My dog licked my ankle like a lot and now it's itchy and gross ew.
UPDATE
So, fun fact of the day.
Did you know Satanism isn't actually the worship of Satan? Actually, they don't believe in God, so therefore they don't believe in Satan either.
Okay, so, Satanism is something akin to treating yourself right and treating others who treat you wrong the same! There's some magic in there, but if you actually read into it, it actually isn't how movies or modern people portray it.
They even have their own set of rules too! Ironically, one of them is to not kill non-human animals unless they attack you or for food. Which is kind of funny because movies portray Satanists as people who sacrifice some goats or whatever.
Actually, Satanism doesn't delve into the evils, rather, the opposition of established churches. It's an interesting thing to look into, in my opinion. Because you realize that sometimes things and topics are twisted in media while in reality they're not what they're portrayed as.
The more you know!
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Life & Death
Sometimes I wonder what it's like after death. Which way do we believe is correct? Are we even close to seeing what becomes after death? Then I realize that we don't and can't imagine what it's like after death.
Every theory, every belief, every vision can and can not be correct as we don't know what it is after death. It's like the cat in the box. It's alive and it's dead at the same time. It's alive if you don't open the box, but logic screams at you that it's already dead. However, when you open it, you've killed it. Because you revealed it's death; you made the death into reality.
It's a grand thing to ponder about.
Every theory, every belief, every vision can and can not be correct as we don't know what it is after death. It's like the cat in the box. It's alive and it's dead at the same time. It's alive if you don't open the box, but logic screams at you that it's already dead. However, when you open it, you've killed it. Because you revealed it's death; you made the death into reality.
It's a grand thing to ponder about.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
February 26th, 2015
There are searing aches resounding my body. Almost to the tip of pain. It had started with my left arm, but that pain is gone now. Unfortunately, it resounded into both my legs and my right arm.
Because obviously, Fate decided that would be fair. I hate Fate so much.
Anyway, it's near March. The month that holds my birthday. The glorious month that gives me the greatest luck.
Huh, perhaps that's why my luck seems to lower a tad bit this horrid month. Actually, February never really enjoyed my presence, now that I ponder over it.
Oh yes, I have the greatest idea for a cartoon show, however, I'm using it as a short story at the moment. It seems easy to put it into script format, I just need it for novel format.
Oh yes, hello Creative Writing teacher. You do not know about any of the above. You saw nothing.
Anyway, despite my aches and pains, I've been well. Too well. I must keep my guard, just in case Fate decides to jump me and steal my lunch money.
Because obviously, Fate decided that would be fair. I hate Fate so much.
Anyway, it's near March. The month that holds my birthday. The glorious month that gives me the greatest luck.
Huh, perhaps that's why my luck seems to lower a tad bit this horrid month. Actually, February never really enjoyed my presence, now that I ponder over it.
Oh yes, I have the greatest idea for a cartoon show, however, I'm using it as a short story at the moment. It seems easy to put it into script format, I just need it for novel format.
Oh yes, hello Creative Writing teacher. You do not know about any of the above. You saw nothing.
Anyway, despite my aches and pains, I've been well. Too well. I must keep my guard, just in case Fate decides to jump me and steal my lunch money.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
February 24th, 2015 ~ February 25th, 2015
Hello, hello. I am writing this at school. My dad keeps using to laptop so I can't write to all of you lovely strangers.
Yesterday, I had a very displeasing time. Honestly! Soon, March will come and my ironic luck would surface. Soon...
To clarify, I have this odd habit of touching a desk's metal whenever I'm discussing things over with classmates. It's an odd habit that I'm unsure when it started, but it exists. Unfortunately...
Anyway, when I was in class, I did the habit. Nothing more, nothing less. Unfortunately, there was some unknown pink substance, probably lip gloss, on the metal part of the desk. I got some on my sweater, but thankfully they were easy to remove. I had hoped not to do it again, as the water was practically from the depths of hell. It was scalding hot, honestly.
Moving onward to the story, I went back to my seat and resumed discussion. However, like the DUMB IDIOT I AM, I touched the desk again and unconsciously wiped it on white pants. White. Pants.
I went to the bathroom again, endured the SCALDING HOT water and tried to wipe my pants. Unfortunately, I only got some removed. I pretty much gave up after I couldn't stand the heat any longer. My hands are still red from that unfortunate experience.
Thankfully, I was able to write to get it off my mind. Then, just because Fate decided to become God, it struck again. This time, making me lose my favorite eraser; correction, my only eraser.
I was whiny about it, sure. I honestly thought it couldn't get any worse. Then, someone decided to be a man's lower bits and stole my pencil! That rapscallion! It was full of lead and has a full eraser.
Thieves I tell you! Pirates! Barbarians!
Now, you may think I'm over reacting. Perhaps I am, but I must tell you. I get very, very attached to inanimate objects. I treat them like I would treat a dog. Lovingly and with care. It makes me upset to even think of my possessions with someone else. Really breaks my heart into little butty pieces. A tear to my heart.
Now, for today. I'm okay. Still kind of butt-hurt about the things that happened yesterday. However, I think I'm better. I think.
Yesterday, I had a very displeasing time. Honestly! Soon, March will come and my ironic luck would surface. Soon...
To clarify, I have this odd habit of touching a desk's metal whenever I'm discussing things over with classmates. It's an odd habit that I'm unsure when it started, but it exists. Unfortunately...
Anyway, when I was in class, I did the habit. Nothing more, nothing less. Unfortunately, there was some unknown pink substance, probably lip gloss, on the metal part of the desk. I got some on my sweater, but thankfully they were easy to remove. I had hoped not to do it again, as the water was practically from the depths of hell. It was scalding hot, honestly.
Moving onward to the story, I went back to my seat and resumed discussion. However, like the DUMB IDIOT I AM, I touched the desk again and unconsciously wiped it on white pants. White. Pants.
I went to the bathroom again, endured the SCALDING HOT water and tried to wipe my pants. Unfortunately, I only got some removed. I pretty much gave up after I couldn't stand the heat any longer. My hands are still red from that unfortunate experience.
Thankfully, I was able to write to get it off my mind. Then, just because Fate decided to become God, it struck again. This time, making me lose my favorite eraser; correction, my only eraser.
I was whiny about it, sure. I honestly thought it couldn't get any worse. Then, someone decided to be a man's lower bits and stole my pencil! That rapscallion! It was full of lead and has a full eraser.
Thieves I tell you! Pirates! Barbarians!
Now, you may think I'm over reacting. Perhaps I am, but I must tell you. I get very, very attached to inanimate objects. I treat them like I would treat a dog. Lovingly and with care. It makes me upset to even think of my possessions with someone else. Really breaks my heart into little butty pieces. A tear to my heart.
Now, for today. I'm okay. Still kind of butt-hurt about the things that happened yesterday. However, I think I'm better. I think.
