When writers create a word picture of fire, I have often found a description that tells of the flames "licking" the wood, or a rock, or whatever. When I think of licking, I imagine perhaps a pet's sign of affection or an animal's action to clean itself; or a human, driven by curiousity or craving to taste and find pleasure and comfort in the sensation.
This description does not properly personify fire by any means. The heat is not affectionate; it inflicts pain. The flames do not clean; they create ash and charcoal that stain the skin. A fire does not wonder about a taste or take a timid sample; it consumes without thought and without hesitation. Smoke and fumes do not provide pleasure or comfort; rather, they pollute the air we breathe and burn as an acid to the lungs and eyes. Fire erodes death and decay to be swept away by the wind, takes life in ruthless agony and reduces it to a pile of colorless ash.
28 June 2010
11 June 2010
smoke
You know how there's usually a voice of reason that tries to overpower the impulse? How sometimes there's that voice that says, "If you do that, you'll regret it because __________" and somehow it prevails, if only on occasion?
It is not a terribly deep moment. We're walking to his car after he so graciously offered to take me home. Dark grey clouds are slowly rolling in and the air smells cool and fresh. I haven't known him that long, but his calm demeanor and efforts to make conversation make me strangely comfortable, despite the overwhelming aroma of cigarette smoke on his clothing. I have forgotten his long, thin limbs and welcoming posture, the way he carries himself with shy stability. I'm surprised the image of his face had escaped me as well: the small, square chin, high and delicately shaped cheeks, and the kind, protected eyes that couldn't possibly be hidden behind his wire-rimmed glasses. I find myself wanting to look longer than I should at the beautifully simple lines of his body; the small yet heartwarming grin, a permanent shape on his soft lips makes me feel accepted.
I guard myself. This is nothing new, as of a year or so ago. Although, what I find strange is that my impulse, to blurt out an excuse and get out of the car, is being surpressed by the more confident, convincing voice that's telling me to stay longer and enjoy his company. Nevermind the smoke. Nevermind the way he is, the place he's at. Nevermind the fact that I could be with someone I know and am already comfortable with. What's life without risk, without excitement?
It's so strange that more persuasion comes from the part of me that wants to go back to that world I almost reached once upon a time. Even though the idea has always seemed entirely unappealing, I always knew it was just... there. Right next to me. Yet I've been listening to the voice of logic for so long that emotional reasoning just seems ridiculous.
I need a smoke: I need a shade of grey that can comfortably host my mind and heart. I need my narcotic--my dose of comfort in a time of subconsciously desired responsibility and wisdom seeming beyond my years. I long for a taste of what I never had and what made everyone else feel okay. I want to blow away self-consciousness as a puffy cloud of foul comfort. I wish it was all as simple as one flick of a flame.
It is not a terribly deep moment. We're walking to his car after he so graciously offered to take me home. Dark grey clouds are slowly rolling in and the air smells cool and fresh. I haven't known him that long, but his calm demeanor and efforts to make conversation make me strangely comfortable, despite the overwhelming aroma of cigarette smoke on his clothing. I have forgotten his long, thin limbs and welcoming posture, the way he carries himself with shy stability. I'm surprised the image of his face had escaped me as well: the small, square chin, high and delicately shaped cheeks, and the kind, protected eyes that couldn't possibly be hidden behind his wire-rimmed glasses. I find myself wanting to look longer than I should at the beautifully simple lines of his body; the small yet heartwarming grin, a permanent shape on his soft lips makes me feel accepted.
I guard myself. This is nothing new, as of a year or so ago. Although, what I find strange is that my impulse, to blurt out an excuse and get out of the car, is being surpressed by the more confident, convincing voice that's telling me to stay longer and enjoy his company. Nevermind the smoke. Nevermind the way he is, the place he's at. Nevermind the fact that I could be with someone I know and am already comfortable with. What's life without risk, without excitement?
It's so strange that more persuasion comes from the part of me that wants to go back to that world I almost reached once upon a time. Even though the idea has always seemed entirely unappealing, I always knew it was just... there. Right next to me. Yet I've been listening to the voice of logic for so long that emotional reasoning just seems ridiculous.
I need a smoke: I need a shade of grey that can comfortably host my mind and heart. I need my narcotic--my dose of comfort in a time of subconsciously desired responsibility and wisdom seeming beyond my years. I long for a taste of what I never had and what made everyone else feel okay. I want to blow away self-consciousness as a puffy cloud of foul comfort. I wish it was all as simple as one flick of a flame.
