Misconstrued Thoughts : Yesterday's Misconstrued Thoughts Today

I didn't actually write this today, I actually wrote it a number of months ago. But it seems to be a classic that keeps coming back up, so I'll use it here today. It's an inspiring existentialist piece known as...

The Pseudo-Lamentations of the Musaceae

As the sun inevitably rises once again, it peeks through the window as it does every morning. The brightness of the sun sensed behind closed eyelids, the warmth gently wakes him up. He awakens to the sounds of birds chirping, and wind blowing fallen leaves, the sounds of so many autumn mornings. As he opens his weary eyes, the lids still heavy, the unseen dust particles floating in the air are visible in the streaks of sunlight coming in through the glass. He stretches and writhes repositioning himself in his warm, safe bed, and a gentle smile stretches across his face as he realizes a new day begins, a new day with seemingly infinite possibilities. Another little twenty-four hour adventure, filled with new things to learn, taste, see, feel, hear, smell and experience. Perhaps nothing truly new, but even things experienced in times past that are a joy. His eyes closing again, he rolls over taking in a deep breath of brisk morning air through his nose and letting it out through his mouth, and clutches onto his blanket tighter, pulling it up to his chin. In his half-conscious state the morning air, warm sun, and chirping birds, create a feeling of nostalgia. He remembers the mornings as a boy that his mother would wake him up with a kiss on the forehead, stroking his hair, and he would smell apple pastries being baked in the kitchen. He sniffs inaudibly hoping to smell apples and cinnamon, but gets nothing but the chilly air of early morning.

Just as one wave crashing gives birth to another, one memory acts as a catalyst to many memories. In his bed, the nostalgia pours into his mind. He’s a young boy in a cornfield wearing his favorite brown leather jacket and red sneakers. He traipses quietly, carefully moving stalks out of his way, so cautious of making a sound that he’s barely breathing. He hears rustling off to his left, and he stops cold in his tracks, his breathing stopped entirely now. The rustling stops and everything stays silent for what feels like an eternity to a child. Standing there so still that not even his eyes move, he listens. There’s nothing but a slight cool gust of wind blowing over the top of the towers of corn. His ears perk up with the sound of quiet giggling, but he stays still for a second longer. Then in an instant, he takes off towards the sounds, crashing through the tall stalks, getting closer to the sound of laughter that stays a few steps ahead of him. As he bursts out into a clearing, a vast wide-open field, he sees two other children only a few feet ahead of him. His legs burning from exertion, he makes one last desperate lunge forward slapping the shoulder of one of the children.

”Tag, you’re it! No hit backs!” he yells before sprinting back into the towering jungle to hide. The children laugh and scream for hours, content with their own little world, and simple innocent friendship.

More memories flood in. He looks out his window at the white blanket covering all that he sees. White flakes slowly, and gently falling from realms unknown to the ground below. Looking out at the endless white countryside, it looks almost as if the snow has fallen on the entire world. He closes his eyes and imagines the whole world being covered in snow, forests, deserts, jungles. He pictures zebras laying in the snow, nearly invisible, only their stripes visible to the casual passerby. The zebras frolicking about until they see a lion and then they all lay down in the snow, the lion looking out into the white emptiness walks away confused and disappointed. He laughs at his own idea, and puts a few more marshmallows in his hot chocolate as his dad adds another log to the fire. His family is sitting around his grandfather listening to him tell the story of how he met his wife. The old man holds the wrinkled spotted hand of his love and smiles at her. And the boy can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever find somebody that he cares for that much.

