Clueless in Romance

G!

The general rule is that
The more you are acquainted
With something the more you
Will come to know about it. By
That I mean the who, what, when,
Where and how, a manual for the
Cogs in the machine that makes
The thing work the way it is - and
If it's not too much trouble the 'Why'
Might also like to shed some light
On its secrets or hidden devices. So
Allow me to wonder why I know
So little about love though I've now
Been its companion for 3 years.
Allow me also to ask why I still
Scratch my head when I read your
Love poems, because the sensations
You describe are entirely foreign to
Me (not the ticklish feeling on the
Side of my bum when our faces
Touch - I feel that too because
I have sensitive nerves - but all
The seemingly transcendental
Experiences your prose hints
At so elusively), though not so
Foreign as to make me not
Lose sleep over it.
You know the feeling when
You're on the threshold of
A profound realization - the
Significance of which you
Have yet to grasp? Well I
Seem to be on that threshold,
Flattening myself against an
Translucent barrier that lets
Me see only shadows of what
Lies beyond my scope of
Understanding, and reveals
Nothing further. Obviously
You are telling me something
Profound (profound to you
At least), and sadly the
Substance of that profoundness
Is lost on me. It's like a letter
In invisible ink, I'd like to read
Its secrets, but I don't have the
Light to shine on the words.
You like to end your poems
With a question, so allow me
To confess that my mind
Comes up blank when I try to
Articulate the thoughts to
Generate my own such poems
And answer your inquiries. An
Unanswered question weighs
Heavily on my mind; you've
Given me several that left me
Speechless in reply. I pride
Myself on asking all the
Difficult questions, but
It looks like you're the
One giving me the most
Difficult ones all along.

Failing Out of Time

G!

Sometimes I think
My brain is
Not conditioned to
Think it through
Quickly, which is
Why I run out
Of time writing
Tests. "You have
To realize that
It's your fault",
My teachers tell
Me. They say,
I don't know
How to manage
My time when
I'm answering those
Questions; they kindly
Inform me as
One would tell
A little child
How much they
Do not understand
In the world.

The ironic thing
Is I understand
The lessons, I
Just want to
Learn it on
My own terms
(Which I guess
Is the wrong
Way to learn),
That means writing
Slowly and thinking
As though I
Have all my
Life to complete
This paper in
Front of me.

What do tests
Actually measure? Surely
Not our capacity
For knowledge,
They do not
Care about that;
I personally think
Tests simply test
Our ability to
Write tests, which
They assume represents
Our intelligence and
Capacity to hold
Information, though they
Are more likely
Different things altogether.

I forfeited my
Test paper, a
Whole quarter left
Unfinished. I wonder
What the unanswered
Questions are about,
Because surely I
Knew the answers;
Sadly, the question
Is taken away
Before I could
Answer it. What
Saddens me about
This is not
My inadequacy at
Writing tests according
To their standards,
But the void
Of an unanswered
Question, an incomplete
Solution, an essential
Part of a
Whole, missing from
The canvas of
Knowledge and reasoning.

This black, hollow
Void is in
Me now, because
I did not
Fill it when
It presented itself
For its duration
Of 45 minutes.
I did not
Have the time
To fill it.
I have failed
Out of time.
I have failed.

Two (rather bad) Poems

by G!

The Best Things Are Free

The best things in the world
One can have, enjoy, utilize,
Do what-not for or with,
Are free.

So much so, this has been said
Countless times - even in a song,
Which I can hear on Youtube
For free.

That you desire which isn't quite free
Probably isn't among the best things -
It should at least come with price close
To free.

Strangely, in life, we're always led to
Pursue the things that aren't free,
Take the toll way, and not the toll-
Free way.

Oh how I long for the free things!
How I long to have what I need and
Want - All of which should be free;
All Free.

Free of charge; free of duties;
Free of monetary, credit obligation;
Free of spam and computer viruses;
Just FREE.

Lamenting Things Not Remembered*

Upon me brilliant ideas often creep,
Unexpectedly, and always in my sleep.
Bless I be when the ideas come and stay,
Cursed I am when they fizzle and fade away.
Say last night when an idea came to me,
Vivid in my mind as I woke up to take a pee.
Alas it was nighttime, I was heavy with fatigue,
Come morning, the idea I failed to re-conceive.
All that's left in my memory was the greatness
Of the idea I could not recall; call it craziness.
Now you may laugh at the absurdity of my story,
So go ahead and compare me to Dory.

*My very novice poetry skills usually don't allow my poems to rhyme, and when they do they're always silly. This poem is silly, but it rhymes, so ridicule it if you want, I'm proud of it either way.

Success in A Minor

I have finally decided on a non-difficult way to rewrite my short story (titled Wilby Lake) effectively. Here's a sample from the opening:

Wilby Lake

By G!

