Burned Out.

It's taking forever. This candle burns, but there is no light from the flame. Only intensity. Cupped hands recoil, flex as wax sears intricate rivulet patterns through fingers. You cannot hold this.

It's taking forever. Passion burns and fizzles out while new ideas and new hopes give way to reason. Lost souls turn to lost minds as hands are forced into the fire, desperately seeking to feel the warmth, they wrap arms around and graciously accept the blistering pain, convinced there is no difference. You cannot hold this.

It's taking forever. Intensity turns you away from gazing at the sun, its presence felt, but too much to bear. Like this burning candle that screams and sears and melts its trace through your fingers, into darkness, and leaves you, wishing you could have held it.

The Siren Sung

Shut in, shut out, shut off,
Those lonely hearts with hands outstretched that call for help.
Watch them dragging others in with their descent.
Sweet Sirens' song makes sailors' bitter end.

Shut in, shut down, shut up,
Those lovely voices scream nothing far too loud.
Watch them giving in.
Sweet Sirens' song makes sailors' bitter end.

Picked up, picked apart, put down,
Those puzzled pieces left no one can ever fit.
Watch them drowning in the red.
Sweet Siren's song makes sailors' bitter end.

Pieces scattered, chewed apart,
gasping on the blood-stained rocks,
Watch them drowning in the red.
The Siren sung--the sailor's dead.

6/2/10

Why to Question Everything

If only communication were simpler, more stars might then align,
and if the tools we used weren't emptier, mankind may not be so maligned,
and breaths might flow much easier, between words dying to be read,
and life could be much wealthier, between the healthier and dead,

but first you'd have to translate what the speaker has just said.

Before the river floats you down.

Oh, I guess I should have seen it was over, by the fire that was in the skies, and I probably really should have been sober, but it was the quickest way to eat the lies. So I laugh as I choke and am bleeding, as the knife twists in my side. It’s just the words and their speakers that are fleeting, and memories they all subside. I guess I should have seen it was over, but the coins had already covered my eyes.

Aim, at the Water's Surface

Thoughts have turned to rocks and fallen into pockets. Held beneath the surface, drowned within the weighted absence. They may still be right here, but without semblance to their former selves.

Cut into high, just another burden bleeding out. Weight misplaced. Let it burden something else.

The water likes to run, as pockets filled, pulled pebbles into sand-like-mud. And everything's relapsed, as thoughts have turned to sand and within they have collapsed.

Cut into high, some one come and cut this burden out. Weightless place. Let it burden something else.

Stones skip the surface of a pond where counting seven ripples observes that despite their majestic arcs gliding across the water; rocks, like thoughts, still fall and sink to the bottom where they become nothing and meaningless

and then become food for something else.

Tribute to MLK Jr.

I wrote this weeks in advance with the intentions of posting it on January 15th, because January 15 happens to be a very important day. Of course, I misplaced the notebook and only found it today, but late is better than never. Here are some words I wrote in commemoration of the late Martin Luther King Jr. who happened to be born on the same day as myself.

I believe that my beliefs don't matter. I believe that everyone should be allowed to be themselves, and I believe that the natural progression of life will eventually sort it's way out.

Until that time comes, I believe it is our responsibility as humans to be honest, respectful, and to own up to our actions. I believe it is our duty, as human beings, living upon Earth, to take responsibility, to stand up, and to become stronger, kinder, people.

I believe that we must help our neighbors, be them friends or enemies, selflessly. I believe that if we are to survive we must learn tolerance. Tolerance of all things, not just color or sexual preference. Tolerance of life.

I believe that we have all forgotten of what it means to be tolerant of life. Throw away your debit and credits, step outside. Take off those expensive sneakers and step out onto the ground. Walk barefoot down the driveway to an empty mailbox, or is it one filled with empty bills, because we all know real mail stopped coming long ago.

It hurts. That's life. Feel the stones beneath your feet. Feel your feet strengthen beneath the weight of your body. That's life too. Get out and get in it and live.

I believe we have been living dead in this life for far too long and now it is time to grow.

