I am not as eloquent as my friend who constructs the Imaginarium Terrarium. I don't find myself as interesting as the delightful mind behind The Continuation - The Conclusion. And I am most certainly not as savvy as Young, Broke and Married. As a matter of fact, I'm really not sure what it is i bring to Blogspot that would pull me out among thousands of like-minded individuals. There are tons more people with far better word form then I, better grammar, helluva better spelling, and probably of a happier disposition... I am convinced that my friends love me far too much to indulge in reading this in their off time - but I thank them TONs for doing so.
Today is the kind of day where I want to succeed in something. Not just making it through the day or doing well in a job I hate. I want to do something I love and look back at it and feel that delicious sense of accomplishment that comes with so few things now a days. It is Brilliant outside. Sunny, with gusting winds that throw your hair freakin everywhere. JUST enough cloud cover to sometimes give you a moment of shade. Picnic? No problem. Badminton? of course! Poetry beneath your favorite tree? Naturally! This is one of those days that I want to get a better job and lift my chin in pride for being able to afford everything on my own. This is one of those days where I want to write something that is worth your time reading this.
Times like this I want to be able to wow you.
And sometimes I feel like I am able. My fingertips practically explode on contact with this keyboard, and floods will power through the circuitry and bloom in muddy waves on the shores of this cyberspace meeting ground.
Then of course, there are days like today where I feel like I'm simply writing the same things over and over. Should I erase this whole thing and start b*tching about work, instead? It might be funny! But I do that all the time in REAL life, why would I want to just keep beating a dead horse?
Originally, I tried to come up with a theme for this blog. On this cursed Brilliant Day, I've decided that the theme is redundant emo-ness.
I apologize. So. Much.
Oru
Showing posts with label emotion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotion. Show all posts
Monday, July 26, 2010
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Dangerous Threshold
"And here we are. On the ragged Edge. Don't push me." - Captain Malcolm Reynolds
Every once and a while, I can feel the updraft from the chazm stretching before me. It breathes on my face like the amorous winds from a lecherous drunk. It wants me to jump into it's arms, rocky teeth in a jagged smile as it measures me up.
Will I survive the fall?
The open air, cooled by the breath of the chazm, becons me, tendrils outwards to cool my heated cheeks, dab at the dampness beneath my eyes, smooth away the creases of worry on my face. They even reach out to uncurl my fingers from the fists they had formed during my journey to the edge. Something about me balks them though - perhaps the grim determination in my eyes, not to budge. The conflicting forces ripping at my insides telling me to both fight and flee. The battle is visible on my face. Perhaps they like to watch my confusion, want to see what I'll do - who knows, maybe I would run screaming.
I've lifted my foot and dangle it over thin air, an act of Indiana Jones Faith, eyes open and glaring across to the other side, willing myself to grow a set of wings and get ON with it.
...And thats how I stand, frozen, suddenly aware of how terrified this chill air made me.
Of course, thats just one dark corner of my mind. The rest of me: keeping busy and staying out of most trouble - except the fun kind of course. Distracting myself from the numb pains and the dull aches, you know the usual.
I think I shall go bowling soon.
Oru!
Every once and a while, I can feel the updraft from the chazm stretching before me. It breathes on my face like the amorous winds from a lecherous drunk. It wants me to jump into it's arms, rocky teeth in a jagged smile as it measures me up.
Will I survive the fall?
The open air, cooled by the breath of the chazm, becons me, tendrils outwards to cool my heated cheeks, dab at the dampness beneath my eyes, smooth away the creases of worry on my face. They even reach out to uncurl my fingers from the fists they had formed during my journey to the edge. Something about me balks them though - perhaps the grim determination in my eyes, not to budge. The conflicting forces ripping at my insides telling me to both fight and flee. The battle is visible on my face. Perhaps they like to watch my confusion, want to see what I'll do - who knows, maybe I would run screaming.
I've lifted my foot and dangle it over thin air, an act of Indiana Jones Faith, eyes open and glaring across to the other side, willing myself to grow a set of wings and get ON with it.
...And thats how I stand, frozen, suddenly aware of how terrified this chill air made me.
Of course, thats just one dark corner of my mind. The rest of me: keeping busy and staying out of most trouble - except the fun kind of course. Distracting myself from the numb pains and the dull aches, you know the usual.
I think I shall go bowling soon.
Oru!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Beautiful Days
Days like today make me want to be a painter.
I would want to go outside with my easel, paints and brushes, and capture the essence of the skies. I would want to be able to characterize the wispy tendrils of cloud that linger in our atmosphere. I want to be able to move my brushes to the rhythms that the trees sway in the breeze. I want to be able to depict the dance moves that birds in flight perform in their ariel ballet.
I want to be able to pour out all the happiness that I've ever had onto a canvas, smear it around to mirror the beauty I see around me, and show it to others as proof that there is good in this world. I want to feel the smooth, slick silk of the pains beneath my fingertips as I blur the lines between dreams and real life. I want to accidentally get bright colors on my face and clothes so that everyone knows that I've been up to something fun. I want evidence to surround me of this world, and how we humans have not yet succeeded in destroying it. Then I want to bask in it myself.
