The loss of grey…

Black or white, they demand a choice
One or the other, they scream
And we panic

Now or then, they say
New or old, they question
We are lost

You must abandon one, says he
For the two cannot exist
We fall

What then is grey, we ask
Nothing more than dreams, says the air
We cry

Was is there to do
How much time passes here
Before we die

Eternity I suppose, says she
Defeated and confused
We are torn

Tell me what to choose, she begs
Which one leads us there
Which is right

The two wont blend, we plead
And colorless we end
Undecided

Help me, she begs
Color streaming down the facade
We lose it all

And now…

For some reason, I feel like writing. Maybe it is because of the guilt I have been experiencing for ignoring my blog, maybe it is the music I am listening to, maybe it is because I am in a really weird mood that is really happy, excited, sad, and a little scared (oddly enough, not for the future, but for the past…somebody else’s past…but that is another story. Or maybe a poem.) Whatever the reason is, I am surprised writing is the thing I want to do. I’ve certainly been getting a lot of practice in. It is the Thursday of my third week of college. I have been here for a month and four days. This place, the city, the people, the school, the grass, the trees, the ancient buildings with stories to tell, they make me feel at home. My classes are wonderful. My professors are brilliant. Well, at least one of them is. Steven teaches my philosophy class. He makes me want to major in it…and to be honest I am considering it. I love being able to think about questions that don’t have an answer. And I especially love arguing about it. Though, I don’t really know what my career would be. I love teaching people, but I don’t know if I could get up in front of a class of a hundred people every day. I suppose I could write books, but that is a pretty major gamble. I am not sure if my words are interesting enough for people to purchase.
I also like the freedom that comes with such a life. I like being able to choose. I feel like I get to be myself. The only downside, the money. Money goes fast and it worries me. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be one of those people who has everything paid for. They are fortunate, yes, but I don’t know if I would choose that. I feel like my worry, and the fact that my situation isn’t guaranteed makes me want it more. It makes me earn it. I makes me appreciate it. I don’t know if it will turn out to be true, but I feel as if I am making something of my life. I feel like I have worth because my decisions have gotten me this far. Not the desire or will of others.
I think that is decent enough for an update. I am going to try and write more often, at least once a week from now on. No blog should be neglected.

an interesting observation and future outlook

I am laying here in bed listening to the sound of cars passing by playing along to the melody of the thousands of chirping crickets in the field next to my house. A sort of urban rural orchestra. I have too much on my mind to sleep, though logic says I should. Tonight, logic shall be ignored. I’ve been away from home for about a month. The reasons why are complicated…but I’ve returned for the weekend. After being gone so long I had forgotten what this place was like. I began to miss it. But now that I am back in this all too familiar setting I have returned to longing for that escape. My entire life has been spent waiting for the day when my life will become my own. I am still waiting, and growing impatient….”they know not what they do.” Too many parents oppress their children. Bleed them dry. Force their cracked bodies into the molds carefully crafted by parental hands. But for what? What have they accomplished in the end but the worst kind of slaughter? Children spend their days waiting for their chance to leave home. Or maybe it is the other way around. Maybe they spend their days not waiting to leave but rather to find home. I think that is what I am waiting for. My chance to find home. To do it on my own. To earn my existence. To celebrate my own independence day. A day I am sure to remember just as much as I rember today. Happy fourth.

These are a few of my favourite things…

Spending a few days at the coast is always a pleasant change from my everyday routine. This is probably one of my favorite places. Too often I find myself staring out the window at the waves rolling in from the dark cold endless sea. It makes me feel small and insignificant and I realize how important everything is. That feeling of being so small, like you might simply disappear while walking alone along the pulsing water, is one of my favorites. I find it comforting to know that my existence is minor and I don’t matter unless I want to. I like knowing that my importance relies on me and me alone. I feel safe knowing that we are alone in this world and I am amazed that organised chaos has created such a perfect world. The coast seems to be a place where man kind’s deterioration of the world has been held at bay.

Bleh…

It is amazing how I can sit here for an hour, staring at my homework…and yet I never actually touch it. You would think I would get tired of procrastination but I think that my music playing in the back ground kind of lulls my conscience to sleep. Luckily I don’t have much to do tonight, just physics reading and finishing up my fourth concentration drawing. I don’t know why, and it seems so contradictory to me, but all of my AP classes, with the exception of physics, are so ridiculously easy that my attendance is not required to pass. Calculus has been the same lesson every day since September and I havent even touched the homework since October. AP Lit would be a good class if my teacher was equipped to teach. She is an incredibly kind person but she is confused. AP art is easy enough in that I don’t struggle, but it takes a lot of time and effort. It has sort of become my release. It is the part of my day that I look forward to. What would I be without my art?

