The Color Of Hunger

Posts Tagged ‘creative

Gatherings of  modest raindrops make their way across November skies.
Staggering south as the wind blows. Hard.
55 now. Hugging pavement. Between all the lines.
.
Remains of your reflection loitering in my rear-view.
My eyes begin to leak with curiosity.
A fragile sensation.
Pupils go numb. So stuck on staring at yours. Through yours.
The answers caught beneath the irises. Such pretty irises.
So perfect.
So neat.
.
Yet who am I to be the judge of that?
I suppose I will never know; I cannot see from the inside-out.
So I remain silent.
Sometimes not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Mind over matter, fucking with these filthy feelings.
But feeling fucks back.
.
A witch with a massive, black book of ugly, mean spells.
Cast upon unsuspecting souls.
360’s on the spinal cord.
A spiral staircase of white.
There is no escape.
There is no end.
.
Advertisements
The over.whelm.ing

S…C…E…N…T of Sharpie tickles my IMAGINATION.

My palms begin to feel…magnetic-tic-tik-tic (toc?) against this pad of paper.

(+)Positive versus (-)negative.

The pull

increasing

as reality descends.
Sweating now.

¡NO TIME! to initiate a thought process.

Bundles of recycled creativity leave me longing for more.

More of…
(…)….anything….(…)….everything….(…)….all at once….(…)

No one can touch ME.

My veins pump quick with energy, my blood a thick, rich red.
People stare yet keep to themselves.

Their
eyes dance with FEAR
as
my mind is thoroughly examined.

Skin cold, lungs numb; curiosity makes the pupils twitch.
A backwards breast stroke beneath a background of brilliant blue.
∞(.I see you.)∞
But please, no need for the negatives. Touch me, feel me, but don’t be afraid.
Uniquely Different.

FUCK routine.

I am a superhero of sorts without all those superpowers.
My heart is warm; shared sympathy never bitter.
WELCOME TO MY WORLD.

I suppose I am happy here. I suppose I belong. Bright moments contracting dull.

Life is art and I am the artist. Crouched behind that big wooden easel.

My paintbrush…

A

L

I

V

E

with so many colors.

So much FrEeDoM.

Mind racing (racing) with opportunity; fingers can’t keep up.

Perspiration via motivation. The cologne of accomplishment.

The paper softens as I progress. Happy mistakes litter the page now.

Along-with-hundreds-of-inches-of-leeway. Ahhh, leeway.

My brain seems…bruised…with numb surprise.

Cleverly disguised in white, I suggest, ‘Perhaps, a different wardrobe?’

BLUES
ORANGES
GREENS
REDS

Everything just sort of connects/blends/combines.

I’m left to smile at these results.

Today, I cannot STOP smiling.

All this awesomeness is making my face hurt.

[.Yup.]

=] ♣ [=

Wow. Today my blog has reached the 1,000 views milestone. This, is pretty fucking awesome considering I write about only once a month. And when I do it’s usually nonsense. Like that last sentence. And this one. And this one as well. Haha.

Hmmm, what’s new in my life? Absolutely nothing. Haha, just kidding. About a month ago I purchased my very first car. A red 1995 Chrysler LeBaron convertible. 118,500 miles. $2,300 cash.

I LOVE IT.


On the 20th of August, my two best friends and I took a road trip down to Oregon to visit a friend of ours who’s gonna be a freshman this year at Portland State University. Was the funniest trip EVER.


Saturday morning, we rode the MAX down to the street markets taking place in the heart of downtown Portland. It’s rather strange how the bigger the city gets, the meaner the people become. Everybody is always in everybody else’s way. All the time. And then you got SO many different personalities. The artists, the pessimists, the shy people, the confident. It’s incredible.


There was this artist on one of the corners who drew all of her pictures with numbers. Millions of different sizes of numbers. All blended together to create one huge image. It reminded me of pixels on a TV. I can only imagine how patient/dedicated/passionate you’d hafta be to finish just ONE of her pieces. The creativity behind ’em was very inspiring.


