Like this one.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
New Tradition (Hopefully)
The Festival of Colors was just as great this year as it was last year. I would very much like to make this a new tradition. There really aren't many things that I enjoy enough to have any desire to commit to doing them every year, most traditions seem like kind of a waste of time to me, but this is one thing that I would do that for. It's just such an unusual experience; I've never known anything else quite like it. Apparently, as we learned this year, the whole idea behind the festival is unity. The point of the colors being that, once everyone is covered in different colors, we can't see our differences anymore. The goal is to bring everyone together and make connections with each other. It sounds kind of corny but I feel like, at least to some extent, it really does work. There's just something about being around all of these people who, for the most part, don't know each other, all having fun and throwing brightly colored dust at each other that makes you feel like you're a part of something. Plus, my sister, Caty got some really amazing pictures.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Kickboxing and Colors
There were two new students in my kickboxing class last night (The actual name of which, by the way, is Muay Thai Fundamentals. That will be relevant later in the post). This meant that the class was pretty much a review of things I had done quite a while ago. It worked out okay though because 1- I got to help demonstrate things for the new students, which was kind of cool. And 2- I'm sure I could use the practice on those things anyway. At the end of class, the instructor said to me "So what did you think?" I assume because he realizes that I prefer having just the two of us in class. I kind of laughed and said "Not bad." To which he replied "Well, you know, at some point it was going to have to be an actual fundamentals class instead of just whatever you needed." I suppose that is true. I'm still kind of hoping the other guys don't come back though. Does that make me a bad person? How about if I just hope that they decide to go to class on a different day?
Also, the Festival of Colors is today. I'm pretty excited about it.
Also, the Festival of Colors is today. I'm pretty excited about it.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Weird-Ass Moth Story Part 2
A continuation of Weird-Ass Moth Story Part 1
For the rest of her life, Persephone would never forget a single detail of the moth's appearance because, she would always be able to see it when she closed her eyes. It was much larger than it should have been, given the size of the cocoon, with a thin sleek body and legs that were unnervingly long and frail. It's wings were enormous and powerful looking with strange jagged edges. The body was as black and as stickily shiny as tar, and the wings were charcoal gray with streaks of burgundy, like blood drying over ashes.
It sat motionless for several moments and she wanted to leave, to run home and pretend like none of this ever happened, but something inside of her wouldn't let that happen. Instead, she sat staring at the moth and realized that it was staring back at her. Not only that, but that it could see her; see everything about her, things she herself couldn't even see. She could feel it's large black eyes digging into her. It was as if it were crawling through her mind and her soul, looking for something......something. Then it gave it's wings a great shake, to remove the last drops of moisture left over from it's transformation, and she knew that it had found what it was looking for. It took to the air, and the way that it flew reminded her more of a bird of prey than a moth; moving not with a quick fluttering motion but with huge, dramatic swoops of it's wings. It moved slowly and deliberately straight toward her then angled slightly to her left, at the last second. It's wing lightly grazed her cheekbone, like a kiss, as it passed leaving behind a charcoal gray streak of shimmering dust. She knew somehow that it had claimed her. She belonged to it now.
She turned and watched as the moth lifted upward into the treetops, and was gone. She sat there for another moment, trying to make some sense of what had just happened, but found that she was unable to form any kind of coherent thought. She could feel a strange pulse, as if the ground beneath her had it's own heartbeat, and it made it impossible for her to concentrate. So she stood and slowly walked home, unaware of the darkness that had fallen as well as everything else around her.
When she opened the front door, her mother instantly dashed over and grabbed her shoulders in something that was half way between a hug and a threat. "Where have you been?!" At first, Persephone could not understand why her mother was so upset; she always walked in the woods after school. It was only then that she became aware of how dark it had gotten. "Sorry, Mom. I guess I lost track of time." She said, with no inflection. "I'm going to my room, okay?" Her mother's look of concern and irritation became pure concern, and she asked "Aren't you hungry?" Persephone answered with a simple "No." and walked slowly, numbly, to her room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard her mother call "And what is that on your face?" but she didn't know how to answer that, so she didn't try.