Time for something new?

Somebody told me I need to start writing new things, rather than posting ones from the past. I think he is write. From here on out, that is exactly what I will do.

We Turn The Wheel

Listen close and listen hard,
For there sounds a rhythm,
Cold and harsh,
Of the cogs that spin the world.
And at the front we stand,
We turn the wheel.

Molded faces replicate,
From repetitive closing doors.
Left and right,
Their feet do march,
In thousands of organized lines.
We turn the wheel.

Mechanical wars and degraded love,
Plague our electronic lives.
Here and there,
The data soars overhead,
And the buzzing fills our ears.
We turn the wheel.

The hands of clocks spin ’round again,
And our faces turn away.
Tik and tok,
Our existences slide away.
Through tortured screams and silent cries,
We turn the wheel.

Listen close and listen hard,
For there sounds a rhythm,
Cold and harsh,
Of the cogs that spin the world.
And at the front we stand,
We turn the wheel.

Primped, preened, pressed, polished, and perfected…

I am but one of billions…billions of fresh off the press “human beings”. I have a problem with that term being applied to the race as a whole. We are not all human beings…humans, yes….beings, no. In order to be classified as a “being”, one must first learn to “be”. In order to “be”, one must think, create, and express. These are abilities that society has not managed to incorporate into the mold that it uses to form its “humans”. Our world, glorified in symmetry and perfect rhythm and meter, has lost much of its uniqueness. Our last real hope lies in art…the epitome of expression. Art is the human soul in physical form, be it poetry, music, drawings, or a mediocre blog post. But the soul is not good for business…it creates controversy. It must be perfected. Cogs work relentlessly to power the steam press that irons out the wrinkles of creativity. They wrap us in a stark white shroud and tell us it is right. They give us rules to follow. Iambic pentameter. Thesis statements. Colour schemes. They tell us which is right and which is wrong…They move our jaws to produce mainstream words. The move our hands to create safe art. They stop our hearts to save the world from poetry. They keep us safe. I don’t want to be safe. I want to risk my life with every word I write. I want someone to disapprove of every drawing I produce. I want mothers to scoff at my music. I want society to cast a judgemental eye. I refuse to be part of the machine, pumping out calculations of how we are to live our lives. I refuse to be one of billions. I am one of one. I am one. I am. I. Am. One.

We had an agreement :P

Today is Valentine’s day, a day I have spent my entire life critising. This particular year is a bit different though, in that it is the first year that I have had someone to share it with. Still, I don’t like valentine’s day…it is too commercial and I don’t think people should need a national holiday as an excuse to dosomething nice for the person they love. So my boyfriend and I decided to treat it like any other day. We had an agreement. But being the sneaky sweetheart that he is, he got me something anyway. I am probably a bad girlfriend for not getting him anything, but here is an excerpt from my manic mind:
For the first time in my life I feel like I have something to lose…as if I must tread lightly, for one wrong step would make me lose you. I feel fortunate to have that to fear. I have a man who loves me, and tells me so everyday. I have a voice to keep me company while I lay alone at night. I have a hand to keep mine warm, and two arms to hold me close when the world turns upside down, and as everything around me falls victim to gravity, I know those arms won’t let go. And I have a heart to match my own, to make mine skip a beat and then march in perfect time with his. I have all of this to lose, but for now I am holding it tight, because for the first time I can hold it up and say it is mine.
(I am sorry I didn’t get you a Valentine’s day present, but I have a gift for you anyway. It is not for this day, it is simply a coincidence that I am telling you about it today. I say “telling you” because in all truth, I have already given it to you. So here is my gift: I give you my heart, and I will continue to give it to you everyday until you decide you no longer want it.)

The Symphony

Click one, click two;
Spin ’round for once.
It has begun,
Played at chance,
The solemn hymn.
They rise to dance.

Step one, step two;
Spin ’round for twice.
The tune picks up.
No choice be found,
Feet move quick.
Harmonic sound.

Click three, click four;
Spin ’round for thrice.
The band joins in,
Symphony found.
Violins creep;
Drums surround.

Step three, step last;
Spin ’round again.
Stumbling, tripping,
The dance be failed.
The sickened tune,
The Melody ailed.

Click five, click six;
Spin ’round once more.
The last are gone.
The symphony pounds.
The floor is deserted,
Save lifeless mounds.

Click seven, click none;
Spin ’round not now.
Mutilated melodies,
Stopped be will.
Tune complete;
All is still.