26 December 2010

autumn ended

It's winter.  

Did you know that?  I sure did.  It's even officially winter, according to the spot where Earth's hanging out in space, and not just in terms of weather.

My blog still looks like I was procrastinating homework back in November.  I'm hoping to completely change it.  Fix it.  Clean it.  

Then use it.

I think the major motivation to do something I'd been idly thinking of for MONTHS was a recent email. (Another story, for a post I hope will materialize soon...)
... I'm so bad at email.  It's something I should really work on, especially because sometimes a grade can depend on an email.  They can be important.  I really need to get better at that.

And I really want to get better at consistently blogging.  The only reason I've kept this blog going for so long is because I tend to write...

... I kind of want to prove that to my blog.

It sounds silly, at least to me, but... Oh well.  I'll deal with that.

Christmas Day is over.  (That's another hope-to-post...)

I hope everyone has been wonderful!  I really need to just go to sleep, and stop blogging.

So goodnight.

17 November 2010

exactly the opposite

When it's zero and one eighty;
When it's midnight and noon;
When it's black and white,
Then it's a pair of exact opposites.

When it's day or night,
Or hot or cold,
Or awake or asleep,
Then it's general exact opposites.

It doesn't make sense, but stay with me.

When it's going, not stopped;
When it's silent, not loud;
When it's hectic, not calm,
It's doing the exact opposite.

When I'm blogging, not working;
When I'm blogging, not sleeping;
When I'm blogging, not thinking,
I don't think it's quite the exact opposite of what I OUGHT to do,

But it certainly won't be found on the list of shoulds.

I'll do it anyway.  Because it makes me feel productive.
Which helps me actually be productive.

So now that I've done this, I'll go do
E x a c t l y  t h e  o p p o s i t e
of what I shouldn't currently do.

Have one of the best ones,

09 November 2010

has it really been so long?

I keep promising myself I'll post something here really soon.
I keep promising myself I'll get a post up about Maya's birthday, and all the rest of October.
I keep promising myself I'll complete the half-written-or-less posts that have begun to build up.
I keep promising myself I'll have time sometime.

I keep promising myself I'll finish homework in a decent time-frame, too.

I'll keep those promises, Self.  Just keep being patient.

(see? now i've just kept that first promise!)


30 September 2010

That's Great.

I wrote this for a class.  The prompt was "What is 'greatness'?"

I decided to put it here, 'cause... it's midnight?  (Yeah! Take that! Validated!)

That’s Great
The word liters our most common sentences.
            “I’m doing great.”
            “It was a great movie.”
            “Oh great, now what?”
It is on the standard-issue list of basic English vocabulary.  It was one of the first words to earn a text-message abbreviation.
            “U r crzy! Lol! That soundz g8!”
It is the word we use to describe the man responsible for the growth of the Roman Empire, and the time period that drained pockets and the spirits of people throughout the world.
It is a compliment.
It is an adjective.
It is quite a lot of things.

But what is it?  What makes something qualify as great?
In creations of the arts, in discoveries of science, in defining-times of history, the things we consider significant have recurring themes.
The Mona Lisa.
Beethoven’s Fifth.
The name of a great artwork spikes the attention of our memories.  The names are familiar to us, and in many cases we can see a famous painting, or hear a famous composition in our minds, subconsciously reminding us what the piece is.  The work becomes an essential part of our culture, even after centuries of new creations.  It stays with us.
Whether commonplace or incomprehensible, our lives are affected by the great discoveries of science.  Revolutionary thinkers develop ideas that change our lives.  We accept the theories.  We take advantage of the wisdom.  We enjoy the comforts.
            The Revolutionary War.
            The Gutenberg Press.
Great moments in history are recorded, then published in textbooks years later. The moments that change the course of our world are studied, taught, remembered.  Nations are formed.  Dreams become possibilities.

What the world deems great, the world remembers.  The world is affected by greatness, and by greatness the world is changed.

And yet, when my 10-year-old brother tells me about his imaginative plan for inventing the best-ever fighter-plane, I give him my honest opinion: “That’s a great idea!”  No world will remember the invincible armor.  No world will be changed by the five-million-miles-per-hour speed.  But his idea is great.
My world will remember.  His world changes mine.  For me, there is significance; for me, there is greatness.

