godream

I'm thinking I'm going to try to clean up and submit this to the Fountain -- so obviously if you're a Fountain person, pretend you didn't see that and don't click, because anonymity and all that jazz. If you're not and have constructive criticism leave a comment and let me know, because I'm not sure if it sucks or not.

In other news: more paranoia!

I was gonna grace all of you with the latest from my creative writing class, but, um, I gave my teacher my only copy of "Divorce: a fairy tale" with the fourth paragraph fixed so it doesn't suck. And I didn't save it anywhere, 'cause I'm smart like that. So you'll just have to wait. I know you're all crying inside. Don't get your hopes up -- I think the title's cooler than the rest of it. Except for this mildly cheesy apple pie metaphor that I am absurdly proud of 'cause it does that epic simile thing where you say Thing A is like Thing B when Thing B does X Y and Z so that it is like Thing A ... It made sense when my Latin teacher explained it that way, anyways.

Anyways -- I have the feeling that class is going to do better than any of my nanowrimo attempts to just force me to take pen to page, or more often fingers to keyboard, and write already. Which is great; I need to do that, and much as it pains me to admit it, I seem to need the goad of being graded to admit it. I blame senioritis. It's nice to have such an all-purpose excuse as that, it really is.

Speaking of grades and things I don't want to admit but nevertheless feel compulsed to discuss in this public environment: I find myself looking forwards to in college being a freshman again. I know, "what?! freshmen suck!" But think about it: if you get lost, if you don't know routines, if you fail to do something, it's okay, you're a freshman, you're expected to screw up once in a while. You're not expected to take charge and lead and know exactly what's going on. You can be passive and incompetent and it's fine because that's all anyone expects, really -- and then if you're not, it's unusual, remarkable, extraordinary! ... Actually, that's probably just high school, but it's a nice idea, isn't it? Freedom is low expectations. I really hope college people never ever see this. But if you're an admissions officer you should consider this merely philosophical discourse. Really.

Also, if you got a higher score than me on that penguin baseball thing, you should know that I hate you. Especially if it took you less than half an hour to do it. :P

Bizarrely, I got a round of applause in my creative writing class today. 0_o Ph34r my 1337 descriptive skillz or something, I guess...

( five minutes on the assigned word 'basement' )

So I can tell I'm gonna like this class just for the ego trip. :P All kidding aside, I like the teacher and she seems pretty passionate about the subject, and I'm not hating my peers either. So good stuff. I wasn't so fond of her asking us to rate each others' five-minute in-class thingies (see above) from one to five, but that's just a personal opinion probably rising from the good old low self-esteem. Anyways. Interesting assignments, too, though of course the second-semester-senior part of me is sobbing "homework? what??" I will beat my inner SSS into submission, really. And also the cold I'm battling -- staying in bed all weekend has caused it to decrease from a family-size box of kleenex per day magnitude to the point where I can make it through school on just one of those little travel packs. ... Yes, my life has been revolving around tissues for the past week. That's kinda sad.

This is an intriguing and creative opening sentence. It hooks you from the beginning, piqueing your interest in both the essay and in myself as a prospective student. This paragraph goes on to describe a specific event tied into one of the many unique interests I feel passionately about. Here, I relate how I played a central role in either losing or winning some significant event in the field I am discussing. (Either that, or I discuss the death of a family member, but even I have the taste not to mock that, much.) I begin in medias res and use only active sentences, helping to engage you, the reader, in the occurence.

In this second paragraph, I tell you how this event affected the team with whom I have worked closely with toward the goal we either met or failed to meet in the first paragraph. I explain how I demonstrated leadership of my peers, but balance this with modest assertions of how I couldn't have done it without the group. I relate briefly how hard we had all worked toward this moment, and express our joy in either triumphing or having done our best.

Next, I discuss how this event affected me. In exciting and/or heartfelt sentences, I tell you how much it meant to me and how great its influence has been. I mention my family's support, love, and care. I may throw in a simile or two like spices to liven up the writing, but not so many as to waste my precious word count. Perhaps I even admit to a little self-doubt, so that you realize I am truly a down-to-earth and realistic person, in spite of my many extraordinary aspects. Finally, I tell you how having experienced this has changed my view of life and the way I choose to live. With simple, eloquent language, I provide the moral to my story and leave you deeply moved by my words.

