Thursday, January 31, 2008
Oh well, it doesn't matter. I'll just keep living.
The problem tomorrow will be that I will have five million quizzes to make up, and that sort of thing, and that I really have no idea what we've been doing in Math or Science or ANY class, although I imagine my Social Studies teacher will KILL me because I don't have my project. I imagine that I SHOULD do it, but I REALLY don't want to. I mean... I just don't want to do ANYTHING.
I guess it's the crazy depression. I am losing interest in life. I just wish someone would kill me so I don't have to do it myself. I would like to die, right now, but the problem is that I have not finished my story, and until I do, I will not feel ready. If someone just killed me now, it would end it all.
Well, this message took about five million years to write.
My brother was standing at the window and all of a sudden he says, "Whoa! There are a bunch of turkeys out there!" So I run and look and there are at least 20 or 30 birds out there walking towards our house! It's crazy! They were all black and kind of shiny and some of them were looking at us!
It was cute! I like wild turkeys. They are awesome looking. They were pretty big, too. Probably like, 3 feet tall. Really big. And I think they were all hens since I didn't see a male turkey.
Which is interesting. I hope I see them on the bus tomorrow. There's this one house where turkeys used to flock last year. I hope they're back this year. :D
That's all for now.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
‘Where is the café?’
This author wonders.
Is it in space, time, or any dimension?
Or is it in a little town in New England?
‘It matters not,’
This author decides.
In this café of wonders,
No one lives in any time or is any age.
There are many old and young men.
These men smoke.
From the primitives before Christ,
To the Indians, to the men of today they hail.
There is many a concerned anti-smoker.
These people are good.
The warn the smokers, but they do not hear.
If they choose to hear, one evil finger is raised above the rest.
Then there are young ones.
These children love trees.
They write and write without paper,
For they are of the future and are the future.
They cheer and have fun with their green things:
“These things are good!”
But there are only a few.
Their infrared eyes and cyborg implants are outnumbered.
Some men and women gather together, paired.
These people are freely gay.
The others try not to notice.
The growing group, all in new clothes.
There was a large group of men and women.
These people were God-fearing.
The men were old, but dressed in new clothes and joined the alternate crowd;
The women dispersed.
Politicians are screaming from their corner.
These people are clueless.
The scream and pull stunts and acts, and pray,
But no one listens or seems to care.
The others grumble about the politicians.
These people are uncertain.
They ask questions, accuse, and point fingers.
They hear answers and ignore and forget.
Scientists are in their small, shrinking corner.
These people are great but unnoticed.
Some stand out, like this:
wig of curls and apple
paralyzed but smiling
two men walking in jubilantly
beard, canaries, and chimp
monk with peas
Poets and writers are gathered at another table.
These people are alone.
They scribble in their books at their table.
They are pretending not to notice the men that aren’t there anymore.
An AI is at another table.
This thing is alone.
But the circuitry and lights feel no loneliness; they are content.
They calculates and plays games and takes the writers away.
Some kids fool around at their table.
These children are foolish.
They know nothing and do nothing.
They are running around, not seeing the lion.
The lion is sitting there, getting angrier and angrier.
This lion is justified.
The fools have made him so.
They keep running and teasing blindly.
A girl or woman (no one can tell) sits alone at a small table.
This girl is different.
But not because her costume and body seem to be all one person,
Yet from different places, times, and ages!
Her hair is grey and her face hardened and grim.
Those eyes are filled with tears and pain.
Her legs thin and young, those of a small girl.
Her arms just as useless, but her fingers full of the magic!
Her right ear is tapered to a point, as an elf.
This left ear is not there.
Her body looks young under many sweatshirts.
Her skirt is like a sari of the East, but her head bears a tarnished silver crown.
Her left arm is clothed in a cape from the Dark Ages.
This other arm has a bandage, unnaturally red.
Her heart is visible on her sleeve, though she doesn’t like that.
It holds the passions and fears of an old one, but it carries few scars.
Her hands are filled and busy.
These hands are tired.
The fingers draw, write, cipher, and study theater and science.
A hand tries to cover the heart on her sleeve.
‘What do these fingers do best?’
This girl wonders.
Writing is loved, but science is longed for.
The girl reaches out everywhere, looking for a life.
She find others almost like her, but they have grouped.
That will not do.
She finds one very wonderful, but her eyes fill with tears.
She wants to stop searching, but can’t.
At last she has thrown down all in her hands!
These scatter across the table.
She picks them up again; writing, anything else salvageable?
She wants to see the one again.
Anger, fear, and sadness overcome shyness.
Can this happen?
Finally, she reaches for a knife in the café.
She’s ready to destroy her third finger of her treasured hand.
But she can’t, as she has known for a long time.
This causes change.
She ages again, and her clothes are from different eras again.
And it starts all over again, but only for her.
‘In the café, wherever it is,’
This author writes,
‘There are many people and lives.
The café rushes towards destruction, but it could stop.’
‘The café is so full of people,’
This author writes,
‘So many, but so few are good.
So few should be here, but they are all here anyways.’
‘Idiots run the world,
This is apparent.
Something must be done.
