My thoughts today are not as abstract or twisted as they usually are. Okay, maybe that's not quite true, I have multiple times threaten to eat a persons soul, or death by SHELOB! These are not the thoughts that I choose to examine tonight though. I'm not sure if I could, they lack substance. They are exactly what you just read and nothing more, so I suppose I just did.
That's all beside the point that I was planning on making when I began writing this though... so I shall take a step back and start over.
Summer has fallen past the middle peak and is beginning to fall to the other side. School is all to quickly approaching. This isn't the normal schools approaching either. It's not like all the other years, simply a step closer to the end, it is the last step before the end. The end of the first part of my education, the beginning of forever.
I will not often admit this to anyone, but I don't imagine many people will read this, and the ones that do will be the ones that don't care, but I'm TERRIFIED. I lay awake at night in fear of whats to come, of decisions that I have to make this year in order to not regret it for the rest of my life.
How am I suppose to know what I'm suppose to want to do for the rest of my LIFE? Am I suppose to have some calling? Music.. MUSIC! I love music. It's the only thing that I can imagine doing FOREVER! Some days that doesn't sit in me though, I get a feeling that I've got it all wrong, but what do I have all wrong. Is it wrong that I want to follow music? Am I supposed to do something more, something less?
I Wish I could jump years in the future. I know that I'll miss these years, and that I'll want it back and all, or so I'm told, but I don't enjoy being this age most days. The uncertainty is brutal. I don't have control of my life. I try, but the truth is I don't know what to do with it. I fear being expected to know something that life hasn't taught me yet.
I used to hold myself on a pedestal of wisdom. I believe now any true wise person would laugh at that and tell me that's impossible. It is, I promise. If you know you're wise... then you can't be, you're missing something... I was missing a lot that life has given me this past year and a half. One of the things that I've learned.. is how much I'm missing. I have nothing. I go into this world with nothing to offer. I know you're not suppose to say that, you're suppose to praise yourself, and make yourself look like the biggest and the best. Market yourself for colleges, for jobs. I find that insanely difficult when I know that's it's not the truth. Not saying I'm not a grand array of awesomeness, but lets be honest, there are far more awesome arrays in this world, why should I be glorified? What's so special about me?
As I go into my senior year I fear it not being what I've worked all these years to make it. I'm not the biggest and the best, I'm not the prettiest girl in the school, and I most definitely don't have the most friends, (though I do think I have the best.)
All that I am in this school is being more than threatened. With understandable reasoning... most of the time, but it doesn't change the fact that this is the year that I've been looking and wishing for. I feel most days that something in the universe enjoys to twist things I love so that it's as difficult as it could be. In ways that I know it won't work.
I know I'm being overly dramatic, don't get me wrong. This is my brain freaking out, with out any logic that i force on it.
I know I have it good, and I have no room to complain, but I am.
Everything has been from socially threatened to emotionally, to straight up "will it be possible next year" threatened.
It's stressful and scary. I just wish that I could instill in people the will to care about anything other than themselves. To put effort into a program, or to step off of their "hey I'm the best, you're dirt, I'm just here because I have to be" or "because I'm paid to be" platforms and have empathy for those around them, I know that won't happen. It's not our culture. our culture is "fend for myself, I don't care who I take down as long as I'm on top." It's sickening actually.
I can't change the minds of others though. I can hardly change the mind of me!
I'm so scared to start the next stage of my life. I don't know what the road holds, I don't know what school I'll end up at, or where I'll live. Back in the day of knowing nothing but thinking I knew everything I would say I just have this feeling... Well... I've had ALOT of "feelings" Which ones are THE feelings though? What do I love to do? Do I want to go out on a limb to do something different? Shoot, I've played with the idea of skipping the school stage and forging my own way... that was shot down all to soon though... soo off to college I will be after I make WAY to many decisions this year.
To know that this is only the beginning as well.. ughh!!
I have so much I've already failed to do. There's so much more life for me to miss as it passes by. I'm afraid. I know everything I do will effect me for now and forever... So of course I'm worrying about it, and trying to make the best of it that I can, but I fear that worrying about it will close my eyes to whats happening now. Even as I write this blog is there a beautiful unicorn prancing about my living room that I will lift my eyes to look at when I'm done writing this sentence only to see it's droppings on the carpet, but no more unicorn. Yes, I will... But how was I suppose to know there was a unicorn in the room? If I were looking at the unicorn I would have had to pause my writing... and gone back to it, only to miss the llama that curled up at my feet seconds later.