The end.

13 September 2010


August isn't a good month.

Good stuff happens in August, but August isn't a good month.
  • It's hot.  
  • It's long.
The weather of August is atrocious.  On many days, the temperature inside a living human being is cooler than the temperature out of doors.  To make matters worse, the air doesn't do anything but stand there and bake.  There is very little wind chill, and the stagnant air becomes hard to breath.  Clouds are only seen on very special occasions.  Even then, they are either too thin, or too far from the sun to help much with the temperature.

August drags by.  Shorter months follow the ones with 31 days.  Exceptions: August and January.  January has a good excuse.  It's the reset month, and shorty-little-February makes up for it anyway.  August is long just because.

So why do we have August (other than 'cause Cœsar Augustus put it there)? Good things do happen in August, but I think the reason it's there is so that September can be well appreciated.  When Julius and Augustus bumped the seventh month out of its spot, I think it got a blessing-in-disguise.

Whether you like warm or cold weather, September is happy to accommodate you.  September hosts "Indian Summer," and the Autumnal Equinox.  By definition, September is where hot meets cold.  

On top of that, September is gorgeous.  The days get shorter, the bugs either die or hide, the scenery catches ignites with a fire that cools instead of burns.  But it still makes things satisfyingly crisp: crisp apples are eaten, crisp air is no longer a struggle to inhale, crisp leaves are stepped upon, often for their crisp sound.

To quote Regina Spektor in 'Time is All Around':
Leaves become most beautiful when there about to die,
When they're about to fall from trees, 
When they're about to dry

That happens in September.  And 'that' is nothing short of magic.  It's September.  It's a good month.

Bad stuff does happen in September.  But still:
September is a good month.

So there?

29 August 2010

Dear Poems,

If I promise to let you out more often, do you think you'd be willing to have all your pieces when you show up?  I love what you've given me, but usually I think that a beginning and an ending always bring out the best in the middle parts.  All together.  All three parts.

Either way, I guess I'll still be letting you out more often.   I want you to get some more fresh air.


15 August 2010

a little warm, but not at all astonished

I love Rudyard Kippling.  My dad used to read The Elephant's Child to my siblings and I before bed.  Consequently, we still quote it. For example: 'a little warm, but not at all astonished'.

'Insatiable Curiosity' is another phrase I love.  Especially when Papá says it.

I don't have a Dad.  I have a Papá.  For third person usage, I have a dad, but no Dad.  I'm proud of that fact.  Not that it gives me anything special.  (Besides a magic genie, and ownership of several islands.)
... No.
I don't get anything.  Except my Papá.  But that's cooler than a genie or islands, so I'm content.

Anyway.  Mr. Kippling, I wish I could write a little more like you did.  If is one of my favorite poems.

We drove my sister to her husband and new home in North Carolina.  Summers may be short there, but they are compensatingly humid.  Compensatingly should be a word.

I think that if someone took all the discomfort available during the long, dry summer out in this desert and compressed it so that it took up as little time as possible, the result would be summer out by the Atlantic Ocean.  Hot; Humid; No cooling off at night.  (I think the absence of actual mountains contributes to the absence of cooler evenings.)

Anyway, besides the instant-stickiness, North Carolina has very little worth complaining about.  I loved it there.  I want to go back soon.  (My desire to return is probably heavily influenced by family,  but scenery plays a significant roll too.)

So.  Driving, trees, restaurants, beach, museum, cameras, Knudsens, refrigerator, Target.  Those are words that came to mind as far as "NC Highlights" goes.

Other trip highlights include (but are not limited to): Lizzie, dark chocolate, Hampton Inn in New Albany, Indiana, driving home through the canyon.

But I'm back now.  A little warm, but not at all astonished.

The end.

05 August 2010


Smacking the keyboard with my fingers can sometimes solve a problem.  [see this post's title]

Right now, I'm sitting on Sean's bed.  He's sitting at his macasaurus with his new computer game.  Ashton is here too.

