How Did I Get Here? And Where Is Here?

How did we get here? On an old beaten path I stand among the whittled trees. Decaying sidewalks slowly engage my broken feet. How can I feel so alone, when I'm in a room filled with everyone I know? Where can I hide in darkness? How can I sleep in a city filled with light? Night becomes me as I run through the jungle of flashing neon lights; silently they scream warnings through the nightlife. Drowning the sand as another storm rumbles in. The lighting flash of photographs capture my disguised smile. Hello? Is anyone even listening? Here is my message, hidden in the distance. The twilight will show the words in the stars. Maybe then I will know how I got here, on this old beaten path, strangled by my fears and the past.

Inspiration: Send in the White Coats!

Inspiration is not a person, or a place. It is not a scene or a dreamscape. Inspiration is a feeling that transpires time and space and allows me to feel the pain, the happiness, and the sublime powers of life. My inspiration does not come from one person, it comes from many persons. It is not just a scene set before my eyes, it is my imagination. Now this may seem a little strange, but my most influential and inspirational persons are not people at all, but rather the characters of the book I am writing in my mind. The main character for this is Mya Jay. Through her eyes I can see a world that is so much different than my own. When I envision her, she is a heroine, a role model, a friend, and a screw up. She is my inspiration because she can travel through time and to distant lands if I ask her to. Her sarcasm is my own and her life is a story of constant change and turmoil. It can be so entertaining and “I LOVE IT!” Along with her there is James, the love of her life that no matter what he can heal my mind. With his eyes I feel safe and I have found the perfect man. He is the inspiration for the epic love stories that control my heart. So, my most inspirational persons are nothing but figments of my imagination, so I guess that person is me. Don’t send in the white coats, I swear I am not crazy, I am a movie, transformed into a person, meant to share the stories of life with you.

Cell Block Kea: Prisoner: 616

Silently I can hear the sound of the pacing guards. The constant flow of inmate doors is deafening. Click, clank the boots shuffle by, as the haunting eyes peer through the opaque Cedar doors. The metal bars entomb me as I sit and stare at the seeping white bricks that contain me in despair and disillusionment. I can feel the straight jacket of school work and chaos tighten and I am confined to the images of my mind. Through my eyes, the shadows move in the creeping hall light. The sounds of laughter from inmates echo through the row and the instantaneous ring of clanking bars consumes the essence of my ear drums. I am falling through the pits into a psychosis of inner battles. In the hidden tears I find hope dwindling down as the papers and people begin to stack up. A punishment for the innocent mind, lost to the ignorance of my own dreams, I fight the voices that tell me I can, and I sink. The shoes shuffle through the empty hall, as we are ghost in the hell bound shadows of death row. Tick tock, Time stands still, and the death pardon is too late. Collapsing underneath the pressure of my body, a shimmering ember flickers in the window breeze, and gently is snuffed into the abyss. Abused by the fear of teachers and the constant stress of life’s tremors, college life has become my house of horrors. Imprisoned by the state and lost within the system, I wait. Too many days to count till freedom and with each passing moment I am one step closer to my demise. Electricity will race through my studious mind, disguised as an elegant flow of information. But, secretly, I know that the shock of information is the colorment to my black and white photograph, as I lay dying on the uncomfortable cold hard bed of room 204. The prison of Eastern overwhelms my soul, forced to reside within the confines of row Kea, forever I will be inmate 616, lost in the untamable sea. Live though the crisis of the everyday confinements, until hope and peace surrounds you. Break free from the prison and plan your escape, or else death row silence will determine your fate.

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To Snooze or Not to Snooze: Is That a Real Question?

