My Dear TomTom

Assignment: Write about a Christmas gift you received.

Constantly spying, it follows me. My every location is instantly known. The only game I can play with this scrutinizing being is "hide and don't seek," in which you travel aimlessly in futile attempts to drive it crazy and lose track of your current whereabouts. Usually, the only way to win this game is to press the power button.
Deep down inside, I know that when I ignore its commands to "turn right after 400 feet," it is secretly crying and gnashing its little electronic teeth in anguish. "Oh stupid, pathetic human! Why won't you follow my every command? How could you be so sure of yourself, when only I know where you're going, while you do not?!"
Fortunately for me, I can mute it whenever I want, looking at the glowing screen at my own leisure, and only when I'm quite sure I am lost and need its divine guidance from the heavens. I am certain that this poor creature is silently weeping, because as it comes up with new and innovative ways to rescue me from certain doom, I reach over and power it down. I wonder if that's how God feels?

Alone

Alone doesn't mean "not with other people."
I have experienced alone.
Alone is when you are utterly isolated in mind and soul.
Alone is like an oceanless beach, dry and safe,
but without danger, what is "safe"?
When you are alone in body, you can dance and be yourself.
It's only when the others arrive that you hole yourself away
where you can hide in plain sight.
Some have wondered what the weight of the soul is.
Alone can give you that answer.
It is as large-heavy-dense as you need it to be in order to escape.
Alone is not bad.
It is you as you know yourself.
It doesn't mean "no friends".
It can mean no peers.
It can mean retreating until you feel
you can share who you are.
Alone is reached by yourself,
an independent achievement.
Alone is okay.

What's a guy to do?

POV: Caring guy with new girlfriend.

Well, today started out like any other day. I woke up, had some coffee, took a shower, and went out for a walk to calm my nerves.
Today was not normal, however.
Today, I was to meet my girlfriend's mother.
I was too jittery from the coffee to sit and watch TV, but too anxious to take another walk. Instead, I tried to pick out my clothes to wear for the visit. Casual? Business? Business-casual? I didn't want to be seen as a bum, nor did I want to be all tuxed up and ready to go.
At 1:00pm, the doorbell rang. It was my girlfriend.
"What the hell are you doing?!" she roared, "You were supposed to meet me and Mom for lunch at 12!"
"B-But-"
"C'mon!" She growled as she dragged me out the door.
When we arrived at her mother's purple-shuttered, daisy-gardened house my shoes came untied.
First I tied the Converse, then I tied the Aldo. All gussied up...
Suddenly, the front door swung wide open with a bang! "Well, hello dears..."
Why, her mother was a nice lady! "Come in, come in," she said sweetly. My girlfriend (ignoring my choice of clothing) walked right in. All I could do was saunter in apologetically and take the proferred armchair. Mother-dear poured us all a glass of tea in flowered china (How quaint!) and seated herself across the narrow coffee table. The paisley wallpaper danced across the bungalow's walls and the neatly vacuumed yellow rugs fuzzily tantalized my shod feet.
That's when I noticed the gun rack.
Mother-dear motioned to her daughter who immediately made a B-line for the kitchen.
And that is when my hell began.
CRASH! The coffee table shook from Mother-dear's (I now noticed) hefty fists. She stared me in the eye, pointed at the gun rack, and then at a strange tattoo on her bulked up forearm- a bunch of acorns.
"This," she menacingly hissed, "is a record. All the nuts who broke her heart...? Well, I ripped out theirs! DON'T BE THE NEXT ONE!"
"Now, you walk her home, buy her an engagment ring, and treat her right...
... or else."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I woke up, I started my day like any other day...

A letter

Good-bye you evil harpie, you wicked witch.
I won't miss you.
If I do feel a twinge of regret, I absolutely refuse to acknowledge it!
You laughed at my normalcy, my life as I knew it. You dragged me off of the deep-end, and until my eyeball was pressed against the bottom drain, you had me so deceived that I still called you friend.
Because of you, little things are what makes the crazy come out. Today, in fact, I laughed and teared-up hysterically because the boy on the intercom sounded like Spongebob. Everyone was being normal, like usual, and I just couldn't stop laughing.
It's all because of you.
Because of you, when I'm brushing my teeth, I make strange faces and end up choking on toothpaste because of my laughter. Every time I giggle, chuckle, laugh, guffaw, hoo-rah I think of you.
You have poisoned my life.
I get strange looks. Me-the serious one, because of seeming bouts of insanity. Sometimes people laugh at me- and I join in.
Because of you, people claim that I've lightened up, have learned to live life to the fullest.
Because of you, get this, I've become "a better person."
And it's all because of you.
Thank you.