This was a few minutes ago:

Sean was playing his game.  
He'd been explaining things to Ashton as he played, 
but had been silent for a short while.  
Both were fixedly staring at the screen like it was a professor teaching them a lecture.

I wasn't paying much attention to them.  
I was reading on the bed behind them.  
But then Ashton moved, and the corner-of-my-eye noticed.  So I turned to watch him.

He maintained his trance-stare as he slid off the stool.  
He snuck his legs in front of Sean's, 
whose trance was also left unbroken.  

Ashton tiptoed as Sean lifted.  
Ashton sat on Sean's lap.  

And nothing happened. 
 The game kept going.

              But it was great!  I'm still smiling from it!
I like brothers.
Ya todo.

28 July 2010

well, i can't say that i met him, but...

(this all happened last friday at my cousin's wedding:)

The first time I saw him, he was giving a bottle of water to the homeless woman standing at the corner, showing her cardboard sign to tourists and temple-goers.  I looked away to check that my sisters and brothers were with me, and when I looked back, he was walking away, back to where he'd come from.

I led my sisters and brother onto the temple grounds, where we met up with my dad and older sister.  After a while, the heat and things had us all feeling impatient, so we decided to wait for my mother inside the visitor's center.  As we walked around the outside wall ('cause you can't go straight from the temple grounds to the visitor's center.  You have to go out and around) we clung to the bit of shade that the wall provided.  This made it harder to walk side by side.  I ended up behind most of my family by the time we got to the visitor's entrance for Temple Square.  It was right outside that entrance where I saw the man from before.  The one who'd given that woman a bottle of water.

I looked at him and smiled.  He smiled back and said, "Spare something for someone in need?" as he held his cardboard sign.
I apologetically replied, "I'm sorry, I don't have anything,"  which was true, unless he needed a fine-tip pen, or a blank black book full of words a stranger had written.
He continued to smile with a new understanding look, and then said in the same friendly tone he'd used before, "Pray for me then." 
My smile got even bigger.  It did.  I felt it.  I didn't control it, it did it all by itself!
I said "I will!" and continued trying to keep up with my family.

I had to take a few long strides to walk next to my younger sister's again.  They both have longer legs than I do, darn it.

It was a while before my smile returned to a normal size.

I mean, that guy is COOL.  He has nothing, but he's incredibly generous.  (He gave half of the water he'd obtained to that other woman!)  He sees plenty of faces every day that belong to people with much more than he has, but he's still so friendly!  I couldn't offer him anything tangible.  But whether or not I happened to be the praying sort, he asked me to pray for him.  He understood that I couldn't give him something that day, but he knew of another way I could help him.  He asked, without hesitation.

That guy is COOL!

I really respect him.  And admire him.  He seemed to have so much happiness in him, and he just wanted it to be spread around.  Generous!

Man, that guy is cool.
That's that.

19 July 2010

i don't do anything on the computer these days

It's not like there are a shortage of computers in my house. 

It's not like I don't write.  (LOTS.)

It's not like I have nothing to do on the computer.

I just don't.  
Olivia has been using my computer while she's staying here....  
Ummmm, That's all I've got.

As far as saying stuff goes, I officially have nothing.

... That doesn't happen very often.  

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd, five minutes later, that still hasn't changed.  So I'll just click publish.  Yup.
That's all.

03 July 2010

"... anyway, so that's when the aliens showed up."

Once, I was talking to my brother.

More like he was talking at me.  And I listened and enjoyed.  And then he just sort of...
ran out of words on the topic.  But I hadn't finished listening.  So after a well-timed pause, he said:

"Anyway, so that's when the aliens showed up."

And I just laughed.  And then we talked about that comment for a while....

Now I'm gonna sidetrack myself for just a bit:
     I really miss Calvin.  I'm glad he is where he is.  And I'm glad I miss him.  Because that means that he matters to me, y'know?  It means we were tight before he left.  And we're tight now.  We come from a tight family.  That's what happens when you try to squeeze so many people like us into one house.  (I almost mean this literally.  In my old home, there was a point where 5 of us kids shared one bedroom, and my parents and youngest sister slept in another.)  We may reeeeeeeeeaally bug each other, but we're tight.  We spend time with each other.  We know each other.  It's good.  Hard sometimes, but good.

