Stories and fairytales

Must-see article.

The Shoestring Philanthropist rocks in my opinion! Maybe instead of studying with a bunch of different religions like the Amish, Quakers, and Buddhists when I come of age, I'll become a shoestring philanthropist for a few years :)

As I wrote in my journal after pasting the article in; 
"the article proves that it is the little things that count, and we can make things better on a much wider level than we'd ever thought. 
"That's beautiful.
"But then again, I think almost everything is beautiful..."

I see what you mean, about the desert, that is. There's just something about red rock, soaring cliffs, and pebbly ground that makes the soul want to fly.
Stricken, I am pain.
Beauty, a sharply sweet sword.
My eyes are open.

Merry Christ-mas, m'lovlies! I hope that all your wishes and wants have come true.

I make my own memories.

Amin harmuva onalle e'cormamin.

Thank you God for all the beauty in nature, the people, and the animals around me.
I believe, I know, and I see all that you give to me and the world.
Diola lle, Adonai.

Ashleigh

You say my name like a brook of blue water unfolding over a smooth gray-rock stream bed.

Heartstrings

If I offered you a piece of my heart, would you accept it into yours? Would you cherish it?
Or would you turn away from my outstretched hands, would you spurn my highest offering?
Because, as you should know, my offering already belongs to you, whether or not if you accept it.

Strange how a simple movie can change you forever... (would you be proud?)

Weirdly enough, "Inception" was one of the best mind openingly spiritual things to happen to me in awhile.
While watching it, I was facinated, utterly intrigued, my mind had changed dimensions, and it loved the feeling.
After I had watched it, while I was laying in bed waiting for sleep to come, but almost wanting to stay up and run mazes forever, I thought in new an beautiful ways. I touched recesses in my mind that I hadn't known, or, perhaps, had forgotten about. I wish I could remember some of the questions I asked. They were beautiful and finely wrought to experience.

"My heart has become newly wrought over the years, and many times over. My soul has changed trough a thousand different favorite colors." I am always the best person I can be at the time, though not alway the best person I ever been. But it doesn't really always matter, does it.

I can only remember bits and pieces, scraps of torn paper tugging at the edges of a restless mind, but they're almost enough to satisfy, almost enough to fly me off to new worlds.

Why can't I ever remember the things thought at the end of the day?

The soul shines with all of it's ability, but the skin is the only thing that stands between me and the world.

Why do I want to share so much, why do I feel as if I have to share, but I'm afraid others will think I'm bragging, or that I'm placing myself above them?

Man I wish my sibs would quit using the family (my!!!!) camera so much for stupid things, it's always out of batteries when I want to take a really good picture :(
It has rechargable batteries, but they're pretty old and die quickly. So that's not helping ANYTHING at all...

I'm ranting on here 'cause I have the 'touch and I can't rant on Facebook right now. And, besides, I can write more in-depth on here, whereas, on facebook, I woul probably just post "I wish my sibs would quit using my CAMERA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

No Longer (9/9/10)

She lives safely within a wall

Of books,

Many colors,

Styles,

And genres.

She is protected,

Secure,

Invulnerable,

She has created her own prison.

A cold,

Gray,

Stone cell.

Very little light reaches through the single, iron barred window;

It cannot touch her crystal-clear,

And frozen heart.

She built the wall of books to protect her heart,

She ran through spring –green meadows,

Her heart was worn on her sleeve.

She freely gave of it,

And it was freely taken.

Her heart was warm, red, and beat soft and fast, like a small bird.

Too many people took advantage of her offering,

They held it tenderly in their shining hands for a time,

But they soon abandoned it for other people, and other things.

She picked it up, out of the grainy mud too many times.

She pieced it back together almost carelessly, faster each shattering time.

Her heart became jagged,

The edges,

Sharp and unforgiving.

She left the meadows,

And built the dungeon wall.

The laughter of others reached her no more.

She no longer beheld the warm and living colors of spring,

Nor the fiery shadows of fall.

She could no longer experience the white and gray of winter,

And she shunned the muted neutral colors of summer.

She was lost to the whole of the world.>

Until one smiling laughter of a day,

A bar of sunlight trickled down the wall.

It tentatively managed to reach where she sat,

Her back against the wall.

The ray touched an outstretched finger to her heart.

Warmth blossomed,

Her heart smoothed,

It became full of color and full of beauty once more.

Her heart began to beat again,

No longer was it encased within relentless ice.

She took a jolted breath,

And love bloomed upon her mechanical mind.

As she became aware of all that surrounded her outside of the wall,

Laughter reached her softly curved ears,

And she yearned once again.

She sensed a wildflower-like perfume on the never before perceived breeze that wafted from her small window.

She arose,

Like a butterfly emerging from a cold, leaden chrysalis,

And walked the meadow once more.

Last a Lifetime

I want to be there for you,
if only you'd allow me to.

It's so cold, so very cold,
I want to grow old
with you.

You'd keep me warm, so very warm,
it's the very least you could do.

