Vomit

1st person stories are hard to write on the day before your project is due. I hope this one doesn't make your opinion of me go down because I wrote it in approximately 10 minutes and I know I spelled that last word wrong but I'm too lazy to look up how to actually spell it so just bare with me. Bear with me? Oh well.

I was there also. Although you probably didn't see me because while the commotion was happening I was in a tree smoking a cigarette. Truth be told I kind of fell into the whole scenario. Earlier this year I went to that same tree and propped up a hammock on the top branches. I spend a lot of night in that hammock staring up into the zenith and letting all the stars become one giant piece of energy pulse down into my skin. Anyway, the group had gathered underneath my tree and as you well know, they were very noisy. How rude of them. I became startled immediately as if being hit with a ball in a dream. I damn near fell out of the tree. Instead I peered over the edge and saw the tops of hundreds of heads bob up and down like a sea. Unfortunately I though about the sea when I saw those people and as you know I am very bad with movement of that nature. So I began to fall ill. I felt my own face turn green. I had just eaten a burrito  and the chunks began to churn and bubble up my throat. I couldn't hold it in. I puked up my entire lunch onto the ground. So ya. That's the story of how I threw up on you. I'm very sorry.

My Frozen Flumes

This poem is about time and a grandfather clock. Time goes by weirdly. I think the best way to describe it is with a quote from Albert Einstein. "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it feels like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity."


Grandfather looked through me and flashed a toothy grin
Time worn cheeks flushed red and full of sin
As his booted left foot kicked dust scattering out the way
I shifted my vision towards the sun's last ray
Grandfather took another step away from me
I was caught in the amber of time, and I didn't see
Footsteps sent melodic ticks that shook my mind
But my eyes couldn't hear, and my ears went blind
Grandfather's vast wrinkled hand twisted the door knob around
My whole attention though was on the patterned ground
All that was left of my body was a bag of broken bones
But my soul, rhythmically, perpetually droned
The old man's knees wobbled as he shoved the door
Dirt brown, from all the hands that had touched before
Hinges screamed at themselves, him and I
Finally, my eyes found themselves racing up high
My ice bleached veins decided to drip
Again. Again. Again. I slip
Grandfather's left foot was the final piece I saw
Before the door slammed
Startled
I thaw

Dawn Breaks the Thought

This poem is about a bed. It doesn't sound like it but really listen to the words. Dreams and stuff. Beds are sad I found out after writing this. Poor guys.

It gets frosty out
I'm always wearing warm clothing
Only at night your warm breath whispers to me
I lay down during the day
All day
Too long have I dwelt on past occurrences
Past loves
Past dreams
Your dreams
That I hear when you're unable
With me, your heart and mind opens
Opens towards me
And I listen to the sound of purity
But it ends faster than it starts
Wistfully, your eyes pop open
And tread away to reality
Your body follows
And slowly seeps away
I lay during the day
All day

This poem was written in Neruda's style. This may be one of my own favorite poems that I've written. It's so simple but elegant and the descriptions really fit how I see my favorite beverage.


Crystal green shells
Cold
Alone
A weary life
Homes of discontent
With pain
Plucked from
Death
With leathered hands
Grit plaguing
Thin cracks
And placed
Among brothers
In furnaces of
Light
Love
And life
The pop of
Depression
Sparks their
Winter outfits
Into warmth
A womb
Until darkness and fire
Once again
Crusts the layers
And aromatic
Essences
Make cream
Out of
Emotion
Granite cobbles
Extracted into geysers
Of heat
Dirt lifted from
The pure bodies
Of innocence
And integrity
Crushed cleanly
And flatly into
Black
Bloody
Water

Projections

We had to write a play piece in class. Mine is not finished but I enjoyed working on it. The story is pretty cliche but I don't care because I enjoy the story. I figure that I will finish the play later on. It will be much longer than expected though so don't rely on that getting finished. 

CAST OF CHARACTERS

RAINN………………………………………………………a man suffering from schizophrenia, mid twenties, attractive but has dark, tired eyes.

JENN………………………………………………………...one of Rainn’s best friends from childhood. She doesn’t know about his schizophrenia.

AUDITORY HALLUCINATIONS…………………………these are sounds and voices that Rainn hears even though they are not real. He cannot distinguish between reality and his subconscious quibble.

TIME:   Dusk- Some time in the 90’s

SETTING: The sun has set over the evergreen treetops in a suburb outside of Seattle. Though it is dark there is a full moon that sits just on top of the trees. It is bright and sends down luminous rays across the landscape, creating ominous shadows. It is hard to distinguish objects. The background moves as if with the sway of a breeze but the movement does not occur in patterns but instead is a torrent of random movements.

Projections

Act

SCENE 1-

RAINN sits on his knees overlooking the swaying forest. He looks tired and confused as if a ghost has appeared. He reaches his hands up to his face to examine them. He becomes startled by something and pulls them down quickly and continues to stare off into the forest. Just then Jenn appears from the cityscape behind and puts her hand on his shoulder. This startles Rainn and he jumps up and turns around.

RAINN. What? He realizes that it is Jenn and the fear in his eyes dissipates. He sits back down not facing her.

JENN. Come on Rainn, you’ve got to come back home. It’s getting late.

RAINN. Looking distraught, Rainn slowly puts his head so that he is facing the ground. I just can’t. Something is happening to me. I can hear things. There are people arguing and when I turn to hear them. Rainn turns his head to look at Jenn. His eyes are wide and full of despair and fear. He pauses on the words for a moment as if anticipating the voices to appear. When I turn to see the source of them they just aren’t there.

