Saturday, October 21, 2006
woo freakin hoo
i is leaving jan 29th...enjoy me while you still can...or count down the days till im gone (101 today, saturday the blankedy of october)
alternate
this is the actual opening and ending...pick ur favourite...
Glimmers and Shards
What do you remember? Do you remember in pictures, or in words? Do you remember places? Events? People? Objects? Conversations? Feelings? I don’t. My memories are all a blur. They are all swirled together, with little or no decipherable characters, settings, or happenings.
I remember pieces. Millions. Billions. Trillions. Like shards of glass scattered all over, reflecting glimmers of my life. Some of the glass is clear, some tinted like an old bottle, while others are so dirty you could never tell if they had been found, or ever will be. While a few are sharp and miniscule, others are large and blunt; rough edges and odd sides aplenty. Just as people are careful not to cut themselves while shifting through debris, I am careful wading through my memories; careful not to bleed, not to disturb, not to shatter.
Most glimmers are faint. Some are monotonous with little vibrance, contrast, or sensation. Very few would spark the slightest bit of interest in anyone, even I. Very few are intelligible, even to me. Sometimes, nay, usually, these are my favourite kind.
As I look back some of these glimmers catch my eye. This does not happen often. I bend to pick them up, to examine them; they fascinate me. It is almost as though they are from the same time, the same place.
I run my thumb along the bottom edge and slice myself. The pain causes me to cringe, tighten my fists. Bloody, the glass shards fall from my hands. I crush them under my heel as I step away. They become lost, lost in the mounds of glass, the heaps of memories.
Glimmers and Shards
What do you remember? Do you remember in pictures, or in words? Do you remember places? Events? People? Objects? Conversations? Feelings? I don’t. My memories are all a blur. They are all swirled together, with little or no decipherable characters, settings, or happenings.
I remember pieces. Millions. Billions. Trillions. Like shards of glass scattered all over, reflecting glimmers of my life. Some of the glass is clear, some tinted like an old bottle, while others are so dirty you could never tell if they had been found, or ever will be. While a few are sharp and miniscule, others are large and blunt; rough edges and odd sides aplenty. Just as people are careful not to cut themselves while shifting through debris, I am careful wading through my memories; careful not to bleed, not to disturb, not to shatter.
Most glimmers are faint. Some are monotonous with little vibrance, contrast, or sensation. Very few would spark the slightest bit of interest in anyone, even I. Very few are intelligible, even to me. Sometimes, nay, usually, these are my favourite kind.
As I look back some of these glimmers catch my eye. This does not happen often. I bend to pick them up, to examine them; they fascinate me. It is almost as though they are from the same time, the same place.
I run my thumb along the bottom edge and slice myself. The pain causes me to cringe, tighten my fists. Bloody, the glass shards fall from my hands. I crush them under my heel as I step away. They become lost, lost in the mounds of glass, the heaps of memories.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
i find it kind of funny, i find it kind of sad
i remember pieces ...millions...billions...trillions...like shards of glass scattered all over, reflecting glimmers of my life...just as people are careful to not hurt themselves while walking through debris, i must be careful wading through my memories...careful not to bleed, not to disturb...
most glimmers are faint. usually are monotonous, with little colour, contrast or feeling...very few would spark interest in anybody...anybody but me. Some are indecipherable, even to myself... these are often the best kind...
as i look back, some of these glimmers catch my eye...a rare occurrence. i pick up a small handful of them, examine them closely....they fascinate me...they seem as though they are all from the same place...the same time...
i see two figures...at first it appears as though it is foggy ...but that is just because the memory is unclear to me...uncertain...i continue watching as the figures walk along...side by side...yet so distant...how can two be so close yet so far?...
i reach the end...the glass is shifted from the pile in my left hand to my sweaty right palm...i search for my next memory...this one is also slightly murky...with a dark tinge...it seems almost...tainted...
i study it closley...yet again people...all so physically close, packed together...so many people...but all very lonely...very very lonely...the people begin to join in groups...not all the people are welcome...only the right ones...the good ones...the ones who are even more lonely now then ever before...
once again it is placed into my right hand...the two pieces fit almost perfectly together, there is just a small piece between them which is missing...
one, near the bottom of my left hand, gleams slightly in the light. i dig it out. this time it is shady and dark...its filthy...crawling with infection...i put my face close to the scrap of glass, hoping to get a clearer picture...
there are more people...some are suffering, crying out...others are laughing...stopping only to cringe while walking past others. the others, they have formed a group themselves...packed tight with hurried whispers and coded notes...they form a plan...late late one night screams are heard from afar...some come rushing, but it is far too late- -
i run my thumb along the edge of this disgusting scrap, slicing my thumb...the pain of evil memory washing through me causes me to cringe, clenching my fists...
bloody glass shards fall from my hands. i crush them under my heel as i step away...they become lost. lost in the mounds of glass...
now no one will have to remember...it is no longer their problem...
no plagiarism yet...slight revisions to come...spelling and whatnot ...as well as the opening, last sentence, not to forget transitions...
most glimmers are faint. usually are monotonous, with little colour, contrast or feeling...very few would spark interest in anybody...anybody but me. Some are indecipherable, even to myself... these are often the best kind...
as i look back, some of these glimmers catch my eye...a rare occurrence. i pick up a small handful of them, examine them closely....they fascinate me...they seem as though they are all from the same place...the same time...
i see two figures...at first it appears as though it is foggy ...but that is just because the memory is unclear to me...uncertain...i continue watching as the figures walk along...side by side...yet so distant...how can two be so close yet so far?...
i reach the end...the glass is shifted from the pile in my left hand to my sweaty right palm...i search for my next memory...this one is also slightly murky...with a dark tinge...it seems almost...tainted...
i study it closley...yet again people...all so physically close, packed together...so many people...but all very lonely...very very lonely...the people begin to join in groups...not all the people are welcome...only the right ones...the good ones...the ones who are even more lonely now then ever before...
once again it is placed into my right hand...the two pieces fit almost perfectly together, there is just a small piece between them which is missing...
one, near the bottom of my left hand, gleams slightly in the light. i dig it out. this time it is shady and dark...its filthy...crawling with infection...i put my face close to the scrap of glass, hoping to get a clearer picture...
there are more people...some are suffering, crying out...others are laughing...stopping only to cringe while walking past others. the others, they have formed a group themselves...packed tight with hurried whispers and coded notes...they form a plan...late late one night screams are heard from afar...some come rushing, but it is far too late- -
i run my thumb along the edge of this disgusting scrap, slicing my thumb...the pain of evil memory washing through me causes me to cringe, clenching my fists...
bloody glass shards fall from my hands. i crush them under my heel as i step away...they become lost. lost in the mounds of glass...
now no one will have to remember...it is no longer their problem...
no plagiarism yet...slight revisions to come...spelling and whatnot ...as well as the opening, last sentence, not to forget transitions...
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