Btw, no, I haven’t done 248 sonnets.

During a clear blue day the Sun hangs high
And the Moon but a shadow in the light.
Right now I know you sleep and bid good-bye
And won’t come alive again until night.

When the Sun gives way to the Moon and Stars,
Your mask is removed and now you shall shine.
I know you still feel trapped in by those bars,
But I will have you know your thoughts are mine.

You live in constant doubt of your inner self;
You cast away when people see you most;
But when you are spied, you’re beauty itself
And you sparkle most for one’s blue eye’s host.

For you, my heart is most true and most strong
And I do know the Sun hangs high not long.

Hey there.

I am currently listening to “Mouth’s Cradle” by Bjork on Pandora. It’s a weird song, but I rather like it…:] It’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard.

I just recently finished an epic poem for creative writing.

Today should be good. I am going to the bookstore with a friend to chill out and then Star Trek again in the IMAX again. Mostly because of the sound.

You know it. xD

Well, I just felt like writing a blog entry, so I guess I will sign out then.

Oh, and fer sure, GO CHECK OUT PANDORA.COM.

It’s really freakin’ cool.

I am here, closer to who I am.
Lying on my bed, I am questioning a muse
As nothing comes to me.
Though I’ve wrote of love, of hurt
Of all the emotions,
I cannot write them now.
Strange. The intent of poems
Caters to your feelings and thoughts
And perhaps all your wishful scenarios,
But I simply cannot write and do them justice.

I could look ’round my room and find inspiration.
Book. The new yearbook sits next to me.
It still leads me, much too far
Into thinking my thoughts.
I’m on a crooked wall, balancing
On my toes so delicately
Between two pulling sides. They want
To fall to each their own side, but I would rather not
Collapse either way. I want to fix
them instead. It is an art
And my paint doesn’t heal.
I guess I own a tray
Where I put into the pieces
Of a falling wall,

Previously solid brick wall.
Maybe I should stop keeping a piece
Or two, and return them
But I can’t help but keep these
Shattered remains to look upon and
Know that I was there to pick them up.
It’s a sense of purpose.
I do not know why.
Maybe I should look in my own box,
Which is sadly lacking in pieces—
Scattered, and I begin not to have a clue where they are,
Truthful, I am not sure if I want to find them.

A muse. It seems I found one.
Sometimes it’s best to ramble on and it will find you.
How does my poem change so very much?

It’s a legend we talk about often–three ten-year old girls spending the night together, trying to find a way through their boredom in the wee hours of the morning.
It’s one in the morning. Kelsey and I are sitting on a black leather loveseat while Rachel is stretched out on a matching couch. Sitting liek this, we talk about boys like Mark or Sean, or about summer plans involving crisp, warm, golden sands and true blue skies. Outside, everything was still and quiet, despite Rach’s house being right off of M-24.
We hold on to these nights like lifelines. The talk of the night ran through our veins as our blood.
The time had come for truth or dare.
“Adri, truth or dare?” I eyed Rachel. Her big brown eyes stared back at me imploringly. I thought about what she might ask me or what she’d make me do.
“Dare,” I replied. Rachel pondered, looking around for inspiration. We are in fifth grade–our minds were limited to silly things like licking the floor or prank calling someone; things that we now luahg at or do just because we can.
She smiled a devious smile and went to the kitchen. “Both of you, come here.” Kelsey and I glanced at each other with a tinge of dread before springing up.
Rachel seperated a white paper plate from the huge stack. She searched through cupboards, collecting various spices. From one she pulled out garlic salt, basil and cyanne and from another sugar and steak seasoning. Lastly, from the oven top, she placed salt and pepper next to the plate on either side.
“What are you doing?” I asked, a little nervous about what was coming.
“You’ll see.” I hate it when she says that. She ban pouring a small mix of all these spices, singing as she did so.
Oh dear; she was up to no good.
“Now, what we’re going to do is lick this plate o’ spices,” she announced.
“Ewww!” Kelsey’s face twisted in disgust.
“You do it first,” I proposed.
Rachel shrugged her shoulders and said, “Okay.” She did it without a second thought–she’s always the daring one. Her tongue ran a clear line through the middle of the collection. We watched, wincing and wondering at her actioln. She covered her mouth and squinted her eyes. Clearly it was excessively gross.
She rushed to the fridge, grabbed a container of apple cider and drank straight from the jug. Smiling, she picked up the plate and handed it to me.
“Your turn.” I shuddered. It didn’t like all that appetizing. I took the plate.
“You better have that cider ready for me.” She nodded, holding it at her side.
I sighed, looked at both Kelsey and Rach, swallowed, shook the plate a little to spread the spices evenly around and licked a strip. I swished it around in my mouth. Bad idea. It was an explosion of flavour–and not a very good one. Spicy mixed with sweet and salty with full taste. It was the most eerie combinaton that ever existed.
I made a motion for the cider and chugged it.
“That was yummy,” I said sarcastically. Now it was Kelsey’s turn. I handed the plate to her. “Bonne appetite.”
“Do I have to do this?” she asked.
“Yes! We both did it,” I responded.
She made a face at both of us and took a small lick. I immdeadiately handed her the cider and she took a swag.
Rachel started cracking up and we both stared at her. “We…are so….werid!” she choked out in between short breaks in her laughing fit. That sent us all into a giggling mess.
“Oh I know, eh?” I added after we calmed down. “We are too weird.”
“What now?” Kelsey was wondering. Rachel is sitting on the oven and Kelsey on the counter in between the microwave and empty pop bottles. I sat across from Rach on the counter also, right by the sink. We sat in silence, pondering.
“I have an idea,” I declared, getting down. “Bring the cider.” They would follow me into the living room where I sat on the ground by the hearth. “Sit in a circle.” They did so. “Okay, we’re going to pass the cider around until it’s gone. Each time you take a drink, make a wish. Alright? Alright. Kelsey–you’re first.”
Her eyes took a glance to the ceiling thinking of what she was going to wish on. She brought the jug to her lips and took a short drink. Passing it on to Rach, she already had her wish and tilted her head back. While handing it off to me, she wiped her mouth with her other hand.
I wish Mark would forgive me. We had gotten into a fight a couple days ago and weren’t on speaking terms. Funny thing is, that the next day, we got back together. Wishes seem to come true when you deep down believe in it.
Two years later, when I visited Rachel from Grand Rapids, we did this old childish ritual again. My wish of being with Mark came true a few months after and I hung out with him for two days.
We kept passing the jug around until its contents were diminished. Each guzzle made, we got more giggly. Come to find out, the apple cider was slightly expired. Yeah, three fifth graders were drinking fermenting cider.