Okay.  Back to whatever was going on before the sidetrack:

He and I both used the aliens comment pretty often after that first time when we came to a point in conversation when we didn't know what to say.  I still use it.  He might.  Dunno.  Anyway, I use it differently at times, but usually it serves as a variation on supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Here's another digression:
The same discussed Calvin wrote a variation on the song Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
"When no one can stand your breath, my friend, that's halitosis.
H-A-L-I-T-O-S-I-S spells 'halitosis'.
If your breath is rank, then this might be your diagnosis:
H-A-L-I-T-O-S-I-S spells 'halitosis'!"

You know, you could spell it backwards which would be S-I-S-O-T-I-L-A-H, but that won't really do much for your breath....  
Try to sing that song.  It still takes concentration to get that O and final I to stay in the right place.

Okay.  Enough digression.  Now I'll regress so that this post can progress, and maybe actually conclude successfully.

I had no idea what to say.  I sat, just watching the cursor flash on and off in the title bar, trying to write something.   And that was about when the aliens showed up.  (Thanks for the inspiration, guys.)

Also, Calvin's birthday was last Sunday, and I felt like talking about him.  Now I have.
So now I'll go.

27 June 2010

Poem of the day

Poem of the day:

And now the day is done:

A bright full moon has come.

Knudsens left. They're gone.

And Calvin's twenty-one.

25 June 2010

lacking wisdom

This is what I typed yesterday after my teeth came out:

Quick surgery. Maybe ten minutes. The stitching up finished at 9:17. I had a tooth with six roots! The oral surgeon said he'd never seen anything like it before. Crazy.

now it's 1:31, and I'm getting loopy. After a long while in pain, like, two and a half hours, I was given a different medicine. Lortab. It's lovely. I'm soooooooooooo sleepy, but I want to finish my lunch before I sleep. :)

This is how I looked:
There is a very, very big chance that I will regret putting this picture on here. But I look better in that photo than I do now.

So that picture will stay, and...

I will regret it less than if I would regret posting a current photo.

The swelling generally gets worse for the first 48 hours...

I'm on Lortab again. Maybe that's why I decided to finish this post...

Lortab is lovely. I've got some decent bruising going on. Artistically, it could even be a morbid masterpiece of colors. The Lortab is really helping me out.

My family is helpful too. Ashton has been willingly ensuring my comfort all day. Right now we're watching Iron Giant together. Earlier we played the Pokémon card game. He barely beat me. I was ahead for so long but then at the very last minute, he plowed through a ton of my Pokémon. We were both on our last one, and he beat me by one attack. But it's only 'cause he had two Richus in his deck, and one of my special cards....

I have a great family. Por ejemplo: My dad made me soup earlier, and last night my mom made me a bed on the couch downstairs. Maya has been super willing to get me ice and leave me alone, or get me water and talk and joke, depending on what I seem to need. Sean bought me a milkshake after picking me up last night, and then he stayed up late with me letting me eat some of his coveted ice cream and we watched a really cool documentary on helvetica (called HELVETICA) while I was having trouble going to sleep.

That's just to name a few of the favors from family. It's always a strange experience for me to re-realize that 'best friends' and 'family' are not universal synonyms.

They are synonyms for me. The members of my family are my truest, closest friends.

And thus concludes the wisdom teeth post rant on family.

la cuarta

16 June 2010

i heart art

Sometimes I'm intimidated by the pure, developed talent there is in the world. Usually that intimidation becomes inspiration for me to either get better at what I can't do well, or do more of what I love to do. (Usually write.) Most intimidated inspiration comes from the visual field. Often on blogs LOOK!

Ashley Thalman took pictures when my sister got married.
My cousin Lindsay recently got into photography, and she's quite good.
On the other side of the family, my cousin Jordan takes awesome pictures too.

Other Visuals:
Hannah Hillam is amazing. Also, she draws/paints/etc.s well.
Olivia's blog shows off her graphic design skills lots.

That's it for now I guess. There are plenty more, but I am not going list them yet...
This post has been a long time in coming... Like... since Sean's birthday or so.
Anyone else know of any?

