You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Thursday, October 28, 2010


Footfalls continue along the corridor, their destinations sought in another time, another place. Minds reel in discontinuous thoughts, concerned with time, worried about the distance, doubting their own intelligence in the subject to which they run. Still they move onward, barely recognizing my presence as I watch and assess the flow of students.

Time keeps ticking on. I remain where I was moments before; but none of the people who've traversed this hallway make the same appearance as I with my computer in lab. They travel as I write.

A Crayon walks by, her green suit falling around her body as the green cone dons her head. Her smile is meek. Her attitude is gentle. She's neither proud nor discouraged to celebrate in the upcoming event. No one judges her, either. Their eyes acknowledge her presence and them continue down the hallway. Some smile and wave, mouthing "how cute."

The purple hatted wizard pulls out of the President's Office, a smile on her face as she leans, mockingly, on her walking stick before quickly zooming past me on her way to class. Her starry cape billows on the heavy air around her: a startling presence to her unsuspecting students.

Death walks by, as oft it does on normal days, with scythe in hand and head turned downward. The shadows around his hood seem ominous and playful. His abnormally dark hand contrasts with the expected white skeletal bones. Silence follows his footsteps as eerily as breath stopping.

Until Tinker-Bell finds her way. She's laughing with her friends, joking about the less fortunate student who was scolded by the teacher. Who knows what class they were in. Who knows what actually happened, or if we would know who the downtrodden student was. Tink's laughter is infectious though. Her wings glitter as she passes under the fluorescent lights. The friends don't look at her, as if saying they envied her willingness to participate in such a celebration.

None stop to chat. None reverse their direction. Time continues ticking even as I write what I see, what I hear. The hallway is abnormally ordinary, even as costumed students get ready for their Holloween Contest.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The Time Traveler

Alone. Thoughts are gone, sight is somewhere else, and the breath of the world has frozen over for but the merest of seconds. The deepest of emotions are alone, lost in neverwhere as if a gentle breeze swept away the foundation of the present. Everything is thus transparent. Nothing is simply true, given the circumstantial evidence surmounting against reality. All that remains are the past interwoven with fiction.

Daydreams surpass the vision in realm space-time, both past and future weaving in gentle patterns. Images of another place, another time, another being emerge superimposed upon what should be. And thoughts are lost, sight is inward, and the breath is submerged and shallow. It's real, and for a moment the dream has surpassed reality and smells, sights, sounds and feelings are overabundant in the mind.

The question, then, is what is truly remembered if the mind could be replayed for a larger audience? Is it the mindless gaze into the air somewhere beyond the envisioner's face? Or is it the beautiful mindscape? Is the dream real for memory? In which case is it reality of its own accord?
Thoughts to ponder as more comes.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Finding Yourself in New York City

New York City. It's magic, truly, though the distinct lack of magic provides gentle reassurances it must exist everywhere. You can become lost in New York. Not merely lost among the tangled ways and hidden tunnels and flashing noises surrounding every fiber of this City, but you can truly lose yourself, your existence, your meaning. All of you swallowed up by the permanent fog drowning the spires soaring to heights attained in another time. Hope turns to desperation pacing the tunnels in waves of sardine-packed aluminum vessels, swimming through the blackness of the future. Dreams feel beyond reach with the myriads of cultures swarming around like hornets on their own missions.

This is not the magic of the City.

On the exterior, from the boat wading the waters of converging rivers, the City looks still, calm, peaceful, and beautiful: a facade of aspirations, the image of triumph, one profile of freedom to build whatever the heart desires. Magic! for those who see it for the first time. Statuesque imagery miles away from the truth of the teeming streets. She is alive despite the dead steel and captured glass. The onlooker doesn't know the majestic truth hidden from that elegant distance. Frames can't capture the lively views on the water, where clean scents spray across the bow and bring a smile despite the polluted air. Pictures can't overwhelm the senses surrounding the viewer, even from a distance, of the skyline mounting the shores. No amount of words can truly describe the humbling awe of the City's existence.