When Time Slows
Whenever I go to the hospital, I blink in and out. With each visit, Time would go slower and slower and slower and slower. The seconds would feel like hours, and my arms would feel like lead. Each talk with each nurse seems muddled and my voice would go lower and lower until it's mute. Each time I go forth into that white orphanage, my senses mix and Time is slowed.
I've never liked hospitals, but more profoundly is it because my clocks grow sluggish and my own senses stop to a halt. They would mix among each other, knotting and tying themselves and causing confusion to my muscles. Each move, each twitch, it grows slower and slower until everything lags and stops.
Time will grow slower every time I visit white. I only hope that I won't have to visit one again for a long time.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Game. Game. Play the Game!
There were five doors ahead of him. Each were of different colors with different designs and different outlooks. This situation could be perceived as odd for an outsider. What was he doing in front of five doors? Where was he currently located that had those five doors? Why is he even here?
That question can be left unattended because, dear reader, even the protagonist himself doesn't know. All he was very aware of was himself and the five doors presented in front of him. The man decided that this narration was not helpful in the least bit, so he had begun to look around.
In the corner of the room, the man had found a small note. The note contained a nicely written message with curls and twirls and loops. There, on the note, he had read aloud;
Hello. Do you want to play a game?
The man scoffed at this. The aspect of playing a game was horribly childish, and very far from the designated age the man currently was. How foolish. He thought bitterly as he turned over the piece of paper. There, he found another message, however it seemed more hastened than the previous one.
PLAY THE GAME. THE GAME OF FIVE DOORS.
The man found himself chuckling at the childish antics of the note-writer. Then, he decided to concede. Stretching his arms, he said in a boisterous manner;
"Alright, I will play the game! The game of five doors!" He laughed. Suddenly, as soon as he said so, he felt a rumble beneath his feet. In his surprise, there exploded a crater in front of the man. He had fallen in the explosion and moved to a crouched position. He crept closer and closer until he was at the very edge. There, in the crater, was a note with a smiley face and words written out in all capital letters, nice and neat.
GOOD! GOOD! YOU PLAY THE GAME!
CHOOSE A DOOR.
The man had sighed and stood, resuming his position at the start of this long narration. For a very odd reason, the man had thought that this time with these doors would last for a very, very, very long time. He moved around the crater and reached for the door.
That question can be left unattended because, dear reader, even the protagonist himself doesn't know. All he was very aware of was himself and the five doors presented in front of him. The man decided that this narration was not helpful in the least bit, so he had begun to look around.
In the corner of the room, the man had found a small note. The note contained a nicely written message with curls and twirls and loops. There, on the note, he had read aloud;
Hello. Do you want to play a game?
The man scoffed at this. The aspect of playing a game was horribly childish, and very far from the designated age the man currently was. How foolish. He thought bitterly as he turned over the piece of paper. There, he found another message, however it seemed more hastened than the previous one.
PLAY THE GAME. THE GAME OF FIVE DOORS.
The man found himself chuckling at the childish antics of the note-writer. Then, he decided to concede. Stretching his arms, he said in a boisterous manner;
"Alright, I will play the game! The game of five doors!" He laughed. Suddenly, as soon as he said so, he felt a rumble beneath his feet. In his surprise, there exploded a crater in front of the man. He had fallen in the explosion and moved to a crouched position. He crept closer and closer until he was at the very edge. There, in the crater, was a note with a smiley face and words written out in all capital letters, nice and neat.
GOOD! GOOD! YOU PLAY THE GAME!
CHOOSE A DOOR.
The man had sighed and stood, resuming his position at the start of this long narration. For a very odd reason, the man had thought that this time with these doors would last for a very, very, very long time. He moved around the crater and reached for the door.
A Poem of Eyes
Doors of the Body
Fluttering eyelashes that travel your cheeks.
The glittering orbs that hold your life with both hands.
The doors to your insides,
pure and warm.
pure and warm.
The iridescent palette that paint melodies.
The expression of emotions,
which glow and dull.
The large ballroom doors that shutter close
when you’re weepy.
The grand doors covered in white
lined with the rainbow.
The doors that keep your secrets
and unconsciously gives them out.
The thing that you look back to in that cracked mirror.
The thing that tells you “It’s okay.”
That flame stirring inside.
That flame stirring inside.
It shows the best of you;
the worst of you.
the worst of you.
The lover of another;
the pulsing life.
The Holder of tears
Counselor of fears.
These are your eyes, two of the same.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
February 18th, 2015 ~ February 22nd, 2015
Not much of an update. As I haven't done anything close to a little EXCITING these past few days. All I've done is play video games, read, and write.
The thing about being bored over a long holiday is that you're BORED. I'm very close to the point of jumping off a cliff just to have a rush of adrenaline. That's how bad it is.
I almost regret doing my homework at school. Curse my impulses to get everything done! Gah, I really have nothing to do.
There's also the fact that we couldn't go to my grandparent's because of this damn snow. To think, I got so excited... What a great start to this new year.
Ah, speaking of new year, I'm awfully hungry. Maybe I'll eat some spaghetti that my dad made at one in the morning. Yes, that'll be great at the moment.
I hope your February recess was better than mine, gosh.
The thing about being bored over a long holiday is that you're BORED. I'm very close to the point of jumping off a cliff just to have a rush of adrenaline. That's how bad it is.
I almost regret doing my homework at school. Curse my impulses to get everything done! Gah, I really have nothing to do.
There's also the fact that we couldn't go to my grandparent's because of this damn snow. To think, I got so excited... What a great start to this new year.
Ah, speaking of new year, I'm awfully hungry. Maybe I'll eat some spaghetti that my dad made at one in the morning. Yes, that'll be great at the moment.
I hope your February recess was better than mine, gosh.
The War of the Kettles and the Pots
(All things fictional and silly, do not take this with an ounce of seriousness.)
Long, long ago, there lived two clans. There were the kettles and the pots. The kettles didn't like the pots, who came in all shapes and sizes, and the pots didn't like the kettles; their shine was far to bright for the pots. In the end, they disliked each other so much, they declared war.
Now, everyone else couldn't care less of this feud. As they still regularly used kettles and pots the same amount of time. Both were treasured in the neutral kingdoms, but the two clans couldn't have that; they needed allies.
Thus, they sent spies into neutral areas and sabotaged each other. Kettles broke some pots and the pots made it so the kettles would overheat and explode all over. It was ridiculous; the way the two clans were fighting. So, the prince of the world had found himself smack dab in the middle.
"Enough of this tomfoolery!" Cried out the prince. The two clans stopped their war for only a second to reply.
"This is no tomfoolery!" Cried out the King Kettle. "This is war!"
"I agree!" Cried out the King Pot. "This is the most serious war we have ever faced! There are no stunts that connect with a children's game, my lord! This is very serious business."
"Then why are you acting as such?" Asked the prince. "You all are acting like children!"
Now, I am no prince, but I feel that his highness shouldn't have said that. Because as the clans digested the phrase, the grew angrier and angrier. Soon, they were throwing themselves at the prince in rage.
"We are not children!" One of the kettles cried.
