Good Day, Uneventful Day. Go Figure.
I wrote this for an assignment in my english class and I am uberly proud of it, so I thought I'd be a show off and try to get people to be proud of me for it, so yeah. I like feeling good about things I write so you might have to get used to me doing this sort of thing. any-hoo, I think the main reason I'm so happy about it is because my teacher read it aloud to my class today. Woot. (That's never happened to me before. Most of my teachers have used papers from previous students, years ago.)
A Moment In Time
This city is bland. There is no color. Only white, and beige and cream houses packed in and shoved against each other like a closet filled with too many clothes. Scattered among these dismal buildings are pale pink and blue specks, supposedly homes grayed over time. Dirty and faded from the pollution. The only form of real color is the green of the trees. So few, so little, a rare bunch clustered around a park or along a road. But not enough to quench this thirst for beauty that I have boiling in the pit of my stomach.
I sit in a glass corner, touching this invisible barrier, to know that it is really there. I am safe, curled up, watching the waves lick the sands of a distant shore. Cars move. Tiny ants crawling along these paved, beaten down roads. Curving, winding through a sea of white cement and telephone wires. I am without myself. I have crossed the barrier of my skin, and now I stand, arms stretched wide, welcoming in the sky and who ever might be up there to welcome me back. Wind rushes past, roaring in my ears, willing me to open my eyes, to see the sight I have laid out before myself. I am on the edge, outside of the glass cage in which my physical self still sits. Staring blankly out at the dismal and boring sight given to me while sitting inside.
I look down and see the height at which I am. Standing nine stories above the world, and teetering on a tiny scrap of metal. The wind screams my name now, and I close my eyes once more. I let go and let it pull me forward off of this island I was stranded on. On the backs of my eyelids I watch the occupants of the city. They move. They stand as statues. Green Mohawks, black business suits, jeans, and shiny shoes. They walk. They run to catch buses. They flow in masses as one. All determined to reach their destined goal. Home. Work. Somewhere to belong. Somewhere to feel needed. Despair and love and want and hate evaporate into the air, to be absorbed and then released back into the city, for someone else to consume. Everything blurs. The color, the life, the movement all blend, swirling together to create art.
I slam into my body, startled into conscious thought by my sudden change in opinion. I look out and over the city, taking in every building, every person, the distant water, the fog rolling over the hills. My hand is cold, touching my glass safety net, as if I expected it to have not been there only moments ago. Stand and lean against the window and close my eyes.
This city is beautiful.
^ About the above, I was in San Francisco at the De Young Museum, up in the Observation Tower.^
Maybe later I'll write about my dream that was cut into two sections. It was really funny. I killed some girl, got married, lost Ian, and choked on cake while waking up all in the same dream. tee hee hee, it was a great dream.
A Moment In Time
This city is bland. There is no color. Only white, and beige and cream houses packed in and shoved against each other like a closet filled with too many clothes. Scattered among these dismal buildings are pale pink and blue specks, supposedly homes grayed over time. Dirty and faded from the pollution. The only form of real color is the green of the trees. So few, so little, a rare bunch clustered around a park or along a road. But not enough to quench this thirst for beauty that I have boiling in the pit of my stomach.
I sit in a glass corner, touching this invisible barrier, to know that it is really there. I am safe, curled up, watching the waves lick the sands of a distant shore. Cars move. Tiny ants crawling along these paved, beaten down roads. Curving, winding through a sea of white cement and telephone wires. I am without myself. I have crossed the barrier of my skin, and now I stand, arms stretched wide, welcoming in the sky and who ever might be up there to welcome me back. Wind rushes past, roaring in my ears, willing me to open my eyes, to see the sight I have laid out before myself. I am on the edge, outside of the glass cage in which my physical self still sits. Staring blankly out at the dismal and boring sight given to me while sitting inside.
I look down and see the height at which I am. Standing nine stories above the world, and teetering on a tiny scrap of metal. The wind screams my name now, and I close my eyes once more. I let go and let it pull me forward off of this island I was stranded on. On the backs of my eyelids I watch the occupants of the city. They move. They stand as statues. Green Mohawks, black business suits, jeans, and shiny shoes. They walk. They run to catch buses. They flow in masses as one. All determined to reach their destined goal. Home. Work. Somewhere to belong. Somewhere to feel needed. Despair and love and want and hate evaporate into the air, to be absorbed and then released back into the city, for someone else to consume. Everything blurs. The color, the life, the movement all blend, swirling together to create art.
I slam into my body, startled into conscious thought by my sudden change in opinion. I look out and over the city, taking in every building, every person, the distant water, the fog rolling over the hills. My hand is cold, touching my glass safety net, as if I expected it to have not been there only moments ago. Stand and lean against the window and close my eyes.
This city is beautiful.
^ About the above, I was in San Francisco at the De Young Museum, up in the Observation Tower.^
Maybe later I'll write about my dream that was cut into two sections. It was really funny. I killed some girl, got married, lost Ian, and choked on cake while waking up all in the same dream. tee hee hee, it was a great dream.