Storm

So this poem reminds me of summer, and I really miss summer right now. I was thinking of summer when I wrote it. Everyday this past summer, I'd lay on my dock at my cabin and watch the sky. It's really cool, because you can literally watch the clouds and see storms coming and going. In this poem, however, the storm is a metaphor for kind of a dark period. Like sometimes you can tell you're not going to be happy for a while, but there's nothing you can do about it. Anyway, here is is:

Storm

I watched the storm approach
Laid on my back and stared
At the dark clouds of gloom inching closer,
Blackening with rage

There was no point
In running
The rain would catch me fast
To hide was only vain
The winds would tear and rip
The storm would uproot all that was safe
The clouds would block the sun
My only hope

Wait it out
And so I laid and stared
As the clouds inched closer still
Bruising the sky
Bruising the sun
The storm came.

Congirl

There is a bus stop on the corner of 8th and Elm. Beside which a seldom-used bench sits, adorned with the faces of conventionally attractive real estate agents, smiling their slick sales smiles. It is on this bench that another self sat, young and naive as only an adolescent can really be, and it is on this bench that this girl grew up.

Her name was Mary. She said her name was Mary when she sat beside me on the first day of the second year of high school. Mary was her name, she said. Her straw yellow hair fell limply on her head, making her face seem too big for the rest of her. If her face was too big, then her eyes were too small, two Caribbean blue beads engulfed in the high cheekbones of a thin face. The large flat planes of her forehead and cheeks were so dotted with freckles they were filled, and when she looked straight at me, her lips were pulled down into a wretched, permanent-looking grimace. She asked me something more, but I did not understand her. Her horrible stutter dismembered the Y’s and T’s of “Are you taking the 8 o’ clock bus?”

Upon deciphering her meaning, I quickly replied that I was waiting for the 8:30. She pulled her lips back and bared her teeth in a way that I assumed was meant as a grin and said, “Well, then, looks like we will wait together.”

I knew not what to make of this peculiar girl, who could not have been more than my 16 years, but whose face already was wrinkled and weathered. She talked of nothing but her little brother Charlie, and the mischief he found. I deduced she must be crazy, an orphan of sorts, but I humored her while I sat.

She was not unpleasant to talk with, this crazy orphan who said her name was Mary. She seemed happy most of the time, and consolable the rest. She told me her story, a story of an orphan left in the streets by an addict of a mother. She and her brother scrounged, but it was difficult to find enough. Her poor brother suffered because of it. This story was terrible, truly heart-breaking to hear. And I pitied her. Her love for her brother was evident in her ugly, freckled face. My pity was so much that I reached into my pocket, in a gesture of goodwill, and gave her what was left of my weekly allowance. This was difficult to part with, for I was not terribly wealthy and my father’s unemployment had brought hard times upon our house, but I felt the cause was worthy. Mary attempted her grin again when she saw the money and I had no doubt that she felt gratitude.

Then the bus came. I stood, readying myself to board, and seeing that she had not, asked, “You coming?” Mary looked at her hand, full of money then she looked at me. That’s when I noticed the change in her expression. She was no longer pitiable. She was done. Finished with something she had set out to do, it seemed. She looked at my face, dead on, and replied, “No, I think I’ll find my brother Charlie.”
With this, the girl who said her name was Mary walked off. I watched her, ignoring the bus driver as he asked if I was getting on, clearly irritated. Mary walked to the end of the block, and a gray bus with two windows picked her up. She did not say a word to acknowledge the driver, nor did she make any indication that she didn’t want to get in. This weathered and wrinkled girl, pitiful with her freckled face and limp hair got into that van, finished with her day’s work.

SWEET CAROLINE!

SWEET CAROLINE, (bah bah bah) good times never seemed so good (SO GOOD SO GOOD SO GOOD). I've been inclined to believe they never would!

I'm Eternally Grateful To My Brother For This

So last year my brother came home for break (he goes to school in Washington, D.C.), and told me this story.

He told me about this guy he met who went to high school with his friend Rachel. This guy, Andre Allen, was couch-surfing. For those of you who don't know what couch-surfing is, it's when you crash on your friends' couches for a couple of days and move around.

So this guy was sleeping on Rachel's couch, and he happened to mention that he was a musician. So Mike and Rachel and their friends asked him to play for them.

And he was amazing.

