i am trying to write a short story explaining my thought process throughout a given day, it is essentially all true, i may change some things to make it mildly interesting or names, but the content is or at least was true.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Oh my Buddha, that high, unrelenting, merciless buzzer is the absolute worst, most obnoxious thing to wake up to in the morning. All i want to do is rip that alarm clock out of the wall and chuck it at something hard and preferably explosive. I settle for slamming my hand down on the snooze button as hard as i can. Ah my first violent thought of the day, I seem to have a lot of those, I like to think of myself as a peaceful person but i guess that is solely based on my actions, not my thoughts. I am not really a big fan of the snooze button. It pretends to be your friend saying "yea don't worry, I'll take care of Ol' Buzzy over there," but ten minutes later Snooze turns on you just like every other electrical appliance.
So three snoozes and three betrayals later I finally drag my self out of bed. I stumble over to my desk chair where I left my towel to dry last night, I grab it quickly. Thump, I guess I knocked something over but it is still way to early to care. I head over to the bathroom dragging my feet and consequentially stub my toe. Mumbling curses I hop into the shower and relax as the affectingly soothing hot water cascades down my back. I hum to myself for about five minutes before I realize that I need to get out. It is amazing how difficult it is to turn that little plastic knob that half rotation, knowing that as soon as you do cold will rush in and along with it all the pains, worries and stresses of the day. Something about the comforting water makes every problem seem manageable. After three whole minutes spent encouraging myself I finally work up the strength to shut off the water. Cold strikes instantaneously as I knew it would but it still makes my jump.
Once dried I go to my closet to find some clothes. On the way I dump my towel on the floor and dread about how my mom is going to yell at me for it later. I choose my clothes with painstaking care, I don't like to admit it but I am horribly vain. I care so much about how I am perceived by others. I am too self conscious that I don't let people know how self conscious I am. I check the clock. Damn, I have to leave in like three minutes before I have to leave, I shouldn't have gone for the third snooze. I grab a pain of jeans, a band T, my old beat up pair of rust colored converse, and a worn sweatshirt, looks like I'm going without socks today. I run down the stairs taking them two at a time, I jump the last five. Downstairs I grab my bag and a pop tart, yell at my brother and get in the car.
Once he gets in the car we begin the music war. I put my ear buds in and start listening to some fast paced ska song while my brother listens to either Meatloaf, Phish or, the Beastie Boys shudder. He tries to drown out the faint hum that comes from my iPod completely, I just want to be able to hear more horn then bad rap, I usually loose.
i will continue this piece at a later date because it is becoming too long.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Snow
Well today I saw it was snowing out and it got me thinking so hear is my writing for the week.
The idea of snow has always fascinated and impressed me. The way snow flakes can drift down from the sky. You can never predict the way they will fall. The way the flakes whir and dance with immeasurable grace to the ground. Everyone says that every snow flake is unique, I find that fact very difficult to believe. If every snow flake is and individual, a one of a kind wouldn't it make sense for every snow bank to be one of a kind as well. Shouldn't the combination of so much apartness have its own feeling of individuality. But this isn't the case. If I walk down the street and look around every snow bank will look the same, just a huge singular, uniform blanket of snow. This makes me a little sad when I think of it, that in order to join the mass a flake must loose its individuality. They fall from the heavens with a burst of beauty but then they settle into a quite quilt of conformity, which is beautiful in its own way but comparatively unremarkable. Snow flakes fall by the trillions with their own unique size, shape, and path like dancers, in a way reminiscent of a masterpiece, but then their radiance is lost among the mass of former diamonds. True, not all of the snow flakes become part of the mass, some fall and come to rest on the sleeve of wool coat, the cheek of a laughing child, or the long eyelash of a kind face. All of these are beautiful as well, like decorative frames for the canvas which is the snow flake, but these are all short lived. The wool will break the form, the cheek will melt it, and the eyelash will blink sending the snow flake twirling the rest of the way to the ground where it will be lost, the individual swallowed by the whole.