-That's my thoughts.
AiG

"Make yourself as small as possible. Then grow." -Anonymous

World Aflame

"They have to go and save themselves," said Charlemagne Ulrick, a dentist in Port-au-Prince in the aftermath of Haiti's devastating quake. "I don't know when they're coming back." He was referring to his children, after he sent them off to a different part of the country, in hopes of survival.

His words should weigh heavily upon all our hearts. After all, isn't it true that we all have to go and save ourselves? Can we really sit around and expect someone else to come our way and solve our problems? Of course not.

Sure, some people can help, but in the end, whether we succeed or fail all depends on one thing and one thing only--ourselves. We are all guilty of carrying this mentality. It is exactly why we are all so self-centered and the world is as bad as it is today.

We've all been burned so many times by everyone around us, or we've been brainwashed into that not-good-enough attitude that we've grown up being bombarded with by the media and the government. We have been taught, or convinced, that no one in the world can help us except ourselves.

Why else is there so much violence and rioting in the wake of any natural disaster? Disasters are just that--disastrous--and they come in all shapes and sizes. When they strike people suffer, and when people suffer they are at their worst. It is that single idea that no one can help me but me that drives us all to madness.

It's really damn sad. What happened to mankind as a whole that we've ceased to see the entire world around us and started seeing the world as a simple extension of ourselves? Why can't we get passed our egotistical way of thinking? Or has it always been in our nature to center life upon ourselves?

I have no answers, but kudos to those that are lifting their hands to help, even if they are turning blind eyes to all the suffering going on around us every day. Kudos to those that give back to the world where and what they can. Never mind that what one person can give may completely dwarf someone else's lesser contribution. Let's all look to Haiti right now, because, obviously their problems are a lot worse then everyone else's and it is easier to lend a hand to someone that is not your neighbor.

Bringing in the New Year: How to fail at life with Facebook and other Cosmic Ironies

My brain's a little fuzzy, so I'll try hard to keep this sensible and brief. So I've been getting a lot of questions as to why I deleted my Facebook profile lately. The answer to that is simple.

I'm an idiot. As such, I sometimes do really stupid things. Deleting Facebook wouldn't have been one of them, had I understood Facebook's crazy Terms of Service before attempting to do so.

No, it was what I did before deleting Facebook that was stupid, and for that I'm sorry. It's why November was erased, for all the good of doing it, and if you don't know what I'm talking about it is better off that way.

So I thought I could delete Facebook and start another profile that would be more relevant to my writing company, but apparently, that's not how things work with Facebook. I'm still trying to figure out exactly how things do work for that government run site, but I'm not trying too terribly hard, because Facebook, as personal as it was, was turning me into an obsessive, crazy person.

So as it stands, no Facebook. Maybe later. Maybe not.

Now with that out of the way, let me tell you about how I was fully prepared to start this New Year off right, and how it got twisted all around.

For the last several days before the year ended, I was really trying hard to get back to my roots. I had taken to walking barefoot just about every where I went, including a four hour hike around downtown Fort Lauderdale, just because I could.

Yes, it sounds stupid, but believe it or not, my feet felt great. I started walking over gravel and glass. I started using a trashcan as target practice and taught myself how to throw rocks and macadamia nuts by holding them between my toes. My aim was getting pretty good. I was gearing myself up for 4 mile daily runs.

On January 1st my cat ran away and got himself thoroughly stuck in a palm tree, wedged between the fronds. With some help of a neighbor and his ladder, I climbed up and saved him. He clawed me up and ran away again. I guess there should have been a lesson in that somewhere.

A couple days later, I had shoes on and was walking to the store less than a block from my house. I stepped off the sidewalk to give a bicycler more room and was instantly mugged by twelve inches of angry wood chip.

I never even saw it coming. The damn thing stabbed right into my foot right above my shoe and punctured through to bone. So much for bare feet and running. I can no longer put any weight on my right heel. According to the hospital I'm at "severely high risk" of getting a bone infection. Well, I can still walk on my toes, and I have a cane.