Another memory streams in following the riverbed carved by the previous memory. It’s summer now, and the young boy is now a young man. The adolescent sits in a tree by a lake a couple miles from home. He comes out here often to swim with his pals, but this time was different. He stares out at the sparkling waters, watching the gentle ripples, and little waves. He tries to use this site to calm himself, but to no avail. He’s nervous. As much as he tries to ignore the feeling in his stomach, his hands still sweat. He looks at his watch again. It’s the third time in five minutes. His heart racing, he considers going home. But he can’t, he can’t bring himself leave. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, he stares back out at the lake trying to calm himself again. He closes his eyes for a minute and sees that hair, as dark and silky as the dark sky on a cloudy night, her eyes, the color of crunchy fallen leaves at the end of autumn, and that smile, that beautiful smile. He checks his watch again. He starts to climb down from the tree, deciding he’s waited here long enough. She’s not really coming. It was silly for him to think that she was being serious about meeting here. He’s just going to go home. As he gets down onto the ground, he sees her walking by the lake. As nervous as he was before he’s twice as nervous now. As she walks up to him all he can do is stare with wide eyes. Stare at that dark hair, and brown eyes, her cute girlish face. As she draws closer, only a few feet away he notices that she smells faintly of strawberries. Standing in front of each other now, they reach out their hands to one another. They stand holding one another’s hands, and he can’t tell if her palms are sweaty too, or if it’s just his, or if he’s trembling or if that’s her. He doesn’t really care about the answers to those trivial questions. He’s happy to just be in the moment. She smiles that sweet delicate smile at him and closes her eyes. As nervous as he was before, he’s twice as nervous now. He licks his lips, and closes his eyes. Puckering his lips a bit too tight, he leans forward and they embrace. It seemed to last forever, and yet it wasn’t long enough. Her lips tasted like strawberries. A memory of his first kiss.

The memories flee his mind as quickly as they entered. And he’s left with but a vague feeling of sadness remembering the times past. Sad not because the memories themselves are sad, but rather because he knows that they are merely lingering thoughts of the past. Never again will he have that same joy of romping through the cornfields, never again will he talk to his deceased grandfather, never again can he have that first kiss. Feelings and experiences that can never be duplicated, that can never be relived. However, a slight smile edges across the side of his mouth because he got to feel those things in the first place. As sad as it may be that that is all in the past, he wouldn’t erase those memories for anything. They made him who he is now; they shaped his way of thinking, and ways of feeling. They made him, and they were made for him. They are his own secret treasure hidden in the recesses of his mind, countless riches sitting there waiting for him to come reminisce with them, and sometimes share with others.

He rolls over and yawns, blinking several times. In his half-apperceptive state, he begins to contemplate on the possibilities. Not only on the possibilities of this new day, but on the possibilities of his life. He thinks of all the things he’s yet to accomplish or experience. But rather than feeling discouraged, or overwhelmed by all the things he’s not done, he looks ahead with an eagerness at what he knows he can do. He thinks of traveling, seeing the different cultures of new lands. He thinks of all the sights around the world he’s yet to see, the many foods he’s yet to taste, the many fragrances he’s yet to smell. He wonders what the morning smells like in China. He begins to think of all the people he hasn’t met. Each individual unique, with their own memories and experiences. Each person shaped by their pasts, and continuing to shape their future. He thinks of how many friends he’s yet to make, and how many people he’s unknowingly waiting to meet. He thinks of the possibilities of love. He thinks back to that dark haired girl, and imagines feeling that way about someone even after their hair had become white and tangled, their hands no longer soft and smooth, but wrinkled and spotted. He imagines waking up to that same face every morning, and watching her sleep until woken by the rays of sunlight. He imagines being by a fire on a cold snowy day, telling his kids and grandkids how he first met his wife. He imagines finding some one to share all those memories with for the rest of his life.

With these thoughts and hopes in mind he’s ready to begin a new day. Another twenty-four hour adventure. He’s ready to see what the day has in store for him, and is curious about what he will know and feel by the time he goes to sleep that night. He yawns again and begins to sit up. And then he is hit by a single cataclysmic realization that ends everything. All wonder ceases, joy for life dies. Hope no longer existent. All desire, fear, passion, and hurt leave him as if they had never been there to begin with. If he could feel, the pain of his loss would be infinite. If he could want, he would want that pain more than anything else just so he could have something. If he was filled with anything, he would be filled with a gross antipathy for his own lack of sentience. His sudden lack of cognizance had endless implications. His memories never were, and his dreams never to be. He would never laugh, nor cry, he could never be angry, nor at peace, he would never love, nor be loved. He would never hear the leaves rustling, or taste the seasons in the air, he would never feel the cool water against his skin, or the wind in his hair. He would never be overcome with feelings of nostalgia, he would never feel the warmth of friendship, he would never know the pains of longing for someone, or the boundless joy of having that person long for him. All the things that were, were no longer, and all things that could’ve been shall never be. As he lies their on the mahogany table, the sun beams down on his thick yellow skin. He lies there motionless, quite. But despite his silence, despite his quiescence he seemed to lament to all around him, he seemed to convey the sad truth of his existence. He seemed to ruefully declare…“I….am a banana.”

