Sunday, March 27, 2011
So guys first on the agenda is our members are taking a universal break on the blog for spring break, so there will only be one post from yours truly in the next week. However, the good news is that it will have to do with Pieces, so that should give you some incentive to return this upcoming Friday. As for today though, I would like show you the new opening for Pieces! Enjoy!
High School. Some call it the best point of your life. Others call it the toughest point. The remaining people are in-between however. What’s grand about this is none of them are wrong. Everyone point of view is technically right in their own way, because every man’s story is different. Everyone has a story, something that defines each individual: Their flaws, strengths, burdens and trails. There may be stories that are alike but never the same.
Nevertheless, the problem is many of these stories go untold, because Hollywood either ruins them or they are deemed unworthy of telling. The kid who gets his story in the papers in class is usually that athlete who came from nothing to become an All-American, and every now and then it’s about that kid beating all the odds. Rarely though have they been about that kid who would stay up past midnight working writing poems for that girl who would never acknowledge his presence, that girl who is forced to hold an image due to the fact girls are so selective about their friends, or that “creeper” boy who is honestly too nice for his own good. No, they always end up finding someone else or end up accepted in life. Yet, how many stories are about the person with no “excitement” to his/her life? About a life where happy endings are as rare as a decent live concert? Very close to none. Why? Because they’re boring, or maybe just the wrong person is telling the story.
You see good stories are made-up, but great stories can’t be scripted. The best writers in this world are the ones who can find these stories. They can take any person and turn their life story into a bestseller. Just like the true best chefs’ meals wouldn’t require any spice to the dish, a true great story wouldn’t require any fiction flare or extensive diction to go with it. For you see, I wish to write about those people no one seems to remember. I want to tell stories, not write them. In that sense, my characters are telling the stories, and gives life to every word I write down.
The best part about it is those pieces win Pulitzers as well.
How'd you like it? It's just your first sample. ;) Come back Friday for another special piece. Until, remember to express your thoughts clearly and always put life into words.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Hey guys it's me, Quinton at your service! I have finally returned from hiatus. XD How long has been? I last posted on Feburary 12th, so it has been over a month since I last posted. :O Nevertheless, I'm back and I have a lot of news for ya. First off, Pieces hit a major plot road-block, as I simply don't feel the story is on track anymore. So, I'm rewriting it from top to bottom. O.o It's going to be a chore, but it will make the story flow much better. However, with that said, I can actually afford to start Lacrime, which may be fully finished before Pieces is. If you would have told me that was going to happen a few months ago I would have laughed at you.
I apologize to all of you who have been looking forward to Pieces, but I must respectfully ask that you wait a while longer. I swore the finished project will be the best thing you'll ever read, you can count on it. ;) In other news however, I wouldn't leave you without something to satisfy your senses. So here are two poems I have written in my abense, and check back sunday for another treat as well. So here are "Denial" and "Hello" in respective order:
How glad I am,
That I never finished that race,
So that gold could never be mine.
It’d just be hanging up,
On some bust,
Rusting and rusting away.
Oh how I say that,
Year upon year.
I’m so thrilled,
That I never matched up,
To the greatest musicians out there.
It wouldn’t have worked,
No one I knew would show up,
And my life would be one big solo.
This I would say,
Month after month,
Hoping the truth it’d replace.
But I’m so joyful,
That I never got to
Write my own books.
It’s a tough career,
Unlike these gears,
That I replace day to day.
And week to week,
This lie I would speak,
Hoping it’d make
But none of this denial,
Will ever compare
To the day-to-day battle,
That your love I can live without.
Hello pretty brunette.
Are you alone?
Why is that?
Who are you waiting for?
Who could deny that smile?
A small grin it is,
But can be felt a few light years away.
Who wouldn’t double take at those eyes?
A Gentle brown,
Rare as a decent live concert.
How could anyone miss that style?
Where clothing lacks color,
Your personality is full of it.
How would anyone live without that giggle?
Cute and sweet,
And ever so embracing.
Tell me lonely brunette.
Who are you waiting for?
Why you’re waiting on that boy,
Admiring you from the backseat.
How do you like them? These were written for a girl named Aulene, a good friend of mine at my school who may never get to read them... but that is the life of a poet no? Remember, we post your stories as well giving you all the credit. Just mailto:email@example.com to get it up there. Remember to check back Sunday for a special treat as well.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Birthdays are happy right? Well mine is. I got a new phone. My parents bought me flowers. And I get to pick dinner tomorrow... now if I only knew what I wanted......
Anyway, today's post is somewhat relevant to age in an almost roundabout way. Did you get that? I kinda didn't.
So here is today's wonderfully untitled post about shadows....Oh! thats going to be the title! Shadows. It is no longer wonderfully untitled but instead is wonderfully titled.