Thanksgiving

Bring on the Christmas music and feasting!! Oh yeahhhhhh.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours, may it be filled with fun, family, friends, and food, really gooooooooddd fooooood :D

Ohhhhhhhhh Yeah

 Harry Potter fan-dom ^^
 http://www.bookshoptalk.com/2010/11/rebecca-garcia-on-growing-up-with-harry.html

Y'know, my Mom basically thought Harry Potter was of the devil when she first read it, too. (Well, not of the devil, but she wouldn't let me read it. And faithful daughter that I am, I didn't.)
That is, until my Dad's Aunt convinced her otherwise :D And I've been a Harry Potter nerd ever since.

Come revel in the beauty of it all with me; find God in the desert, watch a sunset from beginning to end, watch the leaves skitter across the street. Find beauty in the rain, the sun, and the snow. Find beauty in a color-bled leaf, find beauty in your little sister's laughing face, and find beauty in the way your hand just happened to drape over your knee.
Come, and be continually surprised with me.

I am really enjoying taking my first SAT practice test. ^^ I'm doing a section and twenty five minutes a day :)
I'm taking it slow, and just trying to figure out where the gaps are in my learning.

"It is important to question the ideas and decisions of people in positions of authority?"

    "Question everything", as my mother has repeatedly told me throughout the years. I have taken that sentence to heart, I even question my own actions and thoughts.
    Questioning my country, state, and town leaders is no exception. Examining every aspect of their words and actions, are they moral, ethical? "Do they resound with my opinions of right and wrong?" "Do I have clear ideas of right and wrong?"
    Sometimes you may even have to revise your own opinions of right and wrong. I've come to learn that nothing is a fact, everything changes with time and with new perspective. Constant change is an important part of our world and our lives.
    Some of our country's greatest triumphs have come from questioning old ideas and beliefs, as well as the authority figures of the time, Take, for example, the Declaration of Independence, and later on in our country, the civil rights movement. Both are powerful events in history. Both times, the people pf our country decided to question laws, customs, and authority figures, and they decided that it was time for change,
    The ability and right to question one's government, and that governments laws, is an important aspect of our society. Use it well.

Starlight

I want to live, not just exist.

*Is going on a Harry Potter-a-thon.* Will be back shortly.

Sorry, sorry, I won't be getting that Halloween post up today, so you'll just have to sit on your itchy little fingers until tomorrow.
I have, however, already taken all the photographs I need, so it won't take all that long.

New post on A Maker's blog :)

http://dailycreativeprayer.blogspot.com/2010/11/halloween-costume.html

Dream Trash

Invisible trash

Collectors of glowing,

Immaterial

And broken winged

Orbs, blue and green, pink and pure,

Depending on the

Imagination.

Do deer, with liquid brown eyes,

Windows to wild and

Meek souls, dream of green

-er meadows, stronger legs, or

A world without man?

You Know (Or you should anyway, seeing as how I don’t. Someone has to have all of the answers)

I’m my own kind of crazy

And anyway,

What is normal?

Just a matter of opinion,

If you ask me

Which you won’t,

Because you’re scared

I’m too weird,

Too alien,

Too one of a kind for you

Or your friends,

Or anyone in the world,

For that matter…

Thank you,

For taking the time,

I know you’re busy,

What with your soccer

Games,

Your dancing lessons,

And your pre-scheduled play-dates

If that’s even a word,

As someone in a book I once read

Said

I forget which book…

Ah, you’re still here

Looking at me in stunned silence…

Y’know,

You’re quite welcome to leave,

But it must be by your choice

I’ll just ramble on,

Whether or not if you’re standing here,

I’ll just be talking to god

(Who some say is everywhere, you know)

Or myself,

It really depends on my mood…

Black,

The color black

Is now everywhere.

(My sister forgot to put her paints away,

Which really isn’t like her at all,

You know;

Or maybe you don’t,

It’s not like you’ve met her.)

I dislike black now,

It’s all over my SAT

Study book,

And it really doesn’t belong there,

(I hope) you know…

What was I saying?

Oh, you’re still standing there,

Why are you still standing there?

Why are you still reading this?

Why did I even write this?

I, personally,

Don’t have any of the answers

So you’d better get up from your chair

And go find them

Hurry,

There’s not much time left,

You know

Birds of a Feather

1.

There is a bird,

A maternal little bird

Who visits the

Westerly-peak of

My little green house

But once a long gray year.

There is a bird,

A motherly little bird,

Shaped like a teardrop,

Brown and gray

With a sharp black beak

Pointed

Toward the end of the day.

There is a bird,

A wise little bird

Perched silent and unmoving,

A guardian of seemingly

Unimportant things,

A guardian of the voices small.

There is a bird,

A knowing little bird,

With striped-black wings,

And an anticipating look

Above a

Lovely spotted vest,

An anomaly of things

Uncertain.

There is a bird,

An occasional little bird,

At whom I sometimes wonder,

“What

Is your purpose in this

Particular place?”

“And what is so special about

My space?”

