Tuesday, December 23, 2003
a short hope is conjured within your compelling ears
They are only vibrations, these wings
elecricity is all that lurks behind our given words,
powered by those we keep—like old shoes that have been to Europe on our feet—
in the deep of a closet. You are a closet,
and you are a dozen documents shuffling in the wind of your hands.
I can remember the you in your shuffling faces.
I can trace you to your room or I can be stolen by the road we're on.
Do you know where I'm
hovering, now?
Giving to a lover a trespassing echo is like singing a poem through the keyboard
is like asking to be a tenant of your ear without asking to be a tenant of your most premium embraces.
Touch the place my voice touches and save it for me and let the others be stone for these premium seconds.
They are only vibrations, these wings
elecricity is all that lurks behind our given words,
powered by those we keep—like old shoes that have been to Europe on our feet—
in the deep of a closet. You are a closet,
and you are a dozen documents shuffling in the wind of your hands.
I can remember the you in your shuffling faces.
I can trace you to your room or I can be stolen by the road we're on.
Do you know where I'm
hovering, now?
Giving to a lover a trespassing echo is like singing a poem through the keyboard
is like asking to be a tenant of your ear without asking to be a tenant of your most premium embraces.
Touch the place my voice touches and save it for me and let the others be stone for these premium seconds.
Sunday, December 21, 2003
I'm finding it difficult to use this medium, and not just due to lack of internet availability. Too much of my energy goes into everyday and love. I miss the practice of daily writing, and if I go much longer without a routine, I think I will dull whatever edge I've accrued. I need to write more, and more often. Help me.
Young Blogs II
The freshmen blog project has ended, but here are some more fragments from the life-soaked language of the young.
The crib was brown and felt like a jail cell without a top. Its not a sad memory, and its not a happy one. I do not remember much more than what I have said. I was very young at the time, about two years old. I only remember what i saw, nothing I heard, if any thing.
Before i knew it finals was here and i found myself studying the night before crammin all the info into my head. It didnt fit.
I was about 5 or 6 years old and I was at a soccer game of mine. I was called out for a little while because I had gotten hurt by another player. While I was out I drank a Coke. While I was drinking it, a bee came and flew onto my Coke can. I tried to make it go away but it wouldn't and then I just squooshed it onto my can and then I got stung by it's stinger. God am I dumb! I then got hurt and then I couldn't really keep control of myself because I was really hurt. My chair was near the soccer goal and there was a ball right in front of me. As I was in pain I kicked the ball, and I have a powerful kick by the way, I kicked it into the goalie's face and I also tripped when I did it and then I sprained my ankle while doing so. I guess I deserved it because of killing the bug and kicking the ball into the goalie's face.
But i have also have learned outside of school that will help me in the real world. Like for instance how to do my laundary or pet puppies. To see life and feel life and be life...I learned how to remeber the periodic table of elements by making sentences. I learned how to make the best snowman by knocking it down and starting over again
One thing I took for granite was a ukalalie that my grandma got me. At first I took it for granite, but when it got broken I felt sad that I never really did take the time to play it.
(I thought this was merely an amusing string of unintentional punnery at first, but on re-reading, it's actually pretty meloncholic coming from a 14-year-old.)
My biggest anxiety is other people. What other people do and say affects what I do and say, and your never sure of what others are going to do. Its like improvising a skit, and your line is always next, and what you say always depends on what the last person said. That makes me very anxious.
(This would be invaluable stuff for my English IV class's art vs. nature discourse)
We watched the slowly moving decaying people pass by
Right now, I do not have any dream about future. My mother said being lawyer might be good for my future family and safe, but I know that it will be very hard. I can try, however it is not the subject that I can enjoy. I think I have to try manythings to choose my career. For my unclear way, I need to try pathes
(This is the most philosophical student I have. He's Korean, and as driven as the other Koreans, but more by ideas and the abstract and less by success. He not only has a strong grasp on expression, he's always tweaking his finesse with language.)
And, finally...
The first day of first grade. That was golden. I woke up, excited. It was an Indian Summer that year so it was still summer weather in that Wednesday in September. I wore my silk collared shirt that has the letters of the alphabet on it. I wore that shirt on my first days of kindergartenm first grade, and second grade. I don't think I wore it in third grade; it might have been a little small by then. It now hangs in the laundry room closet, waiting.
It sometimes resembles "Chicken Soup for...." schmaltz, but what astonishes me are the flashes of excellent writing, the turning of a new phrase, and the honesty with which these young people commit their perception of life and opinions of living in it.
The freshmen blog project has ended, but here are some more fragments from the life-soaked language of the young.
The crib was brown and felt like a jail cell without a top. Its not a sad memory, and its not a happy one. I do not remember much more than what I have said. I was very young at the time, about two years old. I only remember what i saw, nothing I heard, if any thing.
Before i knew it finals was here and i found myself studying the night before crammin all the info into my head. It didnt fit.
I was about 5 or 6 years old and I was at a soccer game of mine. I was called out for a little while because I had gotten hurt by another player. While I was out I drank a Coke. While I was drinking it, a bee came and flew onto my Coke can. I tried to make it go away but it wouldn't and then I just squooshed it onto my can and then I got stung by it's stinger. God am I dumb! I then got hurt and then I couldn't really keep control of myself because I was really hurt. My chair was near the soccer goal and there was a ball right in front of me. As I was in pain I kicked the ball, and I have a powerful kick by the way, I kicked it into the goalie's face and I also tripped when I did it and then I sprained my ankle while doing so. I guess I deserved it because of killing the bug and kicking the ball into the goalie's face.
But i have also have learned outside of school that will help me in the real world. Like for instance how to do my laundary or pet puppies. To see life and feel life and be life...I learned how to remeber the periodic table of elements by making sentences. I learned how to make the best snowman by knocking it down and starting over again
One thing I took for granite was a ukalalie that my grandma got me. At first I took it for granite, but when it got broken I felt sad that I never really did take the time to play it.
(I thought this was merely an amusing string of unintentional punnery at first, but on re-reading, it's actually pretty meloncholic coming from a 14-year-old.)
My biggest anxiety is other people. What other people do and say affects what I do and say, and your never sure of what others are going to do. Its like improvising a skit, and your line is always next, and what you say always depends on what the last person said. That makes me very anxious.
(This would be invaluable stuff for my English IV class's art vs. nature discourse)
We watched the slowly moving decaying people pass by
Right now, I do not have any dream about future. My mother said being lawyer might be good for my future family and safe, but I know that it will be very hard. I can try, however it is not the subject that I can enjoy. I think I have to try manythings to choose my career. For my unclear way, I need to try pathes
(This is the most philosophical student I have. He's Korean, and as driven as the other Koreans, but more by ideas and the abstract and less by success. He not only has a strong grasp on expression, he's always tweaking his finesse with language.)
And, finally...
The first day of first grade. That was golden. I woke up, excited. It was an Indian Summer that year so it was still summer weather in that Wednesday in September. I wore my silk collared shirt that has the letters of the alphabet on it. I wore that shirt on my first days of kindergartenm first grade, and second grade. I don't think I wore it in third grade; it might have been a little small by then. It now hangs in the laundry room closet, waiting.
It sometimes resembles "Chicken Soup for...." schmaltz, but what astonishes me are the flashes of excellent writing, the turning of a new phrase, and the honesty with which these young people commit their perception of life and opinions of living in it.