"Yes! We are all adults in this matter!" Agreed one of the pots.
"Let us make a truce. Down with the prince!" Everyone cried in unison.
The prince, relieved and slightly scared at the clans' revelation, began to run back to his home. The clans followed suit and legend says that they chased him in harmony for as long as he lived.
The END.
Long, long ago, there lived two clans. There were the kettles and the pots. The kettles didn't like the pots, who came in all shapes and sizes, and the pots didn't like the kettles; their shine was far to bright for the pots. In the end, they disliked each other so much, they declared war.
Now, everyone else couldn't care less of this feud. As they still regularly used kettles and pots the same amount of time. Both were treasured in the neutral kingdoms, but the two clans couldn't have that; they needed allies.
Thus, they sent spies into neutral areas and sabotaged each other. Kettles broke some pots and the pots made it so the kettles would overheat and explode all over. It was ridiculous; the way the two clans were fighting. So, the prince of the world had found himself smack dab in the middle.
"Enough of this tomfoolery!" Cried out the prince. The two clans stopped their war for only a second to reply.
"This is no tomfoolery!" Cried out the King Kettle. "This is war!"
"I agree!" Cried out the King Pot. "This is the most serious war we have ever faced! There are no stunts that connect with a children's game, my lord! This is very serious business."
"Then why are you acting as such?" Asked the prince. "You all are acting like children!"
Now, I am no prince, but I feel that his highness shouldn't have said that. Because as the clans digested the phrase, the grew angrier and angrier. Soon, they were throwing themselves at the prince in rage.
"We are not children!" One of the kettles cried.
"Yes! We are all adults in this matter!" Agreed one of the pots.
"Let us make a truce. Down with the prince!" Everyone cried in unison.
The prince, relieved and slightly scared at the clans' revelation, began to run back to his home. The clans followed suit and legend says that they chased him in harmony for as long as he lived.
The END.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
A Day of Old
I don't know why, but I suddenly remembered a time from when I was in elementary school. I think it was around third of fourth grade when this happened. You see, during this time and age, people that age were testing out new words. Sometimes, the words were fine and cute; they were words that people really didn't know the meaning of. Most of the time though, they were mean through origins, yet when others said it, it was on the affection of a nickname. Harmless through intentions, but fatal through meaning.
On one particular spring day, my class was in recess. Kids jumped and played; pushing, shoving, and yelling at others to follow their lead. I was swinging on the swing sets with others when I heard someone shout:
"God! You're such a bastard!"
It wasn't really meant as a cute phrasing. The person that shouted it got into a fight soon after and kids hurried to see. Both got scoldings, but none in suspension. Probably because it was innocence, but more so that the parents drew punishments accordingly.
However, the word "bastard" had no substance to anyone but me.
A bastard, in original terms, was a child born of an unwed pairing. In some cultures, it was used derogatory to those children to make it seem like their mistake in life was being born. Other times it was used in a way akin to, "I never thought you would get this far!" in a mean undertone: "I never thought you would get this far because I thought you were a failure.".
There is a reason why some cultures, it's a great shame to divorce or refuse an arranged marriage. For parents in those senses, it was a matter of control. Others, they only wish best for their children. So they pick out suitable candidates that promises the best possible future for their child.
So, when a wedded couple has a child, there is more at stake. There are more promises to uphold; more vows. It supposedly creates a stronger bond between the two parties. With an unwed couple, however, the only thing that makes them strong is their responsibilities for their children. The stronger the morals, the stronger the bond. Sometimes, from what I've seen, unmarried couples last longer than ones who are married.
However, this comes with a price. If you have high morals, it is possible that your family has even higher ones. With higher ones, more stress is inputted to the parents and the children. It also shows how highly the children are held up in.
Family politics aside, using the word "bastard" in a derogatory sense is less painful than that of the original meaning. Because there are people who are applied to this meaning day by day, while the derogatory sense is pretty much harmless to those that seen more. It really twists my gut when someone doesn't know the true meaning of their words and applies it only to urban culture.
However, my sense of truth was always higher than many of the people surrounding me from when I was young. Perhaps it's just me. Perhaps not.
On one particular spring day, my class was in recess. Kids jumped and played; pushing, shoving, and yelling at others to follow their lead. I was swinging on the swing sets with others when I heard someone shout:
"God! You're such a bastard!"
It wasn't really meant as a cute phrasing. The person that shouted it got into a fight soon after and kids hurried to see. Both got scoldings, but none in suspension. Probably because it was innocence, but more so that the parents drew punishments accordingly.
However, the word "bastard" had no substance to anyone but me.
A bastard, in original terms, was a child born of an unwed pairing. In some cultures, it was used derogatory to those children to make it seem like their mistake in life was being born. Other times it was used in a way akin to, "I never thought you would get this far!" in a mean undertone: "I never thought you would get this far because I thought you were a failure.".
There is a reason why some cultures, it's a great shame to divorce or refuse an arranged marriage. For parents in those senses, it was a matter of control. Others, they only wish best for their children. So they pick out suitable candidates that promises the best possible future for their child.
So, when a wedded couple has a child, there is more at stake. There are more promises to uphold; more vows. It supposedly creates a stronger bond between the two parties. With an unwed couple, however, the only thing that makes them strong is their responsibilities for their children. The stronger the morals, the stronger the bond. Sometimes, from what I've seen, unmarried couples last longer than ones who are married.
However, this comes with a price. If you have high morals, it is possible that your family has even higher ones. With higher ones, more stress is inputted to the parents and the children. It also shows how highly the children are held up in.
Family politics aside, using the word "bastard" in a derogatory sense is less painful than that of the original meaning. Because there are people who are applied to this meaning day by day, while the derogatory sense is pretty much harmless to those that seen more. It really twists my gut when someone doesn't know the true meaning of their words and applies it only to urban culture.
However, my sense of truth was always higher than many of the people surrounding me from when I was young. Perhaps it's just me. Perhaps not.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Happy New Year!
Lunar New Year that is. For all of those who celebrate it, including me, this week is going to be filled with a lot of red, gold, envelopes, money, and food. Huzzah!
Let me just clarify, Lunar New Year (or more commonly known as Chinese New Year) is a celebration to start anew. This means, for one week, everyone is happy, clean, and festive. By starting a new year happy, it brings fortune for the next one.
This celebration is usually tied with heavy superstitions. For example, the oldest son must go out of the house and walk back in to bring fortune. Everyone of the house should decorate it in red, gold, and/or yellow; the colors of fortune. The house itself also must be clean to a "T", representing purity. There's a ton more that my family does to bring about good luck to the next year, but I won't go into details.
Anyway, those who are reading that are born on the years 1967, 1979, 1991, and 2003; you're a ram! As a ram, you have the luck for this year. Congrats! I hope your life flourishes!
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Concerned
This blog gotten 100+ people to look over it. I am confused and scared and a bit creeped out. Like, who are you? Where did you come from? Is your family doing okay? Are you okay? What are you doing here? Do you have dogs? Do you want to be called the Stranger Dangers?