I'm not sure where to take that anymore.. If you don't understand I'm sorry. If you do, please become my new best friend.
There are so many things to worry about. I worry about worrying about them, I worry about not worrying about them, and forgetting about them. I worry about worrying about the wrong thing, or not knowing what to worry about. I worry about if I got the right erasers for school, I worry about the Orcs killing Frodo!!!
I worry if I'll make the right college choice, I worry if I make the right friend choices.. I worry about falling in love, about getting an A, about being lied to, about being immature, about complaining. I worry that people will find me fickle and prude. I worry about being fickle and scandalous.
I worry about everything. I believe it's a disease. Not really... But I do believe that I worry an insane amount. Insanely to much actually.
I can see, and feel that the worrying will only increase with this coming year. I fear that it will Paralyze me. That I won't be able to enjoy being in Band this year, because I'm worried for it, and for my heart. I worry for the play, that all the years will fall to the side out of necessity for the show. I fear I won't be able to enjoy learning, with the stress of the work. I won't be able to afford my senior year, with the job I don't have...
I'm afraid my heart mixing with my fears, mixing with my drive, mixing with me will do nothing more than crash into a painful mess of a senior year. That I can not gracefully enter, and can't wait to exit..
I want to enjoy my senior year. I want to slightly long for high school to never end until I have my feet solid in the next stage of life; but thats not where I'm finding myself. I'm finding myself wanting to take three big steps past this year, and a couple more after until I'm firmly planted somewhere, or KNOW that I will never be firmly planted anywhere....
Oh well... gotta suck it up and keep trucking.
Keeping an eye on the road, and another on the rainbow in the sky.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Walking Dream
I went for a walk. Twas a lovely walk; a wandering around my neighborhood. I started out with the sun beginning to peak through the clouds, and sink towards the western sky.
The Clouds over my head darkened, while the clouds in front of me split for the sun to sink, like the splitting of the crowd for royalty.
Rain begins to fall from the pinkening sky. Cooling my warm skin.
I've found my walks the perfect place to have my own moments to not think a thing. To put my right earbud in and listen to the world through my left ear. To watch the world pass by with my eyes, and the story of my mind with my heart.
I just let my mind play in ways that it can't do except for the times that I'm walking, and wandering the neighborhood I'd know blind. The houses I grew up knowing, skipping over the marks on the road I've always known, while watching memories pass through my mind like a movie. Memories of walking with my mom, or riding my bike with my sisters. Memories of a familiar male face under the starry dark sky; Halloween with trailers of family, then friends dressed up more than they ever had in their "childhood" years.
Whether my mind plays romantic scenes on the streets for me to watch, wandering with prince charming as he pours poetry into my ears. Or maybe it plays something more morbid and dark. Usually, it's something more somber and twisted. Leaving me in a fairly fragile mood for moments after a return home, but builds me up more, when I am able to gracefully pull myself back into reality.
The most thinking occurs while not thinking at all. The truth of your wishes and desires form with out thoughts and knowledge to intervene. Feelings with music mesh with the consistent padder of your feet, this foot in front of that, that infront of this; until they become a Beautiful Walking Dream.
The Clouds over my head darkened, while the clouds in front of me split for the sun to sink, like the splitting of the crowd for royalty.
Rain begins to fall from the pinkening sky. Cooling my warm skin.
I've found my walks the perfect place to have my own moments to not think a thing. To put my right earbud in and listen to the world through my left ear. To watch the world pass by with my eyes, and the story of my mind with my heart.
I just let my mind play in ways that it can't do except for the times that I'm walking, and wandering the neighborhood I'd know blind. The houses I grew up knowing, skipping over the marks on the road I've always known, while watching memories pass through my mind like a movie. Memories of walking with my mom, or riding my bike with my sisters. Memories of a familiar male face under the starry dark sky; Halloween with trailers of family, then friends dressed up more than they ever had in their "childhood" years.
Whether my mind plays romantic scenes on the streets for me to watch, wandering with prince charming as he pours poetry into my ears. Or maybe it plays something more morbid and dark. Usually, it's something more somber and twisted. Leaving me in a fairly fragile mood for moments after a return home, but builds me up more, when I am able to gracefully pull myself back into reality.
The most thinking occurs while not thinking at all. The truth of your wishes and desires form with out thoughts and knowledge to intervene. Feelings with music mesh with the consistent padder of your feet, this foot in front of that, that infront of this; until they become a Beautiful Walking Dream.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Beauty and Art
To take a brush in your hands and place it onto a paper, and to create Art. To move lines, and add layers. Painting is the act of taking a picture of your heart. Taking more than just an image, it takes feeling and skill, each line that is drawn, or splotch that is formed is tied to the memory that was being created.
