Junkyard Quote 3 week 3

“You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words, who is willing to create a place where your imagination can wander. We build this place with the sand of memories; these castles are our memories and inventiveness made tangible. So part of us believes that when the tide starts coming in, we won't really have lost anything, because actually only a symbol of it was there in the sand. Another part of us thinks we'll figure out a way to divert the ocean. This is what separates artists from ordinary people: the belief, deep in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won't wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind of person to be.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

Junkyard Quote 2 Week 3

“Perhaps I write for no one. Perhaps for the same person children are writing for when they scrawl their names in the snow.”
― Margaret Atwood

calisthenics 2 week 3

Just rolling around with half-rhymes, ideas and thoughts. Im not completely finished but I'm working out the kinks.

* Uncle! the stars look like cereal, and the moon, a marshmallow
*The moon riding rivers, while the stars remain dominant over the blankets of time (sounds a tad clichish'  but i'm wondering where).
*The moon's half past 12 , stars shining like limelight, forcing the corners of the room to move back... (I'm sure theres a better way to describe the sky, but I want to liken it to a massive room.)

Junkyard Quote 1 week 3

“Love children especially, for they too are sinless like the angels; they live to soften and purify our hearts and, as it were, to guide us.”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

calisthenics 1 week 3

Active voice Exercise:

The math problem was hard
*Daniel felt a headache incoming from the hieroglyphics displayed on his Modern Mathematics final.
*After countless hours of frustration, Wilnor decided the best use of his calculus ii book was to toss it out the window into the pond.
*Sam decided to participate in helping the class after he glanced over the severity of the geometry problem.

English is spoken
*Ajoke' decided to refine her diction by quoting her classmates' words.
*Sam is speaking to his girlfriend after coming out of language arts.
*Ms. Townsend decided to speak in English to test her spanish student's proficiency in another language

Reading Response 1 Week 3

I finished Abducted by Circumstance yesterday and i recently reread through some of the more confusing parts. This novel didn't just resonate, it sparked a series of thoughts in my mind about how madden created this concept of a person being abducted mentally and crafted characters in that. The novel was powerful from the beginning all the way to the end. although, it was confusing to switch in between Carol's narrative of her life and her conversations with Glenda. Those transitions however, were in my opinion used seamlessly almost to the point that the multiple story telling felt like it was all happening at one time. After taking apart strategies one by one, my first challenge would be to understand how to use an experience (real or imaginary ) to make a two subject poem: the main point being the focus of the poem and then the secondary (the thing it reminds me of).

Junkyard Quote 3 week 2

"A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language." - W. H. Auden

Free Verse 2 week 2

no clue why its highlighted.. i apologize
i'm trying to curb my reluctant enthusiasm to write, because my words are never felt only heard for the diction that they aspire to be. They say to be a poet is a ailment, in tune with natures voice. So does that mean that im sick, sick with withering ambitions because of vowels that dont listen to consonants and it becomes complicated, clashing cacophony when it should be blossoms that bloom blissfully something like euphony. So writing normal literary phrases present a problem that cant  be solved by simple books, or simple poetry for that matter.  The only thing that present an absolute solution for that matter would be a mirror, so i could face myself, or more or less who i really am versus  who im pretending to be. yet, i find that i scribble meaningless blasphemy across the edges of the pearl surface, so its scarred. i guess its funny cause its a play on words,(p.o.e.t.) a pacifist overflowing exquisite thoughts, but why i should just be
limited to that only what is textbook poetry. Why cant poetry be an extension of my soul cultivated into the purest form of energy that i know, or at least a shining bind that will drive shadows away? I guess neither will occur because people are blind to musical notes that flow from words that are spoken and deaf from visions  that scream louder than actions ever will. I guess this seems more like a rant than a poem, because im running from that which is made for me; Is it me running though? Yet, everyone aspires to be, yet only so few make it and its saddening to see that people dont have a love for words. Metaphorically speaking i could cry out bright red tears because my pen left yesterday and there is no medicine for a broken heart. So maybe i need a artist to paint me an answer of what it means to let words fly free and maybe i wont have to question every essence of what im doing. So maybe i just wont ask why anymore because im a fallen apathetic
laborer lamenting embarrassing narratives couple that with a person that just fails to write

Free Verse 1 Week 2

as usual, no particular form or anything. I figure I would get something on here:   

Im leaving into something new, into something that wasn't able to manifest my own savior within me. Within my last heart, heart of hearts the words im lacking, laughing, chucking thinking, hoping that what's within me is something that has potential
possibly proving facts.. factual evidence that I might not be crazy..carefully calculating consummating with my other half... Ahead of time, ahead of marriage (fusion maybe or something else).. yet all this talk of wedding vows got cold hands... coagulating ink (blood or something similar to that) that's keeping me, freezing, faulting, flowing myself, flowing, wait im flowing rowing through time and years growing older, swimming swatting important ideas ideologies iconoclastic wishes wishing I could let me be myself, myself.. thats the place im running from to get to, to get to some writing wire wanting myself to want me, to love me to share words with me, for myself... to be (a person) whole again with
words worth my weight in wings

Junkyard Quote 2 week 2

“My first feeling was that there was no way to continue. Writing isn't like math;in math, two plus two always equals four no matter what your mood is like. With writing, the way you feel changes everything.”
― Stephenie Meyer, Midnight Sun

Junkyard Quote 1 week 2

“Tears are words that need to be written.”
― Paulo Coelho

Junkyard quote #2 week 2

"maybe everyone is struggling to peek inside their neighbors worlds just to see. When those neighbors change, you get scared. Most people dont want to change... but they dont want to be left behind either"

A conversation in psychology about why cliques exist

Junkyard Quote 1 week 2

"If you dont dream you will never be more than you are" Princess
"and if you dont wake up you will never move" Prince

Junkyard Quote 1 Week 1

"maybe god does have our plans and he has multiple scantrons with everything written out. When we mess up he just pulls out the next one that alters our life"