No, but seriously, who are all of you?
No, but seriously, who are all of you?
A Face, Weary
His face was like a statue carved from marble. However, unlike Marble, it was withered with age. Yet the light and shine still remained. His eyes twinkled with happiness whenever a grandchild would come to visit. The same eyes retained their sun when his own children came to visit; especially his youngest.
His face was like a king, scarred and weathered down from the old days. The lines and scars hid the person who he once was, but that change never inflicted harm on him, only bettering him for something more. There were laugh lines, wrinkles on his forehead, crinkles against his eyes as he lets out a hardy laugh. A very loud laugh it was.
His face wore the sun, with lesser shine and more warmth. His expressions were day and night, changing in that predictable cycle. At night, his face was peaceful. At day, his face was strained, but happy all the same.
His face was a soldier, stern and straight. That face held a certain refined sense of duty and twinkled with a sense of tension. Eyes were intelligent as they scatter about the room.
His face was Grandpa. A face normal and unchanged to his grandchildren. His face was Happiness on a very large platter.
His face was like a king, scarred and weathered down from the old days. The lines and scars hid the person who he once was, but that change never inflicted harm on him, only bettering him for something more. There were laugh lines, wrinkles on his forehead, crinkles against his eyes as he lets out a hardy laugh. A very loud laugh it was.
His face wore the sun, with lesser shine and more warmth. His expressions were day and night, changing in that predictable cycle. At night, his face was peaceful. At day, his face was strained, but happy all the same.
His face was a soldier, stern and straight. That face held a certain refined sense of duty and twinkled with a sense of tension. Eyes were intelligent as they scatter about the room.
His face was Grandpa. A face normal and unchanged to his grandchildren. His face was Happiness on a very large platter.
February 17th, 2015
Last night, I cried in front of my mom. It's been awhile since I've cried in front of her, actually. Approximately a year or so.
Why must I say this dreary news upon you? Because I felt like so. Because the person who I can reach out to doesn't even remember to even talk to me about it.
The sad thing is that I knew this would happen, but I allowed myself to believe him. Stupid me, but what else is new?
It's been awhile since I've been selfish in family matters, so bear with me. However, I know that you might dislike the discussion of family matters when you have your own. So, I'll cut it short.
I had jello today, it was great. There's also the fact that I'm going to visit my grandfather soon. I'm happy about that. Very happy, actually. I miss them a lot.
Oh, I cut my foot yesterday. I have a habit of doing that. The band-aid got loose so I'll have to replace it, but at least the lotion is doing what it's suppose to do.
Theeeeeeen I found another cut on my other foot today. Curse my soft feet.
I am bored still, but less than yesterday. The boredom was taken by an empty feeling, if I'm honest. An empty stomach that is, haha! (Although I do feel empty on the inside. Just a little.) Gosh I'm hungry, but I don't feel like getting up and making rice. The struggle, it seems.
My brother keeps on breaking his grounding rules (no playing on the laptop, IPhone, and IPad unless it's for educational reasons) but I'm unsure whether or not to address it to my mom. Since he gives me terrible glares when I do. He's acting like the younger sibling rather than an older one.
Enough bad mouthing about him though. I saw, well, I heard some birds the other day. Crows, to be exact. They're so cute.
Did you know that crows mate for life? Also, did you know that even after they leave the nest, crows still visit their parents? They also construct their own languages to talk to one another! Fascinating.
Why must I say this dreary news upon you? Because I felt like so. Because the person who I can reach out to doesn't even remember to even talk to me about it.
The sad thing is that I knew this would happen, but I allowed myself to believe him. Stupid me, but what else is new?
It's been awhile since I've been selfish in family matters, so bear with me. However, I know that you might dislike the discussion of family matters when you have your own. So, I'll cut it short.
I had jello today, it was great. There's also the fact that I'm going to visit my grandfather soon. I'm happy about that. Very happy, actually. I miss them a lot.
Oh, I cut my foot yesterday. I have a habit of doing that. The band-aid got loose so I'll have to replace it, but at least the lotion is doing what it's suppose to do.
Theeeeeeen I found another cut on my other foot today. Curse my soft feet.
I am bored still, but less than yesterday. The boredom was taken by an empty feeling, if I'm honest. An empty stomach that is, haha! (Although I do feel empty on the inside. Just a little.) Gosh I'm hungry, but I don't feel like getting up and making rice. The struggle, it seems.
My brother keeps on breaking his grounding rules (no playing on the laptop, IPhone, and IPad unless it's for educational reasons) but I'm unsure whether or not to address it to my mom. Since he gives me terrible glares when I do. He's acting like the younger sibling rather than an older one.
Enough bad mouthing about him though. I saw, well, I heard some birds the other day. Crows, to be exact. They're so cute.
Did you know that crows mate for life? Also, did you know that even after they leave the nest, crows still visit their parents? They also construct their own languages to talk to one another! Fascinating.
Monday, February 16, 2015
February 15th, 2015 & February 16th, 2015
I didn't do a daily recording of my day because I did nothing. Literally, all I did was play video games and read books. Oh! Writing too.
I guess I have to say the same today, because I'm writing this, you know. I get so boooooooooored that I tend to write and write and write and write... It's just to relieve the boredom. However, I am growing more bored by the minute, so I guess I'll clean the house. Maybe even bathe the dog.
I am so bored.
I guess I have to say the same today, because I'm writing this, you know. I get so boooooooooored that I tend to write and write and write and write... It's just to relieve the boredom. However, I am growing more bored by the minute, so I guess I'll clean the house. Maybe even bathe the dog.
I am so bored.
A Series of Questions
Sometimes, one may ask a series of questions and ponder over the answer. Sometimes, they start logically, however, sometimes they slowly morph into questions of nonsense. Well, that happens to me at least.
Starting off, why do people conform to "normality"? Why are people able to dictate whether or not on is strange or "normal"? We are all different, so wouldn't that mean everyone is a little bit strange? Why do people care for their looks? Why do people have the need to appease others in such a way? Why must people judge and hate others breaking that paradigm of normality? Why must people fight and argue and scorn? Why?
What makes the Earth alive? What makes it poisoned and corrupted and selfish? What makes our world perfect? Why isn't our world perfect? Why (if we're so all mighty) haven't we made the world perfect? To what makes a child think and speak and talk in riddles through questions, yet won't seem to talk so eloquently towards adults? Why are we afraid?
What is Fear? What is Anger? What are emotions? What makes us feel what we feel? Why must we have to influence each other to feel anything? What gives the examples of these emotions and why are they display as such?
Why do we smile? Why do we laugh? Why do we cry? Why must we display our emotions like candy in a store, up front and center? Why is it strange to perceive no such emotion?
Why do we allow ourselves to hurt one another? What gives us the impulse to do so? Why must we do so? Why can't we have a life without lemons? Why can't we make something else other than lemonade? Why do we have to take what life gives us?
