Winning the Battle / Fighting the War

So I'm finally updating. Thank God for the merciful release of writers' block.
it's short, but CH I refused to be added to any further...

So, here goes nothing. Chapter one...

( it all began with one mistakenly penned letter... )

Geez, it just fucking figures.
15 years of my life have been spent with lucky Friday the 13ths... however you pluralize that.
Today, i totally forgot about the essay that was to be handed in today...

Well, screw me over and fuck me. I guess I had this coming.

ARGH ARGH ARGH.
*facepalm*

maybe, just maybe, i'm taking this too seriously. too personally.

i don't know what's wrong with me, and i don't know what sways me. who sways me.

i do know that this feeling is enough to get me to write like a man gutted - glutting all of those emotions and transfiguring them into the lovely, sharp black-and white little miracles that happen to be words... putting them onto the canvas that is blank computer screen, parchment, paper...

i just know that i'm hurting and hollow. the words in me, waiting to be formed into potential novels - they are constricting my attention span, consuming all rational thought, replacing lust and obsession and attraction.

Replacing latin words for doing and spanish words for having and french words for taking. they are characters and personalities created, personified, brought into existence without the essence of flesh and blood and jumbles of knotted chromosomes.

their only womb is my brain, their delivery nurses my hands, their entire lives and careers pass out and away and are translated through whatever medium is unfortunate - or fortunate - to reach me.

I rant. I am ranting. I do rant.

I am not appreciated in this manner.

nobody listens.
am i just tearing everyone down with my melodrama?
Fuck and most likely, yes.
you don't need to hear it.

but the slouch i'm in (body c-shaped with legs at right angles) does nothing for this feeling of being hollow...

attempt at writing in first person (or, since I am addressing "you", would that be second person?)

anyway.
here goes nothing.

( I never did get a chance to taste the Heretic wine that my father had bought earlier this week... )

So,
the girls at my school (Juniors, Seniors) are idiots.
no ring day 2011, apparently (drunk during school hours, vodka on campus, police escort, really?)
*sigh*
that is all.

i am officially addicted to facebook. someone take me to an internet rehab center, i'm shirking my responsibilities.

ugh. ugh ugh ugh.
i feel so sick.

apparently there are little goblins living in my head, and they mistook my forehead and sinuses for a gold mine, and are now currently hammering their damned relentless little ways against my nerves.

kill. me. now.

today is SO not a day meant for classes....
i'm off to go and find a good hole to pass out in now.
kthxbye.

I sneezed twice in abrupt succession in the middle of English class. I wonder which of my "friends" is talking smack about me now....
hahaha, not really. I just thought it was funny; whenever i sneeze i'm reminded of watching Japanese Anime and reading Manga where they say "if you sneeze once, someone is talking about you. If you sneeze twice, then someone's saying something bad about you."

Laughing for no reason in the middle of class is somewhat awkward. I hope everyone's used to it by now...

off to write more TWTMC.

so i'm sitting on the cold imitation-marble tiles of my bathroom floor, surrounded by black walls and two black and white bathroom mat/rug things..... don't really know why, but then again, the bathrooms in my house are the only rooms that have locks on their doors, if you don't count the doors leading to the outside world.
ugh, my head hurts something fierce. Neck is in pain, too. Geez, tense muscles... I'm feeling rather sick, but writing is coming along rather well...

Were i not so addicted to the computer I would definitely not be posting... looking at the screen is making my eyes feel like falling outta their sockets...

I'm off to write the first chapter of To Whom this May Concern.

this is from the story i'm attempting to write: To Whom this May Concern. Here's another of the letters that are integral to the story.
tell me what you think.

( To Whom This May Concern... ).

From a story I am attempting to write. It has seized me and is gripping my mind with all the tenacity of a starving, vicious dog... so here's just a fragment that demanded being written.
This is a part of a letter (letters being a big part of the story)

Working title for the entire story: "To Whom this May Concern"


( To Whom this May Concern... )

I need to start writing. and maybe start a quotes journal.
Here's a thought for the day:

I may live in a shack with no money, by I have a castle in the clouds and I'm a millionare in ideas- translated from La Boheme.

Midnight, he whispered softly.

I sat in weary vigilance,

(I call it paranoia.)

 

I would not fall asleep.

Not in his arms, not in

Anyone’s.

 

Whisper softly, says my mind to me.

Quietly,

Words of naïveté, words of …

…

 

Stop.  (don’t say it)

There went my heartbeat,

Drop that thought,

Do.

Follow that drum beat and

Act upon those little impulses that send

Shivers up your spine.

 

Awareness.

Of every bump and curve, stroke and line of

Blonde hair, of sky-and-clouds eyes,

Of bow-lipped smiles and

A body played in

L e g a t o .

Awareness

Of warmth to my cold, long fingers, calloused feet

(he runs barefoot through backyards)

 

Awareness

Of truthful lips

Unskilled, with a too-quick tempo for my own tasting

(But who am I to complain?)

 

Red bows unbitten and

Close, warm, speaking without words

(spill secrets against mine, I w h i s p e r

back

hesitantly)

 

Midnight, I acknowledged,

Nearly asleep in arms I rarely saw,

And seeing midnight in noontime eyes, (I know) I saw

Weariness wrought only from

Physical exertion.

 

(My eyes: brown.

Dark. Gritty, dirty, tired.

 

Always

 tired)

 

A sigh escaped (was it mine?)

And I hear hearts beatingbeating,

B e a t I n g …

Beating.

 

Pulse to lips, I’m wondering

What.

 

What would crimson look like,

Spread on your

Pale skin?(for all that he is

The sun,

He has moon

Skin)

 

Follow that drum beat to midnight impulses.

 

Alright, being sick, combined with a crashed computer is absolutely no fun at all whatsoever. ugh. So right now I'm recovering from a nasty cold, my cousin's computer is finally getting over its bout of viruses (no pun intended) and I'm back from an outreach missions trip that I did with my cousin's church (formerly my church). It was fun - we cleaned up the church we went to and we held a Vacation Bible School for the project kids in the surrounding area. due to the troubled nature of our surroundings, we weren't allowed outside after dark, and we couldn't wear bandannas. yeah... But it was a great experience.

We went to the beach on Wednesday (but thankfully, not the tourist-infested part) and I forgot to bring my bathing suit. But well... borrowed swim shorts work just fine, too (and if they're too big... well, there's a drawstring on them for a reason) the water was perfect, and there were sandpipers everywhere. A huge seagull flew down and landed right in front of me (he was practically posing) so I got to get some good rough sketches of him in my sketchbook.

that's all I have for now.
Ciao....

So, I'm sorting through my e-mail inbox, deleting junk mail when I see an email marked "sorry for another boring email..." for the subject. Turns out it's from my best friends and they plan on kidnapping me when they return from their vacation in Egypt. O_o. yeah.
*runs and hides*

literally, the e-mail reads: Oh btw me and Cat are planning on kidnapping you when you get back on the second. How was the beach and your day?

And that was all she wrote. Then my other best friend, Cat, is demanding that I write more of my story. I'm writing, I promised her... but by hand. perhaps I'll be able to transcribe the rest of it later today... this story is turning out to be longer than I anticipated. yikes.

And I read an ( awesome book today... )

you know that feeling when you're writing something, and you're trying to find your way over or around a certain conflict, and you're thinking, and thinking, and thinking...coming up with all the possible scenarios that could fit the conflict but don't, because the fit isn't quite perfect... And then suddenly, you run headfirst through the wall that is writer's block and find the solution?

Yes, well, I think I just had my "Ah ha" moment just now. I just hope my hand and pen can keep up with the speed of my brain.