There's probably a lot of lessons that could be pulled out of this story. Like, don't try to save a cat because he will just maul you, and remember bicyclers should be on the street so make them yield to pedestrians. Maybe we could simplify that. Don't do anything for anyone, because it's just going to get you fucked up.

No, I don't actually mean that, but there is some beautiful irony in the whole situation. I think what really should be learned from this is that we should pay attention to our surroundings, and stop acting like we are the only people alive on this planet.

I guess all I'm saying is things don't go according to plan and life is full of setbacks. Well, I for one aim to be back wandering downtown barefoot and flinging rocks just as soon as I am able. Oh, and I'll be running too. Unless maybe, I lose my foot...

Keep ya posted.
AiGe

You can delete November, but you can't delete the program.

I was having a rare conversation once with a good friend. It was the kind of rare conversation that only comes around a couple times more often than Hailey's comet. I was actually talking about myself.

We were talking about how when I was young I used to be a clown, always ready to say what I thought and more energy than I knew what to do with. While on the subject my friend asked what happened that made me change from being that boy.

I answered her succinctly. "I was brainwashed."

I like telling that story, because the irony of it is what's so damn funny these days. Especially for a meat package like myself. Just one more walking meal among another hundred million, or however the hell many of us there are these days.

You see, all us Synthetics have it rough like that. We've all been brainwashed. We've been brainwashed since day one of our creation into thinking we're real. The growing and cultivating process is just added layers of brainwashing. We're told all the little things we do matter, as our friends get eaten around us.

We are brainwashed into thinking life still exists, but it doesnt. The program is there, in the back of our sentience for anyone with the consciousness to look. We're all just food for the flesh eaters. Synthetically grown as a last ditch effort to keep the zombies occupied while life attempted to exist.

It didn't. There's a subsidized file where the last living human saved his good bye to the universe and died. It was dated with a date now rendered irrelevant with the passing of society. You see nothing mattered. The machines will always just keep making more of us machines and the living dead will keep on being dead. Being dead and eating us. Time doesn't hold any relevance in a society of nothing but robots and the dead.

So maybe now you understand the irony when I tell you I changed because I was brainwashed. We've all been brainwashed for such a long time. We're really just complex functions within even more complex functions playing out in an endless loop, all trying to distract us from the fact that we are nothing but food.

Science: proving that forgetting is healthy.

I read a very interesting article over on Beach Front News written by Boomer.


"...That tendency to go blank about who-I-said-what-to might actually be evidence of a healthy memory at work. There’s evidence that when we reset a password or memorize a new phone number for a friend, the brain actively suppresses the out-of-date information. Because the old digits are competing with the new ones for memory space, the memory ‘deletes’ the potentially conflicting info. And retold stories aren’t always socially embarrassing or redundant. Repeated often enough, they become ritual, and, over time, oral history, Dr. Gobie says. It is also interesting to note that people with the most to gain – or lose – in terms of whom hears what (lobbyists, attorneys, salespeople) will often use the name of the person they are speaking with as a reminder: “Did I mention, Tom, the free emergency roadside assistance package?” While it could be could considered flattery, it could also be a means of tracking where information is going..." Beach Front News "Why We Forget What We say and to Whom"

The article brought up a lot of questions for me.

It almost sounded like "science" is now saying they think that forgetting is healthy. Or are they brainwashing us to tell us to do more drugs? Or am I just paranoid?

I don't know about the rest of that, but I do think if brains that habitually forget their short term memory are considered healthy, we must now be saying the brains that remember those details are unhealthy?

I wonder if they considered photographic memories in their studies? Perhaps, people that do not reset their memories, the way this article describes, forget other details that most everyone else remembers?

Is that where the idea of eccentricity comes from?
Einstein couldn't remember to tie his shoes. I can't remember my own Mother's Birthday. Maybe those are signs of an unhealthy brain?

Either, way, I'd love to see more research by the "professionals" on this one. I know I personally could really stand a memory wipe.

Quick News

So, I after investigating how to delete Facebook, I realized it's a difficult process and decided I'd keep it around and just make another more relevant Facebook Business page. After attempting to do so, I now know that Facebook does not allow anyone to have multiple accounts. So... the first one is being deleted again. It's a two week process. So, my new page won't be available until the New Year after the old one has been deleted and I have started fresh. Stay tuned for more info.