15 June 2010

sleep cycles need a reset button

Ever tried to write a blog post when you're barely conscious and not very capable of awareness...?

I have.

So, I have an issue, where I frequently get tired of my blog. I just get bored or repulsed because of the way it looks. That leads to the following series of events:
  1. I never want to post.
  2. I change my blog's appearance.
I wonder how long it will take for me to become bored with a brand new template....
Hopefully a while... because then perhaps I'll post more often.
I have some friends who are really good at posting most everyday.
Others just have really priceless posts when the posts come.
I never want to post. Not that I'm posting for a big crowd or anything, I just think that I ought to actually post more often...

In pretty much unrelated news, due to spam comments, I'll be privatizing my blog and/or changing the url soon.... I don't want to do this. But I'm oh-so-sick of the spam.

But really, blogs are such a grand blessing. My sister and brother-in-law are moving away to the east coast, and just last night I was feeling so glad that Olivia is such a consistent, talented blogger. Really....
And the entire reason I entered the intimidating blogosphere was because I was running off to play in Guatemala while my family enjoyed Utah winter. With my blog, I felt like I was keeping someone updated....
It acted as my journal, too. I hadn't become a write-a-holic yet....

29 May 2010

a day in the life

^ It's a good Beatles song, check it out. ^

Last night I ended high school. At five o' clock this morning, I arrived home from my very last school-sponsored activity of my whole public/mandatory/childhood/parentally-dependent education.

Hmmm... I take issue with my own word choice. 'Public' is fine I guess, though far from fitting... I think all of life includes 'mandatory' education. My 'childhood' is nowhere near concluded. I'm still 'parentally-dependent' right now, and I will be still when formal 'education' resumes in the fall. (Dorms are so expensive!)

Education is not my point.
So I'll get back to getting to it.

The graduation milestone is littered with comments like "Here comes the real world," or "Now it's time for real life," or "You're starting a new chapter of your life," or "You're not a kid anymore," et cetera.

The Real stuff. I guess that all 18 years and 5 months haven't been life, they've been... I don't know. Surreal life? In the imaginary world?

Well the Real World was anxious to meet me I suppose. Today gave me a brand new list of experiences-- fingers I would have to put down if someone brought these up while playing I Have Never.

  • I got home past 5 am.
  • I signed legal documents without being called a "minor".
  • I had a breathalyzer test.
  • I had a medical professional inform me that I was not drunk.
  • I gave a urine sample.
  • I signed a form for tax purposes.
  • I listened to traffic reports on the radio... By choice... For my own benefit.

There are more that I'm forgetting, I'm sure.

To dispel any worry, I was not in trouble. Most of the new experiences were donated by participation in a medical study.

If this is day one of Real Life, I nervously look forward to the days to come.
Real Life.
Life in general is a terrifying thing. I think that's why it has the potential to be beautiful. It demands reflection, consideration, and practice. It requires spontaneity, leaps of faith, and new experiences. It's fragile. It's resilient.......

It's life. It happens. Hopefully life doesn't happen at you, or to you, but with you, or for you. ... I guess best of all would be if your life happened because of you.

... Hmm....

It's late. I need to put these thoughts to bed.

26 May 2010

they are more than half-way out

I'm the middle kid.

Now that I'm graduating, my parents are more than halfway through the kids in high school madness.

My sister's graduation lasted three hours, if I remember right. It was an undesirable experience, especially, I imagine, for my parents who couldn't go climb around under the seats...

I remember very little of Sean's ceremony, but I remember many pictures taken outside, when it was over. And I remember dinner afterward, because not only was it memorably delicious, but Sean and I both got to order a pricey Italian soda. He had just graduated, and I'd just finished middle school... I guess that getting out was qualification. ...heh...

With certainty I can declare that I remember more about Calvin's graduation than he does himself. This is because I was there the whole time, but he was not. His practicality made for a circumvention of Pomp & Circumstance. (I'm pretty sure he graduated with either honors or high honors.... I'm leaning toward normal-height honors, because he wanted a free period, which meant he was a credit short of the higher kind. Like I said: he is practical. High honors wouldn't do anything extra for him, but a free period would provide time for such and such, so honors is okay. Y'know. Whatever.) Despite his academic qualification, he didn't participate in the graduation ceremony. He didn't see any use for it. But when one of his best friends ended up being chosen to speak, he decided to go, only to listen to that speech. When it was over, Calvin left. I had to perform with the orchestra. I had to get there earlier and stay later than the graduates. ... Oh well.