What is life anyway? Why do we live, only to die? Why must we shorten other lives by our words? Why are our words so harmful? Why must we believe that "Sticks and Stones May Break Our Bones, But Words Can Never Hurt Me"? Why must we fold a curtain over our eyes by the actions of others? Why must we forgive and forget?
Why do we need to forgive others? If they harm you, leave. Why must you stay?
Why is 2 + 2 = 4? Why is math so difficult to others and the rest have it on the back of their hands? Why do we say the expression "like the back of our hands"? Why do we say expressions, even?
Do you know?
Saturday, February 14, 2015
February 14th, 2015
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltun92DfnPY
Please watch this, as it is the day of Love and remember. Remember that you aren't allowed to be judge for you being you. Remember that when you're a kid, words do hurt and it will hurt. Do not pull the veil over your eyes and think that it will stop; it never will.
Do remember though, that you can do something. You can do anything. You can do anything that you believe you can do because you are believing in yourself, and that's all the encouragement you need to move. To run and run and run so much that you can be free.
Have a wonderful day and please, do get a better mirror.
Please watch this, as it is the day of Love and remember. Remember that you aren't allowed to be judge for you being you. Remember that when you're a kid, words do hurt and it will hurt. Do not pull the veil over your eyes and think that it will stop; it never will.
Do remember though, that you can do something. You can do anything. You can do anything that you believe you can do because you are believing in yourself, and that's all the encouragement you need to move. To run and run and run so much that you can be free.
Have a wonderful day and please, do get a better mirror.
Friday, February 13, 2015
February 13th, 2015
I really need to know how to spell "February". It's killing me deeply inside to know whenever I forget the first "R".
Opening aside, it is a relatively good day. Sunny day and a bunch of work done days before. I must admit; I am bored.
Bored.
So Bored.
Very Bored.
It really explains my mentality when spamming you all with those posts. I am bored, therefore I switch around with writing and reading and playing games and such. However, sadly and sourly, Boredom is not a beast conquered so easily. It makes me so very sluggish, Boredom that is.
Oh, yes, almost forgot to imply that you wish to learn about my daily droning, so sorry.
Ah, yes. So today in the life of GLORIOUS ME, I did the routinely stuff. However, what pleases me the most is that I had a copious amount of chocolate and treats gifted to me. It makes me pleased that people actually are fond of my existence! Amazing!
A penny for your thoughts, but have you ever thought of a person that wants to do something affectionate to you, but never does it? It makes me wonder so close to a holiday celebrating the execution of a man full of love. Why do people need to outright show their affections to one another? Why must we appease to normality's restrictions and enforce ourselves to do the cliche, act out the cliche, and to sing the cliche? I do not know.
What I do know, however, is that we shouldn't be able to go to school with -37 degrees Fahrenheit wind chill. Curse our damnable location and leadership!
Moving along with the topic of Valentine's Day, I want to share to you a certain thing about Humanity. We are not capable of loving all.
To enhance this statement, do you know the original meaning of the term "faggot"? No? Yes? Well, let me serve you this particular gruesome "fun fact" of this cold, winter day. Faggot had a meaning to imply a bunch of sticks. Harmless.
Do you also remember the time where people burned women believed to be witches and burned them on a stake for the sake of the "greater good"? Yeah, not many remember it.
Anyway, the point is, you know the people who burned said "witches"? They decided (who ever "they" are) to burn other people they don't like. One group were homosexuals. However, unlike witches, people decided that homosexuals didn't deserve a stake, so they used to burn alight a bunch of sticks, faggots if you will, and threw them at homosexuals and watched them burn.
Oh humanity, how I dislike you.
Opening aside, it is a relatively good day. Sunny day and a bunch of work done days before. I must admit; I am bored.
Bored.
So Bored.
Very Bored.
It really explains my mentality when spamming you all with those posts. I am bored, therefore I switch around with writing and reading and playing games and such. However, sadly and sourly, Boredom is not a beast conquered so easily. It makes me so very sluggish, Boredom that is.
Oh, yes, almost forgot to imply that you wish to learn about my daily droning, so sorry.
Ah, yes. So today in the life of GLORIOUS ME, I did the routinely stuff. However, what pleases me the most is that I had a copious amount of chocolate and treats gifted to me. It makes me pleased that people actually are fond of my existence! Amazing!
A penny for your thoughts, but have you ever thought of a person that wants to do something affectionate to you, but never does it? It makes me wonder so close to a holiday celebrating the execution of a man full of love. Why do people need to outright show their affections to one another? Why must we appease to normality's restrictions and enforce ourselves to do the cliche, act out the cliche, and to sing the cliche? I do not know.
What I do know, however, is that we shouldn't be able to go to school with -37 degrees Fahrenheit wind chill. Curse our damnable location and leadership!
Moving along with the topic of Valentine's Day, I want to share to you a certain thing about Humanity. We are not capable of loving all.
To enhance this statement, do you know the original meaning of the term "faggot"? No? Yes? Well, let me serve you this particular gruesome "fun fact" of this cold, winter day. Faggot had a meaning to imply a bunch of sticks. Harmless.
Do you also remember the time where people burned women believed to be witches and burned them on a stake for the sake of the "greater good"? Yeah, not many remember it.
Anyway, the point is, you know the people who burned said "witches"? They decided (who ever "they" are) to burn other people they don't like. One group were homosexuals. However, unlike witches, people decided that homosexuals didn't deserve a stake, so they used to burn alight a bunch of sticks, faggots if you will, and threw them at homosexuals and watched them burn.
Oh humanity, how I dislike you.
A Story of You and Snow
The days were colder than the plains of Russia.
Fingertips glowed red
Noses light up.
Feet chilled and legs trembled.
It was cold.
Days grew along with the snow.
More light? Less snow.
Less light? More snow.
It continues on.
Children groan and moan and don't leave their homes.
You are the one who defies these rules
and leave with chills.
You do not care.
Snow drops upon you chin
like a playful Snow Fairy.
You giggle and laugh and fall down
Crushing the snow into something
New.
This is a story about Snow and You.
Your playful relations with this Frost.
You take all of it in,
Not wanting it to leave.
Snow has to melt sometime, dear.
So cherish it while You can
You never know what leaves
but You know what can't.
The ever-so-faithful snow
Will come to you again and again.
Snow will only leave a little
And last for awhile.
Again, You wish for Snow.
Your ever-so-faithful friend.
Snow won't betray you,
when anyone else can.
Fingertips glowed red
Noses light up.
Feet chilled and legs trembled.
It was cold.
Days grew along with the snow.
More light? Less snow.
Less light? More snow.
It continues on.
Children groan and moan and don't leave their homes.
You are the one who defies these rules
and leave with chills.
You do not care.
Snow drops upon you chin
like a playful Snow Fairy.
You giggle and laugh and fall down
Crushing the snow into something
New.
This is a story about Snow and You.
Your playful relations with this Frost.
You take all of it in,
Not wanting it to leave.