It takes the human hand to move the brush. Your own energy to create the memory. They say a picture says a thousand words. Well a painting says more than words. It says feelings and emotion; puts the language of thought into picture. It's an image of something unreal, but solid in the realm of thought. Space and time captivated as one, thought and space, simply the same aspect.
Close your eyes and create something great. Open your eyes and add something for the world to see. True beauty can't be shared though solidity, it must be felt, a movement in the mind that words can't form. An image of the soul, that can't be seen with eyes. True Beauty is in the arts. The beauty is not in the colors you see, the people that are there, or notes being played, it is past that aspect, it is in the heart. It is what you can feel, what it brings into the mind that simply lacks ways of being shared with the neighbor next to you.
Beauty isn't in the words being written, it not the black and white of the pages in the book, it is the flow of the colors between the words, creating the image in the mind, the picture being painted with the brush of thought. The feeling that it gives, and the space past the physical that it is able to fill.
Beauty is the Art. Beauty is the Depth. Beauty is in the Heart. It's past your eyes and ears; It is simply in a realm of it's own.
It takes the human hand to move the brush. Your own energy to create the memory. They say a picture says a thousand words. Well a painting says more than words. It says feelings and emotion; puts the language of thought into picture. It's an image of something unreal, but solid in the realm of thought. Space and time captivated as one, thought and space, simply the same aspect.
Close your eyes and create something great. Open your eyes and add something for the world to see. True beauty can't be shared though solidity, it must be felt, a movement in the mind that words can't form. An image of the soul, that can't be seen with eyes. True Beauty is in the arts. The beauty is not in the colors you see, the people that are there, or notes being played, it is past that aspect, it is in the heart. It is what you can feel, what it brings into the mind that simply lacks ways of being shared with the neighbor next to you.
Beauty isn't in the words being written, it not the black and white of the pages in the book, it is the flow of the colors between the words, creating the image in the mind, the picture being painted with the brush of thought. The feeling that it gives, and the space past the physical that it is able to fill.
Beauty is the Art. Beauty is the Depth. Beauty is in the Heart. It's past your eyes and ears; It is simply in a realm of it's own.
Canada
"I will name you Elizabeth!" A girl says into her palm. With an enthusiastic toss the little rock, now names Elizabeth flies out of her hand into Lake Huron.
Little Elizabeth was not set free. She got washed away deep into the Lake when she bumped into a fish.
Afraid to be rude the little fish introduced himself, "Hi!" he says, "my name is Fishy. What's your name?"
Elizabeth was slightly thrown ascrew by fishy's quesstion. She had never had a name before the girl on the beach named her. She was very excited she now had a name to tell Fishy. "My name is Elizabeth!" she stated enthusiastically, "Do you want to be friends Fishy?"
"Yea!" replied Fishy, "Lets be best friends Elizabeth!"
"Best friends to the end!" the began chanting together. "Best friends to the end!"
Fishy and Elizabeth were best friends to the end of forever!
The End. :)
Little Elizabeth was not set free. She got washed away deep into the Lake when she bumped into a fish.
Afraid to be rude the little fish introduced himself, "Hi!" he says, "my name is Fishy. What's your name?"
Elizabeth was slightly thrown ascrew by fishy's quesstion. She had never had a name before the girl on the beach named her. She was very excited she now had a name to tell Fishy. "My name is Elizabeth!" she stated enthusiastically, "Do you want to be friends Fishy?"
"Yea!" replied Fishy, "Lets be best friends Elizabeth!"
"Best friends to the end!" the began chanting together. "Best friends to the end!"
Fishy and Elizabeth were best friends to the end of forever!
The End. :)
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Moments
My eyes open to the sun, and the wind blowing my hair in the soft wind about me. My toes sink into the sand; heat pulses through my veins; and the sun beats on my shoulders, slowly pinkening my skin. My ears pull in the song of the waves. My eyes draw in the beauty of the water, and the natural towers of sand, as seagulls soar in the air. All in a moment, as the darkness gracefully returns.
The black of my eyelids is replaced by the sparkling black or the night sky. The stars are decorating the earths ceiling. A cool breeze sneaks into the sleeves of my autumn jacket, chilling my skin in a sweet nostalgic way. The light from the window dances on the drifting red leaves of the old maple tree, as I listen to creaking of the swing. I pull my knees to me and trace the Big Dipper between the trees. In that moment, as I blink it way.
