freaking awesome! I guess I just wish people would stop being idiots and not judge a book by it's cover. I'm a nice person with a kind heart and a creative imagination. I mean no one harm because I'm a pacifist. I don't like fighting period. Maybe this will enlighten some people on my story because lately, I'm sick and tired of dealing with idiots all the time.
I don't think of myself as being one of those super smart people who graduate high school early. I'm going to graduate with an advanced diploma with average grades at seventeen. I don't want anything more than that. I'm just tired of people acting stupid because they want to be cool. Well, they've had their chance, and now they need to leave me alone and find a different and not so oppressive hobby. Enough of this, I'm tired of ranting. Every time I rant it only makes me angrier. So, I'm going to work on some other things before I have to go to bed. I'm probably going to have a crappy day tomorrow because I have to find my new locker. Instead of where it should be, I have to go find it somewhere. I just hope someones stuff isn't sitting in there when I open it. Anyway, I've got to go. I'll type at this more tomorrow or whenever I can get back on. Aufwiedersehen!
Tuesday September 13, 2010:
I wrote something for my Creative Writing class the other day, I found it here at school and I decided that it was special enough to add to this little journal of mine. So, here it is:
My eyes glazed over. Life itself seemed to slow down when I drifted off
into the depths of my own mind. Certain words or phrases were the only
things I could hear while in that hypnotic state. Flashes of color.
Brilliant crystal clear images from the bowels of my mind were the only
things I could actually see. Not to mention that the voices I heard
were simply my own in different tones. Nothing was the same; everything
had its own uniqueness. Just as I had began to explore the imagination
my mind had to hold, the loud laughter from my friend brought me out of
hypnosis.
Life is too short to spend so much time on one long concept unless one
had already consented to the learning of new things. When one subject
doesn’t spark interest, one’s mind may wander into the deepest places
of the brain, where true ideas become real. Yet, life is too short for
most things we, as humans, spend our times doing. Many people never
live to fulfill the dreams they had as a child, and this can be very
frustrating on one’s mind. The things society tells people are more
often than not wrong. Go against the flow, and one may find true
happiness when they do what they think is right.
Right, or wrong? This is very confusing. Thoughts were constantly
screaming at me as if they were part of a giant debate between the left
and the right side of my brain. The left side yelled that the pictures
that my hand was drawing needed to be more logical rather than artistic
from the right side of my brain. It’s always a fight, and it’s always
confusing. They both have convincing arguments. Slow breathing. That’s
all I needed to quell their obnoxious fighting. The struggle began to
subside, and my mind was still pondering the lines on the paper. What
would go next?
Art is always a fight between the left and right sides of my brain.
Where the logical side says no, the creative side says yes and they get
into this huge fight that seems to control how my hand moves the pencil
across the paper. While my handwriting suffers, my artwork seems to
come out okay. My mind works in different ways depending on the
situation. When in a highly intelligent discussion, my right side of my
brain completely shuts off and the logical part takes over completely.
The same goes for when I get into a highly creative situation and so
on, but when I have to use both at the same time, it becomes such a
hassle just to figure out how to immerse them into one another. They
never want to cooperate. When I write there’s something creative, then
there’s something logical, and to me it just looks like a whopping heap
of garbage. To others, it may be a total mountain of awesome-ness.
The Swastika. It sat there as a statement to all those Jewish, and it
always meant hate. I felt my face heat up with fury. Someone close to
me knew this, and it’s just what I feared. What they may have showed on
the outside, they clearly didn’t show unless prompted to. I wiped the
hate with my hand. Oh how it burned my skin. It was almost as if their
hate was burned directly into the wall of the attic of my apartment
complex; it was almost as if their hate had broken my heart.
I’ve dealt with things like this before. My religion, not that it
should matter to most people, matters a lot to me when dealing with a
hater. People, who hate, have demons inside. They never understand how
much they’ve hurt themselves until no one talks to them anymore. People
with sense never do things like this to others. It may sting for a
while in my heart, but it never leaves the walls of my mind. Just like
it does to any other member of any religion, people will retaliate in
the worst ways possible. Hindu believers won’t tolerate someone burning
their book of worship, what if they burned the most common book of
worship in the United States? Hate itself is a disease that spreads
faster than any wildfire, or epidemic. It really pays to think about
their reaction before doing something that might cause extreme pain for
someone else.