Nights like that made me feel alive. I feel careless, worriless and free of the chains that bound me to this earth. They happened more back then, but they mean more to me now. They’re a much needed break from the game that we call life. I remember this day because it makes me push forward and continue to forge memories such as this one.

As human beings, we strive for a more perfect living scenario; and why not? It is a great idea to be living in a place where innocence is commonplace and crime does not exist. Fires and the loss of life does not occur, and neither do fights, smoking or drugs. Everything is black and white, very simple and extremely boring. This is the life of the citizens in Pleasantville, a TV show set in the fifties.
David is an avid fan of the utopian show. When he and his sister, Jennifer, fight over the remote, effectively breaking it, a T.V. repairman enters the scene, giving them a new one that would take them to the set of Plesantville. Jennifer, in short time, begins to “corrupt” these people. David doesn’t like this at first, and tries to get her to stop, saying that she’s screwing everything up.
As the movie progresses, more and more people change into coloured people. They are now people who show their true colours and recognize their deepest, innermost feelings. Most of the youth don’t seem to mind that others are coloured, but the adults flip out. They hold town meetings and come up with a town conduct that resembles the discrimination going on during the fifties. The coloureds revolt, and don’t obey any of the rules. At the end of the movie, everyone is coloured and so is the landscape around them. Now, instead of being ignorant to the world around them, they can travel all over the place.
After watching this movie, it makes one question if perfection is really as great as it is made out to be. To me, it seems rather boring. We might think that it would be wonderful if everyone got along, and there was no bad things going on at all, but where’s the fun in that? If life was handed to you on a silver platter, and there were no struggles, what would be the purpose? Perhaps, if everyone were to be taken care of and happy, the world might be a better place, but it would sure be boring. If that were the case, then the people who truly shine in this world for their good qualities and helping hand wouldn’t have the chance to shine. In life, some people have to rise above others in certain areas because that’s their purpose.
Life is a game, not a romance novel. We play it in the hopes that in the end, it will be good, but there are those parts where you are forced to “go back two spaces” or “go to jail” (not literally, I do hope). You must struggle to get to the end, and in that success, you feel a great reward—an amazing fulfillment. When your life is perfect, when do you get the chance to feel successful? How can you improve upon yourself if you don’t feel failure? I think that if everything was provided for you, you wouldn’t ever feel on top of the world, but simply content; and while being content is good, it is also boring.

