filtering through the sunlight in the trees, casting skinny rays of light.

It was a fun weekend, though I was more than happy to come home and relax on my laptop.

9/7/11

When I daydream I become a skinchanger. I'm no longer limited by the restraints of my body, instead, I can drift free through the air and become anything-a building, an animal, another person. 

The bounds of reality don't apply anymore, extending to the endless sky or the endless sea. 

Daydreaming reminds me of creating things in the DromEd game editor-the sky seems to go on forever, until you bang your head on the ceiling.

Daydreaming is exploration of the mind that's limited due to the physical restraints of the shell we're born in.

You can kill a man with your mind, but it does not physically happen in real life. Some people think they can turn their thoughts into wine, but most people without a mental disorder can see the boundary between reality and the unreal.

I like to think that anything you can think of and dream does, indeed, exist, because it exists in your mind. That doesn't make me crazy, right? Right.

8/31/11

   My favorite place is in the dark and dim, with the arid stench of decay and echoes of danger in your ears. I'm not home until I'm lost.

My favorite sound is the slow rumble of gears, the lurching power of industry so loud my skin shivers from the noise.

My favorite way to relax is to come home to my lizards, to beady eyes and cocking heads, to the soft warmth of white scales.

-
The Fool

The fool capers in hallways of marble, his japes freezing like stone in icy air. The masquerade is filled with flurries of reds and yellows and deep purples, yet his face is empty and glaring in the lieu of such color, the fool who did not wear a mask. Yet in the light he shines the brightest of all, bathed in gold and crimson.

"Am I the fool?" He asks to a crowd of secrets.

"Do not I wear the true mask?"
-

8/29/11

 I am a shade, a haunt bathed in orange light and cast shivering into the shadows. I know the crevices of the night, every twist and turn, through gray paths and dimly lit darkness. Music is my guide, the sweet melody of every crescendo to lead me home. If I am not lost, whether in thoughts or streets, it is not worth the trouble.

I am a phantom, seen by many, but a stranger to all. Whether barefoot or boot clad, alone or high in spirit, I toil through the tumultuous rain, I dance underneath thunder, and laugh through sunlight. In the deep, encompassing silence of snow, my footprints are all that remain.

Search the corners that turn a thousand times over and you will not find me. These are my streets, my corners, my asphalt composed of a billion dreams, each one unique to the night and time. I will never stray off of my path, so long as the stars remain to shine in the sky.

In the deep of my troubles, I take the longest road, which never ends.

"Write a letter to Maura"

 Dear Maura,


     My life has changed a lot in a small amount of time, and likely will continue to do so. The things I list here I may be bored with in the future, but for now, I hope you find them interesting. Firstly, I love urban exploring nearly most of everything I do. Urban exploring is the art of going to forbidden or closed off places, such as abandoned buildings or drain tunnels (I'm not much for draining, myself) and, it could be added, taking pictures. You have seen some of my pictures that I've taken already, though I've gone to many places since then. I think my love for this odd hobby comes from my love of history, because many of the old buildings I visit have a lot of history. History has to be my favorite subject, and so far my plan is to major in history in college. I love English history most of all, and it's been my dream to someday move to England, which may take awhile, though I'll be studying abroad there next year (hopefully). Another thing I want you to know about me is that I plan to make something out of my life. I've seen so many hopeless people who stay in the same place their whole lives, which gives them a sense of security, but I don't want security. I want to feel unsafe, to take risks. Mainly, however, I want to live in the world outside of America, because in my experience most Americans are isolated from the outside world. I'd hate to live in a bubble my whole life, I think I might suffocate.

One of my goals for life is to publish a book. A daunting task, yes, but I'm dedicated to it. Publishing is ridiculously difficult, but if I even sold five copies that would suit me (not including copies purchased by relatives/friends). I've always had a way with words, such as in this poem I wrote when I was nine:

My poor cousin Jane
She was nine
She was hit by a land mine

I've never strayed from the grisly details, as shown here. I'm not saying I'll be different from any other author, even as fluent as the language in my stories is, I have much to learn about writing as well as about history. The biggest dedication in my life is to learning, and unlike most teenagers, I don't fear an afternoon of reading boring things.

Something I'm looking forwards to in this writing class is the writing (duh) but mostly the fact that it's an eighth hour class, so that I can relax and just write my to my heart's content. Often by eighth hour I'm stressed and annoyed, and through writing I can let go of all of my troubles. Something I'm worried about is that the grammar lessons will all be review, though it never hurts to re-learn things. No one's a perfect writer, not even published authors. I also hope that the prompts won't be too boring. Even if they are, however, I'll do my best to make them interesting in my own way.

Sincerely,

Ericka