The girl can’t do it by herself.’
The girl glances around, and writes
And hands it to the one who can help; who can help finish this.
“Help me edit this poem, please?”
*not part of poem*
I wrote this poem for DaBoss, but I believe in showing it to others. Disregard the last part, it's for HIM. :D
Um, yeah, that's all. Allegory.
I went to counseling.
And I guess it's okay.
My counselor looks JUST like George Costanza from Seinfeld. No kidding. The difference is that he is not as fat, he has gray hair instead of brown, and he's a little more over-all less stupid. ;)
I think this counselor will be pretty good. He's nice, but he probably doesn't know what's best for me right now because there's a lot I didn't tell him.
Daboss (AKA St)
more about my story, because it's such an important part of my life
other stuff I forgot.
I will be going to counseling today. I don't know what to expect.
I read Harriet the Spy (well, the second half or so) last night. I like reading about Harriet's issues. I think I am like Harriet. She's younger than me, but it doesn't matter. She has my problems, although mine are worse.
Maybe I will write a book like Harriet the Spy. But it will be more than that. More truth. More reality.
I don't suppose you have a chance every day to read the blog of a girl who cuts herself.
I shall not describe it to you. You don't want to hear about it.
How do I know? It's not because it's gory, although my mother can hardly stand it.
I haven't cut in weeks, I think. I want to, though. But I can't when my mother is checking all of the time. I'd get to cut once, she'd find out, and she's manage to keep the razor and scissors away from me all of the time.
Well, I have to hurry. Counseling in less than 4 hours, which is good. I don't know what to expect. But I already said that, didn't I?
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
What to do until then?
Well, I'll write and post this message, because I like blogging.
This is a LOT easier to use than my old blog. This one. That I like showing to people. I made all of that FROM SCRATCH. If you can believe it. ;)
I will also work on my story, which I am nearly finished with. That little/biggish 'L C' in the corner does actually say 'LC', not 'LG' which I noticed just now does look like that.
If you have questions about it, leave a comment and ask. I'll answer the questions on my website and here.
In other news, I haven't been to school in 4 days. This morning, the assistant principal called my mother. However, if my counselor says I can stay out of school for a while, I can stay home. I really am sick of school. I love school. Learning, socializing because I don't get any socialization otherwise, and all of that stuff.
I think that it'd be nice to just stay out for 2 weeks. This one and the next week. I will enjoy that thoroughly. I can finished typing my story* and then I will feel better.
And I am certain that after next week, a certain guy by the name of Daboss in this blog will be back. According to 'Ska', he broke his foot. I guess he broke it during Christmas vacation, so I calculated, and he should be back either next week or the week after. It's okay if I miss a week. I'm so depressed and everything, I just don't care about anything. I'm just all apathic or whatever it's called when you don't care about anything.
And I don't care. I just want to finish my story, not do anything, eat, and be with Daboss (not in THAT way, but you get my meaning). That's pretty much it.
*What I meant by 'finishing' or 'typing' my story is that I will soon be finished transferring my story from my notebook to my computer. Of course, it's not MY computer, it's the 'family' computer. I wrote the whole thing on lined notebook paper (except for the last 50 pages--those were plain lined filler paper, and they are much better than the other paper I used) and it took me about 26 months. I'm sure I could find out EXACTLY how long it took, but I'm not THAT interested in knowing. I know I started it around Thanksgiving or something, November 2004. This year will be Linda's fourth birthday. :)
So, I finished writing the manuscript, the first draft, but since it's all written in pencil on 370 (about) notebook pages, I have to turn all of THAT into THIS. Meaning, words on a computer screen. And I'm almost done! I only have sixteen pages to go! It's amazing!
After I'm finished with that, I will put my binder that I keep those pages of fantasy in into a drawer in my desk and I will keep it safe. It is the first thing I will take if my house is burning down. Hands down, it is my most treasured possession.
So, then I will edit it. I will make all of the changes I want and need to do, then show it to my sisters, my parents (not for a while, though), my English teachers (at least the one from this year), a couple kids from school, and after they all like it or at least accept it, I will send it off to Knopf and see what they think. If they don't like it, I'll try Scholastic, Random House (maybe), those places. Actually, Random House and Knopf may be the same place. But I'm going for Knopf because it will increase my chances of meeting Christopher Paolini, because he is my hero.
I agree with others that he could have written a better book (there are things that I would change, things that should have been different), but give him a break! He started writing it when he was fifteen! He can't do it perfectly the first time! I know I couldn't!
He is more of my hero because he has written a book at a young age and he has become famous. He has done something amazing. For that, he should be honored. Christopher-finiarel. ;)
Anyways... yeah, that's all for today. Leave comments please! :)
Saturday, January 26, 2008
I started my blog. Finally.
I've been looking for a place to 'blog' for a while. It's taken forever because most places that give you a free blog pretty much make you be 18 or more.
But that's okay. I got a free, completely awesome blog right here. :)
Well, look at the details to the left. They should answer most questions you have.
I'll post some more stuff tomorrow, and then...
Yeah. Read this.
See you. Please leave comments if you were here; I would appreciate it. :)