And yet, this is every man. It's the magic of an outward landscape of you, and me... of everyone in existence. I wait on the boat, looking idly at these masses stoically surviving in a place that's surprisingly hostile and even more surprisingly friendly. It's magnificent, the mirror New Yorkers refuse to regard.

Once landed, disembarking the protecting distances which fostered such beauty, the mind reels in awakening. It's a shock first-timers know about yet cannot fathom. Life bursts from the darkness in quickened steps, hastily seeking a journey's end somewhere else. Their eyes are distant, unfocused. Their faces terse, annoyed, disappointed or asleep. Rarely do underlying personalities reveal themselves on the streets, but they exist, screaming for companionship in a city built for loners traversing the rows on the way to work. Every so often, an eye might catch in the chaos of 'go-go-going' and a smile might spark that flutter so common to the unexpected. Yet, they move on until a haven is entered, when you can relax the tense body and free the mind of tis growing barriers against the onslaught of noise, pollution, images, and people. Only then are you free to meet. Only then can the truth of the City be revealed. Tourists lose this ability to attach to the city and can experience solely the bustling tragedies of the masses.

Quirky clubs, fine dining, random bakeries, quiet shopping, and the gentler populace are easily attained outside the touristy 'bubbles' within her streets. Sometimes, even New Yorkers can't escape them, those bubbles of easy to get to places. Sometimes, reality can't escape these scenes. Sometimes, the soul gets trapped by Times Square, in that fortitude of mass media blaring down upon the mind. You become lost, entrance by the movement constantly ebbing and flowing... but then you discover the quiet of the upper east side at night and wonder how the hell you got there. You break, spiraling down a tunnel of despair  mirrored by the subway that must be mounted to find the way home. Lost, mysteriously, in a city so easily navigated. The distant bodies feel cold, the shiny railings look infested, the stifling humidity covers your skin.

This is every man. At least once in life, down some street you've taken, I've taken, we all have taken, a turn arrives with detrimental determination. The choices sitting beside you are unfriendly and you forgo asking for their support. Aspirations for your won success feel abandoned in your own chaos of trying to decide which way to go, and perhaps you'll settle into the dingy, overpriced, one bedroom apartment in China Town. Getting to such a low allows one thing.

A reprieve.

Nestled permanently in New York City is a gem, one disturbed only by history, paths, and feet. Woven greenery, quiet minds, and manifesting art populate this sanctuary from the dead minds and loud life. The sun shines brightly across the lawns overlooked by the Castle. The corridor of trees opens to a circle protected by a fountain. The maze rambling through the center ensnares the will of haste. Central Park puts the soul back. it is the soul giving life to what seems so lifeless, where peace is touchable, even when people walk by and the skyline looms overhead. The gentle breezes and hushed voices replace perspective, allowing you to see yourself once more. Quiet surrounded by noise surrounded by the perception of quiet.

Magic exists here, in every footfall, in every turn, in every tree surviving despite the smog. It remains the best place to be lost because you'll always find your way again. No matter which way you turn, you'll find yourself among the trees. The mind quiets and resets, relinquishing stress to strength, turning the tarnished face into a beautifully intricate bark, subtle vines, and a smile from yellow flowers. This serenity of nature's truth touches your own truth, rediscovering in what place you belong: in or out of bubbles manifested on the dirty streets.

This is every man. Interplays of dichotomy present on three levels: exterior, interior, and subconscious. We present the mood of calm, collected motions through life where we drown in the plethora of ways tormenting our steps without the realization of our inner peace where truth will vitalize actions. Society has us focus on two levels, forgetting the third. We are tourists to our own lives, neglecting our park's potential. The City is all three ideals, and more, and can teach us how to balance life with ambition and loneliness, to mold emotions with freedom and necessity, to harmonize industrialized ethics with imperfection and love, to relieve perceived honesty of impressions and denote nature in magical revelations exercised within. It seems like far too much to express in a City already providing a magnitude of museums stocked full of priceless education; but to learn these lessons while vacationing stimulated a hunger to build my own expertise in the balance of New York City.