Seriously, does anyone remember in English class when we talked about verbal wit? Yeah. He's got it. His lyrics are funny, smart, and interesting, while still wacky. Not to mention the fun melodies he's written.

Anyway, my brother and his friends recorded him on a computer and my brother gave them to me. Here are the lyrics to one of his songs:

Dostoevsky's Demise by Allen Andre

Dostoevsky was made off of cells, mostly water, mostly water
And Dostoevsky was made off of booze mostly vodka, mostly vodka
And Edgar Allen was made off of prose, mostly poetry, mostly poetry
And Edgar Allen was made off of woes, mostly whiskey, mostly whiskey

When the storm of drunkenness evaded,
We found ourselves among the hated bourgeois
Something other than nobility
Has crushed our souls and made the barricades come down, the shots are fired in the dark
A brainstorm made much heavier by drink but when we stop to think, something brings us back
To those street corners where we would stand on shoe boxes, those crazy fools who shout obscenities at the crowd,
Their vocation one of leisure and of wealth, when the summer comes, we'll drink to their health

And Dostoevsky was made up of cells, a million mitochondria and
million private hells,
And Charles Dickens was made off of kids, mostly orphans, mostly
orphans
And Charles Dickens was driven by drugs, mostly endorphins, mostly
endorphins
And William Wordsworth was made off of words, mostly sober, mostly
sober
And William Wordsworth was made off of words, mostly empty, mostly empty

Well our entire literary establishment was driven by intoxicants
And our entire western civilization depends on quite a lot of alcoholic rejuvenation,
Granted themselves freedoms unheard of by the press, Dylan accidentally slipped into drunken harmonica solos,
Hitting new lows as they pull up to red carpets, the literary dinosaurs
whose books are thrown in tar pits,
When we pull up the fossil a few centuries later, we'll find the works
of genius of some misunderstood creator,

And only time will tell who gets to stay who gets to stay in cells,
And only time will tell who gets to stay who gets to stay in cells,
And only time will tell who gets to stay who gets to stay in cells.

More Things I Think About While Trying to Sleep

Interesting Things I've Done:

Watched fireflies for hours
Gone skinny-dipping
Sumo wrestling on ice
Watched TV upside down
Tubed behind a pontoon
Gone to Paris
Road-tripped to another state (with my parents)
Seen a protest (multiple times)
Gone to London
Caught a Muskee
Gone to a deserted carnival
Shoplifted a chapstick (accidentally, of course)
Watched a fire die
Spent 3 days without talking to anyone, except that one time i talked to my parents
Nicknamed 20 people I don't know

The Things I Think of While Trying to Sleep

Things I Want to Do Before I Die (or just, you know, whenever):

Lay out on my dock in a swimsuit and let a storm roll over me
Go skinny-dipping with a boy
See Arctic Monkeys in concert
Own a turntable
Wake up at 4pm
Be in a protest (I don't know what for)
Go to Norway
Drive to Dairy Queen with an over-stuffed car full of teenagers
See Death Cab for Cutie in concert
Go to an actual legitimate record store
Road-trip to another state (without my parents)
Go to Washington state
Have a picnic on a roof-top
Stay up all night listening to music
Play water balloon volleyball
See how many people can fit in one car
Be on the ground when the dew appears

Top 5 Most Romantic Songs

In honor of Valentine's Day, and because I'm really into one of the bands on this list, I've compiled a list of what are, in my opinion, the most romantic songs ever, along with my reasoning. Note that the order has no value, as I couldn't rate one over another.

1. I Will Follow You Into the Dark- Death Cab for Cutie:
OK, I know that this one is kind of cliché, but it's just so sweet! I mean he's so in love that he'll follow the object of his affection even after they've died.

2. You Could Be Happy- Snow Patrol:
This one is really sad, but it's full of love. It's about realizing what you have after it's gone.

3. Antonia- Motion City Soundtrack:
This song is really quirky and fun, in accordance with MCS's style. It's basically an ode to this girl Antonia and all her fun and lovable habits.

4. Marching Bands of Manhattan- Death Cab for Cutie:
"If I could open my arms to span the length of the isle of Manhattan, I'd bring it to where you are, making a lake of the East River and Hudson, If I could open my mouth wide enough for a marching band to march out, they would make your name sing, and bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings."

5. Baby I'm Yours- Arctic Monkeys
It's actually a love ballad from the '40s, but it's really sweet.

Those are my Top 5 most romantic songs. Happy Valentines Day!!