Hello World, It's Nice To See You

Long time no see I suppose! Thought I'd update a bit:

Everything's going really well and life is still moving. I recently got into a band with my friends and it's one of the funnest things I have done in a while. Good music with good friends is a riot.

(Breezeblocks by Alt-J // cover by The Stangers)

Still in school and that's a bore, but I'm taking a ASL class which relives all the tension and is something I really like. It's a beautiful language, not talking. So fluid and artful. You kind of forget that it's work or even part of a culture that you're not apart of.

And of course, I am writing. Writing songs, writing thoughts, writing stories, and writing poetry.


November 13, 2013

Have you seen the concrete curtains
And the beings cloaked in bloodied sweaters?
They roam, fleeting white shadows
Hanging from hotels
And dazing on rooftops

Ghost gardens of lilacs and lilies
Poor into windows and slither in pavement.
Nervously, nature introduces itself
To the loneliness that was
The human race.

And what a lovely place it was,
Burdened by pills of truth.
Shamefully it becomes only vapor
And we become
The glass of generations addictions.

The trees are rebelling against our paper
And the seas swallowed their sand.
But what are we to do,
When the earth
Takes back its silver?

Hello.

I'm considering ending Writer's-Esque. As I get more serious with my writing and poetry, I think I just want to keep it in my notebook instead of on the internet. Thank you all for the reads and feel free to email me at: itsunwritten@gmail.com 

Thanks again :)

I wrote something.

Shout at me with words of forgiveness
And I will do you same,
For we both are thoughtless to each other.
Like the rain, we never touch
Unless the moon guesses it so.

Your voice is the moon;
A rich, sweet air that I shall not breathe.
Oh, how I long to breathe again,
For suffocating deteriorates the soul.

I have become beautifully bitter, love.
Your absence has turned suffocating into drowning.
Panicked, alone.
A wolf is nothing without it's pack
When faces with a world of predators

Be the moon and I your stars,
For I do not wish to be a lost thought;
I wish to be all around you,
Because you, to me, are my stars.

Changes From A Standing Fox: Day 3

In an unfailing attempt, blues take on the underground and haunt the white in the sky. Perplexing silver disappears under a watery blanket and wakes yet once again. Gold is resting along this blanket and both seem to admire each other from afar even though their hips collide.

The ocean is the wealthiest of places; it is rich and yet never receives. It gives, but does not loose. And its fertile gardens produce ecstasy and grief all the same and we are not burdened by its horror, but rather pleased, because only here do we sense the inverted collisions of our thoughts and morals and beliefs; they all end where the water lines kiss the blanketed earth.



Happy 4th.

Changes From A Standing Fox: Day 1

Blades of sun ripped open the clouds. Light poured onto the mirrored water and seeped into the sand. Mechanical failures sprinkled the crescent earth, and the sky’s blood reveals a vast continuum of greys that fade to whites. The purest white swallows the mind and pesters the body, but we cannot turn our eyes because here we have found life and here we are looking at death.

This place has nothing novel. We are simply gazing upon our own mistakes as the failures we are because when our eyes pull backwards, we are faced with our reflection within a glass box, and we are content. But content is not happy, and content is not uneasy. But when we speak of the ashen skies and the pale waters, our hearts get lighter and we peel back our clothes to run towards the bloodied horizon in memories of when air was new and the ground was willing.

Starving and Trees

"I couldn't live where there were no trees - something vital in me would starve."

L.M. Montgomery (Anne's House Of Dreams)

I rather like trees. Honestly, it seems ridiculous at a first glance, but I assume that most would agree that trees are lovely. It's a nice, and simple thought only needing a few words to explain itself, but that's not what I'm about; I'm more of a detail person and maybe that's why I like trees so much.

I'm going to tell you the truth, I have never seen this quote until a few minutes ago, have never heard of this author, or this book for that matter (only that I believe she wrote Anne Of Green Gables, and I suppose that this book stems from that. I don't know, I've never read it to be honest). But that's okay because thoughts are thoughts and writing is writing and beauty continues to be beautiful, even if it goes unnoticed. Trees.

I would love to live in a place with trees. But not just stuck in here in my corner of desert and rock with a few trees here and there...no, I want the wide open spaces where the trees and the air and nature are more important than myself, where you can see the stars through the branches and they would be as bright as ever, swallowing the sky with ever light-year they meet.

Somewhere nice and cold with defrosted winters and comforting summers. And trees. Lots and lots of trees.

I love this quote on a level of reasons.
1. I agree completely and
2. it is nice and simple
3. "starve"  she would "starve". 

The word "starve" is what does it. The slightest amount of word choice can make or break a sentence. There are words for a reason, and we must use them. The image and the feeling that happens in my stomach from reading the word "starve" is what she was feeling. How the absence of life can make a person cringe and yearn so deeply for a passion that would starve.


I am currently reading "The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak. This book is one of the most well written books that I have ever read. You can just feel the words in your mouth, tasting the absolute perfection in the sentences. Again, it is the slightest change that makes ordinary brilliant.

Examples from "The Book Thief"

"snow was carved into her skin"
"A warm scream filled her throat"
"...Max Vandenburg arrived on Himmel Street carrying handfuls of suffering"
"face decorated with constant fury"
"Slowly, with the arrival of consciousness, it sank seemingly into the floor"
"some stars had the nerve to rise and float"
"words fell off the side of the bed"
"Oh, how the clouds stumbled in and assembled stupidly in the sky...bumping into each other. Apologizing. Moving on and finding room"
"voices climbed over shoulders"
"Waterfalls of words. A girl treading water"
"Burning words were torn from there sentences"
"The dark came in pieces"
"You will be caked in your own body"
"you could still see the bite marks on snow on her hands"
"risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death"

Maybe it's the personification. It doesn't even matter. It would take an awful lot of convincing to prove to me that these words are not beautiful.



That's all I have to say really, I don't know, I didn't plan a conclusion are some in-depth question or anything. This is just me sharing things. The End.

"I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions."

Sylvia Plath     
"Barren Woman"