I've struggled with my truth, and I thought it was thrown in with the interior of my being, my subconscious mixed with the chaos of the streets of my existence. I was lost in New York City until we sat in the park, peaceful in thought and quietly reminiscing about the experiences that brought us somewhere in the middle of Central Park. Now I understand something I care not put into words, something the City helped me find. I want that loneliness associated with  peace in the park: knowing a delicate balance of association to others while remaining myself, having time to be me while walking the streets with others, being free to do as I please and regard my others as bystanders along for the ride. Selfish? Perhaps, but it's been forever without that sense, and it's a desire lodged deep in my psyche, on that I've repressed for so long.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

To Notice an End.

The wind blows from western hills, lifting death from the plains overlain by leaves and twisting them gently in the air. Autumn in cyclones invigorate the eyes, coloring the brown earth in hues of golden end. It is all cherished, by every man and woman who steps past their door and waits for the sight to flow around. Change has come, and for the patient and appreciative all the hidden secrets of life are seen in the cascading colors fluttering on the breeze. No limbs can hold tight to that which must be released; and bare are the trees who flourish as they come to rest. Though the leaves have perished, it is known death only takes away the visage of life, beneath which remains the heart and truth of the world that all remains for the next cycle to begin. As the pronounced elegance comes to its season, we see a world of splendor and wait for the whitest to cover this plane. How short it all seems.

The Whisperer

It was almost a tragedy without even realizing the delicate nature of the circumstance. Simply sitting and listening wasn't enough to encompass the support needed for such honesty which poured out in quiet, hushed, and secretive divulgences. All I could do was reiterate what I would normally advise when regarding the magnitude of the presented variables.

His blue eyes, slightly hidden behind his magical darkening glasses, continuously looked around as we spoke, his red rimmed fear piercing the air in discomforted and embarrassed glances. When he feared his words would offend in some manner, his cheeks reddened and his eyes wandered past the window into the parking lot as if he wished the world were as peaceful and simple as parked cars in precisely measured lines. And still I felt at a loss except for a near subtle infusion of experience from drastically different events.

He said with an infusion of betrayal toward himself and acknowledgement of the truth, "I've been having some issues with my sexual orientation. And I guess I've always known that I've been hiding it from the world."

"Well... What's made you want to be honest now?" I asked cautiously.

He smiled sadly. "I had some health issues a few years ago and the doctors gave me another five to seven years of good health. Ever since then... I can't seem to... I've noticed my eye isn't caught by girls anymore. Even if she's got really tight cloths on and a nice body, I'd probably be looking at her boyfriend..." He's not looking into my eyes anymore. "I'm drawn to notice strapping young men like yourself before I'd ever notice a woman..."

Trying to disguise my rolling eyes with the shaking of my head, I looked into the parking lot. The first thought to rush through my head rang out clearly, Shameless! How marvelous age is..., before I could figure out something appropriate to say.

He obliged by continuing. "And since I have so little time, I need to know if it's even worth it to tell everyone that I'm attracted to men." The word gay never came to the table. "My wife wouldn't be supportive, I don't think... And I have four kids who all have families of their own. Nine grandchildren... And I feel like I'd be throwing that all away if I was honest with everyone."

"Discovering how little time we have really does put things into perspective, doesn't it?" He nods, a smile of a different sort gracing his strong features. "I mean... speaking from my own spiritual beliefs, when we discover that we have so little time, we become ourselves and suddenly feel it's that much harder to lie to anyone, especially ourself, you know?"


"I don't know if it's Buddhist or just something I believe, but it's obviously playing a role in your mind right now." We became silent for a few minutes while my thoughts organized themselves better. He seemed unsettled by the depth of my sudden notion. "And on another note, not that I'm saying you need to do this right now, after all it's completely your decision; but being honest with people really allows a relationship to grow and be more than it was.