Sunday afternoon, we headed out to Cannon Beach. I cannot describe in words how fucking awesome it is to drive the 101 in a convertible. The weather couldn’t have been better either. When we got to the beach it was low 80’s with no wind and clear skies as far as the eye could see. The sun made the humidity almost unnoticeable. The ocean was still hella cold tho. HELLA cold. But that didn’t stop us from getting in. Of course not, duh.


Halibut was dinner, salt water taffy was dessert. After the sun disappeared, we grabbed sleeping bags from the trunk and slept right on the sand. Under hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of shiny white stars. T’was amazing. You know those moments in life where time is no longer a factor and nothing troublesome exists anymore, nothing bad can happen anywhere remotely close to where you are? Hakuna matata? Well, that night was my moment. Replay it a thousand times and it STILL would be just as exciting as the first.


However, all good things must come to an end. Mr. Reality must return sometime, right? Haha. So we took a final stroll down the beach and headed home. Eastbound Spokane, 350 miles. Amen.

=]

I stumbled inside the dinky 7-11 packing two bright yellow squirt guns as my heat. Despite the dizzy feet and double-vision that now had a hold of me, I was still functional enough to know that fate was doom at this point. However, most of my conscience had now been dissolved thanks to some cheap vodka and a nasty break-up a few hours earlier. How the hell was I supposed to know there’s a difference between the Eagles and the Falcons? They’re both birds for Christ’s sake. Maybe I got a bit carried away when I chucked that wine glass, but our Valentine’s dinner should NOT be second in line to a god damn sports broadcast. Besides, we live thousands of miles away from Canada. Who needs a Canadian football team as their favorite? Love yer own city, Barry. Traitor.

“Did you need something miss?” Judging by the cold and bitter tone behind the cash register, I apparently had gotten lost in thought again. Fuck, how long have I been standing here? Long enough. “Gimme the special of the day….and spare me the bullshit.” I revealed my tiny sidekicks, resting their triggers against my pointer fingers.

I couldn’t tell if this guy was laughing or in panic. Millions of tiny wrinkles divided his face in such a patterned way, it looked as if I could peel pieces of skin from his cheekbones and form my own little jigsaw puzzle. (Shudder, shudder.) Beneath the layers of aging epidermis, I managed to make out a toothless grin, that to this day still makes me wish God had spared me a gag reflex. He slowly lifted his veiny left hand from underneath the counter and pulled out a gun of his own. Only his was shiny and didn’t leak when you tilted it sideways. “Yer toast, bitch”, he uttered, murdering syllables as he spoke them.

Shock set in, but not so much as to paralyze. Luckily, Mom had been right about increased agility via Wii Tennis. And luckily, this time I had listened. Dodging the first shell was like being on the receiving end of a doubles match with the Williams’ sisters. With no partner. Minus a racket. Shhhhewww! (A near hit.) Wicked speed encased in stainless steel proved to be my toughest enemy yet. And I thought Barry was bad.

(To be continued….maybe….haha.)

{I will miss this so very much.}
.
Smiles glisten in distorted reflections of table silverware.
Wavy faces trapped under reddish diner lights.
Curvy at the base. Spiraled at the ends.
Getting lost in casual till conversations; savoring them as they unfold.
Kissing ass, but keeping pride.
These lips have standards.
.
Concocting milkshakes, decaf on that coffee, green light – GO.
Lipstick remains on empty Coke glasses.
Pouring water just because.
No rebound this time, better luck next.
Feet cast beneath spells of increasing tempo and movement.
Toes loaded with wave after wave of momentum.
The flow of….energy.
Quick….moving….then quick again.
.
Looking forward to work.
Grease stains mark accomplishment.
Dirty aprons not to be frowned upon.
Feeding off invisible heat from the fryer.
And the grill.
And….the people.
You get what you give.
So give good.
.
Good morning, Mr. Sunday, how lovely you are today.
The door now becomes the alarm clock.
Stuck at a constant – in, out, out, in.
The good kind though, the purest form.
The sound of….happy.
The feeling of….alive.
.
{I am was content here.}