A lot of people say you can’t fall in love when you’re young. What I felt from fifth to ninth grade, I do believe, was love. As you grow older, your capacity to love expands. Now I question if it was, and granted, it wasn’t compared to my view of love now. And ten years from now, I will look back and say that I wasn’t in love because it’s only really true when you’re feeling it.
Shortly after I moved in April of 2004 to Grand Rapids from Lake Orion, my contact with Mark diminished. Two years later, on a Friday in May I was astonished to get a call from the lost friend.
“Hey, it’s Mark.”
“Mark who?” I asked, not because I forgot him, but because I simply couldn’t believe it. My heart was racing and electricity was surging with hope.
“Mark Korany.”
“Wow. I haven’t talked to you in forever. You sound different.”
“Yeah, that’s what two years does to you.” I laughed at his remark. I sat on the floor, against my bed, staring out my window, smiling as I talked to him for the next half hour or so. We caught up on the two years that was missing in our history. He told me he was in Lowell, a small town outside Grand Rapids for a little while and he wanted to see me. Prancing out to the living room, I informed my mom of our plans and handed the phone to her to talk to Mark’s dad.
Plans were made, and the next day, Saturday, I was invited over.
We drove to Lowell. Christina’s house was on a dirt road, surrounded by periods of yellow-green meadows and now full bloomed trees. Christina is Mark’s oldest sister. I’ve been told he has eight other siblings. He is the youngest.
When I got there, he was playing cards with Francesca, Frankie, Andrew and his father. The name of the game escapes me in the years passed. Naturally, things were a bit awkward. It would take maybe an hour for us to fall back to where we were.
The timeline of events is a bit muddled, and I can’t seem to remember when exactly things happened. I hung out with him for two days that weekend, Saturday and Sunday, but what events happened when, I can’t be positive. I was at that house Saturday from two until after midnight and Sunday from eleven to around two, which is when he had to drive back to Lake Orion.
Andrew, Mark and myself headed for a walk on the railroad tracks behind the house during daylight hours of the first day.
The air is fresh and clean out here. The trees harnass various shades of green. The meadows had wildflowers growing in them, barely seen due to the overgrowth of long wild grass, blowing gently in the breeze, creating a pale green ripple.
Andrew doesn’t walk next to us, but is either ahead or behind us. He is older than Mark by a year.
Mark and I talk about old times, the good years. We talk about new times, the trying times. Some point during our conversation, we talk about us.
It is some of the more memorable moments in time that we never seem to remember how they played out, word by word, thought by thought or action by action. He asks me to be his girlfriend, even though we never technically broke up before. I was happy and hopeful, considering I knew it wouldn’t last any time at all, due to his leaving the next day. I didn’t care; I was living life day by day. Our hands, in short time, find comfort in the grip of one another. Andrew makes fun of us, typical of our age.
Night began to fall upon us. Turning around, we continued to run our mouths as we headed back to the house.
There was a small moat surrounding the house from previous rains. I have never had good luck with crossing anything–even with the help of Mark. As a result, my pants, halfway up the calf, were covered in mud.
My memory fast forwards in time and takes me to playing air hockey. I was killing Mark at it; totally owning him.
“Alright, let’s make a bet,” he said.
“Uhm, okay. What?”
“I dunno. If you win, what do you want?” I know what I want. I am not going to mention it though. I prefer the ball being in his court, not mine.
“If you win, you can kick me in the face?”
I laughed. “No, I don’t want to kick you in the face.”
He smiled. “And if I win, then I get to kiss you.” I must’ve turned red.
Okay. Sounds good to me.
I still, to this day, do not know whether or not I intentionally lost that game.

∆Angels on the Moon- Thriving Ivory
√ Stunning beautiful. Give it a chance.

∆Sometime Around Midnight- the Airborne Toxic Event
√ Ditto. Captivates you from the beginning.

∆Lullaby- Shawn Mullins
√ Peaceful. Oldie. Smile-worthy.

∆Hotel California- the Eagles
√ Classic. Makes me wanna dance like they do in South America.

∆Something’s Missing- John Mayer
√ There is NO explanation. I’m a sucker for John Mayer.

∆My Hero- Paramore
√ Remake of Foo Fighters. I do like it. Trying to determine which version I like better.

∆I Got Mine- the Black Keys
√ Sounds perfectly like an oldie. It’s new. Check it out if you like classic rock…like, 60s-ish.

∆Scream- Avenged Sevenfold
√ Thank you James.

∆Magnetism- Landon Pigg
√ Check this guy out. He’s great. And this song…

∆Kiss Me- Sixpence None the Richer
√ NOT done by the Cranberries.

∆For You- Staind
√ Purely poetical with a hardcore core of music. Staind wins.

∆Feel Like Makin’ Love- Bad Company
√ Another classic. It’s a great tune, you can’t deny it.

∆Womanizer- Lily Allen
√ Can’t stop listening to it. Sure, it’s not as good to dance to as Britney’s…but I like it better to listen to.

∆Crawl- Kings of Leon
√ Kickass. Thanks Jordan.

∆Fortunate Son- Creedance Clearwater Revival
√ Only one of the best songs.

It’s scary really, having someone say things that you can’t even say aloud.

That you hold so dear inside you.

Things you don’t wanna believe, yet they creep up on you.

That mean the world, and feel as heavy as the world.

Heavier than the world. As heavy as a black hole in the middle of your chest.

That sucks in the feelings that you don’t wanna show.

But never gone. Always there. And showing up at the most inconvenient times.

And the most uneeded.

And as lifely as life can take.

All consuming. Bearing the soul. It is terrifying.

But truly exhilaratingly.

Ahhh, so we had huge storms yesterday. Power was knocked out until 3am this morning. Neighbouring city doesn’t have power still.

All I keep hearing is American Toad’s. I can’t wait to tell my Zoology teacher.

I have an essay due Tuesday and one due Wednesday.

My life had been updated.

And along with that, I figured I would share some photographs I have been taking.

© Please ask before using the pictures in any way.

I have to share this. 

When I was up in Alaska…I took a picture of the mountains and fjord. With the bridge.

A little joke to Sarah Palin.

What can I say?