To write

Have you ever watched someone write?
Have you ever identified those born calligraphic, with their long liquid strokes, holding the pen like a delicate canary bone, creating art with every waltzing dance of their wrist?
How about those who are destined writers, with their fevered devotion to the words spilling onto the page, with no care to the formation of individual letters, just an energy and tempo so intent?
Have you ever watched those who never learned the fluent language that wrists share with fingers, which translate to the foreign language of the pen? They bend over the paper, fists clenched about the pen, with their mouths agape as they clumsily transfer their thoughts doggedly and with much effort.
Strong hands, soft palms, angled wrists, fingers bent just-so.
Writing might be one of the characteristics of advanced society, but it would be nothing were it not for the thick, thin, strong, weak wrists which faithfully translate thoughts shallow and profound.
These are beautiful things.

Creative Writing Club

Well, I have many excuses for not writing. I have been very, very busy these past few weeks, what with Art Club, Yearbook, SAGL, driving, riding, training, and Creative Writing.
Speaking of Creative Writing, last night I had a poetry reading at the Confed Center. We all did very well. I look forward to being part of the group again next year!

The event ended at 9:00 pm, and I was planning on going straight home to go to bed, but my friend Al1 and Al2 invited me over to Al2's house to watch a movie. Well, I could not resist. Instead of going to bed early, I stayed up until 12:30. We didn't even end up watching the movie; we just sat around and talked for hours! That's how you know you have good friends: you can talk for hours about a variety of topics without getting bored. We don't need booze to have a good time, unlike the curmudgeons of my age group. Having a group of intelligent and zany minds is enough entertainment for me.
At any rate, Al1 told an awesome story. Here goes:
Al1's dad has a friend who has a son with high functioning Down Syndrome, enabling her to leave her son home alone while she goes to work during the day. On one particular day, she left for work as usual, leaving her son at home for the day. All was well until about two hours into her work day, when she received a somewhat panicked phone call from her son. "Mom! Mom! Mom!" "What's the matter, honey?" "There's a troll in the closet! A TROLL IN THE CLOSET!" Of course, she assumed that he was just doofing around as everyone is known to do on occasion. "Okay. I'll check it out when I come home, okay?"
A few hours later, she walked into her house, to find that the front hall closet had been barricaded by her writing desk, and her son was pushing against it to keep the closet door shut. The closet door was rattling and shaking, and her first reaction was to think 'Hmmm... That must be a big raccoon or something.' She convinced her son to pull the desk out of the way, and she carefully opened the door to find.... a midget in the closet! He was a Jehovah's Witness, and he had apparently been doing his rounds when he knocked on the door, and was pulled inside and stuffed into the front hall closet having been mistaken for a troll.

What a silly little person!

Famine

Sing sweetly, sap, and
Sickening,
Out here among the flowers.
Eyes to the sky,
Filled like a pie,
Where crows and locusts
Glower.

Now swooping down,
These morbid clowns
Do set upon a shower
Of buckwheat, rye, and corn flowers
All grain gone,
Work of hours.

Now eyes awake
With sweating palms
The farmer loses sleep
And paranoid of living storms
That do his harvest
Reap.

What is the Difference Between Awake and Asleep?

When you fall awake
Into your own world and
Slumber up to face the day,
Is there a difference?

When you open your eyes
To a brand new world,
With new and familiar
Characters every night and
Every day,
Is there a difference?

You dream that you are awake
And wandering,
And when you sleep,
You awake and continue
The journey that paused
The night of nights ago.

So I ask you,
What is the difference
Between awake
And
Asleep?

Two (or three) mini sagas

"Mini sagas are stories written in 50 words, not more, not less. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, it's not. You might have the perfect story laid out, and the execution is flawless until you count the words."
"54 words?"
"No problem, just compound a few words."
"It's perfect!"
"Count again."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ramone, a grand intellectual, once stupored in front of the television for a week. Slowly, his thoughts became not his, but a corporation's. His brain stewed by propaganda and a need for material wealth, he went out into the world a new man. He now resides in a ditch, decomposing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once, my clone appeared, claiming that I was her clone. We had a seat on the floor and sat for hours chatting away merrily, or at least I was, she didn't have much to say. Someone knocked on the door and startled me. My foot shattered her into silvery shards.