Die Slow.

Going back to the quote that's been with me for so long now "Make yourself as small as possible. Then grow." The music video "Die Slow by Health" is exceptionally appealing. It seems to fit the entire theme I've been running with for so long...

So, I was going to erase my Facebook and Myspace accounts, and reinvent them with an exciting new, business orientated personality. Then, I realized how difficult it actually is to erase a Facebook profile. So I decided, fuck it. I'm just going to keep them around as a little more personal of webspaces. I'm just not going to be using it much anymore.

In the meantime expect the the alter egos to be making appearances soon. I can guarantee it'll be a good time for at least one of us.

Getting ready for a new year.

So... I've been making some changes over here. Maybe you've noticed? I'm not entirely sure what I'm changing into yet. I am, however, blessed enough to be able to recognize this period of growth for what it is. Hopefully you'll all forgive me my inconsistencies while I figure it out and grow. In the meantime here's some great art.

A Message for the Stars

I might have failed at everything, but at least I know I tried. I've only ever known how to be myself and staring at you shining in the midnight sky with all that space around you reminds me of how insignificant I really am. Is it any wonder that the harder I reached for you the dimmer your glow became? Was it a passing cloud? Was it because your light had actually gone out years ago, but only now is it reaching me-in my time, in this place? I have reached as far as I possibly could, but still never came close to closing this distance between us. I would leave my arm extended for all eternity if it were possible, but such idealistic thinking is pointless. I have stood still and stretched and you have looked back at me and faded. It is a bittersweet conclusion, but as I turn away I know in my heart that it is you who has really lost. Stars are dead before they are even seen.

Searching for Pluto (part 2)

So, this is the second installation in the untitled story I started back on Nov. 4th, that some of you expressed interest in continuing to read. I have to apologize, because, I had written up a lot more than this shortly after that date, but due to a freak computer accident lost a whole lot of pages of writing.

I'm tentatively changing the name from Untitled to Searching for Pluto so that it's easier to search if you want to go back and read part one. I'm also posting this draft as is on the first write up and completely unedited, because, well, I'm lazy and don't feel like editing. Er, rather, I'm going to do all my edits when the stories finished.
-----

Nothing in life ever works out the way you want it to. Not even a fucking bus ride. It was every bit as terrible as I expected it to be, even if it was a helluva lot shorter than what I paid for.
Things would have been okay had they let me smoke, but apparently us cigarette addicts don’t have any rights. Never mind that the cigarette would have helped quell the nausea from the way the bus sloshed my brain back and forth.
So I sat in my seat sipping on my handle feeling outrageously sick for the beginning of the ride. It didn’t take too long before the bus’s bouncing made me vomit. Pity, that I was half asleep in my seat when it happened.
I stumbled my way to the little bathroom in the rear of the bus emptying the contents of my stomach the entire time. Inside, I tried my best to clean myself up, but it was pretty difficult considering the bus obviously wasn’t going to stop bouncing me around.
I think at some point I must have decided to sit down, because the next thing I remember is the bus driving kicking me and telling me we were at a rest stop and I had to get off. Cigarette. I breathed a sigh of relief at the realization and made my way to my feet, muttering my thanks.
Outside the air was frigid, but I didn’t care, I fumbled in my pockets till I found the two items I was seeking and plopped down onto the nearest bench. I put the cigarettes to my lips and struck the flame, breathing in. Thank god tobacco tastes better than vomit.
I drank the last few swigs from my handle and promptly blacked out. When I came to, the first thing I noticed was that someone had placed my guitar beside me on the bench. My first instinct was to check it, even though I knew I was the only one with the lock. It wasn’t until after I had the case open and assured myself it was still there that I realized my bus was nowhere to be seen.
I could go on and tell you about the hours I wasted on the phone bitching to the bus company, or the security guard that kept trying to chase me off, but it I won’t bore you. Let’s just say it sucked. Apparently the fact the bus left without me was entirely my own fault and there was nothing they would do for me. No refund, no other bus. I was stranded in some freezing, bumble-fuck country out in the middle of nowhere.
I pulled my sweatshirt tighter around me, shouldered my guitar, and left the watchful gaze of the security guard behind as I trudged my way out from the rest stop area and onto the highway.
The wind was bitter, and I realized then that I had just traded my entire life for a handle of booze and a carton of cigarettes and I didn’t even know where the hell I was. I sighed, and tried not to think about how cold my feet felt.
Fortunately, I still knew where I had to go. I still knew where she went even if it was starting to look further and further away then Pluto. Even if I didn’t know how I was going to get there, I still knew that I was going. At least it wouldn’t be so cold.