Oh yeah, that's a fine poem Jerm. One of the better one's I've seen you write. I'm keeping that one in one of my folders.

I think the latest entry at The Knoxville File counts as Creative Writing.

We're probably going to get sued for gratuitous picture ripping-off, though.

D.A.

Good Job Jon (also a good title for a song)

A feat it must be, to win your love
Because as long as I've been in the race to win your heart,
You've never chosen me
You foolishly long for the heart of another
When I want to be your all, your everything, your lover
When I look at you I see such a beautiful person
Masked behind big brown, telling eyes
I see where you've been, where you're coming from
And when you look at me you see-just me, a not what we could become
Admitting this is such a mistake
Although you're my thought as I wake
And what I breathe with each breath that I take
Could this enchanted happening be- or is this just a passing phase?
How I wish you could know, so as to tell me my place
If you think he, may be you
Please speak now
So that we may undertake the things that lovers do
Living in hopes that you feel the same
Is such a sad, sad plight
So I speak to tell that this death of an untold love has kissed me goodnight

This is an excerpt from a story I'm writing that could also stand on its own. For this purpose, I will call it:

----------
AN ESSAY FOR JEREMY BECAUSE JEREMY DOESN'T LIKE ENGLISH BUT IT SHOULD BE KNOWN THAT THE AUTHOR OF THIS ACTUALLY DOES LIKE ENGLISH EVEN THOUGH HE SPENDS A LOT OF TIME BRINGING OUT ITS WEIRD IDIOSYNCRASIES AND STUFF SO I MEAN JUST KNOW THAT BUT ANYWAY ENGLISH REALLY IS A JERK FOR REAL

Why are there so many words that are pronounced the same way but that have different meanings and spellings? For, four, fore, to, too, two, plain, plane, waist, waste, et cetera. Then of course, you’ve got those rare words that are spelled the same but pronounced different according to its context. I mean, it seems a little weird to have to read the context instead of the word. She thought the biggest annoyance about English was the fact that you were taught all these rules about it in school, but if you stop and really look at the language you’ll notice that it breaks its own rules all the time. That’s something it’s famous for. The letter F makes the eff sound unless you take some words like phone or prophet (that word prophet being different, of course, from the word profit even though it’s pronounced the same way) at which times P and H are the victors. Sometimes F gets insult added to injury by the letters G and H which also have a tendency to steal its thunder. C makes the ssss sound but so does S. C, however, moonlights as a K and K as a combination of the letters QU. And don’t even get her started on the letter A. It makes that flat ahhh sound like with apple, or the soft ah sound, or the actual aye sound. As if that doesn’t make pronouncement confusing enough, stupid O comes in and makes the oh sound and also the familiar ah sound that A makes. Of course, you’ve got those few letters that are loyal to their genesis like D or H or R, but then sometimes they’d get screwed over by other letters by being kept silent. Like the word Through. Really! Look at it! U, G and H all get the short end of the stick on that one. Then again, you could just use that word’s alternate spelling, Thru, which she doesn’t condone in the least bit. Who came up with that stupid alternate spelling, anyway? And what’s the deal with Queen’s English? All those unnecessary vowels and crap. The closest thing to Queen’s English you’ll find in America is its horrible use of the letter E. The letter E has a bitter sweet existence by being one of the most used letters in English but not actually being pronounced very often. It’s used as some kind of gap filler a lot. See that? Filler. You can’t write Fillr, so you pop an E in there. Of course it does have it’s moments in the sun, and it is very important. It and it alone can change the sounds of many other alphabetic combinations, but you have to know how to use it. Nothing in English is about common sense. It’s about these rules. These rules that change according to context or spelling. These rules that you may think you have a firm hold of, but then you find a new word. That one, single, solitary exception and you realize that there could even be more. More exceptions to these rules, all these incredible rules that make it nigh impossible to be sure of any unusual word or combination of letters. And when you see that new word in that book or wherever you may see it and you look it up in a dictionary to see what it means and you find out that it could easily be expressed by only using a couple normal words. Even so you look at how to pronounce it because I mean hey, big words make you sound smart, but you can’t figure out how to pronounce it because the stupid dictionary doesn’t use normal pronunciation keys! Oh no! They use normal letters but with these stupid accent marks on them as if that’s supposed make the most sense in the world!
----------