2.

There once was a bird,

A hushed little bird,

Who was always deep,

With lovely spoken words,

Of a thoughtful and a

Soulful kind,

Full of voice,

And full of mind.

There once was a bird,

A silent little bird,

Who sang to me often and long,

Of a charming scene,

With a wonderful song.

This little bird,

This thoughtful little bird,

Prompted me once to write

Of the Visiting bird.

3.

There once was a bird,

A hushed little bird,

A black little bird,

And a silent little bird,

Whose word about the

Brown and knowing

Little bird

I

Have always kept.

Love's force

And she loved him, more than words can tell,

Before anyone had even thought to

Care about his shining blue

Dancer’s

Eyes.

Fluttering, her heart she

Gave to him,

Her love she promised forever, “For as long as the rose is considered red”, she breathed.

Icily, he did not accept her

Just reward, he could not believe in love. Too many girls had

Kicked his heart into the dirt,

Like so much disdainfully beheld garbage.

Mortally wounded, she believed she

Needed him, more than water or air, or even, the pale blue of life itself, Out of the many

Other boys in her world, who jostled for a

Place in her coveted heart. “Be my

Queen,” they all offered, proudly

Roaring in their haste. They

Scared her, like a leaf

Trampled in an effort to

Uphold as the prize. She fled their

Vividly colorful offers, “I will clothe you in silks!” “I will crown your head in the most
Wondrous of flowers.” She ran away, fleeing through

Xanthan sunlight, the color of living dandelions.

Yearning for love, for that which she could not have from Him.

Zealous, she searched once more.

Of the House Wren

There is a bird,

A maternal little bird

Who visits the

Westerly-peak of

My little green house

But once a long gray year.

There is a bird,

A motherly little bird,

Shaped like a teardrop,

Brown and gray

With a sharp black beak

Pointed

Toward the end of the day.

There is a bird,

A wise little bird

Perched silent and unmoving,

A guardian of seemingly

Unimportant things,

A guardian of the voices small.

There is a bird,

A knowing little bird,

With striped-black wings,

And an anticipating look

Above a

Lovely spotted vest,

An anomaly of things

Uncertain.

There is a bird,

An occasional little bird,

“Who,”

I sometimes wonder,

“Are you?” “And what,

It your purpose in this

Particular place?”

“What is so special about

My space?”

2

There once was a bird,

A hushed little bird,

Who was always deep,

With lovely spoken words,

Of a thoughtful and a

Soulful kind,

Full of voice,

And full of mind.

There once was a bird,

A silent little bird,

Who sang to me often and long,

Of a charming scene,

With a wonderful song.

This little bird,

This thoughtful little bird,

Prompted me once to write

Of the Visiting bird.

3

There once was a bird,

A hushed little bird,

A black little bird,

And a silent little bird,

Whose word about the

Brown and knowing

Little bird

I

Have always kept. 

Daily Creative Prayer

 Maker's blog, update of my latest drawings, since I just can't seem to force myself to make anything right now. I'm going through a drawing phase again.
http://dailycreativeprayer.blogspot.com/2010/10/symbols-among-other-things.html

Eyes That See

Knowing eyes look down on me
Almond shaped,
Liquid green
And somehow,
Hazel.
Sad
Brimming
Caring for all they see.
Beautiful
Tender
Knowing
And wise.
Vulnerable,
With betrayal and hurt
from long ago
And heartbreakingly recent.
Hoping to find an
alike soul
to share secrets
and to love forever.
Soul aching.
Stupid.
Nobody wants to look into those eyes.
Who do these eyes belong to,
Nobody but me
It seems.

Nighttime Epiphany. (If you'll pardon the expression)

 I would like to share a profound experience I had last night. It was about a question that has been puzzling me for years, ever since I began to remember my dreams, specifically the ones I had during illness.

* * *

I finally figured out what made all of those past sick dreams so weird. It would seem that my mind had managed to shrink me.

(Yeah, not a very good pic, bit I really think that it describes the dreams well.)

Like a small bug on a knobbly carpet.

But I'm probably getting ahead of myself.
Have you ever had one of those sharp, fuzzy, softly loud, feebly protesting through a frozen body, with heightened senses dreams, whether you were ill or not?
I've been trying to figure out how to describe them, and what makes them the way they are for the longest time. And I think I've finally cracked it!!!!!!
In a number of instances, I can remember giant quilt patterns, huge fuzzy-feeling pebbles, and humungous doorways that it took forever to reach. I always felt minuscule, and everything around me felt wrong. Everything felt strange, and disproportionate. I remember giant distances along almost boulder-like pebble paths. Everything seemed sharp, and it hurt my mind. So I've settled on the startling theory that I had shrunk in those particular dreams.
The one downside to this theory is that I managed to give myself the same feeling last night as I was trying to fall asleep. Big mistake. I felt like the world was falling away all around me, and it was like every particle of my being was amassing inside my head. For awhile I was able to just open my eyes and everything would come back into perspective, and I just rejoiced in finally figuring it all out.
And then the feeling wouldn't go away when I opened my eyes. I started getting a sort of vertigo, and I felt closed of from everything, almost even closed of from the rest of my body.  Almost nothing would make it go away. So I began to pray.
I prayed for awhile, but even just the simple act of opening the prayer eased the feeling a little bit. It helped me feel close to something, someone, that someone was god.

