vocab composition 3

junior 7-8

you love voraciously. too quickly. too intensely. too forgivingly. with a hunger you can never seem to satisfy. you paint your heart on the soles of your wandering feet. your domain is any place you can get with a few bucks and starry eyes. it scares me sometimes.

it always comes in a deluge. sweet obsession. uncontrollable. wild. you’re blinded.

they always divest you of the walls you build. they strip your conscious bare. you love so hungrily.

the way the movies portray adolescent adoration is a travesty in the face of your infernos. you seem to find home in shared Marlboros and bottles of Mad Dog and the in the arms of misfits.

your passion is domineering. i don’t know if it’s celestial or wicked how far you’ll follow your beliefs into the dark.

you have no delusions about eternity. you know the meaning of end. yet i can’t rationalize how clearly you see all of their souls. how do see you past their cloaks? your attractions elude me. you don’t fit into any boxes. if you went to a palm reader they would say beautiful chaos. you cannot be predicted.

you fall so fast into potions of unthinking infatuation.

ravenous love. even with a pen i couldn’t possibly concoct your dirty, flawed, punk perfection.

Vocab composition #2

senior level 3-4

i’m sorry that you’re so dogmatic. i  know that you’ve seen all these things with your own eyes. and we lied to each other sweet words of wisdom. but no matter how sharp the thoughts, we could not change each other's minds.

it’s funny how in a world full of agnostics we still fight. i thought all wars had to be holy. but that doesn’t seem to be a criterion lately. i wonder how we got so addicted to violence. bloodshed. winning. thinking back to the time when language was merely instinctual i wonder if perhaps it would have been possible to learn the word peace before the word kill.

it’s a little bit hypocritical, don’t you think that we will kill each other preceeded by blessings. if you are not like us, there is no amnesty here. only the brave can be free.

our reputations are based on sides of ourselves we’ve never seen and character flaws that are compute.

we try to rationalize our schizophrenic desires in a patchwork landscape of hand selected rules and parables. this one is relevant to us. this one is not. do not question.

are we cognizant of our own mortality? what if living forever only meant learning to live in the infinite space between minutes.

Vocab Composition #1

college level 3-4

our destinies were born in archaic winds. oceans that we’ll never taste. grey skies we’ll never feel. ancient hymns we’ll never hear. a landscape still forming. changing. unhindered by maps. not yet observed by demographers. but you can still sense it if you stand still enough and listen to the past and feel which way the earth is pulling you.

ancestors without names. we were written from archives of genes that had no clue they’d create artists and anarchists that fall as far from the tree as you can get.

my history has more hegemony over me than i’d like. i can see the mistakes, the mishaps play across my skull like picture frames. spilled coffee. missed dates. unrequited letters. i’m sorry.

regrets in full regalia. its hard to move on sometimes when your subconscious is dressed up in grandiose memories you’d rather forget.

our destiny was already determined. we’ve got a predisposition for losing ourselves in books and for swallowing our depression and for staying up too late.

but existing in our history isn’t conducive to living in a world moving faster than the speed of sound. sonic booms disturb daydreams. there is no room in our crowded cities for wandering stories and primordial lullabies.

we find stories in graffiti. monuments. icons of unadulterated rebellion. we see the world through different eyes, all these generations later.

do not traduce us. you do not know us. you don’t know the taste of our words or the pulse of our grandmothers. we are creating art. there is no higher calling. do not judge us.

see. we were born to be the viceroys of relic nations. this is what our ancestors started. our hearts were already beating on stage thousands of years before we were born. we are only temporary. fleeting.

our destiny was already decided.

#4 Novel Blog Post (Bird)

I really enjoyed this book. It was absolutely rib-crackingly hilarious at times and unbearably poignant at others. I love her sarcasm. A passage that particularly shone for me was on page 168 where she talks about finding someone to read your rough drafts...

"If the person says no, it's good to wait until you get inside your car before you fall apart completely. Then you can rend your clothes and keen and do a primal scream. Of course, you probably want to be sure that the person hasn't followed you out to your car. But it actually doesn't matter if he or she sees you break down, because you don't have to be friendly with that person anymore. That person is a jerk."

And then her discussions about death and Pammy and how she parents her son are incredible. It almost transcends a "writing" novel and, as all great books do, addresses the human condition with all of its trials.

Ah-mazing book.

Bird by Bird Quiz

for Monday, December 2nd

Novel Blog Post #3 (Bird by Bird)

The way she recounts vignettes of her memories is stunning. I officially love this book. The way she integrates poetry and is really self-deprecating at times and tells all sorts of charming little stories about her family and is honest and blunt about many things. Ah. Super great book. I think every kid that decides they want to write should read this book. Because it is so honest. She tells you exactly why being a writer sucks. But you still see the magic in it.

2nd Novel Blog Post (Bird by Bird)

One thing I am noticing as the book progresses is that the chapters are not all that well defined. My guess is that this stems from her trying to make the book as little preachy and manual-esque as possible. But it occasionally verges on being sort just a run on story. Her humor is often the highlight of the chapter but because of that I think her actual message about writing gets obscured a tiny bit. But at that same time that's what makes it a really enjoyable read... So I'm not even really sure how to assess that.... Despite that though, I am continuing to be more and more begrudgingly excited about writing. I haven't really had all that much interest in writing in a couple years, but reading this book kind of ignites the fire again. She talks about writing with almost this reverence. And it's inspiring.