By the by, good choice on a story for this week, Jon. Nothing is quite as riveting as The Pseudo-Lamentations of the Musaceae.

Yeah, I suppose now you know where the title for Jon Bouldin's song came from.

I didn't know DA had heard that song.

It seems I've forgotten to remove all the references to the character in the story in my English rant there... I truly am a poser now. Just ignore them I guess.

I love this site. Great job Jeremy, you made me smile today : ) Jon, I dont think I know you but I have been reading your posts, and comments, you're hilarious.

I know very few people here. I'm just a fan. Really, Captain Jonathan, DA, and Malory, are the only people I've seen here that I know.

I really like your poem, Adyre (If that is your real name!!). Normally I'm not into lamenting love poems, but that one has some merit to it.

Yes indeed

and that is her real name...

pronounced A dare

not Aud rE

as I was confused so long about... i think a poem could be written about that... but once again is agreement with jons dialogue of the stupid english language.

And I dont think i know you either jon ... unless you sold me a newspaper subscription once... if so I need to teach you some lessons on calling random people...

That wasn't him. I can vouch. I keep on getting horrible prank calls from Jasmine and them. The same pointless ones. The last one was Jasmine (I think) asking me if "I had talked to that guy." Eventually I just said yes and he said alright and hung up. It woulnd't be as annoying if they actually put some thought into those stupid things.

Prank calls without thought? That's just a normal call. . .ah well. So I wrote this on A) my site last night and B) during economics Wednesday evening. (Yeah I should've been paying attention, but its the last class before spring break. . .I'm not going to remember anything anyway)

Its like being told that you don't exist.
You know its not you,
but what do you do,
when you realize that's something's amiss?
A miss who takes absolutely no notice,
doesn't pay any attention,
to the art of verbal retention.
How can I possibly ever show this,
young lady exactly what I already feel.
So much I've already done,
to convince her she's the one.
Yet she's unresponsive to me still.
How much more time and energy should I invest,
when all I get is ignored?
She pretends she's bored,
but she's really just the one mentally at rest.
I don't think I'll ever make her understand,
the truth behind my words,
worms can't hope to speak to birds,
So she'll never know exactly who I am.

Hahaha, you gotta love stupid prank calls. I mean decent ones are pretty funny, but really dumb ones are hilarious. "have you talked to that guy?" heh, heh, that's good stuff. Those guys are idiots.

So, no Jerm, we've never met. Someday maybe, or maybe not. The future is a cruel and mysterious

Jeremy, you're so cool. Love that poem, or preview of a poem, about my name. Yes you did have trouble with my name at first, although audre was better than "that girl that had the twisty things in her hair". And Jeremy, off the subject of creative writing, why am I not on the album? I looooooove to sing, its what I do ya know. Ah well, maybe next time. But if you need my lil' jon impersenation (oh no did I spell impersenation right? Stupid english...) for the sake of ad libbing, I'm tha girl for the job...

So Jon you dont know JEREMY???!! Jeremy is THA man, you didnt know? Betta ask somebody (yeah!). Yes Jon, Adyre is my real name, its so cool I figure, hey, why come up with an alias? Perhaps we will get to meet you one day. And thanks for the compliment about my poem, I am glad I was able to, touch someone with my words (I'd like to thank the academy...oops, acting out my day dreams again. Note to self: remember when to switch back to reality...) Okay so anyway, this was the best Thursday ever, this creative writing ordeal has made my day. Really!