In this concluding paragraph, I wrap up the topic at hand. I mention quickly all the points previously set out, in case the board of reviewers is only reading the last paragraph to save time and because it's good structure to do this anyways. I recant the ideas that have made you feel that I am intelligent, kind, moral, and deserving of heaps of superlative adjectives as well as a letter of admission to your school. My second to last sentence neatly sums up everything presented so far in this essay and expresses a hope for the future. And now that you are off your guard, my last sentence adds a twist and a new perspective on the content that leaves this essay and the student it represents stuck firmly in your mind, hopefully setting me apart from the many bland and identical applicants and ensuring my swift acceptance to the college of my choice.



...The sad thing is how much I wish I had the nerve to actually send this (it's the right word count for the common app...), and how much time I spent composing it instead of writing real essays.

If you found this at all amusing, you might want to go read This is the Title of the Lunch Message, Which Appears Several Times Within the Lunch Message Itself, which is much funnier than this. You'll have to scroll down a bit, it's worth it.

Remember two hours ago, when I said I wasn't gonna wrap anger up in pretty words, call it poetry, and inflict it upon my friends list?

( I lied. )

This seems to be as close to prose-ing as I get lately...

I never did like risk, and I still don't want to tell you. Gambling in so many ways... double or nothing, and I lose your friendship (may I call it that?) if the cards fall wrong. I'd never make a good poker player -- my whole being is one huge tell, subconsciously proclaiming emotion that I've rationalized not telling you about. Say the word and I fold, slinking from the room ashamed of myself for my fear, ashamed of having anything to be afraid of.

And so I've got these scene all planned out in my mind, carefully contrived as an overused metaphor. We'll be playing for pennies at the last event and it won't matter anymore if I win or lose. It won't matter if the music's playing a soft romantic melody or if I have to shout to be heard over the DJ: I love you, I've loved you since the very first time I saw you smile. And I can't dance except for a few thousand flawless imaginary waltzes, but will you hold me so we can both laugh our way through the adolescent mating rituals stranger than anything in a biology textbook?

And maybe you will, and maybe you won't, but by then it won't matter. I'll never have you because I'll never see you again, but I'll have resolution, and I'll have months of carefully-honed fantasies, suitable for insertion of the next knight in shining armor, and I'll have a poem so I can watch (like a car crash, all drama and beautiful flames) and remember how it felt, the sweet illusion of living and dying for a word from you.

the sad thing is? one hundred percent straight from the cliche-ridden heart. well, eighty percent at least, my cynical side has issues with this usage of the word 'love'.

Between my Shakespeare class and the sonnets of doom that an acquaintance of mine was showing around, I came to the realization that I had never written one of those buggers.

So I did. During astronomy and math class today, with the minimum possible effort, but for the morbidly curious...
( Just promise me if you start reading you'll read all the way though. It's only fourteen lines and it's not quite Vogon. It was actually almost serious till, oh, line 6... )

Being EIC means I've gotten used to being more -- I don't want to say aggressive, I want a less confrontational word -- more assertive, more bold about my opinions in Fountain meetings. (If only because sometimes, *someone* has to say something relevant already.)

Which means it's the strangest thing in the world to sit quietly and resist going "it's deliberately ambiguous dammit!" when my poems come 'round. (Because god forbid I confine myself to just ONE meaning.) I want so badly to say "look at my pretty enjambment obsession! see, I chose THIS word because..." and at the same time I know that if I can't keep my mouth shut then the poem's not standing on its own, and probably not worth printing anyways.

But it's still so very tempting to tell people that you missed this or that meaning, and obviously this image implies that that word... and so on, and so forth. Downright painful, I tell you.

Anyways -- Autumn and Points of Intersection... are in, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. According to the staff the latter is cute -- I'm not quite sure what I feel about that. But people said all sorts of nice things, which really does make my day. :) And on the other one which is not yet decided on, people said useful things which I may or may not take into account on a second draft. Third, actually, at this point, which is unusual for me who falls in love with my own silly words and can't bear to change them a bit. Anyways, we'll see.

last one in the
streetlight-shadows
and leather,
absorbed in
thought, reflected in puddles.

last one in the
spotlight-dreams
and curtains,
covering the
stars, born in darkness.

last one with the
candle-brightness
and wax,
burning to the
end, spilling over with beginnings.

---

( now, let me ruin this for you )

funny how you know what she needs.
oh, I'd never say you're wrong
but you might try it once,
seeing is being another way.
perfection is a flaw
that you want to own

---

yes, I need sleep, how could you tell?