Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Summer’s Bummers.

June 6, 2006

Standing by the phone,
waiting for a call.

Waiting at the computer,
hoping for an email.

Sitting by the TV,
looking for a show.

Laying in bed,
trying to go to sleep.

Sitting there and realizing —
where the heck has the day gone?!

Being Young Means…

June 3, 2006
  • Dunking eachother in the pool
  • Hogging all the popcorn every once in a while
  • Drinking two liters of pop
  • Hitting eachother over the head with violent floaties
  • Running through the sprinkler…
  • … getting caught by the owner of the sprinkler
  • Running through countless backyards
  • Chasing the lightning bugs
  • Throwing the occasional innertube over someone's head
  • Waving at the cars passing by and hoping they wave back
  • Not caring how stupid you look trying to do the worm
  • Blowing bubbles like a motorboat at the pool
  • Going to a see a movie you didn't ever watch
  • Seeing friends in places you didn't think you'd see them
  • Wasting time in ways you didn't think you would
  • Realizing what being young means in a way you didn't ever anticipate

Nice Guys Finish Last

May 22, 2006

You work hard in life — you make good choices, you do good things, you do whats right even if its not neccessarily fun or popular… and it gets you nowhere.

You really try. You try to be nice to people, you try to always do the right thing and respond positively to things. But what does that bring you?

People are mean. People don't want you to be nice, because when you're nice, they try to bring you down to their level, to make them in power, to make you the lesser person. They make the life of a nice guy not so nice anymore.

So that makes those nice guys not want to be so good all the time; It makes them want to be mean, which will inturn make them want to do the same to others.

Being nice isn't as nice as it seems. Some are sick of the life of a nice guy. Some don't want to finish last anymore.

The Wall

May 14, 2006

It lives everywhere,
The Wall.
Isolating and blocking,
obnoxiously quiet.
The Silence hurts to listen to.

It blocks away all things;
bad memories,
things not meant to happen,
events I want to push away,
or hide behind its strong exterior.
The Wall is good for these things.

To guard long-lost secrets,
guilty remembrances,
and forgotten love.
To do so no longer seems hiding the world from myself,
but rather,
hiding myself from the world.

The Wall is my protector.
Saving me from judgement and criticizm,
of others,
and of myself.
This leads me to believe:
is it really protecting?

Who is this Wall seperating;
me from predators,
or me from the world?
Does it deflect plain,
or merely delay it?

Causing these things,
the ultimate of seperation,
is it really my defender from hurt;
Or my isolater into nothingness?

In the Hall of the Mountain King.

May 9, 2006

That's where I feel I am in life. Existing in a narrow stretch of time and space, blocked by the monster of the Mountain King. Getting to that point, the last battle with the King himself, the monster trouble of all other recent troubles, will not be easy. The journey to and the last battle — there will be victories; there will be small periods of time where things will seem easier, where I conquer small tasks and obstacles, but until the final event, until I get past the monster that is seemingly troublesome, I feel all is going downhill: to the dark shadows underlining the beast, which is the penultimate ending to the next step in being on my own in the world. Once past that: nothing is stopping me.

From the Desk of a Confused Perfectionist…

April 23, 2006

I had a plan. It was a wonderful plan. But like so many wonderful things, it was spoiled. So now it is gone.

Why is it that when you plan something out, spending hours and hours just sitting in bed, thinking about it, wondering and day dreaming, it simply disappears? It fades away, as if it didn't matter; as if it never would have happened in the first place.

I had such a wonderfully thought out, foolproof plan; and it vanished. But these types of plans don't just simply dissipate – no, first they change. They morph over and over, making you remodel, forcing you to spend longer on the subject. And you thought it was going to actually happen.

But like so many times, the plan fails. It flops over and simply dies. You calculated, examined, dissected every bit — but one little detail got it. One detail you missed; its not just a detail though. Its what this whole plan was about; in short, its core reasoning and foundation. Without this, you have nothing.

And so do I. The plan has failed, and my whole set of scheduled events has gone with it. Maybe I should have planned longer, harder, more concentratingly;

or maybe I shouldn't have planned at all.

-Rob

The Teenage Perspective

April 14, 2006

Many people wonder what goes through the head of a teenager. Parents devote a lot of their time and effort into it, and some people even make a career out of it — but what these people don't realize is that trying to figure things out defeats the purpose of being a teenager.

When the word "teenager" is mentioned, a lot of negative thoughts are usually conjured, such as vandalism, violence, etc… but that's completely stereotypical. The fact is, when only a handful of teenagers from an entire school do something, it gives all teenagers a bad name, and hurts everyone's reputation. These are the things that cause phrases such as "kids these days…" or even "those dumb kids."

But the most common way of trying to figure out what teenagers think about, what their views and perspectives on society are, is unfortunately studying them. Not asking, not talking — studying. It seems as if being open is not even an option — being sincere and talking is not even a thought that comes through the minds of so many adults. It's all analyzing with adults — thinking about what exactly makes those minds tick. Thinking. But then again, that's what teenagers do.

