(no subject)
In the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson,
"In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature."
I truely, madly, and deeply love every word that has ever come out of that man's mouth.
:)
Life is beautiful.
I dare every last one of you to take a year of your time and indulge in nature. Not to physically live out in the wild, but to take in your surroundings. Feel the true warmth and grace of summer. Indulge in the brush and leaves of autumn. Enjoy the cold breeze upon your nose and the cold snow upon your feet in the winter. Smell the true beauty and experience the romance of spring.
Make sure, too, you have someone to accompany you through your journey.
I've realized this weekend that I was running in circles for the past three years of my life. Every new season brought a new feeling, but the seeds from the past took their time to slowly blossom into a beautiful truth. In the most artisitic of fashions (haha) I was able to fully open myself up to the world. I laid on my back and had my chest and heart exposed and began to feel what it meant to be human.
And it could not be a more soothing nor comforting of a truth. My spirit is finally at ease.
You are truely not a good a person as you think until someone else tells you, and such words were like a choir of angels harmonizing in the most beautiful of fashions. Therefore, I am eternally grateful to all the kind words you spoke.
Back in reality, Ms. Lounsbury really liked my story I showed her, so I figured I'll just post it up here.
Just for shits and giggles.
So here I sit in this broken down excuse of an apartment in this failed attempt at a life. The walls that surround me are all brown, decayed, and burnt with the embers of the fire still floating around in the atmosphere. There is one window to my left and it shines in nothing more than a few rays of light. It’s a sign; the all-knowing, all seeing is out there, watching me and making sure than my hopes stay high. So I do what I must; I take a piece of wood and I cover the window with it so that the only light in here is from the bulb over my head.
I don’t need hope. I need a miracle.
Sweat begins to ooze off of me, hitting the ground and sizzling with every last drop. That old saying about playing with fire, don’t worry, everyone gets burnt. They should add a few lines about the aftermath, though. Probably something along the lines of having all of your savings turn discolored and weak. Something about how every piece of your past life now lies charred on the floor. They could even discuss the personal effects, like having the face of your palms so badly burnt that the second you touch anything at all you can only help but to bite your lip until it bleeds, and even then it’s not enough. I take a deep breath, breathing in these noxious chemicals, the smell of sulfur. I hold up my hands in front of face. What’s left of my palms has been burnt beyond recognition and I can even the see white from my bones. No excessive bleeding though, oddly enough.
So why do all of this? Why put myself through such a realistic hell, only to walk away more wounded? You see, living the life I live every day, you make a lot of enemies. Every time your shadow touches the ground, someone’s our for your blood. I am public enemy number one. Arson is simply my escape from it all. Burn every last aspect of your traces so when the bad guys come around they have nothing left to find.
Give them all the pieces to the puzzle except the last one.
Leave a new face in every town.
The only answer there is to give about myself getting burned is simply ignorance. You’d think after doing this numerous times I would have devised an easy escape route, but still be able to make sure all the evidence is gone. Wrong. This time, it was a piece of ceiling that fell right into my hands. It’s better than the last time, though, when a floorboard gave way and my leg dove deeper and deeper into the fire.
I currently place my back against the wall for a minute. From here, I am able to see every single inch of the room. The floor’s gone, walls dripped, windows blockaded, and the door is nailed. Seems as if everything is in good shape. And just like a movie, everything takes a turn for the worst in the blink of an eye. There’s a knock at the door and I freeze. I can feel my arms and legs turn into ice and I can barely even breathe. Another knock. No one ever knocks on my door, no matter where I live. New York, San Fran, Texas, no one has ever laid hands on my door. One more knock. I creep over ever so gently and gaze through the peephole.
Nothing.
It’s too ironic of an occurrence to have a door knock and for there to be no one on the receiving end. I can’t stay in here, the culprit to my crime, so I’m compelled to open the door to see whom it is. Pulling back each board one by one, light begins to leak in, yet no shadows. Finally, the door swings open completely and I fall to the ground, gasping for air. Oh, salvation. Oh, horrible freedom. I’m out in the line of fire now; I’m available for all to see. My secret life was like the plague eating away at me from the inside out. Only now, it had nothing left to chew.
No more secrets.
It’s while I’m on the ground that I notice a small business card hanging from the ceiling. It takes me a few minutes to completely focus my eyes upon it, but when I do, I can make out the words, “Found You.” I feel sick to my stomach and begin to vomit. I need to leave now. I force myself to gain enough strength to get to my feet. My joints grind like gears with a thousand years worth of rust. It’s when I turn my head that I wish I’d never been born.
Here before me stands my own personal Satan, my grim reaper, dressed all in black and I am but a lost soul. He mutters the phrase that makes every last ounce of blood and oxygen stop at it’s location in my body.
We’ve been waiting for you, Thomas.
I scream, I shout, there’s no way this is happening. I kick, I squirm. He takes my hand and guides me back into the inferno. More kicking, more screaming, more pulling, more strain, more agitation, more stress, more anger, more fear, less effective, no point.
I merely give up and accept my fate.
Just for kicks though, I give the old man one last yell, something to make his hunt worthwhile.
