Life As We Know It

is changing

and fast!

one of these days, we are all going to

fall

right

off

the

edge

of

the

world

Oh?

What's that you say?
The world doesn't have an edge?

PREPOSTEROUS!

Crazy! Loony! NUTSO! Positively senseless!

You young people.... next you'll be telling me that our world is round, like a ball.
Hmmm?
What's that?
Oh, the earth is round like a ball now, it is?
I thought so.
I'm telepathic you see.
Next, you'll be telling me that the universe doesn't revolve around our planet, and that my great, great grandfather was a monkey.

RIDICULOUS!

What are you people thinking?

I like my world. It's tangible. It's close, like the burrow of a mouse. My life is comfortable, I like things the way they are.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Who in God's name gave you the right to tell me who I should be? The right to tell me how to live my life? The right to take away my comforting, perfect reality? I'm not having it, I tell you, I'm not having any of it.

So here I am

just staring up at the ceiling

as if there was never anything better to do

and there isn't

not really

I have homework to finish
a room to clean
friends to phone
a test or two to study for

nothing to do

I guess it's all part of being a teenager
you live life feeling as though you have no purpose
then you graduate and go to university
and somewhere down the line

poof! purpose!

it just falls out of the sky and into your hands

just like that

suddenly the world seems to be a much brighter place

but it's not really like that, life isn't that simple

but we wish it was

and
so
we
pretend

telling ourselves

that
it

is.

Time For A Different Kind of Post

Well, with no followers and no friends to ask to read my blog, I might just stop writing... But I'm enjoying myself a little and thus far my blog has been a way to get a little tension off my back. I just don't know how I feel about it being visible to the whole wide world of internet users. After all, everything I write has a little piece of me tucked inside of it, and so I wind up feeling a little vulnerable.
Writing my heart out is certainly not an option.
And it's not doing much for my lackluster sense of self-confidence.
So, long story written up in short, I might just end my blog. It's not exactly my thing, and in case anyone hasn't noticed, I haven't managed to post once a week. Not at all.
So I might take up photojournalism. In fact, that sounds like a great plan, with only one minor flaw: I'm not so great a photographer.
In the end, I'm pretty sure I'll keep the blog. I am on the whole a rather indecisive person, and generally speaking that means that once I start doing something I continue doing it. Something in this case being keeping up a blog.
So, yes, I'll continue. I suppose.

....
....
I suppose.

Blue Moon Jazz-dancer

A solitary figure walked down the street. In one hand he held a large black case, in the other, a cigar. He walked with a spring in has step, his head held high, whistling a jaunty tune. The man's fedora cast a shadow on his face, ensuring that none of his features were visible. Had anyone been able to see past the brim of his hat, they would have seen a flawless, symetrical face, with sharp, observant eyes. The face of a wanted man. Jerry Jones.
Jones raised his cigar to his mouth and took a long drag, blowing the smoke away into the night. As he did this, his sleeve fell back, revealing a golden watch, striking in comparison to his jet black skin. As the sleeve slid further, a scar appeared. Rounded and crossed, one could just faintly make out the letters BJ. A slave branding.
Jerry Jones walked down the street and out of sight. The blue moon watched him go.

------

At precisely three A.M. Mary Malone awoke to the sound of rocks hitting her window.
"What do you want?" She yelled out, peering into the darkness. A pause. "Jerry?"
And then, "Come on Mary, you know you want to."
"You're a crazy man Jones, they're offering nearly four hundred dollars for you now, you hear? I can't be seen with you."
"Aw, come on Mary, don't be like that. Come on out. We got some fiddles and my sax, all we need is a dancer."
"I told you Jones, not any more. If my mama knew what I was up to....." Mary's voice trailed off. She'd go and die all over again, that's what.
"Your mama's gone, girl." Jones whispered, "And she'd want you to have a little fun. I knew her better than you did. let's go."
Mary frowned. Nothing was clear any more. But she wanted to go. So bad. "Hang on a moment, I'll be down."
"That's my girl."

------

An hour later, with her lipstic done and a dress on, Mary Malone walked into the Blue Moon Cafe, Jerry Jones was at her side. Beside him walked a tall man, he carried a violin case.

"Relax Mary, none of the guys here would turn me in. We're all friends."

"There's a price on your head Jones, a bigger one than any. Men kill for money like that."

"True, but they won't turn me in. I'm too good for that."

Applause sounded as the trio walked up to the stage. The announcer called their names, and cheers errupted from the audience. Everyone loved Jones, he was a favorite, a hero. Mary sighed, Jerry was right. No one would ever turn him in.

Letting the crowd's enthusiasm swell within her, Mary bannished her fears to the back corner of her mind. Tommorow she would worry, tonight she would dance.

Buffalo gals won't ya come out to-night, come out to-night, come out to-night

Buffalo gals won't you come out to-night and we'll dance by the light of the moon

I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking

And her knees was a-knockin'

and her shoes was a'rockin'

I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking

And we danced by the light of the moon.

Hello My Name Is Sand

Once upon a merry-go round,
I had a cup of tea.
The sky was laced with poison,
I dreamed that you loved me.

My brother fell off his rocking horse,
The Platypus lost his head.
My best friend is a flying squirrel,
Who wears his wings to bed.

A flower dances plainly,
Upon the windowsill.
The sky is a laughing man,
Who is yet crying still.

Your eyes are made of treacle,
You dream of pizza pies.
The world is like a beach ball,
Which wears a pink disguise.