I want everyone to know the explosive happiness that I feel just by looking outside at the sun filtering through the lace of canopy, creating Piccaso Portraits on the pavement.
I want you to be happy with me!
Oru
I would want to go outside with my easel, paints and brushes, and capture the essence of the skies. I would want to be able to characterize the wispy tendrils of cloud that linger in our atmosphere. I want to be able to move my brushes to the rhythms that the trees sway in the breeze. I want to be able to depict the dance moves that birds in flight perform in their ariel ballet.
I want to be able to pour out all the happiness that I've ever had onto a canvas, smear it around to mirror the beauty I see around me, and show it to others as proof that there is good in this world. I want to feel the smooth, slick silk of the pains beneath my fingertips as I blur the lines between dreams and real life. I want to accidentally get bright colors on my face and clothes so that everyone knows that I've been up to something fun. I want evidence to surround me of this world, and how we humans have not yet succeeded in destroying it. Then I want to bask in it myself.
I want everyone to know the explosive happiness that I feel just by looking outside at the sun filtering through the lace of canopy, creating Piccaso Portraits on the pavement.
I want you to be happy with me!
Oru
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Curtains.
The origin of the phrase "Curtains", in the context of death and dying.
Of course, you are familiar with the concept of a curtain-call. The bow the entire cast takes at the end of a show. Each thesbian is damp with sweat and bright with the accomplishment of performing; Performing something to the best of their abvility, heart racing, eyes wide and gaping at the bright, back-lit applauding crowd before them.
They clasp hands and raise them up, swinging them down in a flourish, their bodies bowing in unison as a white, rushing roar fills their ears and a sweet, almost sickly sweet euphoria bubbles up in their throats. They will glance at each other, smiling and laughing and then extending a hand towards heaven or hell - the sound booth, the pit. And then, with a final triumphant stare out into the sea of unfamiliar and yet amazingly appreciative faces - they all turn and dart back behind the scenes, like specters, as if they never really were there to begin with. And then, the curtains close behind them, and the show is over.
Well this phrase comes from something a little less exciting.
Imagine a one man show. Imagine the nerves, seared throughout the performance, voice raw with emotion. Nothing and no one to feed off of out there amid the burning lights. Imagine the panic of no response - your own ears muting out the sound of 'oohs' or 'ahhs' from the audience simply from the rushing of your blood. Imagine the fear crawling in your gut when the last lines fall from your lips.
Imagine the poignant silence, the pause, the dead, weighty emptiness when the last word tumbles out and you are cast alone in the dark before the end. The lights are out and it is suddenly colder there, alone on the stage. No faces visible past the proscenium, no coughs, no cheering, just silence. Imagine the fear then. Imagine the fear as you step forward alone.
There are no hands to hold. They are empty at your sides as the light explodes above you, showering you in the heat, blinding you to the audience. Empty, sweating hands extended, you take your shaky bow. You might smile. Or be somber. Or proud, or cocky or even relieved. HOw will you feel?
No one will knwo if the audience will applaud or not. No one can tell you when the light is going to come back on to queue you on for your final bow. And when all that chaos subsides, and you can actually HEAR the response before you, and you react accordingly in your final, stage-bound moments... when you turn to leave...
Thats 'curtains.'
Of course, you are familiar with the concept of a curtain-call. The bow the entire cast takes at the end of a show. Each thesbian is damp with sweat and bright with the accomplishment of performing; Performing something to the best of their abvility, heart racing, eyes wide and gaping at the bright, back-lit applauding crowd before them.
They clasp hands and raise them up, swinging them down in a flourish, their bodies bowing in unison as a white, rushing roar fills their ears and a sweet, almost sickly sweet euphoria bubbles up in their throats. They will glance at each other, smiling and laughing and then extending a hand towards heaven or hell - the sound booth, the pit. And then, with a final triumphant stare out into the sea of unfamiliar and yet amazingly appreciative faces - they all turn and dart back behind the scenes, like specters, as if they never really were there to begin with. And then, the curtains close behind them, and the show is over.
Well this phrase comes from something a little less exciting.
Imagine a one man show. Imagine the nerves, seared throughout the performance, voice raw with emotion. Nothing and no one to feed off of out there amid the burning lights. Imagine the panic of no response - your own ears muting out the sound of 'oohs' or 'ahhs' from the audience simply from the rushing of your blood. Imagine the fear crawling in your gut when the last lines fall from your lips.
Imagine the poignant silence, the pause, the dead, weighty emptiness when the last word tumbles out and you are cast alone in the dark before the end. The lights are out and it is suddenly colder there, alone on the stage. No faces visible past the proscenium, no coughs, no cheering, just silence. Imagine the fear then. Imagine the fear as you step forward alone.
There are no hands to hold. They are empty at your sides as the light explodes above you, showering you in the heat, blinding you to the audience. Empty, sweating hands extended, you take your shaky bow. You might smile. Or be somber. Or proud, or cocky or even relieved. HOw will you feel?
No one will knwo if the audience will applaud or not. No one can tell you when the light is going to come back on to queue you on for your final bow. And when all that chaos subsides, and you can actually HEAR the response before you, and you react accordingly in your final, stage-bound moments... when you turn to leave...
Thats 'curtains.'
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