"In your circumstance, however... it could be an issue." I could tell he hadn't said everything yet, and I knew probing a little would reveal the whole story.

His entire family was raised to be conservative Christians with an ideal in mind for the future family units they would inevitably create. He, himself, came from the same stock of characters; a slightly abusive father who disciplined freely, driving his son into the military where being of a 'gay' mindset got you in extreme trouble. Something in the way he spoke, though, told me he never hit his children. Ever since his bout in the military, he forced himself to conform to the 'norm' of society. He married thirty-some years ago and immediately started building the ideal family and raised equally conservative Christian children to match his and his wife's beliefs.

"... and I know they'll distance themselves from me if I'm honest with them... I just need to know if it's worth it," he says once more.

"That's something you need to decide. You need to know that deep down your wife will always love you, no matter what happens. If you come out to her and she decides this is abominable, or whatever, no matter how much she tells herself and the world she doesn't love you, it'll always be a lie. You have children together, and that creates a bond on the deepest of levels that not even she can relinquish. And your children... They're living their lives and will, and must, accept you for who you are. What you have to decide is whether or not you want to risk the life you have now to further acknowledge the truth you've discovered." This is as far as I can help, and I know I've reached my limit without pushing this man to destroy his life in order to reveal to the world the truth about diversity.

He's flummoxed, torn between two worlds that have so completely engrained themselves in his psyche. "God has always taught us to love ourselves and each other. I know this and believe it to the end. I also know that my church won't accept me..." Tears fill his eyes, but his strength holds them back.

A thought comes to me. "You know, I have a few friends who are out and very Christian. I don't know if 'very' means anything, but they're Christian. I think I should have them get in touch with you... perhaps they can help out a bit more. I, unfortunately, can't really relate or understand a Christian standpoint with being out cause I'm pagan... But if you want, I'll talk to them?"

"That would be great."

The rest of our chat seems superficial in comparison to the ground that was covered. I offered to talk with him anytime he wants and the casual personality seems to don upon his face finally. Worry and doubt are still hidden in his eyes, in the way he shifts his shoulders and holds his hands on the table between us; but the carefree nature of two guys talking visits his tone. I can't help but feel that half of his relaxed state was due to revealing a secret. A secret that's whispered even in public. A secret that's held from all who would know, until the time is right.

A secret that even I can't truly help, despite the similarities in myself.

Shadows and Veils.

I am here
There is there.
Forever I long for
ever my being be

apart by truth and
An everlasting hope
for truth to

And yet, I
long along a
dream like many
hidden behind the guise
of norm.

My norm? Atypical
with shadows, and veils,
in words and sights
by eyes that I
to only mine.

Shall it see the layered
of stepping mounts westward
bound as time for certain
will continue
round and round?

As men open eyes
and see
the starry skies of
all that ever thumped within
their hearts disguise;
I see my heart's
revealed, in caution,
to all of the
time still waiting for
my eyes.

And I am here.
Will there be here?
a cherished careful dream
for truth and heart and mind
as one be seen?

Thursday, October 21, 2010

A Play of Words

A plain plane resolved into plains overflown by planes rushing toward a city. The plainswalker below transcended this plane as he walked to a different plain, thinking about which plane would be the final resting place for his mind. The aforementioned plane flying above the plains descended to the plane upon which the plainswalker walked and landed on a plane designed for its arrival. The plainswalker watched the plane many miles away from the plain he called home and wondered if his mind was ready to exist off his plain or outside his plane. He, plainly, decided to go home.

Plain vs. Plane

It seems that most people have issues with "its" or "it's" or "there", "their", and "they're"; but my problem, as I'm sure many have noticed, is in the difference between "plain" and "plane." Thus, I shall discuss in detail in order to change my understanding and finally grasp the proper uses of those words. I want to make it clear, as well, that my issue isn't with the definitions plain = ordinary and plane = airplane, because I totally understand those. My issue is more more complex.