I learned something last night, though I'm not certain as to what. I experienced a profound epiphany. I cracked something that's been boggling my mind for years. In a way, I enjoyed the experience, even the terrifying cut off part.
I doubt that I will encounter anything of it's kind anytime soon.

'Twas a good day.

Don't worry be happy now! :D

(Happy photo) Baha.

I Live Within An Ever-Changing Painting

Bound

Gallery working.
Sheep, hills, trees, and flowers hang
On walls. My world bound.

A Maker's Blog

 A second blog I created awhile ago,
http://dailycreativeprayer.blogspot.com/
For to post the things I make, in the hopes of inspiring a few people :)

Afternoon iTouch reflection photos

I don't think I like this in purple. Ah well.

I really like this one.

One of the first photos I took like this after I discovered that the iTouch is super reflective.

Blurrier than I would have liked. No matter.

Thought I'd try the peace sign.

I'm a hairstyle artist!

(Shhhhhhhhhh, don't tell Torthadiel these are on here ;)

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just vent and spill everything on Facebook. It's not like I have any real grievances, just some emotions that want voice and recognition.

I want to really talk to someone, I really talk to my mom every day, it's just that I want to be intimate with friends. I'm sick of being timid and shy, I want to speak out, I want to help people if they need help, I want to rejoice with people. I don't feel like I have any real, close friends at the moment.

The way things were

In those days, people were born in the same place they died. They rarely ventured twenty miles from around their house. Whole extended families loved within, at most, three miles of each other. People ate only what grew in the climate they lived in. There was very little importation, and few of the inland people had ever seen their country's border.
The people who lived by and on the sea were dark skinned, and ate sea food and native fruits. The inland people were fair skinned and ate much animal flesh and grain, You could tell who was from where, though you rarely needed to. There were clear definitions, in those days.
The only ones who traveled much were the thieves, outlaws, and missionaries. None of these people were to be trusted, the the first tow thirds wanted all of your money, and the other third wanted all of your soul.
I'm not describing all of this out of nostalgia, or wistfulness for the olden days, I'm stating the cold, hard facts. Those days weren't necessarily better, and nor were they necessarily worse. They were certainly simpler, but simplicity isn't everything.
One thing is sure:
Times have clearly changed.

Bangin' away.

The best writer I know of in my life;

http://adamburningham.org/2010/08/12/writing/

Echoes

High on the side of a great red stone canyon, as the sun climbed ever loftier in the robin egg-blue sky, a teen-age girl stood.
The wind played her shining-gold hair about her face, tendrils slid across her nose and mouth, small strands sticking to her recently chap-sticked lips. Her pastel colored skirt swirled around her legs as a few birds rode upon the summer time breeze. She seemed as if she were waiting for something; a certain time, or an appointed signal.
The girl waited for an occasion, standing still as a rose, only until the sun reached its climax in the heavens. She cupped her delicate hands around her pink mouth.
“Starboy! Where are you!” she cried into the still and sunlit canyon. Echoes played off the rosy-orange rocks, undulating back and forth, and becoming increasingly quieter.
The girl began to turn as the echoes slowly died away; her shoulders bent in defeat and betrayed hope.
As she took her first step away from the fissure, fine red dust rising from the ground underneath her bare feet, a whisper, barely audible, light and tender as a white feather, reached her curved ear.
"...here I am..."

This guy ROCKS!

http://kronikle.kidrobot.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/pencilleadsculptures-8.jpg


C'mon, tell me just HOW awesome he is. You know you want to.

What use is a title?

I bought a Shirley Bahlman book at the Ephraim Co-op today. I don't think I've ever actually bought a book before. I've thought about it, but never felt I had the money; or the transport, I guess.
I wonder if I could get Shirley to sign it? It's not entirely impossible, all of my other books by her are signed, and she lives in Sanpete. I've even met her.
All of my books by her were given me by my Dad, until recently, that is. I now have my very own Even Love Is Odd book. I am excited to read it, but I don't want it to be gone too fast. I want it to last a long while. And, anyways, I still have a ton
of unread Library books, though I don't think I will finish the Caroline B. Cooney books.

On another not; I don't want Summer (I insist on capitalizing the first letter, no matter what Word thinks) to be over :'{

The power of the opal

They watched the lights play out in the night sky as he held her in his arms. It was the end of all they had known, and what they had known was not pleasant. The pleasant times were to come in the many years ahead of them.
He looked down into her pale face.
"What's the moral of this story?" He asked.
She regarded his satin-blue eyes, and seemed to consider her reply for a short time. At last she spoke,
"I am afraid I do not know, let's leave that to the bards, the poets, and the harpists.
They sat down together on the dewed and singed grass. The flashing lights drew to an end as they slept against each other's shoulders.