"Dying Into Life"

He died
Into the life she gave him,
And fell away
Inside the softness
As it bubbled up
And consumed
The tears he once shed
For his needing her.

Has anybody else noticed Jeremy calmly discarding a day on his Blog? Yesterday was the 16th, Retro Wednsday as he calls it. Today is the 18th, Creative Writing Thursday. In fact, yesterday, Retro Wednsday, was the 17th to all outside of the elegaic mind we know as Jeremy. That being said, did he thoughtfully discard the day, figuring instead that since it was Retro Wednsday he would retrogress and make it the 16th to everyone visiting his site in order to add more depth to his self proclaimed Retro day? You would also have to ask yourself if he did not do this consciously and in fact did get the date wrong would our astronauts want a man that is designing terribly complex space aged technology to have any part in the space program whatsoever, when he, in fact, cannot even post the correct date on a website?

It's art man. You just don't get it.

Ah.. but working for the govt... you see I can retrace my steps correct the problem then plead ingonrance. What in the world are you talking about Seth? Every day is posted as it should be. Must be something wrong with you computer... (kinda like the music). And if you wish to take this any further... one of our agents will be at your door to take care of the issue.

And the term space AGED is very appropriate since the space shuttle is much AGED materials.

"It's art man. You just don't get it."

That reminds me! I went to UT's art awards show and ceremony the other night and my favorite piece made me immediately think of Jeremy. It was entitled "Shopping List", on sale for $20, and consisted of a wadded up and then unfolded Kroger register receipt, straight-pinned to the wall. No crazy groceries. Just a receipt.

For $20.

I loved it.

D.A.

Oh, and creative writing?

Here's a few pieces:

Won’t keep
Won’t keep
Don’t keep
It won’t keep

You can drill, you can hammer,
Excavation won’t keep

Through the meat and the marrow
It will burn, it will creep

But all the diggin’ you can do
It don’t keep
It won’t keep

Boy’s rotten to the bones,
Boy’s rotten down deep

Boy, you can’t save yourself cause you just won’t keep
_________________________

It’s selfish
Its selfish
Itselfishiknow
It’s selfish, I know and it was
never mine to take but it was never mine
to give (never got around to it would wouldn’t let me get around to it)
but I’m good at stealing so I took it and made is my own ill gotten gain.

Do you get the point now?

(shethey)
would
Wouldn’t
would
wouldn’t
would
Wouldn’t let me get around to it
(would wouldn’t let me get around to it)
and now I never write
anything
beautiful
anymore

There once was a man that said hello, and a man that bye. The END

There once was a man that said hello, and a man that said bye. The END

There once was a man that said hello, and a man that said bye. The END

There once was a man that said hello, and a man that said bye. The END

There once was a man that said hello, and a man that said bye. So one day they met and one said hello and the other bye. The End

My bad people for posting it so many times it wasn't doing anything when i hit post so i kept hittin it. unsmart computer

Okay...i dont have a title for this one yet so if anyone has any suggestions let me know...

I cannot tell you how it ends
But I will say we start as friends

You open your mind first and then little by little
You open your beautiful heart

Slowly my dear, I wont rush you at all
I will want still after a thousand falls

Yet the mystery and adventure that surely lies ahead
Somehow is distorted by the doubts in your head

Slowly my dear, I will wait for you to see
Just how beautiful trust and a little bit of faith can truly be.

:)

I like that one too, shee. Another one I will keep.

This is my all time favorite writing! I wrote this a number of years ago but I am most proud of this piece!