Plain: flat land, typically a field; also: the Great Plains

Plane: flat surface, typically a level board or table; also: "the cliff stood next to a plane of land."

Can you see my initial confusion? In essence, Plain is specific to land formations while Plane is general to all. So are they truly interchangeable or not? Further confusion. Obviously, when speaking it doesn't matter which one you're using because the meaning is implicit with the subject matter. My issue is substantial because I write science-fiction and fantasy. Let me further illuminate my dilemma:

Plain: Specific to land
Plane: a level of existence, a certain realm, a two dimensional coordinate system.


Plainswalker: derived to mean a Native American/Indian who walks across the Great Plains on a spiritual quest/journey of enlightenment and/or to commune with other planes.
Planeswalker: An inter-dimensional being who transcends other levels of existence or realms of existence. 


A Planeswalker can walk from one plane to another; or from one plain to another. Visa-verca: A Plainswalker walks across the plains to connect with other planes; or transcends (mentally or spiritually) from this plane to communicate with other plains (speaking in terms of land).

Seeing this difference spelled out so definitively before me makes it seem entirely too simple, but my mind spins too quickly when writing or creating to care about the seemingly subtle difference. If I see (in my mind) a character sitting on a level surface (land or board) and he meditates to dissolve his energy/mind into an energy signal to translocate himself to a different place in order to communicate with someone standing, sitting, or working on a separate level surface (again, land or board), I don't decipher between plain and plane; though I'm sure there is a "more correct" use of the terms. This is something I am paying more attention to because I don't want you, my reader and critic, to be distracted by my diction. I just want you to see and feel what I'm writing about!

So here I stand, on a plane of concrete looking out over the small plain bordered by homes, wondering if i understand on which plane my mind plays as I wander to the final plane of existence. Will it be plains before my third eye, or mountains to traverse to freedom?

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Incoherent Ramblings of the Night

One car passes as the stars shift slowly across the heavenly plain. Its wheels scream a protest against any sort of movement, the wailing charges through the stillness like tides pulling on the moon. It's backwards and unkind; yet the chill and darkened air carries the cries even through the muffling walls.

My quiet is louder for it.

Sounds abound my ears though silence engenders some semblance of sleep. If only shutting my sight would shelter my ears from the sirens of all that survives in the night. A cat hisses just beyond my head, though the wall holding out the weather crisply penetrating to the bone. Angry growls reverberate in the emptiness: an upset response to the annoyed tires, four of which proceed on Northward.

Are they speaking to each other? To me?

Soft ticking echoes in the kitchen, accompanied by the jingling of dog-tags as he tries to find leftovers from a cold dinner laying on the floor. Certainly his coat blends well with the lack of illumination: beyond my door, through the hallway, and somewhere in the kitchen he is invisible against the backdrop. Nothing is found. no morsel of dreams comes to a tasteful reality. The Screaming returns on cue. The cat challenges the disturbance. He rests upon the woven blanket in the room.

If only my thoughts were so easily transcribed... Sleep would be so nice.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Lessons after 200 Blogs.

What Have I Learned Since Starting this Blog?

It has certainly been an adventure since I started turning ink into digital code, and the adventure hasn't simply been in the transition but in my mind as well. Surprisingly, I've had to shift my thought patterns to address motivation on a different level than school or work has ever done for me. This style of motivation is for myself, which I've always deterred as something I can do later when I have time or when it's convenient. When the imperative circumstance affects an outcome to my immediate goals, such as school grades or getting paid, my motivation kicks in and I force myself to do the work. My attitude has always been different toward the things I do for enjoyment, like writing and playing video games. The most important thing I've learned over the past 200 blog postings is how to motivate myself. If I don't have that motivation, I fail to accomplish my commitments that I've established for myself (above all).

