Context: I went through a few weeks of my life a little while ago where I had insomnia. Some nights were worse than others and if you've ever had that experience you know how bad it is, if you have not I sincerely hope you never will. I wrote this a night after getting about 5 hours and it was the first piece of writing where I actually tried to make it sounds good and I went back and edited it a bunch. I hope you enjoy, this one means a lot to me.
Open your eyes, see the world dark as the early morning. It is not a new world, it's the same one you fell asleep in. Flop out of bed, onto the cold, dank floor and lay there as long as you may. See if we care. You are late. What worse travesty you could commit we do not know. We call you students but you are the drones. You are the zombies. You are the sleepless. Doctors call it insomnia. We call it lazyness. You just call it High School. You tell us we are the authorities. We don't even control our own lives. We give you the greatest gift of all, the gift of knowledge. You are up late into the night with your work. We are up late into the night worried you aren't working. You are frantically accepting our pitiful tid bits of information. Not grateful for a single word. Bed by midnight, up by six. That's plenty. I am happy. Can't you see how happy I am. I'm gliding through life on a ice rink of sleeplessness and it makes me think about all of you. I remember that time. That time not so long ago. That time when I was you. I must know that there will be a time when you become me. We are we, and we all live life. Each one of us skating by on this glorious, sleepless cloud of life.
Sorry if that was confusing, let me explain just the perspective. It's written by a bitter old teacher reflecting on the students of his school. "We" is teachers "you" is students. Once again, I hope you liked that, it really did mean something to me.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Remarkable Things in Unremarkable Places
Context: I sing in choir at school and every year we go to District Choir Festival to get judged. Enjoy!
Today we go to choir festival to get our art judged. What a world we live in where art can be given a number. I woke up at 6:00, earlier than I've been awake in about a year. It's a strange feeling to wake up during the night. I sat at the way back of the bus in the center right above the axel of the back wheels in a way such that I am the axis that the bus turns on. It is nothing that I would have ever thought about but it is incredible. I see this massive tube before me lumbering it's way through even the slightest turn. Outside the sun is rising and with this turn I see the entire spectrum circling around me. Watching all the people turn in front of me, The careful ascent of the sun casting a soft reddish orange glow on to the horizon. I realize all too suddenly that this is what it should be about. You are not what grades you get, what college you go to, what job you get, what success you have. You are this moment. These few perfect moments that only happen every second of the day. Gone before you realize they are there. I look up from my phone, where I'm writing furiously to see that the silent assassin of the sun has snuck up on me and the horizon is a pale, blinding gray. That moment will never return. This doesn't bother me though because as I hurtle down the highway I see a single house, standing proudly against my gray horizon. Silhouetted carefully by a blackened evergreen forest. Thank you, little red house. You gave me another moment.
Today we go to choir festival to get our art judged. What a world we live in where art can be given a number. I woke up at 6:00, earlier than I've been awake in about a year. It's a strange feeling to wake up during the night. I sat at the way back of the bus in the center right above the axel of the back wheels in a way such that I am the axis that the bus turns on. It is nothing that I would have ever thought about but it is incredible. I see this massive tube before me lumbering it's way through even the slightest turn. Outside the sun is rising and with this turn I see the entire spectrum circling around me. Watching all the people turn in front of me, The careful ascent of the sun casting a soft reddish orange glow on to the horizon. I realize all too suddenly that this is what it should be about. You are not what grades you get, what college you go to, what job you get, what success you have. You are this moment. These few perfect moments that only happen every second of the day. Gone before you realize they are there. I look up from my phone, where I'm writing furiously to see that the silent assassin of the sun has snuck up on me and the horizon is a pale, blinding gray. That moment will never return. This doesn't bother me though because as I hurtle down the highway I see a single house, standing proudly against my gray horizon. Silhouetted carefully by a blackened evergreen forest. Thank you, little red house. You gave me another moment.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Burning Land
Context: Here's another piece of boredom from Chemisty AP! This one was texted to one of my good friends in an act to stave boredom. It initially had his name in it but I edited that out and reworked the ending. Enjoy!