She had a mirror on her wall that she'd had since she was four years old. It was a cheap thing with a wide plastic frame, that she and her mother had bought at a yard sale. It was her very favorite thing that she owned. When they first bought it, her mother had helped her paint the frame in a multitude of obnoxiously bright colors. Since then, it had become an ongoing project for them. The mirror had gone through several different incarnations, from the bright colors, to glittered, to covered in stickers, and was now a sort of mosaic. They had glued on everything from broken jewelry, to newspaper clippings, to scraps of fabric from her favorite clothes that she had outgrown.
She now stood before this mirror, that somehow represented everything that was her life, and studied her reflection. She looked different. She felt different. Some of the plainness had left her face. Her eyes and hair, which had always been exactly the same shade of generic and unappealing brown, appeared to have grown darker. Her lips seemed to have more color to them as well. That wasn't all though; there was something else, some undefinable quality that hadn't been there before. She looked at the streak of gray on her cheek. It felt tingly, as if there were a slight electrical current running through it. She thought of wiping it off, but couldn't bring herself to do it. So she walked to her bed, without changing out of her dirty clothes, lay down and was asleep almost instantly. For the first of many, many nights throughout her life she dreamed of the moth.
For the rest of her life, Persephone would never forget a single detail of the moth's appearance because, she would always be able to see it when she closed her eyes. It was much larger than it should have been, given the size of the cocoon, with a thin sleek body and legs that were unnervingly long and frail. It's wings were enormous and powerful looking with strange jagged edges. The body was as black and as stickily shiny as tar, and the wings were charcoal gray with streaks of burgundy, like blood drying over ashes.
It sat motionless for several moments and she wanted to leave, to run home and pretend like none of this ever happened, but something inside of her wouldn't let that happen. Instead, she sat staring at the moth and realized that it was staring back at her. Not only that, but that it could see her; see everything about her, things she herself couldn't even see. She could feel it's large black eyes digging into her. It was as if it were crawling through her mind and her soul, looking for something......something. Then it gave it's wings a great shake, to remove the last drops of moisture left over from it's transformation, and she knew that it had found what it was looking for. It took to the air, and the way that it flew reminded her more of a bird of prey than a moth; moving not with a quick fluttering motion but with huge, dramatic swoops of it's wings. It moved slowly and deliberately straight toward her then angled slightly to her left, at the last second. It's wing lightly grazed her cheekbone, like a kiss, as it passed leaving behind a charcoal gray streak of shimmering dust. She knew somehow that it had claimed her. She belonged to it now.
She turned and watched as the moth lifted upward into the treetops, and was gone. She sat there for another moment, trying to make some sense of what had just happened, but found that she was unable to form any kind of coherent thought. She could feel a strange pulse, as if the ground beneath her had it's own heartbeat, and it made it impossible for her to concentrate. So she stood and slowly walked home, unaware of the darkness that had fallen as well as everything else around her.
When she opened the front door, her mother instantly dashed over and grabbed her shoulders in something that was half way between a hug and a threat. "Where have you been?!" At first, Persephone could not understand why her mother was so upset; she always walked in the woods after school. It was only then that she became aware of how dark it had gotten. "Sorry, Mom. I guess I lost track of time." She said, with no inflection. "I'm going to my room, okay?" Her mother's look of concern and irritation became pure concern, and she asked "Aren't you hungry?" Persephone answered with a simple "No." and walked slowly, numbly, to her room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard her mother call "And what is that on your face?" but she didn't know how to answer that, so she didn't try.
