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A collection of Art

G. E. B.

11/18/05 10:48 pm

It’s anyone’s guess,
What comes up next.
Deep inside me, there is
Cold. Colder than the oceans or seas.
Colder than your breath
When you’ve been talking that trash.
Tomorrow we’ll dance
Always tomorrow.

Beneath my feet there is no surface,
Cracked pavement gives way to empty promises.
Can’t we just sit still sometimes?
Normal is happiness.
Without it, we’re here.

Be it light outside or dark,
It doesn’t really matter much.
I still can’t see past my nose.
But you never could either.
When it all clears up,
Will the sky be blue?

11/18/05 09:52 pm

This exercise was to write a fragment of a story. Write it entirely in imparative commands. I think it was supposed to be 500 words, but this is about 300. Oh well. ^_^

Use your brain every once in a while. Don’t use it just for thinking about your next meal. Don’t use it just for convincing that girl in your life to stay with you. Actually be productive with your mind!! Learn something new every day! Don’t forget that 80% of information that slips through the cracks. Use it to your advantage! Turn that information into a willingness to get up and do what needs done. Recognize when you are slipping behind and fix it! Use your mind; otherwise you’ll lose it eventually.

Go forth and try to not only change and better your own life, but change other’s lives as well! Impose on other people a strong sense of self worth and pride. Make them desire to follow on the same path you’re walking down. Be the person they’ve always strived to be. Be a role model!

Don’t slack on anything. Complete all the tasks at hand. Be happy while doing it! Don’t bemoan the fact that you could be out doing other things. Remember that that kind of thinking leads to ‘the grass is always greener’ syndrome.

Put your pants on one leg at a time. Don’t look forward into the future too far, planning things before you’ve finished what’s on your plate already. Don’t worry about things that may or may not occur in the future; worry about the here an now. Otherwise you’ll never make it to the future anyway!

Become the person you are destined to be. Don’t care what others think. Do listen to their advice because they may have something wise to say. But don’t, no matter what you do, become someone you’re not just because someone else says you would be better that way. Change, but do it for you.

11/17/05 11:55 pm - A little assignment, but still rather nice, I think.

I recently picked up the book, The 3A.M. Epiphany. I'm really enjoying it, even though I've only done one excercise out of it. The exercise was set up as this: Write a first-person narrative in which you use only two first-person pronouns, but keep the 'I' somehow important to the story you're telling.
I suppose this was the best I could come up with. It's not really a story, more a casual observation. Oh, and it was supposed to be 600 words long, but I fell short by 95. Oh well, close enough, eh? ^_^ Enjoy.

The trees are now shedding their leaves. Gold ones, red and brown ones, even a few mottled green and yellow fall from lofty boughs to the ground. They are beautiful in their decent to earth. I always think of lazy butterflies when watching them. This change of seasons has been good, if not slightly abnormal. The temperature is very warm for pre-winter. For days now, at the hottest point in the day it’s risen slightly above seventy-five degrees.

The lady next door, in the light blue painted house, remarked on the day’s heat. She stood there, earlier today, leaning up against her navy blue VW Beatle, gabbing on about last year’s winter. By this time, it should be barely over sixty outside. Though the climate is hardly unbearable, compared to other locale’s temperatures. Snow would definitely not be a welcome guest in this neighborhood, so I don’t know why she complains.

She continued to talk, gossiping about the various neighbors. Val, the other side neighbor, she’s lived on this block 30 years, same as Shirley, the woman leaning up against the Bug, prattling on. Her son grew up with Val’s daughter. She mentioned something about naked tricycle pictures that embarrass the two offspring.

There is a couple living right across from Shirley that is pretty odd, apparently. Their grandchildren live with them, and not their remarkably young daughter. Shirley seemed aghast at the fact that the daughter was pregnant at the age of seventeen. But luckily, she was no prude. Earlier in the conversation, she threw out more fucks, shits and bitches than your average sixty year old retiree.

She is a funny old broad. Her short, blonde tinted hair was in spikes today, held fast with styling cream, to be sure. It wasn’t noticeable before today, but she sports a nice set of cherry red nails. She proclaimed loudly that they were her own, adding in a few click-clacks as she proudly showed them off. As mentioned before, she owns a new VW Beatle, her pride and joy. After taking a ride in the vehicle with her, she told the story of how she acquired it. It wasn’t very interesting, compared to the rest of her tales.

All in all, Shirley is a very stand-offish lady; a hep-grandmother, to be particular. Her eyes and ears are always open, but she’s not really the ‘neighborhood spy’ type. That role, according to her, is taken by the old lady a door down from Val. Do all women turn into these funny little busybodies once they reach old age? This street seems to be filled with them.

Even though the weather is so lovely these days, I truly cannot wait for it to turn colder. Then newly knitted scarves and sweaters will be adorned and worn lovingly. It was sad to forsake those keepsake crafts so long due to the near unbearable heat of Tucson. This change has been for the better in many ways; the friendly, family-like neighborhood, the beautiful California climate. This is home.

10/31/05 01:22 am

Christine puts on her make-up in front of the mirror.
Black eyeliner and coral gloss.
Her hair is teased into the perfect shape.
The black locks fall like silk curtains.
Her clothes are tailored to perfection.
They hide her hated love handles.