I wonder, is this how us as humans might appear to some other unearthly power? We start off bright, cheerful, dancing from our mother's arms being ourselves because that is all we know how to be. But then we fall to the ground become the blanket that is our society and community. It has its good parts, it is safe and comforting, but with none of the splendor as the dancing creativity of the child. Still a few of us will find other ways to avoid the mass and land somewhere else by holding on to our total uniqueness. But like a snow flake this will inevitably fail. Those who try to stay different will be seen as beautiful, and then be burned, broken, or eventually fall in line with everyone else. Is this really the fate of an artist? To hold on to your identity as long as you can before the public scorns you, or futility makes you give in to the inevitable?
Though it looks hopeless many still strive to hold on to the freedom we radiate at birth, and pray that the eyelash will just decide that it doesn't need to blink right then, it can wait, and so preserve the beauty of the snow flake just a little longer.
Wow, that was a little depressing. If you have any comments, feedback, or a more cheerful view of snow please let me know. As always thank you all and keep on writing!
-Matt McFadden
The idea of snow has always fascinated and impressed me. The way snow flakes can drift down from the sky. You can never predict the way they will fall. The way the flakes whir and dance with immeasurable grace to the ground. Everyone says that every snow flake is unique, I find that fact very difficult to believe. If every snow flake is and individual, a one of a kind wouldn't it make sense for every snow bank to be one of a kind as well. Shouldn't the combination of so much apartness have its own feeling of individuality. But this isn't the case. If I walk down the street and look around every snow bank will look the same, just a huge singular, uniform blanket of snow. This makes me a little sad when I think of it, that in order to join the mass a flake must loose its individuality. They fall from the heavens with a burst of beauty but then they settle into a quite quilt of conformity, which is beautiful in its own way but comparatively unremarkable. Snow flakes fall by the trillions with their own unique size, shape, and path like dancers, in a way reminiscent of a masterpiece, but then their radiance is lost among the mass of former diamonds. True, not all of the snow flakes become part of the mass, some fall and come to rest on the sleeve of wool coat, the cheek of a laughing child, or the long eyelash of a kind face. All of these are beautiful as well, like decorative frames for the canvas which is the snow flake, but these are all short lived. The wool will break the form, the cheek will melt it, and the eyelash will blink sending the snow flake twirling the rest of the way to the ground where it will be lost, the individual swallowed by the whole.
I wonder, is this how us as humans might appear to some other unearthly power? We start off bright, cheerful, dancing from our mother's arms being ourselves because that is all we know how to be. But then we fall to the ground become the blanket that is our society and community. It has its good parts, it is safe and comforting, but with none of the splendor as the dancing creativity of the child. Still a few of us will find other ways to avoid the mass and land somewhere else by holding on to our total uniqueness. But like a snow flake this will inevitably fail. Those who try to stay different will be seen as beautiful, and then be burned, broken, or eventually fall in line with everyone else. Is this really the fate of an artist? To hold on to your identity as long as you can before the public scorns you, or futility makes you give in to the inevitable?
Though it looks hopeless many still strive to hold on to the freedom we radiate at birth, and pray that the eyelash will just decide that it doesn't need to blink right then, it can wait, and so preserve the beauty of the snow flake just a little longer.
Wow, that was a little depressing. If you have any comments, feedback, or a more cheerful view of snow please let me know. As always thank you all and keep on writing!
-Matt McFadden
Stupid Economic Crisis
Ok, no one has posted anything for a while and i intend to change that. Gabs' last post made it seem like this blog was disbanded which I for one will not except without a fight. We may not be meating and we may never publish but it doesn't cost anything to keep up a website. This site was not just made to announce meatings but as a place to put up our work and to easily comment on it. So I for one am going to try to put something up on this site every week, whether it be a poem, a short story, just some plot ideas, or my randum musings, and I need all of you to help keep me acountable. I hope that you might follow my example and post some of your own work or at the very least check up on the site and give me some feed back.
Thank you all, and keep on writing!
-Matt McFadden
Thank you all, and keep on writing!
-Matt McFadden
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