Opening my eyes I find the sun sneeking through the branches; lighting pedistals of beauty: a moss covered stone, a dragonfly fluttering over a babbling creek, or web set to snare it's distracted prey. I hear the buzzing of the instects, and the hum of fluttering birds over the water rushing through the rapids. I push my feet into the soft ground, twisting the grass between my toes as I lean against a tree in the midafternoon for a moment, closing my eyes to drift into a sleep, with dreams of more moments, more beauty, and more wonders than can be held in my heart.
The black of my eyelids is replaced by the sparkling black or the night sky. The stars are decorating the earths ceiling. A cool breeze sneaks into the sleeves of my autumn jacket, chilling my skin in a sweet nostalgic way. The light from the window dances on the drifting red leaves of the old maple tree, as I listen to creaking of the swing. I pull my knees to me and trace the Big Dipper between the trees. In that moment, as I blink it way.
Opening my eyes I find the sun sneeking through the branches; lighting pedistals of beauty: a moss covered stone, a dragonfly fluttering over a babbling creek, or web set to snare it's distracted prey. I hear the buzzing of the instects, and the hum of fluttering birds over the water rushing through the rapids. I push my feet into the soft ground, twisting the grass between my toes as I lean against a tree in the midafternoon for a moment, closing my eyes to drift into a sleep, with dreams of more moments, more beauty, and more wonders than can be held in my heart.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Art, Soul, and Body
I am sitting on the edge of my seat. Awaiting the beginning to the start.
Waiting for the season to begin. For the rush of the feild to be back into my blood. Preforming for a crowd that did not come simply to see me, but yet, still waits anxiously for the art of both music and movement to captivate the next ten minutes of their life. The ten minutes that had been prepared for months. That could crumble or fly without warning. The intensity of the danger in the art, and the humiliation in a mistake.
Waiting for the feel of the wooden floor below my feet and the red curtain in front of me. The burn of the lights on my face, and the feel of the paint on my skin. Preforming for the audience that willing hands the fate of the next two hours into our hands. Hands that have worked for months, in mornings and at nights. Put on a face, to talk to other faces, and to show the world we can be more than the people that they have seen us to be. To share a story, to share a tear. To show love and hate in ways people see as laughter and art.
Waiting to be a part of one unit that needs the others in the unit to function together. Working together to push towards a master piece that will be displayed for many souls. Having all eyes on you. All knowing if you make a mistake, a wrong step, and off note, a crack, a slip, a fall. A complete and utter fail.
Waiting for the pressure of the performance, the beauty of the art, the power of the music, and the truth of the story.
Waiting for the season to begin. For the rush of the feild to be back into my blood. Preforming for a crowd that did not come simply to see me, but yet, still waits anxiously for the art of both music and movement to captivate the next ten minutes of their life. The ten minutes that had been prepared for months. That could crumble or fly without warning. The intensity of the danger in the art, and the humiliation in a mistake.
Waiting for the feel of the wooden floor below my feet and the red curtain in front of me. The burn of the lights on my face, and the feel of the paint on my skin. Preforming for the audience that willing hands the fate of the next two hours into our hands. Hands that have worked for months, in mornings and at nights. Put on a face, to talk to other faces, and to show the world we can be more than the people that they have seen us to be. To share a story, to share a tear. To show love and hate in ways people see as laughter and art.
Waiting to be a part of one unit that needs the others in the unit to function together. Working together to push towards a master piece that will be displayed for many souls. Having all eyes on you. All knowing if you make a mistake, a wrong step, and off note, a crack, a slip, a fall. A complete and utter fail.
Waiting for the pressure of the performance, the beauty of the art, the power of the music, and the truth of the story.
The beginning.
A story, or a journal. Thoughts or a plot. Characters or people. I can't seem to decide, but I'm going to write in this blog. I'm going to put together a collaboration of words, my words. With stories, with plots. With thoughts and with prayers. My hope is someday this blog will be able to be read by anyone who wishes to open it up. Less personal than a journal, but more human than a story.
It scares me the variety of depths this has the potential to have. The consistancy of it will be insane, No one will follow a word, but I hope the will follow amusement.
I you dare to be brave, follow my words and thoughts as I fight for the diligence to start, continue, and in a sense finish this project I'm sure few are to see.
It scares me the variety of depths this has the potential to have. The consistancy of it will be insane, No one will follow a word, but I hope the will follow amusement.
I you dare to be brave, follow my words and thoughts as I fight for the diligence to start, continue, and in a sense finish this project I'm sure few are to see.
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