This is where I have been for the past few months...

EPITAPH FRAGMENTS

-broken, incomplete fragments of the epitaph-

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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

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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

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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 

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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.

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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

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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). 

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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

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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

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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

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Someday I will

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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?

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I am making it my top priority this semester to

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"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

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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.

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I can't seem to.