There was a man like no other;
He knew that to smother
The pluming fires of a wasteland lost
He would have to pay a cost.
This man was known about the land;
He knew that he would be a hand
To all the people of the land
And from one hand to the other,
Burning ash was passed
Down like a precious family jewel.
This land was burned, beaten and brown
But after the burning
This land could see amongst its masses
Only one man, this man above all
This man to whom they dedicate a hall
This man who had no fear.
He was but a wise and elder seer
Sitting amongst the forgotten ashes
Of a lonely, burned out land.
This man could see above it all,
This man could see through the fall
Of this forgotten, lonely land.
This man;
This man stood above
The land, which burned.
This land, which hurt.
This man is only greater than
A crusted over forgotten shell of land
Is this man a hero?
Is anyone?
*Credits to Anastasia for helping me with the rhymes in a few of the lines, thank you much!
Here's a bonus, this was written up in a similar vain but it's lacking any real depth and it's just sort of silly. This one got some good giggles from the person I was texting, hope you like it.
How does one see him?
How does one hear him?
Naught could see this man,
Naught could beat this man.
A man is nothing amongst ham,
A man is nothing if not a raw ham,
There was once a man.
Not a man, but a man's man.
He stood above the ham,
This man above ham.
He would take no ham
For he was above the ham.
There was a man like no other;
He knew that to smother
The pluming fires of a wasteland lost
He would have to pay a cost.
This man was known about the land;
He knew that he would be a hand
To all the people of the land
And from one hand to the other,
Burning ash was passed
Down like a precious family jewel.
This land was burned, beaten and brown
But after the burning
This land could see amongst its masses
Only one man, this man above all
This man to whom they dedicate a hall
This man who had no fear.
He was but a wise and elder seer
Sitting amongst the forgotten ashes
Of a lonely, burned out land.
This man could see above it all,
This man could see through the fall
Of this forgotten, lonely land.
This man;
This man stood above
The land, which burned.
This land, which hurt.
This man is only greater than
A crusted over forgotten shell of land
Is this man a hero?
Is anyone?
*Credits to Anastasia for helping me with the rhymes in a few of the lines, thank you much!
Here's a bonus, this was written up in a similar vain but it's lacking any real depth and it's just sort of silly. This one got some good giggles from the person I was texting, hope you like it.
How does one see him?
How does one hear him?
Naught could see this man,
Naught could beat this man.
A man is nothing amongst ham,
A man is nothing if not a raw ham,
There was once a man.
Not a man, but a man's man.
He stood above the ham,
This man above ham.
He would take no ham
For he was above the ham.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Trapped
Context: This is probably going to need the most context out of anything I've written or will write for a while but anyways, here goes. As most people know, Junior year is when all high schoolers have to take a battery of tests. For some reason, it has been decided that all these tests should be shoved in next to each other and completed in a three day super fun standardized test taking marathon. I finished my math portion early on the second day and wrote this up in the test booklet itself. I then took some time to go back and memorize it after the test was all done. [Spoiler, skip this if you took the MME and just read my writing below] The very last sentence is a reference to one of the questions in the reading section in which the reading was quite literally. "...You must set the coffee maker to go off at 6:30..." and the question was "When should you set the coffee maker for?" It's the twist which I wish I didn't have to ruin, but those that hadn't taken the test would be baffled without this.[/spoiler] I hope you enjoy this short bit of writing very much.
Trapped I am in this dark cell. Staring out the few windows I am given. I am overwhelmed by the pure silence and the sound of my thoughts. People of all different origins surround me. This is only our second day together and tomorrow will be our last. I glare downwards at my single piece of property. How could they even ask me that! I think I need to set the coffee maker for 6:30.