THE TRUTH ABOUT THE PRINCE (by:Samantha D)

As the clock struck 12:00 it all came to an end
Cinderella’s prince charming was only her friend
She came as a stranger that no one knew
And left fast because her only desire would never come true

Now it was 12:00 and she began to run
That’s when she realized her struggle’s just begun
She knew exactly what it was she wanted now
She knew where to get it but she didn’t know how

She wanted her life to be a fairy tale
Little did she know no one was on her trail
The impact she thought she had on the prince
Was all about clothes and outer appearance

He thought he knew he found his love, but he was truly blind
When he saw Cinderella again he said “Wait she is not of my kind!”
You see what she had on was all that he could see
And he told Cinderella the two could never be

So now Cinderella had to come to grips
With these words coming off the Prince’s lips
So she cried every day and every night for a year
That’s when to the prince it all became quite clear

As he walked his kingdom he saw Cinderella once again
And he realized he wanted to be more than just her friend
He told Cinderella, and that’s when she used his words
And told the prince they were two very different birds

She explained how she was not of his kind
And he should erase the thought from his mind
That her love was about the person inside
And now it was his turn to run and hide

The prince then remembered his words and what he said
Then he ran home and cried that night in his bed
The prince then made a decree throughout his land
For everyone to know and for them to understand

It read: “Love is blind and so was I
I should have given Cinderella a try
I only looked at clothes and outer appearance
And now I am all alone.” Signed the Prince.

The prince learned love just could not wait
Because now he was ready and it was to late
So let this be a lesson to you and me
That love is more than what we can see

Blind yourself to what is put on for show
And look to the person inside for you to get to know
The prince judged Cinderella on what he saw
That’s when he discovered his very own flaw

Cinderella was just being true to herself
And that was worth more than all the Prince’s wealth

here is another one I wrote a few years ago

They Tell A Story

The Eagle told a story in his flight
The conquest of beauty he pictured
As he flew off the mountain
He told a story of freedom
He floated above all of earth
He soared, and told his story
The Lion told a story in his roar
He told of power, He pictures power
His long powerful legs as he ran
The animals feared his mighty mane
As it blew in the breeze
He stood with pride, and told his story
The mighty whale told his story
He told of grace and rhythm
As he floated above the sea, in a leap
He told of a family bond, of unity
The grace of the pack as they swam
He led them and told his story
The raven told a story in his call
He told of darkness and of hope
He shared a ray of hope beyond all
He called out for all to hear his message
He called for all to keep going
And with that he told his story
And now I tell a story
One of darkness and of hope
One of beauty and of freedom
One of grace and unity
A story of power and pride
And with these words I tell a story
Can you tell my story?
Can they tell your story?

By: Samantha Domena 2001

So I was told to get more abstract/less love angst. Okay. Here we go:

Cold frost coats the grass,
as little children run past.
They've got Carebear lunchboxes,
and mud on the sole of their galoshes.
Smiles on their faces,
as memories of theirs erases,
games and toys complete them.
They call each others names,
and this morning begins to change.
I see the one child walking on his own.
No friends, no coat, nothing for him but cold.
He's smaller than the average child,
he's whispering to himself, his hair is wild.
and if you look into his eyes,
you can see his world wrapped in his mind.
He's carrying legos in his hands,
and probably jammed into the pockets of his pants.
To create is his dream,
he's bursting at the seams,
and no one else can see him but me.

A dive into the possibility of favor
That is what I took
I have not learned because I drowned
When for your attention I did look
But to find that I was mistaken, what a blow
Over me this feeling had overtaken, but now I know
I lavish attention, all that I receive from you
But perhaps it is something you've not been meaning to do
Not reading between the lines my dear,
But reading into your thoughts
Hoping your feeling for me was...love
The feeling for which we've all been taught
I will continue to carry on accordingly
As you are accustomed to me,
But if you ever reach out again,
Hopefully it will be to come for me
A feeling so grand, that we all must wait
In expectation of your words and the light of your face
Since you are into her, and I, into you, our feelings both misplaced,
Why dont we come to a common ground and place them together, for each other's sake

like the one about the "unknown" young boy

Everybody... some excellent work... very excellent work!

Yeah, you covered your steps tyhis time. I was just upset because you made me write the wrong date on a check that's gonna bounce anyways. You have to understand, we all live our lives according to the website, man, and if the dates wrong or if a stated fact is wrong it just throws everything off balance. You just don't know what it's like.....