Anyway, thanks to the PHS alumni, I have a formal graduation announcement. Sean took a picture, and then made it look good, and Olivia put Sean's work with some really nicely designed graphics. (Of course it's nice. Olivia can now add a BYU graduation to her collection: BFA in Graphic Design.) They both worked hard and happily. ... And Calvin I suppose did the same, but over in London... which made this possible in less obvious ways. It's true, just go with it.

Here is my graduation announcement, thanks to my graduate brothers and sister.

That's it.

10 May 2010

i like the word 'ferocious'



Just feel it, it feels nice.

'Ferocious' etymologically means 'fierce looking'. I think it's the looking half of that meaning that allows people to use ferocious in an endearing way. ... When I picture a kid that I'd describe as 'ferocious', I see, for example, my little brother. His excitement, his intensity, his passion, his courage.

Ferocious. Its dictionary definition isn't as endearing.
'Ferocious' could describe my April, by either definition. Both. I was really bad at doing anything beyond the world of AP Testing. Honestly, much of the AP-centered time was spent wishing that I had my moleskin instead of whatever notebook happened to be in front of me, and trying to want to try to concentrate. (This is not a very effective study routine, and I wouldn't really recommend it.)

But my AP weeks are over! All I have now is my IB Music test, but that's in two weeks. (The time dedicated to that test will be ferocious to me as well, but probably more productive and reasonably spaced out.)

The new Ferocious in my life at present is the orphaned child of those conquered AP Test-prep Ferociouses. (The prep stressed me. The tests were tiring, but quick; I don't frequently find myself stressed when I'm taking a test. Only before....) My new Ferocious will be recovering. The prep madness had me acting quite negligent toward most everything else. My room, for example, holds a ferocious mess. Another example would be my AP US History grade. Ironically, I was so focussed on the test that some assignments were left unfinished.

A major evidence: Blog Post.
(Although, this is also because I am taking a break... Heh.)

I have more posts coming. May will maybe show ferocious numbers of blog posts. Hopefully.

That's all for now though,

30 March 2010

this is how i feel.


If only for the cross-breeze,
[with its iconic sound
and the blissful sense of chaos,]
I'd roll that window down.

If it was warm,
or stormy,
I'd still roll that window down.

I'd rather not face rain, though.
It's not that it won't sing--
it's actually quite full of
pieces of some everythings,
some in-betweens,
and also filled by hungry, grieved nothings.

But I don't think it'd be useful
to bet wet again so soon.
The clouds might disagree.
Last night, they hid the moon.

But even if it does rain,
(perhaps especially,)
I'd still roll down that window.

I still need that cross-breeze.

*STREAMOFTHOUGHT:* earlier i was discussing utah weather. i'm very much in love with the variety. i'm pretty sure it keeps me sane. i don't normally type poems. in fact, usually i can't type a poem. i just do better with a pen. i see green blurs on my willow. i view the tree right through that window-- the one willow i can see-- as my tree. right now there are lots of blurs. i wonder where my glasses went. i often have long titles. they usually mean more to me than i mean them to. or maybe they mean more to me than i mean them to mean to other people...

I'm done.

a post i'm posting late

(Today is actually the thirtieth. But this belongs on the 25th.)

Olivia Cherie Juárez Knudsen.
Oliviack, maybe? Maybe.
She's older, and she's wiser.
She can raise her eyebrow, too.
(Like, really, though. She means it
when she raises it at you.)
She quite enjoys her major.
(A designer-- graphic'ly.)
She's GOOD at it. I've seen her
work with simplicity
and show so well whatever
she meant to get across.
(Kind of like that eyebrow
which just tells you it's the boss.)

There's lot's more to her. She's the oldest, of course there is. It isn't hard to tell, though, because she's very real. And very much her own character.