"In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature."
I truely, madly, and deeply love every word that has ever come out of that man's mouth.
:)
Life is beautiful.
I dare every last one of you to take a year of your time and indulge in nature. Not to physically live out in the wild, but to take in your surroundings. Feel the true warmth and grace of summer. Indulge in the brush and leaves of autumn. Enjoy the cold breeze upon your nose and the cold snow upon your feet in the winter. Smell the true beauty and experience the romance of spring.
Make sure, too, you have someone to accompany you through your journey.
I've realized this weekend that I was running in circles for the past three years of my life. Every new season brought a new feeling, but the seeds from the past took their time to slowly blossom into a beautiful truth. In the most artisitic of fashions (haha) I was able to fully open myself up to the world. I laid on my back and had my chest and heart exposed and began to feel what it meant to be human.
And it could not be a more soothing nor comforting of a truth. My spirit is finally at ease.
You are truely not a good a person as you think until someone else tells you, and such words were like a choir of angels harmonizing in the most beautiful of fashions. Therefore, I am eternally grateful to all the kind words you spoke.
Back in reality, Ms. Lounsbury really liked my story I showed her, so I figured I'll just post it up here.
Just for shits and giggles.
So here I sit in this broken down excuse of an apartment in this failed attempt at a life. The walls that surround me are all brown, decayed, and burnt with the embers of the fire still floating around in the atmosphere. There is one window to my left and it shines in nothing more than a few rays of light. It’s a sign; the all-knowing, all seeing is out there, watching me and making sure than my hopes stay high. So I do what I must; I take a piece of wood and I cover the window with it so that the only light in here is from the bulb over my head.
I don’t need hope. I need a miracle.
Sweat begins to ooze off of me, hitting the ground and sizzling with every last drop. That old saying about playing with fire, don’t worry, everyone gets burnt. They should add a few lines about the aftermath, though. Probably something along the lines of having all of your savings turn discolored and weak. Something about how every piece of your past life now lies charred on the floor. They could even discuss the personal effects, like having the face of your palms so badly burnt that the second you touch anything at all you can only help but to bite your lip until it bleeds, and even then it’s not enough. I take a deep breath, breathing in these noxious chemicals, the smell of sulfur. I hold up my hands in front of face. What’s left of my palms has been burnt beyond recognition and I can even the see white from my bones. No excessive bleeding though, oddly enough.
So why do all of this? Why put myself through such a realistic hell, only to walk away more wounded? You see, living the life I live every day, you make a lot of enemies. Every time your shadow touches the ground, someone’s our for your blood. I am public enemy number one. Arson is simply my escape from it all. Burn every last aspect of your traces so when the bad guys come around they have nothing left to find.
Give them all the pieces to the puzzle except the last one.
Leave a new face in every town.
The only answer there is to give about myself getting burned is simply ignorance. You’d think after doing this numerous times I would have devised an easy escape route, but still be able to make sure all the evidence is gone. Wrong. This time, it was a piece of ceiling that fell right into my hands. It’s better than the last time, though, when a floorboard gave way and my leg dove deeper and deeper into the fire.
I currently place my back against the wall for a minute. From here, I am able to see every single inch of the room. The floor’s gone, walls dripped, windows blockaded, and the door is nailed. Seems as if everything is in good shape. And just like a movie, everything takes a turn for the worst in the blink of an eye. There’s a knock at the door and I freeze. I can feel my arms and legs turn into ice and I can barely even breathe. Another knock. No one ever knocks on my door, no matter where I live. New York, San Fran, Texas, no one has ever laid hands on my door. One more knock. I creep over ever so gently and gaze through the peephole.
Nothing.
It’s too ironic of an occurrence to have a door knock and for there to be no one on the receiving end. I can’t stay in here, the culprit to my crime, so I’m compelled to open the door to see whom it is. Pulling back each board one by one, light begins to leak in, yet no shadows. Finally, the door swings open completely and I fall to the ground, gasping for air. Oh, salvation. Oh, horrible freedom. I’m out in the line of fire now; I’m available for all to see. My secret life was like the plague eating away at me from the inside out. Only now, it had nothing left to chew.
No more secrets.
It’s while I’m on the ground that I notice a small business card hanging from the ceiling. It takes me a few minutes to completely focus my eyes upon it, but when I do, I can make out the words, “Found You.” I feel sick to my stomach and begin to vomit. I need to leave now. I force myself to gain enough strength to get to my feet. My joints grind like gears with a thousand years worth of rust. It’s when I turn my head that I wish I’d never been born.
Here before me stands my own personal Satan, my grim reaper, dressed all in black and I am but a lost soul. He mutters the phrase that makes every last ounce of blood and oxygen stop at it’s location in my body.
We’ve been waiting for you, Thomas.
I scream, I shout, there’s no way this is happening. I kick, I squirm. He takes my hand and guides me back into the inferno. More kicking, more screaming, more pulling, more strain, more agitation, more stress, more anger, more fear, less effective, no point.
I merely give up and accept my fate.
Just for kicks though, I give the old man one last yell, something to make his hunt worthwhile.