Early Halloween?

I have not been blogging. I think by now if my absence from this digital world hasn’t driven away all of my friends and readers, well that statement is pretty obvious. Instead of blogging I’ve been busy behind the scenes working on various other projects. I’ve also been spending a good amount of time thinking about how to spice things up around here and I came up with an awesome idea!

Let’s face it. I am not the world’s most web-savvy person. One thing I’ve always disliked about blogging was every time I wanted to do something specific it took a lot of time to figure out how. What I mean is, every time I wanted to put a link in one of my posts it took me upwards of fifteen minutes just to get the link in correctly. I was spending way too much time blogging and it was detracting from the other things I needed to be doing. You know, like actually writing.

With that said, let’s use our imaginations a little. Let’s say that the task of actually posting a blog update for me has become a whip. I dunno why a whip, maybe because it stings more than just a little, but anyway, for all intents and purposes, it’s a whip. Well I’ve decided to hand that whip over to a certain young web-mistress that I have known for awhile now.

So for a trial basis, to see how things go I’ll write and she’ll crack the whip--over my back if necessary. I know! The idea gives me goose bumps too. Wait, what are we talking about again? …right so what this means for the blog is now that I’m only responsible for content I’m going to free up a lot more time for those other things I need to be doing, you know, the actual writing stuff that I like to do. More goose bumps.

Also, my new web-mistress has a special treat in store for everyone concerning the blog also that I just can’t spoil, but you’ll find out for yourselves soon so stay tuned. I promise she won’t whip you… unless you want her to.

Finally, and I am so overdo in this, mass apologies go out all around. My blog was nominated for two rewards! It happened before I took a month’s vacation from blogging, and even if my absence may have made them question their decisions to reward me, I still think of it as way awesome and wholeheartedly thank Alissa Grosso of Books I Liked Loved or Hated and Slightly More than Dirt fame and Carrie Eckles who has been blogging at Promt Romp and Cogito Ergo Scribit. Both Carrie and Alissa have multiple blogs that are unique and offer refreshing perspectives that are well worth a read.

Here are the rules for the award:
1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting.
5. Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.

So, seven thing people might find interesting about me, okay, let’s see.

1. I absolutely cannot close my right eye by itself. I don’t know why, it just doesn’t work. I can wink my left eye just fine, but when I try to wink with the right… nothing. I can however close them both together, or if my left eye is already closed, then I can close the right eye independently.

2. I happen to be a big fan of well planned and designed tattoos. Not the trashy crap you see a lot of these days, but something artistic and clearly well thought out. Currently my tattoos are limited to only a tree of life split between my forearms and a personal symbol over my heart that has to do with my family and heritage, but I want oh, so many more.

3. I play guitar and I try to sing. I even record my own songs and I like to torture some of my dear friends by making them listen to my recordings. They say they aren’t too bad, but I think they lie. I made a musician’s myspace page to put up some of my own recordings and have yet to do so. Maybe someday I will, maybe not. Good or not it’s a better hobby for me than a lot of the other options out there.

4. I have some really weird dreams. Just ask Carrie.

5. I am the owner of an inbred (there’s no proof, but I suspect) polydactyl (meaning extra toes) cat. He is special, and I mean that in the most politically correct term possible. He is a very large cat not fat, but in length. I’m talking he stands up off the ground and his mutant paws come to my armpits and I’m 6’. But he’s sweet… most of the time. He likes to climb all over me all the time, and purr, and bite me when I pet him. And purr. I call him Stiffy a bit of an acronym from S.T.F.F--Seven Toed Feline Freak.