There was the camouflage bus, waiting for the signal to leave. The
darkness of the night was only repelled by the street-lamps that hung
over the black rivers like trees. My father looked at me from the
window at his seat on the bus. His eyes screamed sadness and the sense
that he would miss us. My eyes were already screaming by the time the
bus sputtered, and spat out exhaust smoke from the tail-end. Hot tears
rand down my rosy cheeks as the bus drove out into the frighteningly
curious darkness of mother night.
It’s been a while since my dad has left our household for more than
three weeks. I am very glad of that. I love my father dearly, and I
don’t think any amount of yelling on his part will deter my love for
him. He’s been the solid word of law in our house, and his ways have
taught my brother and I responsibility, problem solving, and a system
to get things done. What I really don’t want to ever have to experience
is him leaving. I’ve already lost about three years of quality time
with my dad as a result to the military, but I also understand that it
was his choice. He taught me to see both sides of every situation, and
I do, because it makes sense. My father has taught me a lot of things
that will set me up for success every time I use them. I really
appreciate all that he’s done for me because of that time that I’ve
lost with him. Pretty soon I’ll be losing more when I graduate from
high school and go to college, so I spend any amount of time with my
dad cherishing every single moment because that’s all that I have with
him.
Walking. There he went, walking down the sidewalk with his grey
backpack on. All of the other high school graduates were walking in the
same direction but he was the only one that stood out. His brown hair
flipped to one side as he turned his head to look back at us. My vision
of him became warped as my eyes grew wet with tears. There he goes, my
big brother growing up, I thought. I didn’t want to lose him for good,
but it had to be that way. Once we graduate high school, we go our
separate ways. From there on, our actions do the telling.
My brother is probably the only member of my immediate family that I
share near-to-everything with. It really ripped a hole in my chest when
I watched him walk away from me when all I could do was stand and
stare. I really wanted to run after him and hold onto him as tight as I
could while making his shirt wet with my tears. The house is so lonely
now that he’s gone, and all I can do is sit in his room and cry. I
never wanted either of us to grow up. We always talked about what if we
could live forever, what would it be like and such. This really makes
me wonder what it would be like if life never had to be so short; if I
could spend the rest of my life exploring the world as it aged with my
best friend ever. It’s been very hard trying to let him go, and every
once in a while I find myself calling his name in the house, trying to
get his attention to ask him a question or just wanting to talk.
Instead I have to remember that he’s not here, and remember that his
room is empty so that I can just go upstairs and finish my work. This
is who I am, and who I was made to be.
I don't think of myself as being one of those super smart people who graduate high school early. I'm going to graduate with an advanced diploma with average grades at seventeen. I don't want anything more than that. I'm just tired of people acting stupid because they want to be cool. Well, they've had their chance, and now they need to leave me alone and find a different and not so oppressive hobby. Enough of this, I'm tired of ranting. Every time I rant it only makes me angrier. So, I'm going to work on some other things before I have to go to bed. I'm probably going to have a crappy day tomorrow because I have to find my new locker. Instead of where it should be, I have to go find it somewhere. I just hope someones stuff isn't sitting in there when I open it. Anyway, I've got to go. I'll type at this more tomorrow or whenever I can get back on. Aufwiedersehen!
Tuesday September 13, 2010:
I wrote something for my Creative Writing class the other day, I found it here at school and I decided that it was special enough to add to this little journal of mine. So, here it is:
My eyes glazed over. Life itself seemed to slow down when I drifted off
into the depths of my own mind. Certain words or phrases were the only
things I could hear while in that hypnotic state. Flashes of color.
Brilliant crystal clear images from the bowels of my mind were the only
things I could actually see. Not to mention that the voices I heard
were simply my own in different tones. Nothing was the same; everything
had its own uniqueness. Just as I had began to explore the imagination
my mind had to hold, the loud laughter from my friend brought me out of
hypnosis.
Life is too short to spend so much time on one long concept unless one
had already consented to the learning of new things. When one subject
doesn’t spark interest, one’s mind may wander into the deepest places
of the brain, where true ideas become real. Yet, life is too short for
most things we, as humans, spend our times doing. Many people never
live to fulfill the dreams they had as a child, and this can be very
frustrating on one’s mind. The things society tells people are more
often than not wrong. Go against the flow, and one may find true
happiness when they do what they think is right.
Right, or wrong? This is very confusing. Thoughts were constantly
screaming at me as if they were part of a giant debate between the left
and the right side of my brain. The left side yelled that the pictures
that my hand was drawing needed to be more logical rather than artistic
from the right side of my brain. It’s always a fight, and it’s always
confusing. They both have convincing arguments. Slow breathing. That’s
all I needed to quell their obnoxious fighting. The struggle began to
subside, and my mind was still pondering the lines on the paper. What
would go next?