A few years later, after the the time of hard work, and diligence in the building of their new civilization had come to an end, as they took their evening walk, she found a paper pasted to a stone wall.
"Look," She told him, "Someone has written about our adventures."
"I never thought I'd see the day when tales would be condensed and written down, then to be stuck flat to the town wall."
"It is strange, Isn't it? I've read the news my entire life, but I've always thought stories should be told out loud by a bard, or a poet. They give so much life to the characters, the places, and the deeds."
The man peered closer at the paper.
" 'By Bartholemew St. James', do you suppose it's The Bartholemew St. James? Your old neighbor?"
"It could be," She replied, also peering closer, "That's definitely the way he spelled his name." She giggled, holding her slender hand to her mouth.
"It certainly merits a reading, then."
They both stood holding hands, motionless and attentive by the wall for some time.
Soon the sun was beginning to set behind the mountains, causing glorious angel-pathways (as she called the beams of light that shot from the clouds) to dart out all over the darkening sky, the couple seemed to come to the end.
They slowly turned and looked at each other with wonder and satisfaction on their rose and umber tinted faces.
"I rather liked that moral" He said.
"The ending was best" She agreed.

Theory

I have this theory: The teenage years are when children should be given more freedom of choice and will, this is their time to experiment within the safety net of their parents. It is likely that when they move out, when parents usually relax boundaries and set them totally free, they will no longer have a very secure safety net. The freedom can go to their heads, and they will often make bad choices. They shouldn't be given total control as teens, they still need boundaries, but they should also be treated as adults, with many chances to prove themselves.
Parents shouldn't be completely removed, but they shouldn't hover over their child's every choice and move. Rather, they should let the child know that they are there for them, and should always put down whatever it is they are doing in order to talk. Parents should be supportive, and open to everything their child has to say.

I will probably change this as time goes on. I might add things I have forgotten, or have not discovered yet. Thank you for reading, I appreciate your every insight on this post :)

Heart

I hold you in my heart,

Caressed and treasured.

Tenderly sheltered

From all harm.

I love you forever,

I care for you always.

For you are mine.

Adrian Utley's voice

Blue multifaceted crystal,
the rim dipped in lemon juice,
twirled as it is lifted up,
to keep the juice from running.
Ethereally haunting,
grounded to the Earth,
Soaring sweeping.
Smokey around the edges.
Mellow sweet,
roughly dark.
Lisping borders,
curling and tattered.
Ordinary,
and extraordinary,
a human angel,
The voice
held
by Adrian Utley.

In my head

I have to say, trying to work things out through writing sometimes isn't as productive as it is to just confine it all to my head, and conversations with my mom.
"It sounded so much better in my head" :)

Top heavy:

In Physics, a top heavy object will not remain stable for long, it will come crashing down, it simply cannot support it self. This can also be applied to the way societies have been built and are being constructed.
Top-heavy societies will always eventually fall apart. The lower classes simply will not long support top-heavy class systems. They won't support societies with a few mega-rich corporate guys, and the majority of the population an impoverished lower class.
What I don't get is very few people seem to have figured this out, let alone our megaconglomeratecorp of a government. It's happened before, in Rome for example. Though Rome wasn't so much top-heavy as overstretched, and I can see this in our modern empire too.
Just one of the things I thought about today.

Pheetos

Stray Thoughts (or, Working in an Art Gallery)

The misty quiet roars delicately.
Lonely as a ghost in a room
full of living people.
Crowded as a room
empty of paintings.
Crackle, crackle
in my ear.
Unbeknownst to you,
I am a writer,
a poet,
a madwoman.
But you rush past,
oblivious to the creeping
beauty all around.
Ears stuffed with money,
or lost time,
if that is what you prefer.
I am a wanderer around purpose-
seekers,
A Butterfly among ants.
I know what my destination is,
the question is,
do you know yours?
Stray thoughts,
flit through,
never to be seen again.

Slipping away.

A taste of something sweet
Snatched from my mind.
Sharp,
Broken,
Clear,
but hazy.
A forgotten dream,
an epic fantasy my mind played
in my sleep.
Enjoyed.
Savored,
like a small bite of
clear,
dark chocolate.
Lost-
except for stinging bits and pieces-
upon the morn.
My dreams-
And My childhood-
are slipping away.

Blahhhhhhhhhh

Anyone can write poetry,
and anyone can read it.
But only a few people
can connect with each other
on a much deeper sense
through said writing
or reading.
An excitement trills through the poet
as he scrawls the first sentence.
A shiver jerks through the
reader
as he reads
a
single
last
word
A truth is revealed.

Picking up litter.

Dog pulls to the right,
I reach toward litter at
left. bend, twist. Hot day.

Mudling, muddling. Puddles of Muddling...

 Why can't I muddle this out? 

Truth is a matter of opinion. There is only love, and contradiction.

Circles and ovals. In other words, never ending.