07 June 2010
We all have these conversations.... Right?
I've been getting really close with a person I met this year. For privacy reasons, I'll refer to them as ______.
As summer came closer (It's here now! Yay!), we would hang out and be lazy after school as each afternoon lasted just a bit longer than the last. Now with ______, I'm totally comfortable talking about almost anything. They're totally nonjudgmental toward me as I am in return; however, we don't have as much in common as good friends usually do.
Okay, so we have a few common interests: dancing, choir, playing piano. We also basically have the same group of friends, since all of the drama hall kids make one big, lovin' family. Our main love language is also touch (I assume) because we love long, warm hugs and falling asleep in someone's lap. I mean, who doesn't?
One particular afternoon, we walked to the park in our neighborhood to swing. Many of life's great conversations occur either in the shower, late at night, parties (controversial, yes) and on swings--this usually only works with two people, though.
As we took the short walk from the thick walls and weed-filled air of our high-school building, we mainly discussed the future. This is where one of our main differences come up:
**______'s mind is fixed on getting good grades, excelling academically to get into the college of their choice. (______ is a sophomore, by the way, and I am a junior.)
~~I do my best to maintain average grades above C and live for the moment, with the mindset that I still have time to decide what I want to do with my future. (I'm in no rush and I don't see myself becoming a traditional college student, anyway.)
After acknowledging these key points, the topic of future children came up. By this time, we were already swinging and weaving fond playground memories from childhood into the conversation as it progressed. As I swung upside-down, I talked about what I would do if my children ever got into hard drugs or experimented with alcohol. Standing on the swing next to me, ______ bluntly stated that if their children ever did anything like that, they're getting their butts kicked out of the house no matter what.
Needless to say, this took me by surprise. Now, I realize that I've reached a maturity level that I don't expect some people to get--not to be arrogant, but maturity is a lifelong process and we're all at different stages. It's just life. That being said, I also found out that ______ flat out doesn't believe in deep-seated emotional pain.
{Now pause for some background information: I was sent to treatment freshman year and ended up living away from home for about 15 months. I never did drugs, I never drank alcohol, I'm still a virgin and all that. I'd been dealing with depression for a number of years and somehow didn't recognize it until I began cutting that year. Three perscriptions, three therapists, two trips to the psych ward and numerous suicidal ideations later, I was sent away in April of 2008. I got back this past August of 2009. I'd often heard from psychologists that being a shared custody kid basically forced 10 years of mental maturing upon said individual; and completing a residential treatment program added another century. If you can't quite grasp that, I'll just leave you with this: it was a s*** ton of therapy. Now resume.}
So I'm not a competitive person and ______ certainly is; but when it comes to not believing in a deeper meaning behind everyday motivation, I tend to get somewhat defensive. I've explored a few of my core issues inside and out, and it still hurts. The thing is that as children, we don't know the difference between right and wrong, seriousness and sarcasm. So when mom tells you to stop jumping on the bed and your sibling starts doing it under her nose, you're naturally going to feel jealous and frustrated, right? And a simple statement, "I'm not as worthy of luxury as someone else," is enough to alter the mindset of a developing brain.
I tried to explain some of this to ______--how people don't just do stupid things for no reason; but there was no convicing them, so I backed off pretty fast. I sometimes wonder whether or not I might have gotten my point across eventually, but I can get very heated when it comes to what I believe in, so it's just as well.
It turns out that ______ is also grossed out by piercings and tattoos. I can understand this, of course, growing up in a protective household; but I also like to respect other people's decisions. I myself have my ears and belly button pierced and my nose will have its own little gem hopefully sometime this week. ______ is completely against that kind of thing.
One of the more petty differences can be easily stated as: I am to dance as ______ is to choir. We are both passionate and dedicated to these things. Even though we enjoy both, I would easily choose dance over choir and ______ choir over dance. Although I think I'm more stubborn about them sticking to dance than they are about me with choir.
We all have that friend that we know, love and just can't stand; that one person that gets on your nerves like no other poke their way into your gushy insides so you can't help but appreciate their friendship. Diversity is always the way to go when you're scanning the crowd for your kind of people.
I realize that ______ and I are both teenagers and there's no telling how our views will and will not change as we grow up. I suppose my intentions in reflecting upon this unique interaction is to do just that: look back and see what came of it. I think it's important for friends to connect in different ways and make unique memories to look back on, learn from, and grow together as a result of their shared experiences.