Have you ever looked at your shadow and instead of seeing just a shadow you see yourself, when you were six. The scrunched shadow close to noon is about the height you would've been. Or even the elongated shadow as evening approaches could be you imagining yourself taller. Maybe you were running to catch something caught in the wind and something possessed you to glance to the side and you saw your shape running along side and it looked just the same as when you were eight and you did the same.
Through everything that changes, through time, age, life, change in sense of style, through the hair cuts, the piercings, and the scars, one thing never changes. And that one thing, is always right next to you. Sometimes it's six feet tall. Other times it's only mere centimeters.But it's always there. Always. It never leaves. You never can get rid of it. It never changes. It is exactly the same as when you were younger and it will be exactly the same when you are older. It is called a shadow and it is always with you.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Call me a profit, a demon. Still, if you wish, crucify me for the terrible dreams given to my mind as I lay my head upon the clouds at night. All I see is you, the truth behind you and who you are. So call me whatever, kill me whenever. See though that my mind is torn. All I seek is the peace that your violence brings.
This result is none other than a creation of a Twitter account to share the random thoughts and sayings that run through my mind. (Think of it as short but frequent bursts of poetry.) So, if anyone is into the whole "Twitter" thing, be sure to find and follow me (@Alex_Arlington).
Fate drives me.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
It is a decision that I wish was not necessary, I am going to have to put the story on hiatus for as long as it takes my mind to filter out all that is wrong.
In the place of the weekly story, I will be posting simple poems. Again, I apologize to everyone and hope that there's enough patience to go around to wait for my mind to settle.
I stare at these blank walls
watchiing as poets turn to demons
and my demons turn to nightmares
I realize all the things that I could have done
to save you
and not misbehave...
to be a gentlemen
and not give up on you...
I can't believe
how fast your life did end
and how quickly from your side they sent me
There can be multiple answers
yet none thrill me as much
as you had when I held you so tenderly
kept you by my side
like the beautiful soul I knew you were
I've lost myself
I've lost you
and there's nothing more that I can say
Fate drives me.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Have you ever said something to someone out of anger, and instantly wished you hadn't? If so, did you apologize? Did they accept your apology or make it seem that it didn't matter if you were sorry? I would love to hear about how other people have dealt with situations like this.
I am sorry that we met too late,
that we began with little time.
I am sorry that things went so fast,
I didn’t realize how quick or hard I would fall.
I lost myself in the excitement of love.
Blinded by intense emotions, I didn’t see
that you were lost in worry, and not anything affectionate.
I did a lot wrong, but so did you.
It wasn’t fair for me to start a relationship,
with a termination date.
It wasn’t right for you to hide your feelings,
or refuse to communicate when things were wrong.
All the things that I said to you, I wish I could take them back.
I should have known that we’d crash and burn.
I’m not the kind of girl to act on impulse,
but when it came to you it was all I was able to do.
I believe we were meant to fail from our beginning.
I am sorry to have lost your friendship,
or that I miss you.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Okay time for my new poem of the day! Its just a little something about realizations in life. Please enjoy ;)
Coming to Terms
Slowly coming to terms with my life
How meaningless it is.
Slowly coming to terms with my work
I've really done nothing yet.
Slowly coming to terms with my existence
I do not belong here.
Slowly, I am coming to terms
with the world
and yet nothing.
Slowly, as I am coming to terms
I find myself
into the background,
the backdrop of life.
I see myself
accomplished in my age
But where does it lead me?
I shall fade with time.
No, I won't be Bill Gates
or the inventor of a telephone.
Send me back to Einstein's age
and I will be as much help to him
as I am to a dead man.
Edison wouldn't benefit
from knowledge that I have.
And I surely cannot write
better than Hemingway or Poe
No, my name
will not go down
in the history books.
My impact on the world
will be limited:
personal relations at best.
I am coming to terms.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Let me know what you think!!
The waters arise.
scorching flames are ablaze.
I slowly lift my eyes.
the enemies are not phased.
I reach for my sword, as the killer drew near.
I stared him in his eyes, and he stared into my fear.
I cried for aid, as he struck me with his blade.
Cutting me down, for no purpose but that he just enjoyed the sound.
The torture went on for what felt like days.
my heart raced and my vision became a haze.
sunlight crept through the clouds.
the enemy stood as one mighty crowd.
the ground dyed red, with the stain of blood
from believers fighting for their freedom, fighting for love.
a fury, a flash, came upon the scene.
the light it clashed with the monsters, and fiend.
the power of God struck down through time
saved a heart like yours, and like mine.
I was undeserving, a hero undefined.
thus he became a savior, he's the hero in my mind.
Like I said I'd love to hear your opinions.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Tired of These Fears
I'm tired of these fears
Tired of hiding my tears
I'm not ready for the world
Not ready for harsh realities.
So much is out there
So much to be done
Yet I'm still lost
somewhere in the churning stream
People come, People go
but I always stay, alone
among burning bridges,
among hurricanes and falsehoods
Where am I to go?