6. I like dragons. I like dragons a lot. I wish I was one.

7. I’m having trouble thinking of a seventh interesting factor. That may happen to be the case that I am probably my own harshest critic. I don’t know why, but sometimes I can’t help but give myself a lot of shit.

And now, in no particular order, the nominees!
1. B.J. Anderson of BJ Anderson
2. Roberto Scarlato of Tales and Troubled Times of a Hungry Writer
3. Eden Tyler of An Aspiring Author’s Journey
4. Rich Leighton of Florida Nature Photography
5.Cathryn Grant of Cathryn G-rant
6. Uninvoked of A Noveling Blog
7. Becky Joie of Rather Be Writing

Thanks everyone, and don’t forget to come back soon, they’ll be more treats to hand out.

Twenty-one

Whew. Hold on, I'm still catching my breath. Whew. Alright, twenty-one days since my last post, and, despite some setbacks, I have finally returned.

I've got quite a lot of interesting things to relate about my getaway, and even more interesting things I need to catch up on that I've missed in my absence. I'll be doing most of the catch up first, and spreading my stories out over the next several days.

Suffice to say, the trip was certainly interesting, and was a success in that my batteries now have more juice in them then they did when I left, though they might not be powering what I had hoped, more juice is still a win in my book.

I'd just like to say thanks to everyone for your kind comments in my absence and not abandoning me. A special thanks goes out to Alissa and Carrie for nominating me for blog rewards, I'll be following up on those just as soon as I get a little more settled in.

Also a quick note, anyone in the South Florida area with computer troubles should definitely check out AnyTech here! If not for them I wouldn't be online right now.

Without further ado, it's time to get to it and start the catch up. More from me soon.

Original Work Update--Untitled Short

I'm totally switching the tone from Tuesday's "The Thistle and the Daisies" here. (I did say, I didn't write anything of that nature very often, didn't I? There really isn't much to be said about it, but I guess I could give you all a warning, it's a bit gloomy.

Today, the room was more still than usual. Jonathon was no exception. His eyes were open and he could see the neon-flourescant glow of the bright bulb above him clearly. The light would have been enough to make an average human blink and look away, but Jonathon could not. His eyes were fixated forward as was his head, unable to move.

He could hear the rythmic hum of the apparatus beside him. It was comforting to him. It reminded him he was still alive and filled him with hope. Every artificial breath told him that perhaps one day, he might be able to move again. The thought to try would come to his still active mind, now and again, and he would have tried, if he could remember how. The nerves were dead. Severed and destroyed when the car had hit him.

He remembered pieces of the accident. He rememebered the helplessness of seeing the SUV barrel through the light. He remembered being unable to get out of it's berserk flight. His car rolled several times and stopped top down in a ditch. He remembered feeling the coldness of something wet pressing against him, filling his nose and his mouth. He remembered being trapped. It was the last thing he ever felt.

It was nothing compared to this. He could hear, and he could think, but he could not move. He could not communicate. He was fed intravenously through a tube he could not feel that pumped the life giving substance into his body. Another tube, sucked away his waste. The only evidence ever coming to his attention of this were the slurping sounds that he sometimes heard, and the nurse that came frequently and stood around him doing things he could not see.

It did not take him long to begin to look forward to her visits, he could hear her footsteps from down the hallway, panging and echoing from the empty walls as she would make her way to his room. He called her Samantha, and she was the most pleasent person in his mind, always asking how he was and telling him about her family.