Snow has to melt sometime, dear.
So cherish it while You can
You never know what leaves
but You know what can't.
The ever-so-faithful snow
Will come to you again and again.
Snow will only leave a little
And last for awhile.
Again, You wish for Snow.
Your ever-so-faithful friend.
Snow won't betray you,
when anyone else can.
Attics
An attic is an attic. Sometimes accessible from a rope or a ladder. It is the highest floor of a house. It's where storage items are held, perhaps, even a room. It's contaminated with dust and spiders and bed bugs that creep upon your skin.
In the attic, there is only one window. Circled and crossed, it gleams out the light of the sky. The light reflects its emotions. Through blue or yellow or purple or red, the room will glow along the faces of time. Morning, noon, evening; the colors clash and burn together.
The hard wooden floors creak and moan under pads of meat and flesh. They screech in agony through the thuds and poundings. Children find them creepy. It's not their fault that the imagination runs wild when the highest is reached.
More importantly, attics mean no harm. They just want to be acknowledge. Many times, however, they don't and they're sad. They choose to play with the items that are as lonely as them. Attics are naive and they don't know which toy is more benevolent than another. Sometimes they unleash the demons of past, sometimes they renew a love long lost. One thing is certain, they bring back the melancholy that once was and will be.
In the attic, there is only one window. Circled and crossed, it gleams out the light of the sky. The light reflects its emotions. Through blue or yellow or purple or red, the room will glow along the faces of time. Morning, noon, evening; the colors clash and burn together.
The hard wooden floors creak and moan under pads of meat and flesh. They screech in agony through the thuds and poundings. Children find them creepy. It's not their fault that the imagination runs wild when the highest is reached.
More importantly, attics mean no harm. They just want to be acknowledge. Many times, however, they don't and they're sad. They choose to play with the items that are as lonely as them. Attics are naive and they don't know which toy is more benevolent than another. Sometimes they unleash the demons of past, sometimes they renew a love long lost. One thing is certain, they bring back the melancholy that once was and will be.
Closeted Panic
He knocked on the door, his hands trembling only slightly. He was nervous, no, anxious, no, absolutely positively petrified. Yes, Icarus was petrified of a woman no more than five foot four.
"Icarus." Came the groan of the dastardly woman. He gulped, sweating positively in his boots. Oh, how he wished he hadn't started a fight with Lew Kingston! With a heavy heart, Icarus opened the creaky door.
The room was odorless and dimly lit. The only source of light was the fireplace, crackling and hissing. There were books upon books stacked upon each other like a palace, surrounding the entire room. Near a particularly large stack of such books laid a desk with floral decorations on it. Behind it, a red chair turned backwards. There was a red, oval carpet placed in front of the fire. On that carpet, laid the family dog, Francis. Francis, a husky, seemed content with the warmth of the flames and the creaking of the floor. Icarus winced as he trended upon the glossy wooden floors; too loud. Unfortunately, he had stepped on one of the specifically loud, creaky ones. With that sound resounding the room, Francis barked and a woman showed herself from behind the desk.
"Icarus." She said smoothly. He gritted his teeth.
"Mother." He replied back, more venom in his bite.
"Would you care to explain what happen this particular evening." She hummed, examining a flower while doing so. Icarus hated when she did that, his mother was so... so... UGH.
"I fought a boy. That is all." He said curtly. Icarus's hands found themselves knowing together on his chest. His mother wasn't so pleased as she stopped tending to her flora and looked at the boy.
"May you watch that tongue of yours, boy." She said calmly, but the harden words were all too apparent. Icarus inwardly gulped and hoped that he wouldn't die today.
"As you wish, Mother." He carefully replied. This didn't seem to mollify her rage however, as she seemed distraught by his actions. Icarus prepared himself for the worst.
"Sometimes," She sighed. "I don't know what to do to him." It didn't seem that she was talking to him directly, rather, it seemed she was talking about him. However, there was no one to hear other than him, so who could she possibly be talking to?
"... Mother?" He whispered slightly. She didn't look his way as she swirled into her chair. Each time the turn faced him, Icarus noted she sunk deeper into the plush chair.
"Sometimes, I don't even know what I'm doing was right!" She shrieked. "What am I supposed to do?! What should I do?! Come on! You were always the one with the answers!" Then it hit him. His mother was talking to the departed.
"Mother, I don't think—" He was interrupted.
"Gods! Why did you have to leave?!" She continued onto her dreary monologue. "Why couldn't they take me instead? Heavens knows he likes you more than I, Endymion!" She mourned and Icarus felt a certain piece of shard lodged into his stomach.
"Mother? Oh, Mother. Please care to listen." He said with a louder voice. This time his words caught his mother's attention.
"Yes?" She asked teary eyed. "What is it?"
"I will apologize for my actions, Mother. It was my fault entirely." He confessed, shoving down the objections down his throat. If she would stop by a lie, then lie he will.
"Oh." She seemed pleased. The tears from a minute ago lost in space. "I'm glad to hear that." She took a deep sigh. "If you were being bullied and I knew nothing, why, I couldn't live with myself!" She continued.
"Yes, I know." He whispered carefully. "I will apologize to Lew Kingston tomorrow. You have no worries about it."
"Good." She said gleefully. "Good."
Icarus sighed and excused himself from the room. After a certain 'click' was heard, he rushed to the bathroom. When he arrived, he nearly ripped open the mirror door. Inside, various medications for his mother resided in. He picked three from an orange one and put them in water. When they evaporated entirely, he sighed in relief. Icarus then made the particularly long pilgrimage back to the room.
Another normal day in this normal home.
"Icarus." Came the groan of the dastardly woman. He gulped, sweating positively in his boots. Oh, how he wished he hadn't started a fight with Lew Kingston! With a heavy heart, Icarus opened the creaky door.
The room was odorless and dimly lit. The only source of light was the fireplace, crackling and hissing. There were books upon books stacked upon each other like a palace, surrounding the entire room. Near a particularly large stack of such books laid a desk with floral decorations on it. Behind it, a red chair turned backwards. There was a red, oval carpet placed in front of the fire. On that carpet, laid the family dog, Francis. Francis, a husky, seemed content with the warmth of the flames and the creaking of the floor. Icarus winced as he trended upon the glossy wooden floors; too loud. Unfortunately, he had stepped on one of the specifically loud, creaky ones. With that sound resounding the room, Francis barked and a woman showed herself from behind the desk.
"Icarus." She said smoothly. He gritted his teeth.
"Mother." He replied back, more venom in his bite.
"Would you care to explain what happen this particular evening." She hummed, examining a flower while doing so. Icarus hated when she did that, his mother was so... so... UGH.
"I fought a boy. That is all." He said curtly. Icarus's hands found themselves knowing together on his chest. His mother wasn't so pleased as she stopped tending to her flora and looked at the boy.
"May you watch that tongue of yours, boy." She said calmly, but the harden words were all too apparent. Icarus inwardly gulped and hoped that he wouldn't die today.