There's a lake at Wilby Lake.

There's a town called Wilby Lake that used to be right next to Wilby Lake. Now, Wilby Lake is at the bottom of Wilby Lake. Because some years back, the St. Lawrence River got so high, the town built in the lowlands two kilometers away, flooded.

There’s rumored to be zombies in Wilby Lake; zombies of the inhabitants of the now underwater Wilby Lake.

There's a bus stop that stops right at the fringe of Wilby Lake, that bus stop has stopped there a long time ago, but busses don't stop there anymore.

Confusing, eh?

“What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate.” – Luke Jackson

People have always had trouble understanding me. It began I think when I was four years old, or maybe five, I can’t remember; it was sudden and totally uncalled for. As I was told, one day, I walked into the kitchen in the morning and told my mother I’d like pancakes for breakfast. My mother told me she just stared at me then because she couldn’t understand what I was talking about, and she asked me to repeat the sentence, I did, and she failed to understand what I said, again. I didn’t understand how my mother did not understand the sentence “I’d like pancakes for breakfast please”, I still don’t. It turned out to be, as she explained after she told me I had to get the pancakes myself from the pan for her to get what I was going at, that she did not understand the way I said “I’d like pancakes for breakfast please”. It seemed odd, and it has been so ever since.

It’s not that I don’t think properly, or that I have trouble forming comprehensible speech; the problem seems to be the fact that to everyone’s ears except my own…well, an example then, since I don’t even believe such nonsense myself: when I think “I was talking” and I say “I was talking” and to my own sound ears I hear “I was talking”, to other people (so they say), it would sound something along the lines of “Talked ised me.” If you didn’t understand that transition, neither did I and neither did the fifty or so speech therapists my well-to-do parents took me to who all exclaimed in horror at my horrid speech patterns (actually, they told us my speech lacked pattern, that was apparently the problem) which I did and do not feel I actually have. I was at a complete loss; it was clear to everyone that I have trouble speaking English properly, everyone that is, excluding me! I am the only person in this whole world I live in who does not have trouble understanding me, or rather, me speaking, but since people are society animals and talking is in the fundamental genes, talking weird makes communication a heck lot difficult, for everyone but me, that is. So here’s my conclusion: I understand my thoughts, I understand what comes out of my mouth in words because I hear it in my head as I’m quite everyone does in theirs, and nobody else understands what I say, and later, what I write. What may look and sound like “I have to go to the washroom” sounds like such incomprehensible syllable mash-up gibberish to other people I gave up trying to find out what other people are hearing of my words in kindergarten. I chose to speak as infrequent as humanly and communicatively possible.

All this happened before Simona was born, so everyone in the family took some time getting used to my apparently sudden and mysterious speech change except her. She listened to my so-called difficult speech growing up while I babysat her and thank heaven and earth she didn’t copy my speech and grow up to speak just like I do (or so they say I do). My grandmother was especially horrified to learn of my inability to communicate verbally with people, she had high hopes I would become a senator in the parliament, which would require a lot of public speaking chops. Well, when her hopes were dashed she had a heart attack soon after; she joined my grandfather, who I had never known in the Sims family plot down in the cemetery. 

My ever-supportive parents were quick to assure me I had nothing to do with the cause of my dear grandmother’s heart attack and ensuing death, though I’m quite sure if it weren’t for the extra large inheritance she left behind they’d loath me quite badly. Fortunately, the outcome of events was most well in my parent’s favor they forgave me for bearing such a fatal flaw (so they say), while I swear on my own grave in the future, I DON’T HAVE A SPEECH PROBLEM…well, depends who do you trust more, the narrator, or the characters.

If you have any suggestions at all, please fell free to scroll down there and comment (the quote is from a movie called Cool Hand Luke, it's a really cool movie and I highly recommend it), and if you'd like to read the original, comment as well and I'll post the link to where that version is posted.

Mission: (way too) Possible

I'm having an awesome day! I have NO homework! I (do) have a few projects to do but heck with all that! Tonight I'm watching Mission: Impossible 1 and 2, (old movies in the days when Tome Cruise made some great movies too), and I'm saving (or leaving) work for later on (Mission: Impossible is more important). You might call me a procrastinator, but have you seen Mission: Impossible?

I'm about to do rework on a short story I wrote a long time ago. I have finally decided upon some way to approach the editing, now all I need is the how. The problem is: I need to write a first-person narrative that makes "I geted into the car" sound intelligent and not like it was said by a sped who's still learning English. If you've read A Clockwork Orange, you might understand what I mean. I have to create a new version of English that isn't called dumb-speak, and so far I haven't found the intelligence capacity to undertake such a task successfully...yet, I hope.
Any suggestion is helpful; how about if I crack open a thick dictionary (and thesaurus) and try to use every five-syllable adjective I can find? Will that prove the protagonist in my story is not dumb, but only communicating differently?