She had a mirror on her wall that she'd had since she was four years old. It was a cheap thing with a wide plastic frame, that she and her mother had bought at a yard sale. It was her very favorite thing that she owned. When they first bought it, her mother had helped her paint the frame in a multitude of obnoxiously bright colors. Since then, it had become an ongoing project for them. The mirror had gone through several different incarnations, from the bright colors, to glittered, to covered in stickers, and was now a sort of mosaic. They had glued on everything from broken jewelry, to newspaper clippings, to scraps of fabric from her favorite clothes that she had outgrown.
She now stood before this mirror, that somehow represented everything that was her life, and studied her reflection. She looked different. She felt different. Some of the plainness had left her face. Her eyes and hair, which had always been exactly the same shade of generic and unappealing brown, appeared to have grown darker. Her lips seemed to have more color to them as well. That wasn't all though; there was something else, some undefinable quality that hadn't been there before. She looked at the streak of gray on her cheek. It felt tingly, as if there were a slight electrical current running through it. She thought of wiping it off, but couldn't bring herself to do it. So she walked to her bed, without changing out of her dirty clothes, lay down and was asleep almost instantly. For the first of many, many nights throughout her life she dreamed of the moth.
I think this will be the end of chapter one. I know it's short for a chapter but 1- I like short chapters and 2- if I ever actually make this into a book, I guess I'll add some more stuff in there.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Mourning Finished Books
I finished Hemlock Grove (the book) recently, and I am extremely upset! Do you ever finish a book, or series and feel like someone you love just died? Maybe that's a bit dramatic, perhaps I should say "moved away". Though about half the time, at least in my case, they actually did die! (Did you think I had gotten over what happened to Mitchell? I didn't!).
I truly do have an uncanny knack becoming far too attached to fictional characters. In this case, even more so in the book than in the series. You see, the more fucked up a character is the more likely I am to become unhealthily attached to them. Well Roman, in the book, was even more fucked up than Roman, in the show. So, naturally, he is my new favorite person.
There was this one line, that was in the book but not the series, that just about killed me. It went like this;
"But she would make it, because maybe he wasn't much of a warrior but if there was one thing he was cut out for it was an epic and retarded act of love."
Despite how non-PC that is (apologies, by the way. Had I been the one writing it, I probably would have gone with "...epic and hopelessly idiotic..." or perhaps ".....epic and suicidally stupid....." or something like that.) the sentient stands. I feel like I'm in the same boat. There aren't a lot of things in this world that I feel particularly well-suited for but, if there's one thing I am cut out for, it's probably that. Anyway, I have WAY more in common with Roman than I should probably ever admit. Yeah, I can relate more closely to a fictional, high school age, Upir guy, with a multitude of psychological problems, than anyone else I'm currently aware of. That's totally healthy.
I truly do have an uncanny knack becoming far too attached to fictional characters. In this case, even more so in the book than in the series. You see, the more fucked up a character is the more likely I am to become unhealthily attached to them. Well Roman, in the book, was even more fucked up than Roman, in the show. So, naturally, he is my new favorite person.
There was this one line, that was in the book but not the series, that just about killed me. It went like this;
"But she would make it, because maybe he wasn't much of a warrior but if there was one thing he was cut out for it was an epic and retarded act of love."
Despite how non-PC that is (apologies, by the way. Had I been the one writing it, I probably would have gone with "...epic and hopelessly idiotic..." or perhaps ".....epic and suicidally stupid....." or something like that.) the sentient stands. I feel like I'm in the same boat. There aren't a lot of things in this world that I feel particularly well-suited for but, if there's one thing I am cut out for, it's probably that. Anyway, I have WAY more in common with Roman than I should probably ever admit. Yeah, I can relate more closely to a fictional, high school age, Upir guy, with a multitude of psychological problems, than anyone else I'm currently aware of. That's totally healthy.
Then again....... maybe that's been my problem all along, perhaps I'm an Upir and just don't know it. It would explain a lot.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
I'm a Bad Person
This past weekend, my mom and I went to see If I Stay. It was a bit more of a romance than I'm usually into, but it was still quite good. The characters were cool, the story was interesting, and the music was fantastic, so I was able to forgive the chick flick moments. Anyway, good movie, you should check it out.