In reality, never a word was spoken. Today, he was listening to the stillness of the room. The occasional slurp of a machine doing it's job, and over that, the constant steady in and out of the one that gave him breath. He was wondering where Samantha was. He heard two sets of footsteps begin making their way down the hall. They were both heavier than Sam's, he knew instantly. The stopped outside his door and he could hear a male's voice whispering, but he could not make out the words. The door swung open and the two footsteps entered.
Fsssh, foooh. Fsssh foooh. Jonathon still found comfort in the sounds that brought him life.
"Poor, bastard." Said a man's voice standing at the door of the room. "No friends. No family."
Jonathon could hear him move beside his bed.
"It's almost a shame." The other man said.
Fssh, foooh. Fsssh foooh.
"Almost." The man moved and a switch clicked beside Jonathon's head.
"Call the coroner. Time of death... eh, I'll give him five minutes."
"Let's say 11:38."
The footsteps left the room, the door swung silently shut.
Jonathon listened to them in horror as the footsteps faded down the hallway. There were no more sounds. There was nothing.

Original Work Update---The Thistle and the Daisies

I wrote this on a whim for a friend once, via an internet conversation, because they had asked for a story, and sometimes, I oblige. After reading a lot of things today about challenges and hardships, I thought it kind of fit, so here it is.

The Thistle and the Daisies
So once upon a time in a very distant land there grew a great field of daisies. Now this field was a special field, in it that all of the other daisies were just as happy as daisies could be. Which is to say, they were outstandingly happy. After all a single daisy only had to look in any direction to see that it was surrounded by the brightest and best of it's kind, exactly like its self, and the daisies were all very much in love with themselves and the soil beneath their roots and the tenderly, loving bees and butterflies that would tickle their petals and spread their love from one flower to the next.

In fact, there was no happier place anywhere to be found. All the flowers were very much in love with life and everything their simple existance contained. In hindsight they needed so little; sun, rain, insects for pollination. Not a complaint could ever be heard coming from anywhere in this field of daisies. That is, at least from the petals of the daisies.

You see, In this field of yellow and white that stretched as far as the eye could see was a single, purple thistle. Much to the thistle's dismay, he grew up tall and proud, (in thistle comparison anyway) but somehow always seemed to find himself as the ridicule of the daisies' attention.

Now, it wasn't as if the daisies made fun of this poor, lonely thistle, mind you. In fact, there was no ill will at all. The daisies were far too concerned with their own existance to ever pay attention to the single purple blight amoungst them, which was, hence, the root of the thistle's problem. No matter how tall and proud he grew he could never rise his head above the daisies and find a place for himself. Instead the thistle felt very much insecure and unwanted. After all, everywhere he looked were the bright yellow colors of all the daisies. His own purple hue was so ridiculously out of place.

So one day, after the season's heaviest rains had fallen and given all the flowers the life giving water they so desperately needed, and when the sun had just begun to peak out from behind the clouds and pleasantly warm the air; the thistle came to a very important decision.

He had decided he had enough. The thistle, with all his pride, pulled himself from the moist earth freeing all of his roots and gazed up and over all of the daisies. He waved farewell, and listened as the daisies too made their lazy good-byes and returned to basking in the sun. With his mind made up he set off across the field walking along his roots until the field of daisies was long behind him.

He was just beginning to question his motives, as he crested a very big--and tiring!--hill, but lo and behold--on the other side of the hill was a very happy and beautiful field with millions and millions of purple thistles just like him singing and praising the sun. His petals glistened with a sense of belonging and happiness he had never felt as he quickly rushed down and made his place amoungst the other thistles.

And so just when things had gotten the worst for the thistle he left, and found his kind, and unbounded happiness, just over a hill.
-The End-

Take from that what you will. If you haven't already be sure to read yesterday's guest blog and head over to Brittany's page www.rhapsodizingmoments.blogspot.com where you can read all the other great things she has to say and see the guest blog that I wrote posted there. As always, feel free to leave a comment, reading them is often more fun than posting.

Guest Blog-Brittany Hart from Rhapsodizing Moments!

Hey, folks. As I hinted at on Friday, I might have a surprise treat in store for you all, and as it happens I do. SURPRISE! As you probably gathered from the title, Brittany Hart from the blog Rhapsodizing Moments and I just exchanged guest blogs for one another.

Brittany has been studying creative nonfiction and has posted some really wonderful pieces on her site. This exchange is particularly of note, because, without having read some of her things, and being inspired by her style, I never would have wrote my own nonfiction account of the weather like I did that you can now find on her blog.