Trapped I am in this dark cell. Staring out the few windows I am given. I am overwhelmed by the pure silence and the sound of my thoughts. People of all different origins surround me. This is only our second day together and tomorrow will be our last. I glare downwards at my single piece of property. How could they even ask me that! I think I need to set the coffee maker for 6:30.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Chemistry Window
Context: In Chemistry class I very consistently become bored. Rather than sleeping or texting or what have you as most of the other kids do, I try to use this time to be constructive. I write a lot, I study for other classes, and think. I sit right by the window and one day I decided I should write. Initially, it was going to be about the incredible beauty but when I really looked I saw how horribly ugly this view I had was.
Looking out I realize the vast chaotic nature of nature. Perhaps all that holds still is only waiting to change. An old, venerable tree diminished to just a pile of upstanding twigs. Evergreen bushes joyously sprouting out of what's left of the ground. Snows dotting the bushes, unmoving, but waiting to drop. Snow piled off of the spotless road, melting into a mass of dirt and stone. A boundless wall of glass held up by nothing but brick and the Earth itself stands proudly against nature. Its coupled by a few blocks of metal used to catapult us from place to place, desecrating Mother Earth with every turn of the wheel. Coughing out massive plumes of smoke and foggy stupidity. Hanging adamantly above this disgusting pile of steel is an old decrepyt bird feeder. Welcoming nature to the land of man. You are welcome nature! We stomp on you and we build over you but we welcome you to this world we've made. It's a nice world, we live happily. But stay on your side of the road and we'll stay on ours. For now.
Looking out I realize the vast chaotic nature of nature. Perhaps all that holds still is only waiting to change. An old, venerable tree diminished to just a pile of upstanding twigs. Evergreen bushes joyously sprouting out of what's left of the ground. Snows dotting the bushes, unmoving, but waiting to drop. Snow piled off of the spotless road, melting into a mass of dirt and stone. A boundless wall of glass held up by nothing but brick and the Earth itself stands proudly against nature. Its coupled by a few blocks of metal used to catapult us from place to place, desecrating Mother Earth with every turn of the wheel. Coughing out massive plumes of smoke and foggy stupidity. Hanging adamantly above this disgusting pile of steel is an old decrepyt bird feeder. Welcoming nature to the land of man. You are welcome nature! We stomp on you and we build over you but we welcome you to this world we've made. It's a nice world, we live happily. But stay on your side of the road and we'll stay on ours. For now.
Flying by life at 80 MPH
A bit of context: This past winter break I went on a trip through Pennsylvania to visit various colleges. My parents decided to take a 9 or so hour drive home. The road conditions were fairly dangerous, but we went anyways. I thought that "Nine Stories" by J.D. Sallinger would be enough to keep me going through the trip, but I ran out of book. I got really bored and just started staring out the window and just thinking to myself. I was struck by inspiration and wrote the following on my phone at 11 PM.
I look out upon a deep, vast wasteland of pure white blizzardy non-sense. The world passing me by at 80 miles an hour. I see nothing but road and white stretching infinitely across my view. Then somehow, against all odds there is a single light. It might be travelling. What's that light? Its coming towards me. Its so small but it consumes me. All I think of is this damn light. I hate it! It taunts me letting me know that I will never know what it is. I will never see the mystery. It grows larger. What is this damned light! It comes over me. I see a single, glorious cascading moment of beauty. The light washes me. I see each individual snowflake dropping lazily down from miles in the sky. In that moment, I see. I pass that moment travelling 80 miles an hour. Everywhere I look is white once again.
I look out upon a deep, vast wasteland of pure white blizzardy non-sense. The world passing me by at 80 miles an hour. I see nothing but road and white stretching infinitely across my view. Then somehow, against all odds there is a single light. It might be travelling. What's that light? Its coming towards me. Its so small but it consumes me. All I think of is this damn light. I hate it! It taunts me letting me know that I will never know what it is. I will never see the mystery. It grows larger. What is this damned light! It comes over me. I see a single, glorious cascading moment of beauty. The light washes me. I see each individual snowflake dropping lazily down from miles in the sky. In that moment, I see. I pass that moment travelling 80 miles an hour. Everywhere I look is white once again.
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