The real point of this post though is the fact that, when I watch these kinds of movies, it's not the sad parts that make me sad; it's the happy parts. The whole time I was watching this movie, I'm thinking "Yeah, I'm sorry you were in a horrible car accident, and that totally sucks that you're in a coma now. But why can't I live in Portland, and hang out with a bunch of cool musicians, and be ridiculously talented, and have a boyfriend who loves me?!" Seriously, everything that happened in her life (besides the car accident) I would give damn near anything to have happen to me.
It's always like this with sad movies too, because what really makes a movie sad is what the person loses (or almost loses, or might lose). So in order to have a good sad movie, the main character has to have something really great, for at least a little while. I mean, if my life were a movie the most horrible thing imaginable could happen to me and it still would be very sad because the audience would just think "Eh, she didn't really have anything going for her anyway."
Also, I am moving to fucking Portland someday! Even if it's when I'm eighty years old, I'm going!
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Weird-Ass Moth Story Part 1
Okay you guys, since I actually did get some interest, here is a little snippet of my weird-ass moth story. I'm keeping it short for now, because I'm fucking paranoid about this and, the less I share, the less likely I am to embarrass myself. If anyone actually likes it, and I don't get too embarrassed, and I keep working on it, I might post more at a later date.
It was a moth; that was how it all started.
Persephone had always been an unusual, but highly intelligent, child.
(before we go any further. Yes, Persephone is a strange name. Yes, the other kids at school made fun of it from time to time. No, she didn't care. She loved her name, actually; she thought it fit her. She did once ask her parents how they chose it though. They both shrugged as if the question had never occurred to them. Then her dad said "I don't know. I guess we heard it somewhere and thought it was pretty." She found this answer satisfactory. That was how her parents were; they liked what they liked and saw no need to justify it to anyone. She kind of loved that about them.)
She had little in common with the other kids and so spent most of her time after school alone, often walking in the small section of woods near her house. During one of these excursions, when she was ten years old, she happened upon a large fuzzy cocoon, near the base of a tree. She had always been fascinated by such things, so she knelt down to get a better look at it. As she leaned closer, her face only a few inches from the cocoon to examine the fibers from which it had been constructed, there was a sudden jolt from inside. Startled, she fell back on her heels and then laughed at her own foolishness. It was just a little cocoon, what did she think it was going to do to her? As she watched, the moth inside continued to squirm and stretch at the walls of it's prison. Suddenly she became ecstatic realizing that, if she was patient, she would actually get to see it hatch out. She had never seen that before and she knew instinctively that, if she ever did, it would be the most amazing thing she would ever see.
It was a slow, laborious process and she sat enthralled through the whole thing, unaware of how much time was passing. She watched the cocoon twitch, and stretch, and eventually begin to split. Even at this young age, she understood the importance of this event. She saw the philosophical implications of being witness to this miracle. The humble, and mundane in every way, caterpillar would soon emerge as a beautiful moth who would, no doubt, be admired by all who saw her. Persephone knew on some deep level that it was really her in there. She was about to watch herself transform from this awkward child into something remarkable.
All at once, the cocoon ripped to shreds and what it revealed caused her to fall backward once again. This time she did not laugh. It was unlike anything she had ever seen, and terrifying in a way that she would never be able to articulate, or even fully comprehend for herself. She supposed that it was a moth; it at least fit the technical description of one. But she also knew that it was really something else entirely, something that she had every right to be frightened of, even if she couldn't explain why. It was beautiful in a way that made her breath catch in her chest. She imagined this was the kind of beauty that one would find in the eye of a tornado, or at the center of a raging fire; the kind of beauty that a person usually only sees if it is the last thing he or she will ever see.