JENN. She stares deep into his eyes, searching for a source of what he talks about. The silence grows uncomfortable and she can’t find anything in his eyes but a pleading. Tell me more. W-what is going on? What do you think the voices are?

RAINN. I don’t know. Sometimes I get the feeling that someone’s watching me and plotting against me. I know it’s irrational and that’s what makes it so scary. There is no logic behind the feeling but it’s real. It’s more real than most things now a days.

JENN. What do you mean by that?

RAINN. I mean we go to university and believe that we’re becoming smarter in the process but we sleep walk through each day and go to sleep feeling the illusion of education, but it’s not real. It’s hypnotism. These voices scare me but they make me feel something. They tell me things, interesting things. A chilly wind blows through the trees and hits Jenn and Rainn. The wind blows Jenn in the face and makes her squint. The wind hits Rainn from behind and his hair swirls wildly around. From the wind a slight whisper is heard. Rainn’s eyes squint in concentration. Slowly the whispers become hearable. The lights dim and a spotlight makes only Rainn visible.

The whispers are two separate people talking; a man and a woman. They speak in dialogue to each other.

AUDITORY HALLUCINATION 1. He doesn’t understand the gravity of this situation.

AUDITORY HALLUCINATION 2. I know. He lacks what we have. He’s learning though.

RAINN. His eyes are clenched tight to hear the voices. I can hear you! What do you want me to do? Who are you?

AH1. Questions, questions, questions. All he does is ask. He arrives at no destination. His life is a trip on an infinite road.

AH2. He should stay at home. He shouldn’t trust anyone. They’ll get in the way of his pilgrimage.

RAINN. Don’t talk like I’m not here. What are you talking about? Who can’t I trust?

AH2. The water is black death and the food is infested with worms and maggots that will infect him.

AH1. Yes, he shouldn’t eat anymore. A fast shall occur from this day forward.

RAINN. What poisoned my food? Who can’t I trust? What’s happening?

The voices slowly fade into gibberish and backwards-unintelligible talk. The lights slowly return to normal and Jenn is standing a few feet behind Jenn with a look of horror on her face. Rainn rubs his eyes feverishly and contorts his face to wash it of convolution.

RAINN. See. They know things. He turns and begins to pace. He whispers to himself quickly. I can’t be eating, no more school. I’ll just stay at home. Yes that’s good, I’ll just read and drink water. Wait, no I can’t be doing that. I’ll read and just let the voices tell me. I don’t need to worry.

JENN. Rainn? I didn’t hear anything. Please Rainn. He continues to pace as if he can’t hear her. RAINN! The loud noise pulls Rainn out of his hallucination. He turns quickly to look at Jenn as if it’s the first time that he’s seen her.

RAINN. What?

JENN. What’s happening to you? Who are you talking to?

RAINN. Questions, questions, questions. They tell me not to ask questions and you’re standing here asking me all these questions. What do you want?

JENN. Rainn, come on. Come here. Jenn walks towards Rainn and puts her hand on his neck. He flinches extraordinarily.

You’re okay. Just calm down. Let’s walk back to the house. You’ll feel better there.

RAINN. I just don’t know what’s going on.

JENN’s mother’s voice is heard calling from outside the stage. The lights dim and no one is seen

JENN’S MOM. Honey, come here it’s getting to be late. The lights come back on and just JENN is standing in place.

JENN. Oh come on mom, just a couple more minutes, we’re just playing.

JENN takes a doll from her pocket of a boy and begins to sing and dance with it off the stage. Lights cut off.

NOTE: The reason it has a terrible ending is because if I were to continue with the story it would be much longer than what is reasonable for a four day long assignment. Maybe I will continue with what I had in mind later. But this will do for now.

Why Aren't We Poets?

Me and my friend Chris Grove wrote this little ditty while sitting together at a table typing. We actually have photographic evidence of this encounter. It is a beautiful picture. This piece says a lot about the world. "Why isn't there any inspiration in the world!!" A man screamed while glaring at his computer. Through the window behind him the sun's rays blew over the clouds and created a portrait of heaven in the clouds. "Because you're not looking you idiot!" Said the clouds.

 

"Why aren't we poets?" Chris said exuberantly as they stood atop the glacier. The sunlight stared at the glassy exterior of the ice and reflected sunlight into the retinas of their eyes. They felt nothing. "I'm cold," said Jake. Chris looked on knowingly. As the two footsteps created patterns within the plush front of the snowy peak, the sleek canvas created a portrait of their lack of life; cold and emotionless. "What is that keeps the moon upright?" Chris expected no answer. As the question fluttered out of his lips though, the moons body began rumbling and breaking. Thick, glowing goop spilled out of the moons interior out to the white opaqueness of the snow creating a painting that would make Picasso cry. "Why aren't we poets?" Chris said exuberantly.

Why Consciousness Defies Reality

I thought that I wouldn't be that good at writing a love poem. It actually turned out that this was one of my more heartfelt poems. I guess I'm just a loving guy. By the way I learned the word salitter from the author Cormac Mccarthy. It's an ancient word that is not in use anymore. It means the essence of God. Pretty cool. It worked well in this poem. Enjoy.


When laying in the grass
The salitter from the mud
Seeps deep into your veins
And forms pools of tranquility within
They pump from your heart
Caressing your body
With their joy
The treetops crown you
With gold jewels of light
Climbing oaks
The branch is your mare
It forms to your liking
For all it wants
Is to hold you, like I do
When crying
Pure tears of ambrosia
Paint your face with emotion
And grace your skin
Making you more beautiful
Than the breath of the wind
But the wind brings back senses
A love fresh and blind
I will embrace you forever
If only in my mind