There is no such thing as truth, there is only contradiction. And if you try to contradict this saying, you prove it as truth, which proves this as wrong, which leads us right back to contridiction. So is this saying right?

Wayfarer phtotshoot

 I had a dried bouquet of purple flowers sitting on my keyboard, and a few days ago I set my wayfarers on the piano after I got home. A few days after that, I noticed how very eye catching and photograph-able it all looked. So, I photographed it :)
Let me know which ones you like the best :)

Oh YEAH!!!!!!

I did it!!!!!!!!!! I can hardly believe it!
Six whole months without chocolate, I win :)
This is the best accomplishment ever!!
Yes, it was terribly hard, I almost gave in a couple of times, I almost gave up once or twice. I unwittingly ate a little bit of chocolate in a granola bar at Scholar class ages ago, I could have said to the winds with this experiment, I could have eaten the whole granola bar. But I didn't. I got though six whole months!
Though there were a couple of ignorant slip ups, I chose to keep going, I was unstoppable. Now I am forever strong. This has taught me something; I can and will accomplish everything and anything that I set me heart on.
I am all powerful :]

A haiku, and a poem

June. (Or, Of The Honeylocust.)
Dry rain, showering 
From a tree. Bees hover, drink.
Parched buds in my hair.

Heartstrings
So many people
I long to embrace
one last time.
To hold their firm 
shoulders,
their fluttering
hearts,
their shining
souls.
I long to just
one 
more
time
know their 
shattered hopes,
and their
growing dreams.
I long to 
once 
again
laugh with them
during their 
greatest triumphs,
and to weep
beside them
when they have
fallen far.
Now,
I can only 
watch,
Soul-yearning
from a distance,
tugged along
a shimmering string
leading from their
hearts
to mine.
I attached it
long ado,
before it was 
painful, 
back when we
were best-friends.
We are best friends 
no longer,
the string 
pulls me forward, 
relentlessly,
tortuously,
never
letting 
me
close
enough
to
touch.


   

Please

Don't watch me.
I'm the Caribbean queen.
I don't care what you say.
I don't want to be seen.

Don't watch me.
I don't exist.
I am under the sidelines.
I really must insist.

Don't watch me.
I cannot be seen.
I am not your average girl.
I am impossible to deem.

Don't watch me,
As I dance around,
If you watch me,
I will run aground.

Random journal excerpt. Just for fun.

May 6th 2010 Thursday.
My iPod seems determined that I should listen to Spanish/Mexican music today, it's been playing that and nothing else for the past half hour. (it's on Shuffle, by the way. Or, it should be on Shuffle. It might not be. Yeah, it wasn't on Shuffle. I remedied that. The first song to come up is "Start wearing purple" by Gogol Bordello.)

Bookbinding projects of late.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^What I made for my Dad for Father's day. I gave him a leather pamphlet book (?) five or six months ago, which I made in my bookbinding class. It started falling apart probably about a week ago, so I thought I'd make him a better one for Father's day, since he's been using the pamphlet bbok as a notebook.

 This is the book I made for my poetry. There are quite a few glitches, but I'm pretty happy about it just the same. I really love the paper, so pretty :)

This is a nice shot of the spine, which I did with the coptic stitch. I'm still kind of scared to try hard spine books. I've made them before, but the coptic stitch is sooo easy.  I generally fall back on it.

Soul puckers

I don't really mind
being alone.
It still hurts.
Seeing everyone else
in their gaggles, pairs
and amoebas,
hurts,
rain pours in my heart
for an instant.
The agony is fleeting,
I talk myself out
of the feelings,
the thoughts.
Too many people
have left me,
throwing half-glances
and stinging backward waves.
I must not wallow
in my puddle of tears
long,
I cannot seem to harden
it pains me
worse
every new 
colorful,
soul-shattering
parting.

As I hung the laundry to dry.

Zwitter
Summer flys, poised
motionless in the air.
Dangling, as if suspended
by a piece of transparent line.
Moving, ever so slightly from side to side,
like tiny, black marionettes.
Even flies can be beautiful.

No need to explain.

Adonai
I saw God
in my Mother's face,
and in my Father's careworn hands.
God was in the liquid-brown and gold, near blind eyes of my dog,
and in the cups of yellow daffodils.
I peered behind a sky-blue house, and saw him sitting under a sun-stained tree.
I observed God's splendor in the minute, single leaf of a watercress plant,
resting in a thirsty stream.
I found God resting on a decrepit concrete bridge, in front of an empty home.
God was there,
waiting for someone to find him.
So I sat,
and I spoke to God,
as my dog rejoiced in the stream beside.

June burthdays. Whatever. Oh yeah, and books.

I gave a friend of mine a hand-made book for her sixteenth birthday. I forgot to photograph it before I wrapped it, so I took my camera with me when I went to give it to her. Therefore, instead of some uninteresting photos of an otherwise boring book, we have this gorgeous model :)

P.S. I ordered some gorgeous paper and some neutral-color bookbinding twine from Hollanders yesterday!!! I can't wait 'til it all arrives!