2012 Academy Awards

I haven't written on this blog since back when I didn't know what ttyl meant. I think it's a good place to start now with movies (I know few will read this blog, so I will simply rant on alone to my own ears and perhaps the keen ears of a few supportive others), since I'm a moviegoer. What better place to start with the movies than with one of the few TV shows I watch all year? The Academy Awards (it's on February 26th, if you're wondering)!

I started taking notice in movies since 2008, and realized since how much I love them. I haven't seen many Academy Award Ceremonies actually but I've seen many movies (especially ones that were, or should have been nominated for an Academy Award for best picture). Here are this year's best picture nominees (the first four of nine which I've seen already): The Artist, The Tree of Life, Midnight in Paris, The Descendants, War Horse, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Hugo, The Help, and Moneyball.

Good pics not nominated for best pic are Bridesmaids (I've had the great fortune of watching it on DVD, best comedy in ages!), The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Drive, Harry Potter the finale (this one I saw too, best movie in the series), and We Need to Talk About Kevin, since I haven't seen the whole lot of them, I won't make any obtusely prejudiced comments yet, though I have one thing to say about Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close getting a nomination: the critics sure aren't agreeing with the Academy Voter's decision...that movie has a 48% grade on Rotten Tomatoes for little-golden-naked-statue's sake!

That's all for now, and hope my writer's block ease and let me write! (I promised a friend to publish a short story here - a rewrite of a previous final draft - and I aim to fulfill that promise!)

The Great Friend and the Lazypants

Today I had the misfortune of working with a lazypants, actually, not only just any lazypants, that lazypants is a sticky as glue lazypants that sticks on me much to often to take advantage of the situation. However, all that misery caused by working with this lazypants is diminished by my Great Friend, who is working with me and the lazypants on the same task; building the model of a building as part of a geography project. I was do the first twelve floors of the building and my Great Friend was doing the next twelve floors, we both done it. The lazypants, however, was doing the foundation of the twenty four floor building, and the foundation he did SUCKS, it wouldn't even support twelve floors! Such a weak effort by such a weak person. So the foundations had to be re-done, and the lazypants left my Great Friend and me to finish the entire building, he just left (without cleaning up the mess he made).
In summary: the lazypants barely did crap, and the crap he did do was crappy. As for the building, my Great Friend and I completed it perfectly without the no-help from the lazypants.

People, you are all more fortunate than me to never have a lazypants follow you around sharing your genius they have no part in.    

Okay lazypants, if you're reading this, I hope you take reform into consideration.

Classic...

An add on to my previous post; try to start with short classics to read and save the long ones after you've mastered the short ones. Gosh, in this age when mainstream books flourish the market, it's hard to sit down with a classic bulk. What is a classic even? I'll tell you this, when I read and can not hope to make corrections to the material I am reading, that is when I am reading a work of far greater knowledge than what I possess, and that's classic enough for me. Basicaly, what I think defines a classic is a work not everyone can write, copy in a similar style, or digest in full understanding.
So, only read a classic if you have nothing better to read, and that is my truthful advice to you.
Think about the sentence above, read it again and think about it.
Get it?  

Reading a classic...

Reading a classic is not an easy task, mostly because the number of words they contain in one book equals the number of words on an average teen series, and the words, undoubtably, are size 10-12 fonts with tight spacing. Being a teen, it is hard to get through a classic...for some. And another pain of classics, if the length doesn't get you, the words do. Reading a classic gives the job of deciphering complex sentences and even more complex words. Reading a classic is not easy, but the awesome reward of reading into a classic far exceeds the pain of reading it. So, my friends, read a "classic" novel, try The Great Gatsby, it's short, only semi-painful to understand (and if you have a way with words it's easy), and as I've read so far, it's pretty good.
Oh yeah, and here are some great books:
Youth in Revolt by CD Payne
City of Thieves by David Benioff
Spud by John van de Ruit
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer
2001 A Space Odyssey by Arthur C Clarke

Read on.    

People never listen to what you say...if you're too nice.

And just to prove that point, I had to tell 3+ people to COME TO SCHOOL PREPARED today becasue they keep coming at me to ask for a pencil to borrow, and I give it to them...after telling them to COME TO SCHOOL PREPARED. That line has become the line I am best known for, and it's just sad that I have to use it everyday, no wait, scratch that, it's also funny. With that famous one liner under my vocal cord, I am regarded as a joke every time I say it, but what I'm really trying to do is knock some sense into those unprepared people. Seriously...COME TO SCHOOL PREPARED! (If you don't go to school, however, I hope you are not offended by this jibbering)