In regards to commitments I've learned quite a bit as well. Holding true to the promises I deem important has been a struggle with my blog. In the beginning I was able to promise one blog per day. I kept to this goal as much as I could; but circumstances over the past two months has slowed down my ability to write, much less post a blog. Part of me thinks I have failed you (my readers/fans) and failed myself. Another part of me knows there is disappointment floating around somewhere. I care not to grab it so I associate it with your intentions, and I know this is a selfish thing to do because I can be the only one truly disappointed in my own work (although... I guess you could be disappointed as well... but how would I know?). Ultimately, I don't entirely feel bad about not sticking to this goal of "one blog a day" because I have simply shifted my focus to other areas in my life: 19 credit hours in school and (for a time, two jobs) a full time managerial job. Thus, I've learned to not punish myself for not holding to a commitment like this. Yes it's a promise to myself first, and a promise to you second, but the intention is to motivate me to write more, write better, and find a strength and uniqueness in my voice.

Another huge thing I've learned is how much of a poet I am. Poetry is fun, beautiful, and intriguing to me. I realized how intense I see my own poetry, even knowing a lot of it is first drafts they hold an intrinsic depth akin to my mood, heart, beliefs, and personality. Looking back through all of them makes me wonder if others understand what I'm saying and the meaning behind my words. (And if you don't, I URGE you to please please PLEASE leave a comment and I'll explain, dig, and illuminate what I've done!)

What do I See Coming Down the Road?

My heart tells me this blog will be around for a long time. I hope that many of the postings that I've built will inspire me to write books of poetry or collections of short stories; and possibly even expand into novels, trilogies, or series revolving the circumstances or events constructed here. I see a lot more critiques forthcoming as well. I'm reading new books that I've desired to read for a long time and my new academic, analytical, and critical eye is pushing my comprehension to even deeper levels. Literature is one facet of my life I will forever be swimming in. It's much like my room, actually... I have hundreds of books stashed away anywhere I can fit them. Most of them are creative works: fantasy, science fiction, and fiction; but I'm slowly massing a nice collection of physics, astronomical, and mathematical books that I'm fully enjoying! I know... I'm odd.

What do I Wish For?

I hope that more of my readers/fans/critics will participate more. I know my absences stretch on for a while as stressful events unfold and time slips away into the abyss of school and work; but I hope that loyalties continue to read what I've disseminated and will chime in with questions or suggestions or advise. Ultimately, I want more requests! If you want to see me write something in particular (new/different/ a continuation), let me know! It'll move those thoughts, those inspirations, to the forefront of my thoughts (even in class while I struggle through Physics) and I'll pop something out much faster.

Lasting Words:

As I believe I've written several times before:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
~Bilbo Baggins
JRR Tolkien
The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

Monday, October 18, 2010

Autumn Has Come

First snow on Mountains
Bitter rain falls to landscapes
The seasons are changed.

Thank you Physics...

Harsher, respite-less
Thoughts outside comprehension
Give so much stress.

The Awakening Self

The silence isn't unbearable.
The loneliness is almost peaceful.
The numbness calmes the soul...
Like fire clearing away the ugly
or impure
or the sick, weak at center.

But this solitude is darkness
broken only by the slow vibrations of thoughts
carelessly ceasing from moment to the next.
And I am the only constant;
or are my feelings,
or the silent continuity of afterward?

If only the separation of there and here
were dismal and unseen, perhaps
a gentle word could plummet life anew.
Cautious inaccuracy in vowels
bringing closed eyes open.

Nothing appears un-ordinarily stark like blackness,
and light sheers at the tired pupils
adjusting to the necessary once more.
Moments work onward.
Breath is challenged by will alone.
The next stage is dawned.


Having a smile is itself joyous, even in the most stressful of moments. Crinkled eyes glittering with happiness, nose taught with the stretching of lips, and gleaming teeth are all infectious to say the least. Given authenticity shoots down every hope of the condemning animosity which might conjure a darkened mind. So smile! Don't allow the bitter clouds of another, of a circumstance, of yourself to take away the simplest of gifts!