Okay, you guys, that's all for now. Waste of time? Yea or nay?
It was a moth; that was how it all started.
Persephone had always been an unusual, but highly intelligent, child.
(before we go any further. Yes, Persephone is a strange name. Yes, the other kids at school made fun of it from time to time. No, she didn't care. She loved her name, actually; she thought it fit her. She did once ask her parents how they chose it though. They both shrugged as if the question had never occurred to them. Then her dad said "I don't know. I guess we heard it somewhere and thought it was pretty." She found this answer satisfactory. That was how her parents were; they liked what they liked and saw no need to justify it to anyone. She kind of loved that about them.)
She had little in common with the other kids and so spent most of her time after school alone, often walking in the small section of woods near her house. During one of these excursions, when she was ten years old, she happened upon a large fuzzy cocoon, near the base of a tree. She had always been fascinated by such things, so she knelt down to get a better look at it. As she leaned closer, her face only a few inches from the cocoon to examine the fibers from which it had been constructed, there was a sudden jolt from inside. Startled, she fell back on her heels and then laughed at her own foolishness. It was just a little cocoon, what did she think it was going to do to her? As she watched, the moth inside continued to squirm and stretch at the walls of it's prison. Suddenly she became ecstatic realizing that, if she was patient, she would actually get to see it hatch out. She had never seen that before and she knew instinctively that, if she ever did, it would be the most amazing thing she would ever see.
It was a slow, laborious process and she sat enthralled through the whole thing, unaware of how much time was passing. She watched the cocoon twitch, and stretch, and eventually begin to split. Even at this young age, she understood the importance of this event. She saw the philosophical implications of being witness to this miracle. The humble, and mundane in every way, caterpillar would soon emerge as a beautiful moth who would, no doubt, be admired by all who saw her. Persephone knew on some deep level that it was really her in there. She was about to watch herself transform from this awkward child into something remarkable.
All at once, the cocoon ripped to shreds and what it revealed caused her to fall backward once again. This time she did not laugh. It was unlike anything she had ever seen, and terrifying in a way that she would never be able to articulate, or even fully comprehend for herself. She supposed that it was a moth; it at least fit the technical description of one. But she also knew that it was really something else entirely, something that she had every right to be frightened of, even if she couldn't explain why. It was beautiful in a way that made her breath catch in her chest. She imagined this was the kind of beauty that one would find in the eye of a tornado, or at the center of a raging fire; the kind of beauty that a person usually only sees if it is the last thing he or she will ever see.
Okay, you guys, that's all for now. Waste of time? Yea or nay?
Also, you guys know how I use that one picture of Spike to designate all of my poetry posts? (Which I recently realized I haven't done in a very long time, and now I'm disappointed in myself.) Well, I think this ^ picture of Chuck is going to be my new "fiction image." Why? Because Chuck is my very favorite fictional writer, and in this picture he looks utterly terrified which is how I always feel when I share my writing with anyone.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Story Time! (....maybe...)
So, I've been telling myself that, since I can no longer waste my time online while I'm at my house, I am actually going to get more things accomplished. One of those things is, hopefully, writing some fiction like I said I was going to. The thing is, even if I make myself start writing some stories, that in no way guarantees that I will actually finish anything. Often I have (what I think is) a good idea, so I start it and then get bored and never finish it. Other times I just come up with (what I think is) an interesting bit of dialogue, but I never bother to fit it into a larger story line. So here is my thought; maybe......maybe, I'll actually start posting some of my random snippets of stories here and get some feedback from you guys. Like "This one is okay, that one sucks." "This is kind of interesting, that's a waste of time." That sort of thing. What do you think? Does anybody have any interest in reading any of my random bits and pieces of stories, that will probably never get finished? That way maybe I'll at least get an idea about which ones I should put my effort into. Right now, I'm kind of working in this weird story..... with a moth. I can't quite decide what it's actually about yet (it's not really about the moth, I do know that much).
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