Man, I loved hogging the drinking fountain in elementary school. There was only one too, in the ENTIRE school. (Great Northern – it was a two-story brick building, housing give-or-take forty kids, K-6th.) “Neiner, neiner, neeeeiner.” Drink, drink, drink. Then I’d do that thing where I’d fake like I was finished, wipe my sleeve across my mouth even, for added effect, just to bend down and drink some more. Haha! That was the best. Especially when I’d get the kids I didn’t like waiting behind me. They wouldn’t say anything. Of course not. That meant defeat and losing when yer twelve years old is simply not acceptable.
 
So twenty seconds would go by, and then ten more, and then twenty seconds after that, until finally they’d get so impatient, they’d go to the bathroom and drink from the sink faucet. I’d get to a point where I couldn’t swallow anymore cuz I was choking on the water from laughing so hard. It’s tough enough trying to muffle laughter when yer a fifth grader, but when kids start resorting to the bathroom sink because you currently hold all access to the water fountain, shit just gets soooo much funnier. I guess it’s the equivalent of asking for a water cup at Mickey D’s and in turn, filling it up with Mountain Dew. And then giggling quietly in the corner booth with the rest of yer friends because, dude, you just scored a free cup of pop. Take that Ronald! Mwahahaha!
 
Karma would always find a way to bite me in the ass though. I’d get back to the classroom after the pass over period to find my spelling test on my desk, a big red ‘F’ smeared across the front of it.
 
“What the hell is this!? I don’t deserve this!”
“Yer right, you deserve an F minus. But unfortunately they haven’t put that into the grading scale yet.”
 
I’d look to my friends for help with that sad frowny face, you know the one. Mouth open, nostrils flared, eyebrows resembling upside down pinball flippers. Like when the heating bill’s a hundred bucks more than last month. (“That’s it honey, we’re switchin’ ta blankets and bonfires. Blankets and bonfires!”) Haha. My friends would always side with the teacher though. Always. It never failed. I suppose power in numbers is a little less effective when yer in elementary school, but come on, I was all for trying new things.
 
“Huhu, you spelled ‘green’ wrong? How do you spell ‘green’ wrong? Huhu.”
“Don’t give me crap, Davey. I mixed up the past and present, okay.”
“Green’s not a verb, Bree.”
“Damnit Davey!”
 
The teacher would write that ‘F’ in the darkest shade of red he could find, too. Just for me. All the other kids’ letters would be perfectly placed in the left corner of the page, all pretty and fancy and cursive and sparkly. Some a playful blue, others a happy orange. Shit, even the D’s were written with one of those nifty purple highlighters. Then you’d get to mine and it would look like something just got murdered. (You’d search for caution tape and a body, but come back with pieces of soggy marker paper and a guilty Sharpie.) All you’d see was red. A page of red. And the ‘F’ was like, fucking CARVED into the paper. It took up the entire page, so you knew it was mine from like eighty feet away. I could hear kids whisper from the back seats.
 
“There’s Bree’s. So much for a writing career. Huhu.”
“Huhu, true that. What a loser. Hey could I get a drink of yer water, man? What? It’s not my fault the line was long.”
 
Actually, I was a pretty good student in my younger years. Didn’t talk very much, kept to myself a lot, got my shit and got out. Kinda like Wal-Mart’s motto, but personified. Haha. However, despite being a goody two shoes, I was constantly assigned the front desk. (Come on now Teach, aren’t the bad kids supposed to be sitting where I am?) But no. Even if the seating arrangement was alphabetical, I’d STILL end up in the front of the classroom. Usually by some stupid chart the teacher printed off. I guess to make it easier for substitutes to take attendance? Whatever the reason, I absolutely hated it. It pissed me off too, cuz I knew I had no power to change it. Can’t say I didn’t learn anything though. Haha.
 