Olivia, I love you very much. Happy 25 on 25, even though that's sort of old news. I still think it's exciting. Sorry I didn't do this when it was your actual birthday. We'll just say I was busy helping you celebrate, okay?



Love you,

13 March 2010


I've been doing lot's of Beatles appreciation recently.

I remember, way back in the earlier half of my life, A Hard Day's Night played when we had to clean, and we'd just get stuff done and sing along to that album. A Hard Day's Night, speaking of the song this time, was my theme song. Olivia used to have me sing it. Carmen sangNorwegian Wood, for the same reason...

Those guys were among the elite. Their music has such variety, and it's pretty much all successful.

But I, being myself, am a sucker for their lyrics.

For instance:
From DON'T PASS ME BY, a comical example:
I'm sorry that I doubted you.
I was so unfair.
You were in a car-crash,
And you lost your hair.
You said that you would be late,
About an hour or two.
That's okay, I'm just waiting here,
Just waiting to hear from you.

From WHILE MY GUITAR GENTLY WEEPS, a poetic example:
I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping,
While my guitar gently weeps.
I look at the floor, and I see it needs sweeping.
Still, my guitar gently weeps.
I don't know why nobody told you
How to unfold your love.
I don't know how someone controlled you.
They bought and sold you.

From HERE COMES THE SUN, a feel-good example:
Little darling,
It's been a long, cold, lonely winter.
Little darling,
It feels like years since it's been here...
... Little darling,
The smile's returning to the faces,
Little darling,
It feels like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

I love the stories told in Rocky Racoon, Ob-la-di Ob-la-da, She Loves You, and other songs.

This is the song I've had stuck in my head for a while:
I'm not generally a fan of covers of The Beatles' songs. But this one I like.

Anyway, there's the rant for today.

18 February 2010

words are magic

I've had a lot of poems recently. Which is good, because I was beginning to feel like the poems were beginning to fade into quotes, single words, and stories. But there is something about poems that let words actually become what they want to become.

I'm probably only making sense to myself, but that's okay. That's all I need for now.

Here's one of the said recent poems:

Why I Got to Sleep so Late
I am not a sleeper.
But I dearly love to dream.
But shutting down--
It wouldn't work.
And I wondered
How he'd been.

Then my brother came,
And for a while, we just spoke.
But he laid down.
(He does hard work)
And my pen--
it met my book.

That was last night. I hadn't seen Sean in a while, and he came to my room late last night as I was about to go to sleep. I didn't go to sleep for another hour, because of talking with Sean, and then waking Sean up. Then writing a poem.

I've been thinking a lot about words recently. Words are really important to me. In a way that I don't fully understand. The best part is, the words themselves can't help me to describe it. It's kind of magic.

Words, words, words.

14 February 2010

in the spirit of the season...

I've been out of touch with Provo Valentine's Day. Last year, I was in Guatemala at this time, and the year before that I spent Heart Day on a tour bus with the PHS orchestra and band. I'd kind of forgotten what "Single's Awareness Day" was like here.

First off, why did today become a hate-fest? :( I'm all for the shunning of commercialism, but that doesn't mean that people have to show their hate for a Day of Love. You can be single and love people. That's something that's kind of been floating around in my mind recently. Why do you need a significant-other to celebrate love?

My sister has brought out much of this thought. She's been celebrating acts of kindness over the last week, and sharing them via her beautiful blog. (Thanks, Olive.) I guess that I noticed the V-Day grimaces after reading her first post about "Valentnice".

For instance:

Sean gave me that this morning. Love.

Love is kindness. Love is being there for someone. Love is a smile. Love doesn't have to be giggles and a box of chocolate. Love can be music. Love can be words. Love can be pictures, or scribbles. Love can be cleaning up after yourself so your mom doesn't have to. Love can be taking your second favorite, so your sibling can have your first favorite. Love is... a lot. And today, I'm happy to celebrate that.
With love,

08 February 2010

word verification

Usually posting a comment in the blogosphere requires word verification. These make sure than all commenters are human. They entertain me. I started to collect some of them, because they were very close to actual words, and sometimes, they just had the right sound. Here's my short list:

Sometimes I wonder if I like words a little too much. Then I remember that's impossible.