"As you wish, Mother." He carefully replied. This didn't seem to mollify her rage however, as she seemed distraught by his actions. Icarus prepared himself for the worst.
"Sometimes," She sighed. "I don't know what to do to him." It didn't seem that she was talking to him directly, rather, it seemed she was talking about him. However, there was no one to hear other than him, so who could she possibly be talking to?
"... Mother?" He whispered slightly. She didn't look his way as she swirled into her chair. Each time the turn faced him, Icarus noted she sunk deeper into the plush chair.
"Sometimes, I don't even know what I'm doing was right!" She shrieked. "What am I supposed to do?! What should I do?! Come on! You were always the one with the answers!" Then it hit him. His mother was talking to the departed.
"Mother, I don't think—" He was interrupted.
"Gods! Why did you have to leave?!" She continued onto her dreary monologue. "Why couldn't they take me instead? Heavens knows he likes you more than I, Endymion!" She mourned and Icarus felt a certain piece of shard lodged into his stomach.
"Mother? Oh, Mother. Please care to listen." He said with a louder voice. This time his words caught his mother's attention.
"Yes?" She asked teary eyed. "What is it?"
"I will apologize for my actions, Mother. It was my fault entirely." He confessed, shoving down the objections down his throat. If she would stop by a lie, then lie he will.
"Oh." She seemed pleased. The tears from a minute ago lost in space. "I'm glad to hear that." She took a deep sigh. "If you were being bullied and I knew nothing, why, I couldn't live with myself!" She continued.
"Yes, I know." He whispered carefully. "I will apologize to Lew Kingston tomorrow. You have no worries about it."
"Good." She said gleefully. "Good."
Icarus sighed and excused himself from the room. After a certain 'click' was heard, he rushed to the bathroom. When he arrived, he nearly ripped open the mirror door. Inside, various medications for his mother resided in. He picked three from an orange one and put them in water. When they evaporated entirely, he sighed in relief. Icarus then made the particularly long pilgrimage back to the room.
Another normal day in this normal home.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
February 12th, 2015
Ignoring the writing prompt of my wishes, this is my first post today. Hello again. I was pondering over whether or not to write this as a blog-blog and not a project, of sorts. I decided that I should at the very least try to update this rather weekly, if not daily.
So, hello.
Today was a snowy day. In fact, it's been snowing since about ten o' clock this morning to now. Oh, well, more like a blizzard. It's going to be in the negatives soon... Well, whatever.
This morning I ate jello for breakfast. It was orange-flavored. I don't know particularly why I'm telling you this, but it seems rather impending that I do so. Hope you don't mind the oddness in such a statement. I'm rambling again.
It wasn't that cold when we (Brother, Father, and I) left for school, but it was chilly at most. We got to school relatively quickly, as it's only a five minute walk and at most, a thirty second drive. We departed with Dad and went about our daily things.
I went through my classes rather quickly, the slowest being Gym because I had to walk about ten rounds about the school(equivalent to a mile). I had forgotten my book so most of the time today was finishing homework early and writing in my creative writing journal. I was wondering about the morality of life and sorting out an idea whether to draw it or not. Oh! I also got free books from the library. They're Mark Twain books. Classics.
I talked with Mom today. She was at the hospital with my Grandfather and Grandmother. My Grandfather had to go to the hospital because of kidney stones (he needs to quit the alcohol.) and had to stay for certain reasons I rather not specify. Anyway, he looks really lively! (He bit a nurse's hand a few days ago as a joke. Never got why.) He was talking normally and was being to move to where I hope is where he isn't in Urgent Care.
It was a good day.
Especially for my brother. Just now his friend got him some phở for some odd reason and??? Lucky.
So, hello.
Today was a snowy day. In fact, it's been snowing since about ten o' clock this morning to now. Oh, well, more like a blizzard. It's going to be in the negatives soon... Well, whatever.
This morning I ate jello for breakfast. It was orange-flavored. I don't know particularly why I'm telling you this, but it seems rather impending that I do so. Hope you don't mind the oddness in such a statement. I'm rambling again.
It wasn't that cold when we (Brother, Father, and I) left for school, but it was chilly at most. We got to school relatively quickly, as it's only a five minute walk and at most, a thirty second drive. We departed with Dad and went about our daily things.
I went through my classes rather quickly, the slowest being Gym because I had to walk about ten rounds about the school(equivalent to a mile). I had forgotten my book so most of the time today was finishing homework early and writing in my creative writing journal. I was wondering about the morality of life and sorting out an idea whether to draw it or not. Oh! I also got free books from the library. They're Mark Twain books. Classics.
I talked with Mom today. She was at the hospital with my Grandfather and Grandmother. My Grandfather had to go to the hospital because of kidney stones (he needs to quit the alcohol.) and had to stay for certain reasons I rather not specify. Anyway, he looks really lively! (He bit a nurse's hand a few days ago as a joke. Never got why.) He was talking normally and was being to move to where I hope is where he isn't in Urgent Care.
It was a good day.
Especially for my brother. Just now his friend got him some phở for some odd reason and??? Lucky.
Creation
If I had the ability to, I want to build a very big house. I want to make it three floors, maybe an attic, some bathrooms scattered about, perhaps a basement too. I want to build it with white paint and blue windows behind a picket fence with trees around it.
I want to build this for my family.
I want to build it so that they wouldn't worry about financials, bills, work, and everything else. I want them to think of this house as a house where everything will be okay. I want to make a haven.
I want my family to share laughs, to share smiles, to rough house with each other and have fun while the days tick by. I want them to be happy with the way things are and not worry for the future. I want them to be happy and content.
I want them to make joyful memories that I can repeat to my kids who will repeat to their kids and so on and so forth. I want my lineage to remember the happiness of the house and not the struggles left behind. Because, who wants to worry about the future when your a child, a teenager, an adult? I don't want the constant struggles and the constant tears; I want joy.
So I will work hard. I will build this house when I grow up for this family of mine, and for the family that will be left behind. I will do it, for happiness that we don't have.
I want to build this for my family.
I want to build it so that they wouldn't worry about financials, bills, work, and everything else. I want them to think of this house as a house where everything will be okay. I want to make a haven.
I want my family to share laughs, to share smiles, to rough house with each other and have fun while the days tick by. I want them to be happy with the way things are and not worry for the future. I want them to be happy and content.
I want them to make joyful memories that I can repeat to my kids who will repeat to their kids and so on and so forth. I want my lineage to remember the happiness of the house and not the struggles left behind. Because, who wants to worry about the future when your a child, a teenager, an adult? I don't want the constant struggles and the constant tears; I want joy.
So I will work hard. I will build this house when I grow up for this family of mine, and for the family that will be left behind. I will do it, for happiness that we don't have.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Passion
Question, what are you passionate about? What do enjoy to do in your free time? What are your hobbies?
My passions are something that tend to be a tad bit basic. I enjoy reading, as said prior to this. I enjoy writing, as I take CW courses to improve such writings. I enjoy drawing, as you can see from my icon. I enjoy games, as you might see in future posts. I enjoy cartoons and animations, as I will also talk about those(hopefully) in more future posts.