If you were to ask a teenager exactly what they thought about, I'd bet you almost anything they couldn't come up with a specific answer. The truth is that teenagers think about pretty much everything. They're between two worlds, for goodness sake. There's the world of friends, and the world of family. There are the worlds of childhood and adulthood, worlds of right and wrong. When you're stuck between these types of worlds, how can you exist without thinking? We base our judgement off of what we've experienced, what we've heard, and what we think will happen. There are so many things going on that we can't simply block everything out. Its not an option. The same with adults — having the choices of family or friends, home or work, right and wrong. We're just trying to find our place, trying to distinguish exactly where we are between the worlds; it gets aggravating. To have to think about all of these things all the time isn't easy; sure, most of the time we're ambitious and hard working, but sometimes we need the chance to sit back and enjoy, to take a break. Adults have got to understand that — after all, adults feel the same way sometimes.

So to those adults out there, and to the teenagers: stop analyzing. Stop poking at eachother like animals in a zoo, trying to calculate, examine, understand. The fact is that both teenagers and adults alike need a break — so why are you both wasting time analyzing eachother?

-Rob

Mistakes

March 1, 2006

You know what isn't fair? Life. You look it straight in the eye and it glares back. You think you've found out the answers to it, you think you've found the secrets that so many others have failed to discover. You're wrong.

The nasty surprises of life are almost as nasty as life itself can be. Its the feeling of stress, the feeling that you've accomplished something and everything is okay, when that little something comes back and bites. It doesn't hurt. No, its worse. It slowly attacks you. Slowly, but relentlessly. You can live normally, sure, but that little thing is always there to haunt you. Enjoyment is not possible in these terms, because you know for yourself that this tiny bite will soon become the jaws of despair.

The worst feeling in the world, however, is probably the feeling of helplessness. The knowledge that something horrible is going to happen — that its happening as you are sitting there, idle. But there is nothing you can do. The sickly feeling of watching your new bike being run over by your parents' car backing out of the driveway, while nobody can hear you. The grotesque moment of dark surprise when you remember homework you forgot to do, with five minutes to the bell to go to that class. The knowing that things are going on everywhere around you, things that you can't possibly control, but things that will have horrible consequences to those who refuse to listen.

These secrets you thought you had discovered — times of peace, short cuts, ways to make things all work… they are not secrets. They are mistakes. They are traps that everyone must fall in. Mistakes you are fated to make — when you try to avoid them, this is even worse. When you try to ignore them, they come back with greater strength. We try as a society to warn others not to make the mistakes we have. We try, but in the end we are hypocrites to it. We disregard the warning of others. And so this cycle continues, making the mistakes of others, and them making the mistakes we promised we would would never make again. We won't listen — they won't listen. But why would we when its so much easier to deny the possibility of anything bad ever happening to us? History repeats itself, my friends; and we're just standing back and letting it.

-Rob

Pen Point

February 22, 2006

Note: My friend, Neil, once told me what his main mindset and view was on the world, which was based on the theory that life is short and risky, and that we can't assume that good things will always happen — then he told me an analogy of his, which explained, in his view, how small we are in the universe when so many larger things can happen; how completely powerless we sometimes have to be. That conversation went on for four hours that night — in these four hours I think I understood Neil more than I ever had before, and ever will again. I wrote this poem based off of his theory because of the powerfulness it, after doing a unit in school over voice poetry. I think Neil's voice needs to be heard.

This is how I see it;
life's like the tip of a pen.
Now, its like,
we're on it.
Our whole universe is.
We're that small.
So,
at any moment,
we're just existing,
living our lives normally…
when a giant comes and SMASH.

He wrote with that pen.

Our whole universe is gone.
It's like….
that's all.
That's it.

We existed only so that giant could write.
All of us were for that small purpose.
He could destroy us all in what to us
is just picking up a pen and writing.

But the sad thing is,
we're so small,
and insignificant,
that the giant never knew
that we
were even
there.

The Mountain

February 2, 2006

Climbing.
Its not easy.
Conquering the unknown and deserted territory of this rock,
it is nearly impossible.
But when your eyes are on the top, and your heart is set with it,
Difficulty is not an object.

The first half, speeding up.
Stumbles along the cobbled path,
but overall, success.

The second half begins.

Expecting the same,
but nowhere near,
running through exceedingly confidently;
you trip for your first time.

Its not huge — but it is monumental.
Monumental in the worst.
Shock of loss is not only a problem,
but a standby.
Working through this, however,
you press on.

But this is only the first of many problems.
Skinned knees,
Broken limbs,
and a broken heart.
The latter is destructive.

For each time you fall, it hurts,
but moving on hurts more.
Knowing you might be walking into a trap,
falling into the grave you dug yourself,
makes it all the more difficult.
But wasn't difficulty not an object?

Everytime you build up the strength to move on again,
The higher you get, but the more you slip.
The higher you climb, the harder you fall,
the more you build yourself up, the more you tear yourself down.

You subconsciously start to realize —
the climb is too high.
Your heart was set on illusion,
and others are still fixed on it.
Strength does not matter.
Heart does not matter.
You do not matter.

Fate has been predetermined.
The room on the top you so desperately wanted,
what you dreamed, aspired and hoped for —
is not there.
You cannot climb this mountain.

What once seemed a brilliant, beautiful, and mysterious heaven,
now has no secrets.
With no hidden surprise, no magical meaning.
There is no silver lining.

Stranded on your ledge of broken aspirations,
bleeding hearts and lost dreams:
you realize:
difficulty is an object.
You have not conquered this mystical rock:
it has conquered you.

-Rob