Autumn In My Mind

Driving along a familiar road finally feels different. It's not the drive itself, or the road or car or perception of the distances traveled or sights seen. Well, not entirely of the sights seen because nothing has drastically changed. Autumn has finally reached its delicate brush to the path of my life. Colors are exploding and falling to the tiring earth, enriching the experience though it's expected. My eyes were shocked and it took moments to realize why they were fluttering about in excited fervor. Orange, red, and yellow leaves donned the limbs where green was but a week prior.

How quickly the change came. How startling was the difference, unlike my own tree standing valiantly defiant before my house. His leaves hold to the green of summer, wave conditionally in the crisp morning air, and laugh in the afternoon heat of an extraordinary October. He is telling us how strange the weather is, while the rest of life prepares for the blanketing chill that will certainly fall faster than this autumn.

These thoughts made me wonder, created a new dialectical thought process which stemmed far beyond the natural cycles of nature and the possibilities of art. I don't exactly know why my mind traversed these heights or why the answers still eluded the simple questions: If the change of trees, those powerful entities that survive so many adversities, can happen so suddenly and completely, will my mind take such a short redesign as well? Perhaps it already has and I never noticed, like I failed to notice nature transitioning in its natural timeline. In a sense, I know the answer is yes. Experience has already showed me as much, and the evidence sits clearly on my blog!

Since school started, my ability to create fantastic worlds defying the laws of Earth has drawn to a standstill. I wouldn't necessarily say the inspiration has vanished, because I'm still able to draw the concrete images which create the worlds I seek to explain; but my words are lost to different utilities. The structure of my thoughts has shifted so drastically that I almost feel wasteful to use my creative words in imagination instead of finding the proper words to explain the academic thoughts needed in school. Such a sudden shift has created conflict in me, mirrored in the leaves of trees yet to fall, yet to change; like the sentinel outside my house.

But which am I now? Am I the colored change of seasons dancing in a procession of beauty, or am I the one clinging to what has to be left behind in hopes of rebirth? Is my ability to stick solely to school work hampering my destiny as a writer? Or am I strengthening my resolve by honing my skills in this academic way? Here my answers are lost, betrayed by my quiet mind struggling to survive classes and work and conceive new ideas. My change truly came too quickly for me to understand; descended upon my mind faster than the wind could sweep away the decaying leaves.

I want to believe my mind has shifted to a better season of understanding, strength, and concision that will adapt to my writing before long. This is my autumn, my lasting experience of overwhelming existence before a relief and change toward my new life. My next fear, deciding this path, is what will happen to the world in which I'm currently living? Is everything going to shift? Change? Dissolve into the a frayed painting of beautiful autumnal hues? Only time will tell now, and hope that my choices guide this change...

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Tag. I'm it!

So, I've been tagged. This is a new experience for me on this digital platform. One of my best friends, who also happens to be a big inspirer of mine (meaning he inspires me to push myself farther and faster in order to write [which, ahem... where has this been recently? No excuses! {haha}]), has tagged me from his blog and is forcing me to respond to the following questions.

Bear with me, this isn't quite the same format my blog adheres to, but it'll be a nice insight into my life!

The wonderful questions are as follows:

1. If they were to make a biopic of your life what would it be called and who would they cast to play you?

Intriguing question, which happens to be one that I hate answering. Honestly, I have no idea what I would want my movie to be called. The title would have to do something with balancing, somewhere along the lines of "Dynamic Equilibrium" or "A Writer's Serenity." Maybe even something as predictable as "A Writer's Landscape" if it suited everyone involved. And unfortunately, looking at trends and things, they would probably cast Shia LaBeouf as me; I would rather have Zac Efron play me cause he's more attractive.

