Breaking news

Almost obsessive

Obsessive Compulsive

the message a letter

Blunt like a shiv

Wary and Clean

We ferry our time

An infinite sheen

To a silly old rhyme

A definite sadness

A defining madness

Snow drifts are back

Glad to be hapless

twisting and turning

A plunky piano

The melody sings

Tuneless contralto

Clumsy, dropped pride

A startled young bride
Shameless, a grin

Nothing to hide

Faceless corrupters

Nameless abductors

Confused conductors

Follow their dreams

Planet Stop

I drew a picture for a friend. I like it. I also drew the picture in the background of this blog.

Zombie-pocalypse

Hello dearest blog readers (All one and a half of you).
I'm going to go on a semi-rantish discussion thing about this picture. You see, I have a messenger bag that I wear quite regularly, and serves me quite well, that has this very picture printed on it. (Bag!)

I find it useful in many situations, and one that has been popping up in my mind lately has been in the case of an actual zombie apocalypse. Am I actually the person to follow? and what are my motives for having people follow me?

Scenario: I'm running around, with my messenger bag now full of ammo for whatever weapon I have currently in my possession, whether it be a slingshot, or a submachine gun; having dumped my now-completely-useless masses of school books far behind me in some muddy ditch somewhere to rot away and decompose, as is their destiny (I might keep a Heinlein Novel or Two around for guidelines for starting a religion/society if I end up surviving). I come upon a fleeing, terrified, less-physically-fit survivor, and they see the proud words on the side of my messenger bag, and willingly fall in line behind such a graceful and attractive man.

Later, sitting around a makeshift cooking fire in the 5th floor of an abandoned office complex, with only one vent high in the ceiling letting the smoke out, and a handy-dandy fire escape going almost to the ground, but not close enough for the hordes of zombies to reach it. Suddenly, we hear the moaning the of afflicted coming from close outside our door, advancing up the steps. The stupid, ignorant, shit-for-brains person I rescued didn't spread the vinegar-and-salt paste mix I have concocted to hide our scents well enough, the zombies have detected our presence! Shuffling sounds outside the hallway, the only way out is down the fire escape, where there is a clear shot over into another safe-looking office complex. I look down, distastefully, at the whimpering blob the man has become, and wonder what to do.

Freeze. I realize I have two options here, either of which has consequences.

Option 1: Break both the mans legs, drag him to an opposite wall, and put one of my extra pistols just out of arms reach of him, with one bullet in it; then run like hell.

Option 2: Help the obviously semi-incapacitated man down the steps, and across the lot into the other building, saving his life.

I quickly make a decision. WHAT WOULD HAYSEUS DO?

What now? part 1.

She sighed as she bent down, slowly dragging her fingers through the sand, thoughts moving sluggishly - aftereffects of the drugs - she assumed. Standing slowly, she released the sand that had accumulated in her fingers, watching it drift slowly away in the slight breeze. Stretching out her sore muscles she looked upward at the omnipresent sun, moving slowly toward the horizon. Sighing again, she moved forward, hitching her backpack higher on her shoulders. All she could remember, was a woman bending over her, dim lighting in the background, and some muffled voices. Hazy as it was, she remembered one thing clearly: the words arise my daughter, and, for the first time in your life, truly live.

            Moving slowly over a sand dune, she gazed at what could very possibly be a town. Adobe houses little round roofs arching slightly above the wall that surrounded the city proper. Too tired to think more, she moved towards the gate, probably 200 yards away. Upon entering, she noticed a couple very odd things about the city itself. First, there was hardly anybody there, for a city it’s size. There were a few people moving about furtively, but not that many. Second, there was a large castle in the distance, a stark difference from the clay huts that surrounded it, and made up the rest of the city.

            Forgetting that temporarily, she noticed what looked to be a well up ahead, and with it, her parched throat started nagging at her. Moving forward, she noticed a figure leaning against the supports that held the roof over the well, figuring he may be in charge of the water, she motioned towards the well, and sent him a questioning look, to indicate that she would like some. Looking up at her, he stayed silent for a second. Cocked his head to the side for a little, and then spoke.

            Be gone, foreigner. Little rabbits do not belong here. Dipping his fingers into a small puddle on the well ledge, he lazily flicked a few drops onto her face. Flinching instinctively, she thought about what to do. What could he do, she wondered, if I just got myself some water? Pondering this for a second more, she moved towards the well apprehensively at first, then with more confidence. Abruptly, she ran into the man’s arm, which had been outstretched to block her path, but he himself had not moved. Meeting her eyes, he locked her gaze for a while, while she looked back at him, defying him to continue stopping her. 

