Poetic license

Definition:
Poetic license: Distortions of fact and literary convention made by a writer—not always a poet—for the sake of the effect gained. Poetic license is closely related to the concept of "artistic freedom". An author exercises poetic license by saying that a pile of money "reaches as high as a mountain" when the pile is actually only a foot or two high.

In the last two days since I have made my last two posts, consisting of stories, I have had now three people ask me if I needed to talk, if I was really as bothered as I sounded. I am glad to say however, that I am not as bothered as I sounded, I was inspired by a smile and rather insignificant situation that inspired me, gave me a idea, and I ran with it, as far as I could, and received some of the reactions that I had intended, and some that I had not, but thankfully, mostly reactions that I had intended.

With that been said, and my conscience clear, I will pass to you a grain of salt to be taken with all that I say, and bid thee a farewell, until you read again, and I leave another note.

Thoughts...

I close the browser, a remnant of a tear in my eye, why though, I'm not quite so sure. It was only a cartoon after all, not something someone should cry over, or is it? Worlds were shattered, lives changed, destroyed, built, lies made, covered, discovered, and rewritten, a sick, twisted play, yet sadly, palpable as truth, as something we all feel, fear it maybe, understand it, better still, but we all can feel it. Hatred overflowed from what I had watched, sadness had poured from it as well, love could be seen, when one watched close enough, and even new life could be seen, though just for a moment.

My eyes now shut, the tear stinging as it yearned to roll down my cheek, free from my eye, I tried to understand why I was feeling this way, why I felt like I could sit here, for hours, and just cry. "Why" I thought, "Why am I crying? Why do I feel that I have lost someone so close?" This feeling stabs through me, breaking my will, shattering my resolve to be... To be what?