The malt shakes and the sugar pills,
Are walking hand in hand.
I close my eyes and touch the sun,
Hello my name is Sand.

Time To Go

"You can't make me go Mama, you just can't." Cindy yells as she walks out the door. "I don't want to go. All the other girls hate me, you should see them Mama! They're beautiful and smart and skinny, rich and white. Everything we're not. Everything I'll never be. I'm not going!"
"Oh yes you are." Mama says, "I saved up to send you to a respectable school with good teachers who will teach you what you need to know. No child of mine refuses a good education. Don't you do this to me, not now, not after..." Mama's voice trails of, as if she can't say what she needs to. She pushes Cindy's lunchbox into her hands and lifts her onto the bus. "Now go, have a nice day."
Mama should be smiling, like she does when she takes me to school, but she isn't. Tears are shining in her eyes. She turns to look at me, but it's like her eyes don't see anything, like she's looking through me. Then she walks into the house.
Mama doesn't hold the door open for me. She just walks inside and sits down at the table. Then she holds her head in her hands and cries, the tears splashing onto the table cloth.
'Mama,' I say 'Mama, don't cry, you'll ruin your best table cloth. The one that daddy gave to you.'
But she doesn't hear me. So I walk over to where she is sitting. I put one of my small, dark hands on her hair.
'Mama,' I whisper, stroking her hair, 'Mama, don't cry, you don't need to cry anymore. I'm here for you.'
But she doesn't pull me up onto her lap the way she normally would, she doesn't even look at me with her warm brown eyes. She just turns the other way. She walks to the small medicine cabinet and pulls out a cigar. Once it is lit, I try to talk to her again. Mama is always more happy when she has a cigar.
'Mama.' I whisper, 'Mama, what's wrong?'
I walk to her and reach up to put my arms around her. They still don't wrap all the way round her tummy. She doesn't hug me back.
I stroke her arms, and reach up to touch her cheek, but Mama looks the other way, out the window and at the gray rain. She walks to the rocking chair and sits down. Rocking back and forth, back and forth singing a song that she sings when she tucks me in at night.
'Mama,' I say softly, 'When I'm old enough to go to school, I'll go wherever you tell me to. And I won't get mad at you. I'll be a good son. I'll make you happy, Mama, I promise I will.'
But Mama doesn't stop singing. She just closes her eyes and rocks back and forth back and forth. When the song ends, another tear rolls down her cheek.
"My baby," she whispers, "Oh my Antony, my sweet, precious child. What will I do without you?"
'Mama?' I cry, 'Mama, what do you mean 'without me?' Mama, I'm right here, I'll never leave you! Never!'
"But you're not here." A rich voice says from behind me. A tall man is standing there, his arms are open wide. He smiles at me. "It's time to go Antony, it's time for you to leave. This isn't the place for you anymore."
'Then where is the place for me mister?' I ask. 'Where are you taking me, I want to stay with my Mama. I have to protect her, see?'
"I'll make you a deal," The man says, smiling. "I'll stay here to protect your mama, and you can go on ahead of me. And when the time comes for her to join us. I'll bring her safely to you."
'But where am I going?' I say, 'I can't go somewhere I don't know.'
"But you do know Antony." The man smiles again, his smile is comforting, "everybody knows. It's time Antony. Time for you to go to Jesus."
'Can I say goodbye?'
"Take your time."
I walk over to Mama, and reach my hands up to give her one last hug. My arms still don't wrap all the way round her tummy, and now, they never will.

The Blog Concept.

Well, this blogging thing isn't going as well as I'd hoped. But, as with all aspects of my life, I am determined not to give up on this blog. From here on out I am going to post one short story or poem a week. No matter what, I solemnly vow to post. (Unless I get run over, my computer crashes, the sky starts raining dairy trucks, or the world ends, etc.) Nothing, not my mother, not my homework, not my messy room, nor my need to use the necessary will get in the way of my blog. (Save the previously mentioned trials.) You can hold me accountable. I mean it. You can expect to see my next post by tomorrow.

A More Or Less New Idea.

The title is a little misleading. My idea isn't new, it's more like.... recycled. I've decided to quit posting random nothings about my life, and will now commence to post random nothings about some other people's lives. Actually, I'm more likely to just post random stuff that I've written and have decided is worth reading. Like poetry and free verse-ish stuff. Maybe a few short stories. And if anyone happens upon my blog and feels the need to give me feedback, that would be great! So... yeah. My posts should start coming soon.
TTFN

Before Photography

So here it is, my second post. Lame, I know, but it will have to do. I use a computer in Photography class, so occasionally I'll get a chance to check or post on my blog. I'm not so sure about the photography thing, I'm not the best with a camera. But I'll have to deal with it, Photography was the only elective I could get in the block I needed it in. I actually have nothing more to say. Isn't that sad? But I needed a way to pass the time, and I checked my email before leaving home this morning..... and... oh wait, the teacher is calling the roll: time for Photography! :S

This whole... blogging thing.

I have to be honest about it, I gave up on blogging years ago. I can try again and again to reliably publish posts, but it never works. I can't even keep a normal journal. But now, I think I'll try.
On second though, I know I'll try. I want to. I feel like puting a part of my heart out so that everyone in the world can see it. I'm sick of hiding myself behind a sheet of glass that marks where I end and where everything else begins. It's time for me to be a little stupid, a little off-beat, a little different, a little bit more like me. So make like those folks in the lion king: and be prepared! ^v^