            Briefly, a smile flickered at the corner of his lips, and then was gone. Nodding slightly, he dropped his arm, and proceeded to watch in silence as she cranked the bucket up to the top, full of pristine water. She pulled out a water bottle and filled it up, put it in the backpack, then filled up a second one. Letting the bucket drop back into the well, she looked up noticing that the man was still there. He didn’t look at her again, didn’t even acknowledge her presence. Just stood there, impassive, looking straight ahead. Looking up, she saw a place that looked vaguely like a hostel, and slowly started making her way there.

            That night she dreamed. She dreamed a very familiar dream, a woman was leaning over her, whispering in her ear. All the shaped were fuzzy and dull, as if she were drugged. The woman whispered those same words into her ear: Arise my daughter, and for the first time in your life, truly live. The woman pressed her hand, cool to the touch, to her forehead, and everything went dark.

She had very little recollection of her childhood, some fuzzy images involving a happy family, a little girl running around screaming because of cold water coming from a sprinkler, a birthday cake, a Christmas tree, an argument, rain, a storm, gunfire, and then a sense of hopelessness that overrode all else. Sitting up on the mat she was using for a sleeping pad, she reached under the scarf she was using as a dust mask, and rubbed the thick scar that stretched around the front half of her neck. Thinking about those things had made it itch. She was sure where it had come from, but she also wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Her gut feeling was to leave it well enough alone, and she always trusted her gut. 

This is a short story I wrote for one of my classes, but it's too long for one post. I'll post the others soon. :)

Photo editing

So I edited a photo today.

Animal crackers and peanut butter are delicious.

Alright, so hopefully I'll be able to manage a couple blog posts a week now. I'm going to put it into my calendar to do it, and because I look at that many, many times a day... The thought process is that I won't forget about this as often. Anyways, I'm going to hopefully be writing little anecdotes about my daily life, college applications, and probably still some creative writing when I feel like it. Anyways, here was my day:

7:30am: Wake up, moan, roll over, go back to sleep.
7:45am: Wake up again, decide to skip collection, go back to sleep.
8:00am: Wake up, get dressed, get on my computer for a while..

Blah blah blah. All day the same repetition continues, the same mind-numbing boringness that is school. There is a somewhat interesting debate in my government class double period between 10:30 and 12:15, thats about it though.

Lunch, kinda disappointing. Some curry lamb thing, with delicious rice. I didn't try the curry... Maybe I should have.

Afternoon classes, all the same. Study hall was fun, I got to draw a flaming chariot driven by Jesus that was pulled  by four horses that had lion heads and wings. Altogether though, a pretty terrible day. I didn't enjoy it at all. I just got up on the wrong side of the bed or something.

Some other stuff happened which brightened my day considerably, although those words shall not be uttered here.


Stuff happened. It was fun.

Kihu

Birds flying down street
dark clouds above look like rain
staying home tonight

The dull pouding rain
makes you lose your senses
endless repetition
enfolds and then cleanses
washing away at your tears and your sorrow
eroding, corroding the fears of tomorrow

walking through lightning
thunder and rain
memories are frightening
bringing old pain
but still moving forward, walking through it
i don't have to like it, not even a bit.

the surreality of thunder
makes nothing else matter
except the heart that was sundered
and the rains pitter patter
coming from all directions, here, and then gone
the sound washes over me, a thunderous song

I sit on your front step
almost at tears
getting colder and colder
with each of my fears
eventually, exhausted, i make it back home
unfortunately though, i am still completely alone.

Whenever i think of you;
It's in present tense
somehow
my mind
refuses to admit
what is concrete, inescapable.

I wish, i wish, i wish.
I wish i had to done this
that
told you how much you mean
to me

I have probably said, out loud
that you have passed away
maybe once.
Once.
in two and a half months.

I can hardly
believe
it's been
that long

Contact info, for you.
It's still in my phone
that piece of shit.

you were the only
person
i would ever call.
To hang out.

video games
magic

and

eventually

alchohol
drugs

I miss you man.

colic walrus

Enter into the world
a new life
small
walrus

you can't tell
but that baby
walrus
is crying

inconsolable

poor thing

not knowing what
it wants
needs

sit there with gleeful
smiles
painted on
plastic faces

unaware
of the pain
discomfort
etc.

on the inside
this young
walrus
is dying

faces plastered to
plexiglass windows
hands making smudges
fingerprints
oil

smile
laugh
at this anomaly
baby walrus
with colic

(Colic: Colic (also known as infant colic, three month colic, and Infantile colic) is a condition in which an otherwise healthy baby cries or screams frequently and for extended periods without any discernible reason [Wikipedia])