EPITAPH
FRAGMENTS
-broken, incomplete fragments of the epitaph-
======================
A
vast cavity appears within me, a thousand words seen upon the wild
reeds
a
thirsty well in Siberian desert shadows; here roam images of knights
seeking their weeds and hallows
======================
I've
actually been writing in between rotations in my notebook at
school... and the story is piecing together quite nicely. Even
though it is slower than typing... I actually feel like I get more
done handwriting than typing. Probably has to do with the fact
that I can't second guess myself and delete a whole paragraph in
frustration. :-)
Hopefully
it will develop itself into something above average! I'll have
=================
beyond
the mist
reaching
to the
estranged
by the rocks
far
away
entagled
within
worlds
of woes below
finding
fingers through the misty waves
Holding
onward,
embued with magenta sounds
desperate
======================
I've
been trying to think of something worthy to write about concerning
you. Usually, or in recent times, I've used writing as a tool
to siphon off the ugly, oily fat from my brain. This usually
comes in the form of dramatic poetry, the success of which is
debatable. I suppose the main idea is that I feel like every
time I try to write something about you... I stumble. You have
been a great source of happiness in my life. So much so that it
pains me to write much about you since the words to describe how
important you have become to me are hard to find... despite the many
many many words the English language makes available to me. And
so, as I sit here listening to my random assortment of music, it
dawned upon me that I should write something directly addressed to
you... considering the topic.
=======================
Hunter
was late. Very late. If he didn't run he would miss the
flight and would have to wait until morning for the next flight out
of state. Grasping the straps of his backpack, he sprinted even
harder to the vacant security gate.
Three
alarm trips and a strip search later, he was back to the sprint.
They had confiscated all three of his water bottles, his jar of
peanut butter, some plastic utensils, and the loaf of bread he had
packed, but this didn't phase him. Hunter only moved faster
through the deserted terminal towards Gate 9.
Hunter
glanced quickly at his watch.
Only
five minutes late, he thought, wiping the sweat from his eyes. I
can still make the final call!
At
last with a final lunge Hunter reached Gate 9.
It
was eerily quiet. The rows of hard, black seats were empty.
The rows of lights above the kiosk flashed repeatedly: GATE 9 -
FLIGHT TO BOSTON, MA.
Panting
heavily, he tried to compose himself as he approached the gate
kiosk. There was only one man behind the counter. Hunter
staggered to the desk and dropped his bag on the counter with a loud
THUD. The man's eyes remained glued to the screen.
Hunter,
still catching his breath and leaning heavily on the counter,
waited. The man continued to focus on the screen, seemingly
unaware of Hunter and the lumpy backpack taking up most of his desk
space.
Tall
with pale white skin, sporting black-oily hair with his chin held
high. There wasn't a wrinkle on his uniform
====================
Yeah,
not quite as catchy or annoying as Rebecca Black but I couldn't think
of a great title to start off my post about today. Today, I
will be musing about the possibilities of this fine day.
"Fine
day," you say, "Why what would make this Saturday so fine?"
There
are only so many days of the week that involve the gorgeous things
that Saturday has to offer me. Other might think this golden
day to fall on a Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, or any other day of the
week. For me, and for the purposes of this post, I will refer
to the golden day as Saturday. Feel free to replace all
Saturdays with your prefered day off.
What
are some of the possibilies of one of these fine days? Let's
start with the weather.
You've
really only got two options: Rain or Shine. If it's
raining, then chances are your fun is going to be mostly indoors...
unless you are planning on getting soaked anyways. This usually
involves sleep wear, watching movies, playing video games, calling
out for pizza, and other activities that involve the least amount of
movement of your gluteous maximus. These days are
essential for some people to recover from the stress of a week's work
(or perhaps a terrible day preceeding the Saturday).
=====================
It
was a dry summer that year in Ester, Arizona. Hammond stared out the
window at the desert that stretched for miles, ignoring a large bead
of sweat that crept down his face. "How do these savages do it?"
He thought to himself. He reached into his sterile overcoat and
pulled from it a rusting pocket watch. It clashed horribly with his
otherwise modern attire. Wearing a a Less than ten minutes left. He
straighted his pale, bowler hat. He had paid the driver well to get
this far and he wasn't about to be late.
As
Hammond replaced the A large bump in the dirt road lurched the van
suddenly. "Watch where your going dammnit!" Hammond barked.
The
copper skinned man to his left said nothing. He was concentrating on
something ahead. Hammond turned and saw their destination rising out
of the desert like a lost city.
The
trailer park looked like it was under a strict quarantine. Everyone
in the trailer park had locked themselves inside to escape the heat
wave relying on their struggling air conditioners to provide minimal
relief. The dirt from the unpaved roads washed up against the
trailers' hot panels, covering them in a sandpaper like texture. Only
large silver numbers remained shimmering in the sunlight against the
tanned sides. A girl wearing a flower patterned dress sat motionless
on the steps outside of a particularly barren looking trailer labeled
with a large number fourteen
========
Will
you be there with me, in Eorzea?
A
land of new stories and the old rebirth.
I
reminisce of the days in ancient Vana'diel
Where
I searched for a forbidden power
and
found myself craving more than
========
If
there was one thing about my father's death that bothers me, it was
the fact that there were so many little details about his life that I
never got to find out about. Some people like to talk about life
"before
=======
Someday
I will
=======
Outside
the
morning shivers
the
dusk in a rush
Outside
there
is a perfume
mother
will not share
Outside
the
bat and the rat
my
mouth waters
Outside
there
is a rustle
an
orangutang
Where
is it?
Where
is it?
Where
is it?
=======
I
am making it my top priority this semester to
==============
"Dwelling
on the past is something that shouldn't be done frequently."
"Why
not?"
"Because
the past is insignificant to the future as a recreational tool."
"What
about
============
The
forest creaks loud
A cry
can be heard in vain
Still
the night goes on.
Autumn
leaves in wind
Circle
the lost grounds of sand
Now
forever lost.
============
I
can't seem to.