As summer came closer (It's here now! Yay!), we would hang out and be lazy after school as each afternoon lasted just a bit longer than the last. Now with ______, I'm totally comfortable talking about almost anything. They're totally nonjudgmental toward me as I am in return; however, we don't have as much in common as good friends usually do.
Okay, so we have a few common interests: dancing, choir, playing piano. We also basically have the same group of friends, since all of the drama hall kids make one big, lovin' family. Our main love language is also touch (I assume) because we love long, warm hugs and falling asleep in someone's lap. I mean, who doesn't?
One particular afternoon, we walked to the park in our neighborhood to swing. Many of life's great conversations occur either in the shower, late at night, parties (controversial, yes) and on swings--this usually only works with two people, though.
As we took the short walk from the thick walls and weed-filled air of our high-school building, we mainly discussed the future. This is where one of our main differences come up:
**______'s mind is fixed on getting good grades, excelling academically to get into the college of their choice. (______ is a sophomore, by the way, and I am a junior.)
~~I do my best to maintain average grades above C and live for the moment, with the mindset that I still have time to decide what I want to do with my future. (I'm in no rush and I don't see myself becoming a traditional college student, anyway.)
After acknowledging these key points, the topic of future children came up. By this time, we were already swinging and weaving fond playground memories from childhood into the conversation as it progressed. As I swung upside-down, I talked about what I would do if my children ever got into hard drugs or experimented with alcohol. Standing on the swing next to me, ______ bluntly stated that if their children ever did anything like that, they're getting their butts kicked out of the house no matter what.
Needless to say, this took me by surprise. Now, I realize that I've reached a maturity level that I don't expect some people to get--not to be arrogant, but maturity is a lifelong process and we're all at different stages. It's just life. That being said, I also found out that ______ flat out doesn't believe in deep-seated emotional pain.
{Now pause for some background information: I was sent to treatment freshman year and ended up living away from home for about 15 months. I never did drugs, I never drank alcohol, I'm still a virgin and all that. I'd been dealing with depression for a number of years and somehow didn't recognize it until I began cutting that year. Three perscriptions, three therapists, two trips to the psych ward and numerous suicidal ideations later, I was sent away in April of 2008. I got back this past August of 2009. I'd often heard from psychologists that being a shared custody kid basically forced 10 years of mental maturing upon said individual; and completing a residential treatment program added another century. If you can't quite grasp that, I'll just leave you with this: it was a s*** ton of therapy. Now resume.}
So I'm not a competitive person and ______ certainly is; but when it comes to not believing in a deeper meaning behind everyday motivation, I tend to get somewhat defensive. I've explored a few of my core issues inside and out, and it still hurts. The thing is that as children, we don't know the difference between right and wrong, seriousness and sarcasm. So when mom tells you to stop jumping on the bed and your sibling starts doing it under her nose, you're naturally going to feel jealous and frustrated, right? And a simple statement, "I'm not as worthy of luxury as someone else," is enough to alter the mindset of a developing brain.
I tried to explain some of this to ______--how people don't just do stupid things for no reason; but there was no convicing them, so I backed off pretty fast. I sometimes wonder whether or not I might have gotten my point across eventually, but I can get very heated when it comes to what I believe in, so it's just as well.
It turns out that ______ is also grossed out by piercings and tattoos. I can understand this, of course, growing up in a protective household; but I also like to respect other people's decisions. I myself have my ears and belly button pierced and my nose will have its own little gem hopefully sometime this week. ______ is completely against that kind of thing.
One of the more petty differences can be easily stated as: I am to dance as ______ is to choir. We are both passionate and dedicated to these things. Even though we enjoy both, I would easily choose dance over choir and ______ choir over dance. Although I think I'm more stubborn about them sticking to dance than they are about me with choir.
We all have that friend that we know, love and just can't stand; that one person that gets on your nerves like no other poke their way into your gushy insides so you can't help but appreciate their friendship. Diversity is always the way to go when you're scanning the crowd for your kind of people.
I realize that ______ and I are both teenagers and there's no telling how our views will and will not change as we grow up. I suppose my intentions in reflecting upon this unique interaction is to do just that: look back and see what came of it. I think it's important for friends to connect in different ways and make unique memories to look back on, learn from, and grow together as a result of their shared experiences.
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