August 15, 2008

• [short] Writing Assignment #15

  I hated this one. But somehow I managed to do it last night so I might as well post it. I have no idea what it means. I didn’t bother to reread it or edit it so it’s filled with many many grammatical and spelling errors. I don’t care. I wrote it, but I don’t want to read it. It makes me feel sad to think about it.

  Assignment #15: Just write… don’t think. Take a deep breath. And let
  it out. Do it again a couple more times if you must. Close your eyes…
  and just start writing. Don’t think; just feel.
  Stop when you think it’s time and then, open your eyes. I call this
  exercise: “close your eyes and write” [Also, if you think you've made
  mistakes, you can correct them after you've written everything you feel
  you are]

  I was sitting there, in the streets on the pavement surrounding by
  mountains of hope. I stood up. I kicked a mountain down. And hten
  another and another.
  
  It
  got so boring. What’s the point? The mountains spring back up anyway.
  Maybe I wll climb one. So I sat up on the top of the mountain when i
  had climbed it and saw that i was all alone.
  
  What
  a waste.  I jumped off the mountain and dove and connected to the
  pavement. I hit nothing. I swam through dirt and metal and filth.
  
  I
  gathered it together and built my own montains wider and broader, with
  stairs so everybody could climb them and sit with me on the hill
  overlooking the shadows of despair valley
  
  Like sunbeams would fall from the heavens illuminating puddles of wants on the incomplete surface. What are these wants?
  
  I
  was sitting there on the mountain of my own construction waiting for
  the others to climb the stairs and join me a the summit. but they were
  all too busy struggling up their own mountains and falling one by one.
  Climb, fall. Climb. Fall. And some would reach the top find hat they
  were alone and jump and dive like me. only they couldn’t swim through
  dirt. They weren’t sorcerers. They either got up with broken bones and
  limbs cursed hteir fate and started climbing again. Or they didn’t get
  up at all.
  
  So but why is it so wet here? if
  this is ideal? i feel ike it isn’t sufficient and it doesn’t matter and
  nobody will climb the stairs. So I’ll get up and go for a walk and step
  of the ledge and start to fly.
  
  over land
  and under hill i fly like i swam looking and searching for who? i
  dunno. i don’t believe ther is anything or anyone you can find that
  changes you. i don’t believe in experiences that make you better. we
  don’t grow. we just climb and fall and climb and jump and think we’re
  getting somewhere.
  
  and even if you learn to
  fly as i have learned it doesn’t stop you from falling from the air. a
  single phrase a tiny sentence and it clips your wings, you collapse and
  you can’t swim after all. you fall and hurt your back and nobody can
  heal it now cuz you were stupid enough to think it wouldn’t happen.
  
  so
  i crawl back now agony in evey move. crawl up the stairs. crawl to my
  safe plateau. and now there’s nothing but puddles and dry spots. i
  position myself on the edge and look around. but nobody joined me,
  nobody heard my silent cries as i flew throughout hte kingdom of
  mountain climbing jesters. nobody thoguht to follow me back and see
  where i learned to fly.

  
  More Writing Assignments

  • 5:19 am
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