2. What is your favorite dessert? Be specific.

Now this is hard. I love food, and I love dessert especially. My best friend in the whole world turned me on to dessert; and it didn't help that my boyfriend makes amazing desserts just to be better than most restaurants. So there are many favorites, simply because I cannot choose one. Is that sad? Near the top of my list was my most recent birthday cake: a lemon, raspberry, with a raspberry cream cheese icing/filling with a raspberry jam/sauce/syrup to accompany. It was simply delectable. A close tie, if not a complete tie, is my grandmother's cheesecake which is moist and dense, has a graham cracker crust, and is simply irresistible. If I were to have a favorite dessert out, it would definitely be the Carraba's Sogno Di Ciocollata. Enough said there! It's dense, rich, dark chocolate cake dusted with cocoa powder and served with ice cream. Delicious; and now I'm upset that I don't have ANY of these desserts. (Thanks Chad...)

3. What is your favorite cocktail, shot, and wine? In that order.

My favorite cocktail is easy. A good Long Island Ice Tea can't be beat! It tastes wonderful and has enough of a punch to get you somewhere. I wish it was enough to actually take me back to New York City, but it'll suffice. Now, I don't do shots. But if I were to take a shot, it would be straight Pravda Vodka because it's nearly tasteless and extremely smooth. My favorite wine is simply Banfi Bell'agio Chianti Wicker. It's cheap and tastes wonderful. I do have a second favorite, and it happens to be Jam Jar. It really does taste like Jam, and is cheap as well. Cheap, good wine? Who can beat that?

4. What is your favorite holiday? How would you celebrate it?

I can't say I have a favorite holiday. I like any holiday that incorporates friends and family, or allows me to get together with these groups of loved ones to have fun! Holloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years are up there with my most enjoyable; but I can't say any one is better than the other. All of my celebrations: birthdays, holidays, celebrations, whatever; I make sure there's something fun going on. Sometimes alcohol helps with that.

5. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you go? Why?

Tuscany, Italy. From what I've seen and heard of people's travels through Tuscany, it's the place I want to go. And on of my favorite movies is based in Tuscany, Italy. It also happens to be the place I want to retire!

6. How would you describe your personal style?

Relaxed and well fitted. Comfortable yet with a hint of fashionable intent. I never want to be considered a fashionista, but I still want to look good. I try to dress to accentuate the aspects of my body that I think look good. I don't have a large variety so many of my shirts get repeated regularly. The only real big change comes with it starts to get below 50 degrees outside. Then I pull out my long sleeve shirts.

7. What do you keep in your box of "It's not going to work out"? (Basically, what secrets do you keep from your significant other that may make you look a bit bat shit crazy?)

Hahaha. Umm... All my secrets have been revealed and we have moved on from that 'crazy' state. Unfortunately, there isn't anything truly interesting to reveal. Sorry to disappoint everyone.

8. Tonight you can do anything without worry of cost... What would you do?

First, I would go out to dinner someplace nice. I wouldn't know where I was going until I got there. Then I would go to the book store and shop until they closed the store. It would be quite a big order... I might need to clear out some space in the basement. I have an addiction, I know. Then I would get together with friends and see what they would want to do: go dancing, go drinking, get on a plain to Vegas and have an experience (I dunno). I would basically have a long night with friends out. If costs isn't a worry, we could do anything as long as the laughs were flowing.

Well... That was fun. But I really don't have anyone to tag back or forward. Perhaps when I have more time, I'll come up with new questions to send back to people. However, if you want to take these questions and put them on your own blog, let me know and I'll check out your answers!


Where Desire Resides

Read my mood,
jumbled by a fireside alone.
The warmth recedes
like light beyond the mountains
extending twilight for
onlookers unseen, unknown, un-felt
like the truth within
I hold at ransom against time.

East to west: the cycle forges
resolve despairingly fickle;
my decisions ebb from desires,
breaking patterns within
constancy of night.
The cold flows over the flames
where once burned Aphrodite's eyes.

I'm as impassible as the stars.

Flirtatious Numbers

It happened again:
Gentle smile gave their number.
I wish I could call.