Today, I walked a dog, I drank in beauty at every step, could my life be any more wonderful?

Both of these were written on this blazing, yet ever gorgeous day.

Remembrance
Friendships fade.
Hands part.
Rowboats separate, 
Sailing independent
of each other.
The ocean of life 
becoming wider,
more inhospitable.
I have lost so
many
friends, 
losing touch as we 
chose separate paths,
separate journeys.
Yet, the memories...
I will always have
the Jewel-like 
memories.
Every last one,
opalescent within
my hands.


A small forest in town
Bird in tree, head cocked.
Deer steps, vague silhouette.
Girl sees deer, breath stops. 

Summer

I wrote this poem for Max :)

Staring at walls

Blank walls, waiting for
Beauty. Tape, putty, tacks; no
awe there. Wait for it.

I write, you in mind.
Long walks, singing in my room.
Picnics at the park.


Scraps of nostalgic 
value. Unusual blooms.
A poem for you.


The wall, no longer
blank, white, or bare. Memories
cloak the emptiness.

As you will... (Try and figure out what THAT means! :})

How could.... wait, I probably shouldn't ask that question, right? I  don't want my life to get any busier, and if I ask how could it get busier, I will end up jinxing myself...
Anyway, you would probably like an explanation;
Papa, R.D. and J. came last Friday, but R.D. and J. had to leave early-ish. Papa, however, stayed until late Sunday afternoon! What fun! I think we were a little too busy during most of the time he was here. Saturday was Heritage day, and my sibs were selling things on main street, some of them had been planning things for months. So unfortunately, we couldn't really blow it off on account of Papa. Still, it was fun having him down there with us, and I think it made it more enjoyable for Dad. He hates Heritage day, all of the befuddled, unfriendly, conniving tourists bug him. Why was that day especially busy for me? Two weeks earlier, I got a phone call from Sis Soap, she wanted to know if I could help her out on Heritage day, I said sure. She told me she needed me to help her show her house during the town-wide home tour (that's mainly why the tourists come on the last Saturday of May.) I said I'd do it. And I did. It was interesting, I think I learned more about the house then the tourists did. I only had to be a tour guide for about two hours, Sis Soap had tons of girls from Young women's helping too. Albi was on my shift, she took the kitchen over from me when she finally arrived. I took over the front room from Sis Soap, who was extremely tired by then. I took care of it by myself for a while. It wasn't very hard, I didn't have to walk around much, all I had to do was point out some photo albums to the tourists, and answer questions.
The whole thing really wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. I agonized over the upcoming experience the evening and morning before. It really wasn't worth the stress, as usual. You have no idea how many times that's happened to me. No idea.
Saturday evening Dad, Jeru, and Tor were in a flurry trying to get ready for their trip to Yellowstone. They pulled half the house apart trying to locate some sleeping bag stuffing sack. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration. They pulled apart the under-stairs storage place. They didn't plan anything very well. Dad forgot his fishing pole, and his cellphone. He's been using A.'s.
Anyway, their hurried departure (about 5:30 in the morning, but I'm not sure that's even the exact time, it might have been 1:00.), made for some problems. As you know, Dad left his cell phone home, and Papa didn't have any way to get back to wherever it is he's been staying. (T.'s house, I think. I do  know that Nana's been staying up there. So I guess Papa's been  staying there too.) Papa could have just hitched a ride with Dad and his friends, but the car wouldn't have fit them all. So T. came late Sunday afternoon to pick Papa up. I think that worked nicely, we got to keep Papa longer and see T. in the process. Other than that, Sunday was pretty uneventful. (Busy-ness wise, that is.)
Today, Jesse and I went down to help Sis Soap set up for a garage sale on Friday. I am Ti-erd. I guess that's why I've been on the comp so long today. I'm also taking my own sweet time writing this post.
Anyhow, we (Jesse and I) worked pretty darn hard, for two hours straight, to be exact. Among other things, I cleaned an RV, loaded the dishwasher, moved a whole bunch of clothing, washed out a couple of wheelbarrows, shook hands with Jabba the Hutt (Just kidding, I wanted to see if you were still paying attention. Back to the actual jobs...), filled up a bird bath/fountain, and helped move an exorbitant amount of bags and boxes. And the most amazing thing of all, I had fun! Can you believe that? Very few people actually like work. I must be really weird. (Not that I've Ever really disliked work. Well, in the past six or seven years, at least. I've heard that I was pretty bad at first.) So, yeah. Fun stuff.
Now I'm just relaxing, talking to my Mom,eating her yummy food, watching Pretty In Pink, comping,  just generally hanging out. The exact opposite of my never-ending work this morning, but also fun stuff :)
I hope this makes sense, I'm feeling too lazy to really proofread this post, so I apologize for any imperceptible (By me, at least,) typos or crazy run on sentences. I wouldn't advise reading this out loud, you just might pass out, should there be any never-ending sentences :)

You don't need to be famous in order to inspire.

