Separated

When the sky meets water and turns to flame,

Over there I know it will do the same

Gold exchanged for gold, velvet for velvet

Azure for azure, scarlet for scarlet.

A time to witness a King’s tragic fall

As the eye of life closes, consumes all.

The Silver Queen then wanders the night

While the King rises once more to a show of light.

It is there you will be under the grace of the King,

While in darkness I remain with the crickets who sing;

They sing for the Queen, of her woe and plight

As she searches for her king alone in flight

‘Til finally they unite in the in-between

Where fire yet burns and crickets not seen

The King with his Queen, the Queen her King

In that fleeting moment, bliss does sing. 

An Incomplete Weekend

Long was the journey
Long,
And empty.
An incomplete fellowship
To a facade of adventure
Frolicking,
J-walking,
Ale drinking,
Sucker Punching--
All for naught,
For all was incomplete
Without our Boss.
Though the sun shone
Upon our party
It shone but partly
For we were only partly there
Without our Boss.
Boss Tweej.

This was a spontaneous poem I wrote for Tweej. It was written out of guilt, as she guilted me about Jon leaving her a poem about her absence, but not me.  I thought it was decent for being written in only 5 minutes.

Sisyphus

Will I ever succeed at getting this boulder on top of the mountain without it falling back down again?

It has been a semester of the same unending cycle. I work, I see a glimmer of success, and then I'm shot down to ground zero. Too much I build up hope, hope that I will be recognized for who I am and what I do. When I become close enough to recognition, enough where I can smell its desirable sweetness, the smell fades away, leaving me with the empty desire that can no longer be satisfied. But I still yearn for it. I want to taste that smell and know what it feels like to have the opportunity to do so; but it denies itself to me.

Why reward a man for who he is and what he does if he does not thoroughly know himself? I feel like an invisible man, transparent to everyone, including myself. People don't know what to think of me. They don't know that I'm there. I'm just another face that wears other faces. What do you do with a man who has no definite personality, a man who keeps an arsenal of different masks and goes through them at will? A man like that scares people; they don't know what to think. They refuse to recognize, for it is unclear what exactly there is to recognize. And yet, all the man desires is recognition. Without it, there can be no establishment of a definite personality. Without it, the man can not be himself, for he knows not himself, but only of the opinions others paint of him. He is forced to wear masks, forced to be a puppet of acceptance, bending to the will of the master as a slave unable to break his bonds.

But there is a key; and that key is recognition. The task is to achieve that key. Until that boulder stays atop the mountain, the man shall be enslaved to his never-ending task.

No Pain Can Be Deeper

Pain will subside eventually. In the meantime, there is the necessity of focusing on other obstacles. In the meantime, revel in the pain; channel it into a strand of beauty. What dies can only grow anew.

The Clarity of Grey

The semester has been well thus far. There has been plenty of reading and writing, which is to be expected with three English classes, but I've been doing much more of it in my two education classes. So the workload is certainly stressful at times, but ultimately, I feel like I'm gaining something from this work; something that's expanding my character and helping me to learn more about myself. Such is the work of enlightenment, is it not? That's what I love about my two majors: they're both thought provoking and discussion-based, as true education should be. I'm learning concepts instead of memorizing terms. I'm writing elaborate, critical essays instead of studying for multiple choice tests. I have found my niche, and I am pleased.

With this new sense of purpose, I'm becoming more aware of certain aspects of my persona I need to work on. Transcending to the rank of Teacher will require much more practice with presenting and discussing ideas, and a concrete sense of confidence in front of students. I am pleased to say that I have the opportunity this semester to practice on it.

I have been placed at Red Creek High School for my first block practicum every Tuesday from 7:55-11:30am, and couldn't be happier with my placement. I've been assigned to Mrs. Cramer, who is actually the wife of Mr. Cramer, my Junior High School biology teacher (who is one of my favorites). Like her husband, she teaches very well, and is very committed to her students. She seems very pleased to have me in the class, and expressed profound excitement after I offered her my services in the classroom - as if other practicum students just went to merely observe. I am really looking forward to working with her and the students of that class. She treats me like a student teacher - probably because I presented myself as one - instead of a mere observer, so therefore I might be conducting the class, leading group discussions, and tutoring students in need. I'm not sure what I did to appease the Luck Gods.

Needless to say, I've been too busy lately to worry about the future, which as Einstein says, "A happy man is too satisfied with the present to dwell too much on the future." I don't necessary feel a profound sense of happiness, but I am content with where I am, and can only survive this semester by taking each day at a time. Also, I'm not sure if a day ahead counts in Einstein's view, but I'm dwelling on tomorrow evening's festivities, for there's definitely plenty of fun in store.

Chill

There's a chill in the air - a very familiar chill. The flame of summer is slowly burning out, and with it the experiences that will fade into memory. Many will be cherished memories, while others will fall into the black pit of regret, ever yearning to be forgotten.

I would like to say that it has been a very productive summer full of practicing on my creativity and character-building. But I can not. It feels like my creativity decided to go on vacation as well and forgot to return. I've written very little with two or three attempts at a novel, a poem or two, some philosophical stuff, and the first scene of a play. On the whole it may sound like quite a bit, but it really isn't. All together it probably adds up to around 10-15 pages of work, but there was plenty of opportunity to do more, I just couldn't spark my imagination with enough inspiration.

I'd love to add more to this post, but a headache prevents me from doing so. To be continued.