She is ready.
Poised and primped.
He'll be here any minute.

She smoothes out her silk skirt, trying to hide the few wrinkles at the hem.
She spots him.
He walks with a grace known only to the stars.
Down the street he saunters.

She sets out, her high heels clack noisily on the pavement.
Her heart strikes in rhythm to her steps.
They meet.

And pass just as fast.

He turns into his office building.
She? She enters her favorite café.

Perhaps tomorrow she'll actually wave.

10/28/05 11:04 pm - Stream of consciousness gone awry.

The words don’t really want to flow tonight, but I am definitely not stopping them. They are swimming around my grey matter, tickling my senses, just dying to get out. That’s a funny thought. Ifs, ands and buts leaking out of my ears. I’m laughing now at that. Flow of consciousness is a hard thing when you’re constantly being interrupted. If only the interruptions were controllable. Some of them are. But I wish not to bother with them. The telly sits in the corner of the room, blasting some godforsaken show in an elevated volume for no reason. But ahh…I feel so comfortable with those homely cartoon voices speaking to me. It makes me feel not quite as alone as I am now. This emptiness is smothering. The hole inside me is so big, so massively gaping in my heart…yet I feel a pressure pushing down on me. It hits my head with a force unknown to me, causing me to droop my head in sorrow. My shoulders hunch and press together as if I’ve been bound by a straight-jacket. The cold metal shackles and buckles of worry and paranoia poke mercilessly into my sides and back every once in a while, reminding me of how truly cloistered I am. I even feel like I have a Scold’s Bridal over my head. It presses down over my tongue, gagging me and piercing my sensitive flesh, keeping me from expressing myself. I am being bound by my own mental processes. I am doing this to myself. I am causing this sense of unease in myself. This paranoia…this loneliness. I feel I’m all alone in the world. I have no one to share my successes with. Not that I necessarily want that. In all honesty, I could do without a partner. But, it’s nice to have friends that can share your triumphs. Friends who can comfort you when you’re down, friends who know just how to pick you up and make you feel wanted. I don’t have that anymore. Not that it matters at all. And not that there is anything I can do about it. I cannot go back to where I’ve been. I can’t go forward yet because there is no forward to go to. Of course there will be in a bit. But not yet. Not until we move in. Ahh, moving in…we’ll get all our boxes dropped off at the new house. Even more worries arise at that thought. What if something was damaged? What if my G4 is gone. I’ve been relying so heavily on the thought that my G4 will be waiting there for me when I come home. Waiting for me to create! CREATE!! Why can’t I do that here…now? What’s wrong with drawing? What’s wrong with waking up early so that I can go out to the park, the wonderful park, and sketch for hours on end. WHY do I have NO desires for anything? Why can’t I push myself into going to the gym? If I go to the gym I’ll feel much more like leaving the house because I won’t look as hideous, and if I don’t look as hideous I’ll actually be desireable. In more ways than one. I’ll actually get an acting/singing job, I’ll be able to do my life’s passions. But what are my life’s true passions? I’m not sure yet. I want to major in more things than I can count on two hands. Why must I be cursed with this sense of unsatisfaction? I love making up words. I think I’ve crafted about 5 words throughout this whole rant. But you know what? I don’t care. I don’t care that I’ve made more grammatical mistakes than my normal self would be able to stomach. I’m going to post this anyway without even rereading it. Otherwise everything that’s been spewing from my fingers won’t be valid. They will be looked over, pruned through. They won’t be what I meant in the moment. I wanted to post this in my art journal…but now I’m not so sure. Only because I want this to be read…but no one has friended my art journal. Perhaps I’ll cross post until everyone wanders over to the other one. I’ve hit the end of my stream of consciousness…and it’s subsiding quickly. What else is there to say other than I’m depressed? I’m lonely out here. I don’t know what’s going on in my life other than accursed World of Warcraft. Fuck that shit. I never want to play it ever again. All I want to do is have fun…have fun and get into the music scene around here. Get into the art scene, the performance art scene. I WANT TO LIVE!! And I’m not living now. I’m dying at a fast rate. I feel rotten on the inside. I need sleep…I need a life. I will attempt to break away from this horrible cyclical life I live now…it’s not healthy. I want to be healthy. I don’t want to be someone everyone pities. ‘Oh…look at her…she frowns too much. She looks like a bloated marmoset. Her hair is disgusting. She needs a makeover.’

I don’t want to be a Carrie!! But I feel like ruthlessly slaughtering all the ones in my past who have ever thought those kinds of things about me.

I must stop. I’m depressing myself all over again…and I’m rather tired. My brain wants to stop working…so I will let it rest.

10/9/05 02:59 am

It's late. But not too late.
I toss back my hair in anticipation.
I glide my hands over a ball, rolling it in my palm slowly. I gradually gain speed.
My partner next to me moans. He knows it'll be over soon.
I giggle softly. I know all the right buttons to push.
I work the ball like a pro. He comments on my performance.
I push myself forward. I touch the right spot.
It shoots. Little white bullets, fast but one at a time. They all hit the target.
Game over.


"You beat my record! That was one of the best games of Centipede I've ever seen. You're amazing!"
I just smile coyly. "I know..."
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