Sometimes, I tend to ramble upon many things. Many of which is my analysis upon the qualities of humanity. Why do we act the way we do? Why do we alienate, ostracize, isolate, others that are not familiar to what we know? Why do we discriminate those of different areas and cultures and upcomings? Why do we chose to do the things we do, act like we do, and for what reasons do we do it?
I leave you with those questions. I do ask you to think about such things, as they are my passion, so to speak. However, it may be your choice and I will be delighted to write to you later.
My passions are something that tend to be a tad bit basic. I enjoy reading, as said prior to this. I enjoy writing, as I take CW courses to improve such writings. I enjoy drawing, as you can see from my icon. I enjoy games, as you might see in future posts. I enjoy cartoons and animations, as I will also talk about those(hopefully) in more future posts.
Sometimes, I tend to ramble upon many things. Many of which is my analysis upon the qualities of humanity. Why do we act the way we do? Why do we alienate, ostracize, isolate, others that are not familiar to what we know? Why do we discriminate those of different areas and cultures and upcomings? Why do we chose to do the things we do, act like we do, and for what reasons do we do it?
I leave you with those questions. I do ask you to think about such things, as they are my passion, so to speak. However, it may be your choice and I will be delighted to write to you later.
The Age of Miracles Review
For class, we were given a book entitled The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson. It's a book about the use of fear installed into a novel. The story is told past-tense in first person point of view through the eyes of a young girl named Julia. Within the story, the world has slowed in its rotation and, through Julia's eyes, you see everything transpire.The novel is a coming of age book that tells its story in a setting of a place where not many have thought about. It is a story about fear and paranoia, and it affects the characters in such intensity that makes the story telling vibrate and at times, lively.
When I first started reading the book, it was a slow, almost in a lullaby movement. It started out so small, yet when everything toppled over each other, it became explosive. I would recommend those of the realist variety to try out this book, despite the scientific elements to it.
The Age of Miracles is a book that delves into fear. It uses such fear to weave a story about a simple girl, in a simple family, with everything crashing down.
Something to keep in mind, you can learn a various amount of writing elements in this book. One might be an epigraph, where you start the book with a relevant quote. There is also the use of past tense through the novel in the creative style of telling a story, despite a presence not being with you to tell the story. It's an interesting thought, so keep in mind when you're reading this.
Types of Readers
So, indulge me for a second. In a flood of answers, many of you have read a book. (Unless you're a child, which I may ask, "What are you doing here?", but it's whatever.) Some of you may even read on a daily basis(looking at you binge readers), but have you ever notice what types of books you've read?
There's a lot of genres out there. However, many of them are enclosed into three major groups: Fiction, How-To books, and Non-Fiction. These categories also are imputed into readers.
There's the fantasist, who's a reader that enjoys fantasy novels. They enjoy the weird and wacky settings, the crazy situations, and the nonsensical conflicts. It allows them to immerse themselves inside the book, even though it may not be entirely true or real. That's the point. Actually, some theorize that it's used as an escape from a person's actual life conflicts and allows them a safe haven where they can flee to if need be. Although I rather enjoy analyzing the aspects of humanity, I doubt that you all do. So, I'll cut this topic short and move on.
There's the realist, who enjoys realistic fiction. They connect with the characters of the realistic fiction. They think, at times, "Oh! I've been through this!" or "That was totally me!". The realists enjoy identifying along with the characters through their struggles and upcomings. Sometimes they even see themselves in the protagonist and follow the story line through their eyes, rather than the narrator.
Finally, there's the pragmatist, who enjoy reading for a purpose. A purpose such as learning something afterwards. They take reading as a learning experience, and nothing else. They tend to read short stories and sections that give knowledge about a certain subject.
As for me, I'm mainly a fantasist with a mix of the other two. I enjoy reading of all types, and tend to get distracted with all types of literature. I actually don't have a favorite book. I tend to read a book once, like it, but never bother to read it again. This makes it sort of difficult to read a book and actually call it an all-time-favorite because I've read so much that it's pretty difficult to have an impact on me.
There's a lot of genres out there. However, many of them are enclosed into three major groups: Fiction, How-To books, and Non-Fiction. These categories also are imputed into readers.
There's the fantasist, who's a reader that enjoys fantasy novels. They enjoy the weird and wacky settings, the crazy situations, and the nonsensical conflicts. It allows them to immerse themselves inside the book, even though it may not be entirely true or real. That's the point. Actually, some theorize that it's used as an escape from a person's actual life conflicts and allows them a safe haven where they can flee to if need be. Although I rather enjoy analyzing the aspects of humanity, I doubt that you all do. So, I'll cut this topic short and move on.
There's the realist, who enjoys realistic fiction. They connect with the characters of the realistic fiction. They think, at times, "Oh! I've been through this!" or "That was totally me!". The realists enjoy identifying along with the characters through their struggles and upcomings. Sometimes they even see themselves in the protagonist and follow the story line through their eyes, rather than the narrator.
Finally, there's the pragmatist, who enjoy reading for a purpose. A purpose such as learning something afterwards. They take reading as a learning experience, and nothing else. They tend to read short stories and sections that give knowledge about a certain subject.
As for me, I'm mainly a fantasist with a mix of the other two. I enjoy reading of all types, and tend to get distracted with all types of literature. I actually don't have a favorite book. I tend to read a book once, like it, but never bother to read it again. This makes it sort of difficult to read a book and actually call it an all-time-favorite because I've read so much that it's pretty difficult to have an impact on me.
Introduction
Hello! Hi! I actually have no idea what I'm doing, but whatever!
So, welcome to this humble url that is called loudyodeling. Why is it called loudyodeling? We just don't know. Just know that I actually won't yodel, sorry.
Anyway, I'm a student at School of the Arts that has this blog for solely for my Creative Writing course. Several things shall be put on this that I may not be proud of in the future, but I digress. Moving on from that, I attend high school and you may call me KK for the sake of my privacy. And yes, I am a teenager. Which entitles me to use a lot of slang and memes, but I'll refrain myself. Promise. Maybe. Only sometimes.
... I honestly don't know what I'm doing. Bear with me as I post school projects and yell about things that may or may not be relevant to politics and/or modern age topics.
So, welcome to this humble url that is called loudyodeling. Why is it called loudyodeling? We just don't know. Just know that I actually won't yodel, sorry.
Anyway, I'm a student at School of the Arts that has this blog for solely for my Creative Writing course. Several things shall be put on this that I may not be proud of in the future, but I digress. Moving on from that, I attend high school and you may call me KK for the sake of my privacy. And yes, I am a teenager. Which entitles me to use a lot of slang and memes, but I'll refrain myself. Promise. Maybe. Only sometimes.
... I honestly don't know what I'm doing. Bear with me as I post school projects and yell about things that may or may not be relevant to politics and/or modern age topics.
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