These are in a notebook I started thumbing through.
Thirteen?
It's raining on the windy city. Is it raining on you, too?
Fourteen
Finally I put my face in my hands
I opened my mouth and strained my vocal chords, to no effect.
Distantly I heard something, faint and indistinguishable.
No sound emerged from me.
- -
The words came in a string,
Clones marching to the beat of an angered and sadistic overlord
Marching, marching - and never going anywhere. Useless, they fade into oblivion with no effect on history.
The words taste strange, and I taste them again and again, spitting them out and swallowing them again
In an effort to feel anything, anything,
But instead I feel nothing, empty, a shell being tossed by the waves of fate, the meek creature retreating far within to wait out the storm.
Fifteen
--- In the darkness there is hope
In the darkness there is might
In the darkness there is power -
Then someone flicks on the light
Sixteen
Because any injury, even one sustained for a loved one, takes time to heal and rejuvenate.
Seventeen
Five thousand, two hundred, eighty-one feet
Is more of a distance than I suggest bearing.
At five thousand, two hundred, eighty-one feet
The gentle dawn sun feels humid and glaring.
The raindrops fall pebbles,
The snowflakes fall shards
And young people shoot at
The birds in their yards
Because five thousand, two hundred, eighty-one feet
Is a cold little distance, harsh and uncaring.
But then, any distance prevents that we meet
And's as horrid and nasty and vile a cheat
As five thousand, two hundred, eighty-one feet.
Eighteen
Gazing across the sea, so still and icy, I long to set foot again on solid ground. Whether or not it is storming, the sea is always moving; there is the risk that my feet will somehow gain freedom from the bonds of gravity and fly out from under me.
So the fog lifting, the sun bursting through, and the wind tugging me toward shore - these are things that cause my heart to sing and my soul to fly:
The meadow is my place.
Nineteen
Maybe that's what Shakespeare meant
Twenty
Little boat run up on a reef
Sounds of the distance bring little relief
Waves are lapping, hear their small din
Waiting with the boat for the tide to rush in
In other news, no, I still haven't finished my college applications, nor have I completed my Biology project, and I'm still failing at cleaning my room. I did finish a book today, and discover that I only have three stocking without runs... I also found the receipt for these dumb pants that I'm going to return to Target tomorrow, if they'll take them (which I ultra hope they will), and trade them for pants I can actually WEAR. I've got internship in the morning again tomorrow, plus a board meeting.
I drew something nifty today for my mom's lawyer-joke club thing, which was my main accomplishment. I'll try to scan it in tomorrow afternoon and maybe I'll even remember to put it on here. WOAH that would be something.
But tomorrow I can't, because I MUST DO MY IA. BAD IZZIE. DO YOUR IA.
Huh I just realized that I've never given myself an order in this blog in which I used my actual name. Or my Evil Lord of Evil voice.
No mas. Does anybody besides N.L.N. even read this anymore?
Not that you aren't important, darling. Just wondering.
Bed time.
Thirteen?
It's raining on the windy city. Is it raining on you, too?
Fourteen
Finally I put my face in my hands
I opened my mouth and strained my vocal chords, to no effect.
Distantly I heard something, faint and indistinguishable.
No sound emerged from me.
- -
The words came in a string,
Clones marching to the beat of an angered and sadistic overlord
Marching, marching - and never going anywhere. Useless, they fade into oblivion with no effect on history.
The words taste strange, and I taste them again and again, spitting them out and swallowing them again
In an effort to feel anything, anything,
But instead I feel nothing, empty, a shell being tossed by the waves of fate, the meek creature retreating far within to wait out the storm.
Fifteen
--- In the darkness there is hope
In the darkness there is might
In the darkness there is power -
Then someone flicks on the light
Sixteen
Because any injury, even one sustained for a loved one, takes time to heal and rejuvenate.
Seventeen
Five thousand, two hundred, eighty-one feet
Is more of a distance than I suggest bearing.
At five thousand, two hundred, eighty-one feet
The gentle dawn sun feels humid and glaring.
The raindrops fall pebbles,
The snowflakes fall shards
And young people shoot at
The birds in their yards
Because five thousand, two hundred, eighty-one feet
Is a cold little distance, harsh and uncaring.
But then, any distance prevents that we meet
And's as horrid and nasty and vile a cheat
As five thousand, two hundred, eighty-one feet.
Eighteen
Gazing across the sea, so still and icy, I long to set foot again on solid ground. Whether or not it is storming, the sea is always moving; there is the risk that my feet will somehow gain freedom from the bonds of gravity and fly out from under me.
So the fog lifting, the sun bursting through, and the wind tugging me toward shore - these are things that cause my heart to sing and my soul to fly:
The meadow is my place.
Nineteen
Maybe that's what Shakespeare meant
Twenty
Little boat run up on a reef
Sounds of the distance bring little relief
Waves are lapping, hear their small din
Waiting with the boat for the tide to rush in
In other news, no, I still haven't finished my college applications, nor have I completed my Biology project, and I'm still failing at cleaning my room. I did finish a book today, and discover that I only have three stocking without runs... I also found the receipt for these dumb pants that I'm going to return to Target tomorrow, if they'll take them (which I ultra hope they will), and trade them for pants I can actually WEAR. I've got internship in the morning again tomorrow, plus a board meeting.
I drew something nifty today for my mom's lawyer-joke club thing, which was my main accomplishment. I'll try to scan it in tomorrow afternoon and maybe I'll even remember to put it on here. WOAH that would be something.
But tomorrow I can't, because I MUST DO MY IA. BAD IZZIE. DO YOUR IA.
Huh I just realized that I've never given myself an order in this blog in which I used my actual name. Or my Evil Lord of Evil voice.
No mas. Does anybody besides N.L.N. even read this anymore?
Not that you aren't important, darling. Just wondering.
Bed time.
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