MMMM! SLEEP! Dreaming of the endless chores of everyday in a new and funny way makes life bearable. When I am sleeping, I see dogs talking, and people laughing, and I can FLY! But what is this nonsense. I am sleeping and all of the sudden, the nightmare begins. It starts off slow, and it creeps into my bones as I find myself falling into the endless pit of despair, and homework reason. Buzz, buzz, Buzz, BUzz, BUZz, BUZZ!!! What is this obnoxious feeling underneath my head? My eyes open suddenly, turning to see where I am and why my bed is shaking, and I realize: My alarm clock is the culprit. It has awoken me and sent me hurtling back into the world of reality and pain. It is almost time for class, and my alarm clock screams, it is time to get up, but I know better. It is not time to get up, thank Jesus, it’s time for… can you guess it? That’s right; we have a winner, the SNOOZE button. (Claps all around)
The alarm turns off and I slip out of reality again. Mountains of ice cream and hot fudge surround me. Chocolate falls from the heavens like rain and I open my mouth to taste. Then the earthquake starts again, and quickly I open my eyes for snooze number two. My eyes shut once more and I am dreaming once again of sleeping though my classes and just watching movies for the rest of the day. Sitting around eating Bon Bons, what a life! Alarm sounds again and it is time for snooze number three. This time, I am dreaming of walking in the woods. The sounds of nature overcome my mind and I hear the gentle song of the birds in a tune that sounds very much like the “Hallelujah” the Justin Timberlake version. A small smile begins to emerge on my face as I lie on the path that cuts through the beautiful treescape. Then once again my bed shakes. I found that I had hit rock bottom and then fell straight through to hell. And now I found myself drowning in my own wishing well. Praying for just one more hour of sleep, I throw open my eyes and greet the day. It turns out that it sleep is an escape from the world, but alarm clocks are the enlightenment that forces me to return to its destruction and mayhem. Just another day in college paradise, and now I can day dream through the rest of my life. I get up and the routine begins, living in a dream would be bliss, so snooze a bit, you’ll never know what scenes lie just behind your closed tired eyes. Sweet dreams!

Once Upon a Time in a Land "far" from Nightmares.

We are told to write a story. And most people begin by saying, “Once upon a time in a land far away…” But why do we as a whole start each story somewhere distant. I know my answer to this question, and it took me until college to realize why every fairytale starts with the same intro; because the grass is always greener in a land far away. Childhood is an era of ignorance and I would give anything to return to that sense of bliss. But, instead each morning I wake to find another day past, another year of work lost within the endless nightmare that each student is living through, each time their eyes greet the day. Although on the outside the porcelain faces of the dolls seem perfect and the castle is like a decadent figment of your imagination that has suddenly appeared before your eyes. But, all to quickly the fairy dust dwindles away and soon you are left with nothing but an empty room and a sky filled with grey scaled lines of fire. Wishing for the rain to wash away the pains of life, I stumble through the doorways to each classroom. One step, through the endless dreamscapes of our daydream nightmares becomes reality and I am left here in these trials. This is my own fairytale. See through eyes, never cry, they never hide, and they never shine. Even though life may seem like a “Nightmare on Elm Street” rerun, keep the faith, by and by we will all get by, one step at a time.

Funny With a Class of Goof Balls

Heads turn and eyes role, and the battle has begun. Yes, that epic battle of “Star Wars” verses the “Lord of the Rings.” At fist a gentle whisper that was wisped between two friends had lead to the battle that thus brought the class crashing to the end. The terms were thrown, as each character was being dethroned. This beats that and that beats this, and so on, the class went on. The two friends torn in two like the fragile film upon it frame is built. As the professor tries to gain control the argument continues in silent glares and inferred gestures, and gradually it gains momentum. Small burst disrupt the reviews, it’s just like Hollywood to disrupt our daily lives with its opinions. By the end of class each participant in the rant seems to want to add two more cents and we all evacuate the premises, praying not to get captured by the select few still holding their swords/ light sabers. All I can say is, the professor said she wanted this to be a discussion class, but I don’t think that this was what she had in mind, so be careful or you may get what you ask for.

Words Are Art

Art is a part of life. It explains the disillusioned minds that overrule the judgments of a controlling society. It oversteps the boundaries in strokes that cause life to be more than just an essence; it turns it into a vision. Time stands still as papers fly by, one by one, they soar into the oblivious world never to be seen or read by anyone. Brilliance is lost among the words that had once been sung in lyrics of poets and dreamers. Shadows fade, hearts turn to brittle stone, and soon the world is consumed by an ash filled rubble of an ignorant generation. Tick tock, the gator is gainning speed and each step I take seems to be one step closer to someone I will never meet. Hold steady, here it comes, the wave that may consume this college zombie life that we all wallow through each day. Life is just another coffee, another storm, just another day of living the infamous dream. Living lies that never seem true, plagued by dishonorable truths of the media’s news. Constant war and stress and work, how can I pay for something that has no worth? Life is slipping by, each word I write is lost, it is gone, but not forgotten, because when the words that I need most appear I know that they are always here. Write each paper not as an assignment, but as a story, because slowly each of those papers becomes another chapter in your own story, so tell it well.