The tear now gone, retreated from my eye, I understand, if only for a moment, why I have cried so, why I have felt such pain in my chest. Because I feel what I saw, I understood what was seen, and I could put myself in such a painful place as what I had watched. Solitude, loneliness, fear, and worry, a constant battle to be heard, and to feel anything, to feel... Alive.

~~~

The cold seared my face, biting it, the temperature; too cold. It had not even been ten minutes since I had sat here, typing, thinking, and who knows what else in the time it took me to write out my little thoughts. But I was outside now, still dark, the sun not even rising yet. I looked up, an icicle hung from edge of the roof, as I breathed I could see it sway back and forth from my breath. My feet beginning to feel the cold of the hard wood through my thin, black socks, socks I had been given not even a month ago as a way of saying, "we love you", yet that was just what I had finished thinking about, how it felt they didn't love me. The tear came back to my eye that I had pushed away moments before, that I hadn't let run down my face, and stain my desk, and once more, as if by a cruel irony, I felt it's sting once more.

I turned to walk farther, not wanting to walk through snow, I choose cold wood instead. Running my hand over the railing, I continued to think, holding back that tear, the pain stinging my eye, and my nose. I breathed deeply, the cold stung, a pain that felt welcomed. Looking out across the cold, dark yard, once covered in snow, long since turned to ice, I wondered what drove me on, what held me back. What pushed me forward to torture myself like this, but what forced me to hold back the pain? I leaned out, looking down at the last pieces of earth exposed at the edge of the snow, the patch of black, cold, hard earth staring back at me.

My mind still ran, my thoughts spilled over, not sure where to go with them, when to stop them, where to lead them. They revolved, spun around, twisted, turned, yet they always came back, back to one solitary point, myself, my feelings, where I was that very moment, and I realized what was on my mind, what had bothered me for even longer then just the moments before, and why I was able to say moments before that I could have cried for hours, and have that statement be true, I truly was lonely, in not only my life, my heart, but in what I wanted, and in what I yearned for, I was truly lonely. Turning to go inside once more, to warm hopefully more then just my hands, I felt the tear run down my cheek, slipping off of my chin as I turned, calling to the cold wood. I looked down, watching as the tear splashed against the wood, I saw as it turned to ice, peeling off the wood slightly, and turning once more, I felt a small piece of my heart do the same, flaking slightly under what I had felt.

Are they really thankful?

As I walked the halls of my school this morning, something caught my eye. People, only a handful, it was early, classes weren't to start for another half hour, but they were there already. Each one, looking at me, then looking away, quickly. I had not slept that night, my hair was clumped, uncombed, my face unwashed, and uncleaned, my eyes slightly red from lack of sleep. As I watched each one of them look away from me, I wondered what was on their mind, what thoughts passed through their heads. Each looking away, a look of almost gratitude on their face, like they were glad, of what, I wasn't quite so sure. I passed the thought off as me simply thinking to much, my mind running wild when it shouldn't be.

I walked into the bookstore, my mind wandering back to the people, those four that had already looked away from me. I tried to pull my mind back to the task at hand, finding a school book, one that I wished I didn't need to have, but need it I do. Finding the book, I walked up to the checkout area, waiting for someone to help me, I leaned against the railing, my mind again drifting back to the people. But it was suddenly pulled back to the task at hand as the young man walked up to me, probably the same age as me, wearing once more the same clothing I had seen him in three times before, a mixed white and black t-shirt, a large silver chain, black hat, and light blue jeans.

Without thinking, I turned to the counter, placing my books down and taking out the card to pay with. As I looked up, card in hand, I saw it again, that look, the same as the four before, and I realized what it looked like. Pushing aside my thoughts, I paid, and left, thanking him as I so often did without thinking. The thought again rolled around in my mind, but this time, it had weight, the weight of a thousand years of pain, or so it felt to me. Walking out of the door of the school, my car a half minute walk from the building, I saw it one last time, that look, this time from a young woman. Almost cringing, I knew the look now, I understood it, a look of thankfulness, and I thought to myself, 'Could they really be thinking to themselves that they are thankful that they don't know me? Because I haven't washed today, I haven't combed my hair?' And I still think, sitting here, these thoughts still crushing all other thoughts in my mind, are they really thankful?

Where are you?

I turn over, the sleep draining from my eyes once more, eluding me, hiding where I can not find it. Sleep once found me with ease, in all places, all times. Movies, classes, chairs, they were all sleep's domain, but now, sleep has fled from them all. I reach forward, my hand grasps sheets, cold sheets, devoid of the warmth of one that I long for, the one that I love. My eyes slip closed, my arms pulled close, grasping for the warmth of someone, anything, but it never comes. Cold, just cold is all that my arms feel. The clock blinking, my eyes blinded by it's glow, I turn over once more, will I find sleep this time? I , mutter to myself, "Sleep, where are you? Dear, where are you?" But no answer, never an answer, the words echoing into my room, disappearing behind the piles of clothes, the books piled on the floor, it dissipates, gone, like sleep. I press my eyes shut, pain flashes from my face, my lip's now cracked, the taste of blood from the dried, cracked lips, my eyes closed tight, painfully tight. I can feel something now, is it sleep? Is it fear? Or is it hope? My eyes open once more, a tear sliding across my cheek, cold, as I murmur once more, "Where are you?"

Tired

So I never did get around to drawing... Well... Kinda, I read about it... And I don't think I'll ever get around to being good at it... Who knows.

So more school today, and this time I actually had to think! Imagine that! (No really, I had to think today) So I've tried to fall into a routine today, and it's sort of worked, not being used to getting up at 6:45 in the morning and needing to suddenly get up at 6:45 in the morning isn't so great for the body or mind, but one has to manage have they not?

Tomorrow doesn't look to be much slower then today, which isn't so bad, but it isn't so great either. I do not think that I will be much else then tired for the next few days, I should get around to doing something, but who knows.

-Dae, down and out (for now...)

First day of School

Today was the first day of school this semester, and it was different then what I remember a first day of school being. I felt today like I did nearly nothing in the department of learning, especially in my computer class.

As I sat there in the class, listening to the teacher, I couldn't help but think that I was either desperately spaced out, or I really wasn't learning anything at that moment. I had expected to begin going over theory of programming, possibly begin to talk about history of the theory of programming, and possibly talk about what the class was about, object oriented programming. But instead, it seemed like we only talked about everything that we'd learned in the first semester of school, this being the fourth.

In the end, the day wasn't a total waste, I managed to knock out the last kink in my schedule, and turn over a new leaf in my working of the homework. Since I've been home today, I'm done I think more homework in about thirty minutes then I've done in most days last year, this being one of the better achievements of the day.

Tomorrow being a new day, and not having any classes, it will be a day of slight relaxation, more school work, and maybe some personal betterment in the departments of exercise, possible tests of my drawing skills (which need major improvement to be called skill) and who knows what else. Signing off for now. Take care, until you read again.

Back in business?

It's been a while since I've actually made a single post on my blog, but I'm shooting to change that, make it a regular thing, at the least once a week. School has started again, I have a new job, so I've decided that it's time to turn over a new leaf, and I've decided that it's time to pick this up as well. So hold onto your hats, tighten your boot straps, and get ready to read, because this blog is going back in business!