I can honestly sit here and tell you, without hesitation, that I was the BEST cheater in the ENTIRE fifth grade. Sure, there may have been only six of us, but I’ll take credit where it’s due. Haha. Seriously though. I wouldn’t even refer to it is as cheating. I called it ‘adaptation’ and I was damn good at it. Of course, I had to be. I sat in the front desk for Christ’s sake. Standard cheating procedures were way too hard to pull off when yer front and center and texting wasn’t an option cuz I had no phone back then.
 
So I experimented here and there, found some things that worked, found some things that didn’t (writing notes on my palms in ballpoint pen before lunch had its downfalls), and eventually came across a creative little method known to most as “The Pop Bottle Label Switch”. It’s genius. You’ll need a color printer and the process is rather time consuming, yet very VERY effective in the long run.
  1. Buy the biggest plastic Mountain Dew bottle you can find. (It doesn’t hafta be Mountain Dew, anything light in color will do just fine.)
  2. Peel the label off gently, making sure not to rip or bend any part of it.
  3. Scan the label with the printer and open it with Photoshop or any program that allows you to add text to yer image.
  4. Smudge out the ingredients section and replace them with yer notes.
  5. Print off yer ‘new and improved’ label and re-stick it in the same spot it was before. (I always used a small piece of double-sided scotch tape. It looked the best cuz it fit perfectly and I wouldn’t have any excess tape hanging off the sides.)
When you take yer test, don’t bring the ‘notes’ out right away cuz it’s too suspicious. Wait for like a good five minutes and then take a casual drink, leaving yer drink on the corner of the desk when finished. I cannot tell you how many times this has worked for me. The results are too good to feel guilty for. Haha.
 
=]
THEY’RE
 
Creating an attachment, they can’t rush this.
Attachments can’t be rushed.
Links of destruction, sex fueled by Saturday night tendencies.
 
Too rough, slower please.
Ignorance is a frightening form of inner bliss.
She fights, but he prevails.
Too far gone; trying proves pointless tonight.
 
Thinking with feet, her strides become clumsy, unbalanced.
He echoes his behind hers, hungry echoes – not to be taken lightly.
 
RUNNING
 
The purple sky watches as she stumbles between curiosity and fear,
A valid contestant – this chase a game of lust and rapid heartbeat.
Masking tears in raindrops, she grows impatient.
Where did he go and where am I?
 
CLUELESS
 
An engine backfires in the distance,
Mechanical noises pierce the evening air.
‘Let’s go!’
A demand, an order, a perpendicular expression of horizontal desire?
 
Undoing hostility, the poison of persuasion is left pumping through her conscience.
Is he the question or the answer?
Or neither?
Weak at the knees, she forces forward motion despite it all.
 
IN
 
He lights his cigarette; dry shaky fingers strike the cold metal wheel.
Challenging her, he penetrates with restless pupils and foaming irises.
The waiting game’s just too easy to cheat,
The rules, too hard to follow.
 
Bodies move, hands venture,
The most fun she could ever have without laughing.
Foggy windows began to cry as warmth is born.
 
NAKED
 
Reality begins to fade back in,
Awake, senses heightening, introducing Normality The Antagonist.
She’s aware of surroundings now, but before was way better.
Maybe he’ll return, jog backwards, and come get her.
 
DREAMS.

Spokane, WA. 26 years young. Aquarius, of course. I am a very optimistic individual driven by passion and creativity. Music is my inspiration to everything. I dig the nightlife. I enjoy discovering new craft beers and breweries. I like animals more than humans. The ocean is amazing. I have no idea what I wanna do with my life and prolly never will. But I'm going to succeed because I'm crazy enough to think I can.
December 2018
M T W T F S S
« Jul    
 12
3456789
10111213141516
17181920212223
24252627282930
31  

Blog Stats

  • 5,510 hits
Advertisements