Anyway, that's my not-so-word list. I could keep adding to it, but then I'd never actually say anything about it.
The end!

16 January 2010

so i was thinking...

This is a quetzal:

The quetzal is the national bird of Guatemala. And it is beautiful. It's also been on my mind recently.

For the Mayans, the quetzal is the god of the air, a symbol of goodness and light. In a couple of languages the same word used for quetzal is used for precious or sacred. It's because the bird really is wonderful. It's been illegal to kill one since Mayan times.

Legends say that Tecún Umán (as he is generally called) was being watched over by a quetzal when he had to lead his people into battle against Don Pedro de Alvarado, the conquistador. The ancient Guatemalans fought well, despite many disadvantages. But when Tecún Umán and Don Pedro had a face off, the luck ran out. As Don Pedro tried to attack, Tecún Umán killed the horse the conquistador was riding. But as the Mayan prince tried to go for the rider, he was run through with a spear. That's when the quetzal came down from the sky. It landed on Tecún Umán as he was dying. Right on his wound. To this day, his belly is still blood stained.

Also, he won't sing again until Guatemala is truly free. His "song" kind of sounds like a crying puppy.

The bird is widely recognized as a symbol of liberty. It can't be held captive. If it was caught, it became so depressed it would commit suicide. It stops eating or drinking. It's beautiful long tail feathers fall out. Then it dies. I was kinda sad when I learned that a zoo in Mexico had successfully kept one in captivity. It seemed almost... wrong.

Anyway, these legends and symbols are really important to Guatemala. The quetzal is on the flag, the money, the buildings, the markets, the gas stations, etc. The money is called "Quetzales."

I think the biggest reason I've been thinking of the quetzal so much is because I REALLY miss Guate right now. One year ago today I was finishing up my first full day in Guatemala. I went to the temple in the city and my cousin got married. I bought aroz con leche from a lady across the street. I fell in love with the air, and the cousins, and the green, and the warm, and more. For the first time I can remember, I'm wishing winter was over. Not really. I just wish I was away from winter and in the land of the eternal spring.

Guate, I'm there in my heart.

Te quiero.

04 January 2010

let impatience have a go

A few things (if "few" is allowed to equal 4 and a poem) :
  • Blogger won't let me upload pictures. Upset? Yes. But only by a little bit. If we were to measure it in terms of a threshold, then I'm standing just beyond said threshold. But it was a threshold of quit. I gave up trying to put a picture up here. In retrospect, I wasted time. ... It wasn't even all that important. In fact, it was zero important.
  • 'Nother thing: I've developed a crush on in- words. A few that have found their way onto the blank-no-longer pages of my moleskin are inconsistency, intrude, inflict, interlude, intervene. I have others in my head, but I haven't yet let them out. It's kinda a gradual thing. But it makes me want to write inportant instead of important. Baffling. (Not really, but I wanted to use that word.)
  • I was thinking the other day (four minutes ago), "Hey. Why do I always talk about myself when I blog?" That's when I realized A: it's not always, and B: it's... my blog. But still, I sometimes wish that I wasn't always writing about me and my writing and why I'm this or I'm that or mine or me or my or whomever is I. Is it weird that I feel guilty writing about myself? ... Probably. That said, I'm currently collecting art blogs that I love, and I want to share. So I'm going to shortly.
  • I tend to be embarrassed by my blog, words, poems, stories, and the like. I don't think that's really a good thing. So I'm going to try to let myself tell people about this blog. I usually don't, or when I do it's a very shallow effort. I feel... like it's bragging. Anybody know how that goes? ... I do. I poem'd about it a bit earlier today. (Once again, trying to be more ¿confident? with my writing, I'll post it with this post.)
A Question I Discovered I'd Asked Myself
Am I writing for a purpose?
I let few people read.
But it feels a bit intimidating,
And I know there's stuff I lack.
I don't write quite as often
as I know I think I should.
Admittedly, I'm scared--
Even terrified (to a point).
I know there's stuff I lack,
But I still should write some more,
And let more people read words
I write to write some more.
And not just the same ones
I let 'cause I feel safe.
But am I writing for a purpose,
Or just to write some more?