I stand on the shoulders of giants.
They're not all in the past.
They're not all well known.
They're not all adults.
They're not all the same, in profession, status, personality, or inspiration.
I stand on the shoulders of giants,
Many of them from my own generation,
Many of them just beginning to bloom...

The whisper and the howl

I know who I am,
and no one can argue with me.
I do not need your help.
I am strong, I am delicate.
I am the rainbow with all the colors, including black and white.
I am a poet, I am the stargirl, I am a maker, I am a secret-keeper, a truth-teller, I am an elf, a princess, I am a human being.
I am ten-thousand feet tall.
I am an inch short.
I am love.
I am family. Brother sister, mother father, uncle aunt, cousin, grandmother grandfather.
I am eternity, I am the nano-second.
I am older than you will ever know, younger than I will ever be.
I do not need your self-finding books, nor your self-seeking classes.
I know who I am.
I am all things, I am the glistening raindrop, the roaring waterfall. I am the light-beam, and the roaring bonfire. I am the newborn seed, and I am the towering Redwood forest.
I am the Earth, the Sky, the Ocean.
I am a part of God.
I am my soul, my body, and my imagination.
I am my hopes, my dreams, my truths, my lies, I am my loves, and my hates. I am all of these things, I am more.
I am a living contradiction.
I am me.

Homeschool prom.

Last night was hilarious :) If you're friends with me on FB, you know what I'm talking about. However, you may want to know some of the details;
We danced, but of course, that is nothing out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, what if I told you who I danced with? ;] The one and only ARAGORN was kind enough to do a slow dance with me!! I also danced with Howl, he's such a great waltzer, very gentle :) Oh, and, mwahahahah, I stole Christian Bale from Dari :] What fun :)
I danced with one real boy, first for about two seconds when I finally mustered up the courage to ask him for a girls choice song (It ended shortly after I asked him), and then I danced with him for a promenade from Pride and prejudice. Later, as they played the last song before they decided to pack everything up,  I pulled him up off the middle of the dance floor where he was looking very bored indeed and had the last dance with him. There weren't many people (let alone boys) at the dance last night. Teenage guys don't usually seem very willing to attend dances. So that explains most of my story. Most of it, not all of it :]
Oh, and guess what?! I got complimented on my dancing! I was outside talking with a friend, dancing with myself when a guy walked out to get something from his car and told me I'm a good dancer! I thought that was very nice of him, I dance with all of my might no matter where I am, or how many people are watching.
Me, I love dances, no matter how many people are there. Last night was fun, even though we had a mix up with who was supposed to give us a ride home :) What? You didn't know about that particular detail?! Course you didn't, You'd have to be either Dari, Albi, A.D., Me, or my Mom to know that one. And you're not, and I just told you, soooooo, now you know :)
I hope that wasn't a little too much info for you :) Thanks for reading, and I hope some of this made your day. Smiley!!!! :D
P.S. I forgot to mention that I essentially went barefoot to prom, just like I've been planning to for all these years :) BTW, I have a large blister on my left big toe. Big surprise {Rolls eyes}

Mud stomp

It rained in torrents.
The best kind of rain.
The best kind of rain for dancing.
I took my iPod and head phones out with me, slightly afraid of electrocution, but not enough to turn me from my mission. My bare feet loved the squishy mud and clear water. If I was going to dance on the wet dirt,  I might as well do it unshod.
My iPod was on shuffle, it took me awhile to find a song with a good beat. When I did, there was nothing to stop me from stomping, leaping, and twirling in delight. I was on fire, and the rain cooled me off.
In only felt a little self-conscious, but not enough to make a difference. I delighted in my rain dance, why have I never tried before? Why has it never occurred to me to dance as the heavens poured out life to my Earth? I suppose it's because I never had a very transportable form of music before, one can't just lug a boom box or a radio into the pouring water.
Right as I began to surf shuffle again, my iPod died, and my private party came to an end. But that was okay, the rain had stopped, I was ready to go in.

A reaccuring theme

I have a secret.
I can fly.
The greatest joy in the world is rushing through the air, high above the motherly ground. I am not just one with the wind, with the birds. I am the wind, I am the birds. There is no separation. I am the clouds and the crystalline blue sky. I am soft and heavy with rain, I am azure space, supportive, kind. My soul is ecstasy, that is what sustains my soaring. My heart, strong, emanating, keeping me from losing my head.
My whole body is pure joy, pure love, pure, and clear yearning. Even as I fly, my excitement rivals that of my takeoff. The thrill of the air carrying me exceeds any roller coaster I have ever been on, though I have not had the courage to ride many. Unlike a roller coaster, I am in no way bound by gravity, or bars. My aerial tricks are something never experienced by most human beings. I can go as high, and as fast as I want. There is no limit, save the one that I put on myself.
I am exhilaration, my body fills the world. I am life- sustaining light. I am everything that can or will fly.
Nothing can stop me, nothing wants to stop me.
For I, am everything.