Art is always a fight between the left and right sides of my brain.
Where the logical side says no, the creative side says yes and they get
into this huge fight that seems to control how my hand moves the pencil
across the paper. While my handwriting suffers, my artwork seems to
come out okay. My mind works in different ways depending on the
situation. When in a highly intelligent discussion, my right side of my
brain completely shuts off and the logical part takes over completely.
The same goes for when I get into a highly creative situation and so
on, but when I have to use both at the same time, it becomes such a
hassle just to figure out how to immerse them into one another. They
never want to cooperate. When I write there’s something creative, then
there’s something logical, and to me it just looks like a whopping heap
of garbage. To others, it may be a total mountain of awesome-ness.
The Swastika. It sat there as a statement to all those Jewish, and it
always meant hate. I felt my face heat up with fury. Someone close to
me knew this, and it’s just what I feared. What they may have showed on
the outside, they clearly didn’t show unless prompted to. I wiped the
hate with my hand. Oh how it burned my skin. It was almost as if their
hate was burned directly into the wall of the attic of my apartment
complex; it was almost as if their hate had broken my heart.
I’ve dealt with things like this before. My religion, not that it
should matter to most people, matters a lot to me when dealing with a
hater. People, who hate, have demons inside. They never understand how
much they’ve hurt themselves until no one talks to them anymore. People
with sense never do things like this to others. It may sting for a
while in my heart, but it never leaves the walls of my mind. Just like
it does to any other member of any religion, people will retaliate in
the worst ways possible. Hindu believers won’t tolerate someone burning
their book of worship, what if they burned the most common book of
worship in the United States? Hate itself is a disease that spreads
faster than any wildfire, or epidemic. It really pays to think about
their reaction before doing something that might cause extreme pain for
someone else.
There was the camouflage bus, waiting for the signal to leave. The
darkness of the night was only repelled by the street-lamps that hung
over the black rivers like trees. My father looked at me from the
window at his seat on the bus. His eyes screamed sadness and the sense
that he would miss us. My eyes were already screaming by the time the
bus sputtered, and spat out exhaust smoke from the tail-end. Hot tears
rand down my rosy cheeks as the bus drove out into the frighteningly
curious darkness of mother night.
It’s been a while since my dad has left our household for more than
three weeks. I am very glad of that. I love my father dearly, and I
don’t think any amount of yelling on his part will deter my love for
him. He’s been the solid word of law in our house, and his ways have
taught my brother and I responsibility, problem solving, and a system
to get things done. What I really don’t want to ever have to experience
is him leaving. I’ve already lost about three years of quality time
with my dad as a result to the military, but I also understand that it
was his choice. He taught me to see both sides of every situation, and
I do, because it makes sense. My father has taught me a lot of things
that will set me up for success every time I use them. I really
appreciate all that he’s done for me because of that time that I’ve
lost with him. Pretty soon I’ll be losing more when I graduate from
high school and go to college, so I spend any amount of time with my
dad cherishing every single moment because that’s all that I have with
him.
Walking. There he went, walking down the sidewalk with his grey
backpack on. All of the other high school graduates were walking in the
same direction but he was the only one that stood out. His brown hair
flipped to one side as he turned his head to look back at us. My vision
of him became warped as my eyes grew wet with tears. There he goes, my
big brother growing up, I thought. I didn’t want to lose him for good,
but it had to be that way. Once we graduate high school, we go our
separate ways. From there on, our actions do the telling.
My brother is probably the only member of my immediate family that I
share near-to-everything with. It really ripped a hole in my chest when
I watched him walk away from me when all I could do was stand and
stare. I really wanted to run after him and hold onto him as tight as I
could while making his shirt wet with my tears. The house is so lonely
now that he’s gone, and all I can do is sit in his room and cry. I
never wanted either of us to grow up. We always talked about what if we
could live forever, what would it be like and such. This really makes
me wonder what it would be like if life never had to be so short; if I
could spend the rest of my life exploring the world as it aged with my
best friend ever. It’s been very hard trying to let him go, and every
once in a while I find myself calling his name in the house, trying to
get his attention to ask him a question or just wanting to talk.
Instead I have to remember that he’s not here, and remember that his
room is empty so that I can just go upstairs and finish my work. This
is who I am, and who I was made to be.