Below is an example of her work. Brittany has a lot of great things to say so be sure to go and check out the rest of her stuff at Rhapsodizing Moments.


Fresh powder drifts lightly to the ground as I wait for the bus, staring at my feet. The flakes look so innocent and fragile, lightly attaching to the sidewalk without melting. But I know better—they aren’t innocent, and soon they won’t be fragile. They’ll melt just in time to freeze overnight, becoming the slick magicians that make my feet disappear into thin air, the traitorous sidekicks of gravity that bruise my backside.

I step on a small, untouched patch of snow in front of me to examine the intricate pattern of my footprint, but the snow turns brown and melts before I can fully appreciate my stamp on the world. I pat my foot again, this time dragging it back and forth, painting the sidewalk with lines of the nasty brown muck that seems so much more appropriate for today’s temperature.

I lift my head momentarily to examine the other people at the bus stop. Some look very serious, foreheads furrowed and mouths straight as they concentrate on some very important business that consumes their lives. Some look bored, and understandably so—patience is not a natural virtue. One girl speaks loudly into her cell phone while making large, animated gestures with her left hand as if the person on the other end of the line can see her. Two boys discuss how gross their roommate is for watching horse porn. Yeah...the world is an interesting place.

The bus arrives and I watch. The serious people make their way to the bus doors with haste, as if they fear there are only two seats left and someone pissed on one of those seats. The bored people follow at a leisurely pace, avoiding the loud, animated girl on her cell phone like oil avoids water. The two boys discussing their gross roommate must not be waiting for the bus at all, because they remain behind. I get on last, because that’s what I do sometimes.

The bus is warm, a comforting fact since I only wore two coats, a hat, a scarf, and gloves today. Regardless of the reviving heat, I still feel awkward on the bus. I’m never quite sure where to look once I sit down. Do I look ahead at the person across the aisle from me, or should I pretend that I’m texting someone so that I don’t have to meet anyone’s eyes? I settle for reading the ads above the seats, the ones I’ve practically memorized.

Getting off the bus is a scary prospect for me. Going down the steps can be treacherous, and stepping onto an ice-covered sidewalk is an entirely different ordeal. I grab the railing and count the steps. One, two, three steps and...sidewalk. My shoes stick to the pavement, solid and unmoving, and I let out a deep sigh of relief, watching my breath dance with the air in front of me.

Walks in the winter are definitely not my favorite thing in the world. It seems to take longer to get home when it’s cold outside. The worst part of walking home is the stoplights, because I have to just stand there and wait while the snow piles on my shoulders and wiggles its way into my bones. Today I cross the street as if on stilts—slow, steady, and deliberate, monitoring the each sabotaging step—and I notice that some drivers are taking a keen interest in me. One driver needs to turn right, but I’m in his way, which he makes obvious by riding my heels. He might as well roll down his window and shout, “Get out of my way, stupid girl.” I can understand why he doesn’t do this though—it’s far too cold to roll down the window. Another man turning left lets me know that I’m in his way, too. I’m just so glad that my presence is enhancing people’s lives today.

I finally get into my apartment and shed—coats, hat, scarf, gloves, shoes, and backpack. Everything wet comes off, excluding my pants. I plop on the couch and sit still, eyes closed for a few minutes. I try to relax, but it is hard. I have so much to do, and I am not at all in the mood to do it. My hands ache from the storm. I don’t have arthritis or anything, I just pop my knuckles.

My roommate Megan comes through the door a few minutes later, snowflakes covering her hair and jacket like lacework. I’m amazed at her ability to wear winter as a jeweled accessory. “Hey,” she says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just thawing.”

“Yeah, it’s cold out there,” she replies with a big grin on her face. The grin isn’t for the snow, it’s for me. She doesn’t like snow. “I’m gonna take a nap before work, okay?”

I smile back at her and nod. I wish winter would treat me as well as it did her. Neither of us like the cold, but winter definitely has favorites. My winter leaves me with crappy brown muck. Her winter adorns her with stars of pearl.