Saturday, June 30, 2012

Odd Ends of June: On Words, Pottermore, and Life in General

FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS: My sister and I have finally joined Pottermore (My Username: ThornStorm25936) and I have been sorted into Ravenclaw. Whoo! (Karlee is about to be sorted right now and I will tell you her House in a few seconds.) Currently, I’m having a bit of trouble in Potions.

SECOND ORDER OF BUSINESS: Despite my lack of blog posts for June, I actually did write a fair amount…mostly while bored during my summer classes. So, I’ve compiled everything that I never got around to posting before. Enjoy. =)


I cannot see with accuracy
                the future that lies in front of me.



By my standards, you are my friend
and one that I could not expel
or forsake—we are tied
by words and deliberation,
by loving for what we are.
And every day I love you more,
seeing and standing and sharing with you,
touching and clutching and holding you close,
finding the sense of being with you.
No force could ever tear me away.

That said, I’m leaving on a year-long trek
that I cannot prevent. But if I could,
I’d latch on to you with my finest grip
and see if they could part me from you.



I was nothing—I am sure
nothing is more than a dark void—
you were nothing—sandstone, dust—
dormant, patiently waiting your cue.



                I’ve had a bit of trouble with my voice lately. It seems when I write these days, I’ve become so accustomed to verse and rhythm that I can scarcely form sentences. And as a writer, there is a high expectancy to be versatile—judgment not just passed by the public, but myself as well. Sentences, paragraphs, and structure are building blocks—the very seed—of language.
                On the other hand, why limit the mind? Why tell your inspiration that it behaves too differently—that it is not original? The only hope to achieve originality is to look deep within and embrace what is there—not base your words off of the norm or expectations.
                Language, I’ve found, does not rest on particular structure. At its heart, it is built upon thought. What a glorious thing to possess! That, in itself, is a monumental achievement—so why try to quench it? What benefit would the world receive if they denied a musician his piano? What benefit would there be, therefore, if a citizen denied himself the tools for speech?
                Words are as essential to a man as water. Take away his water, and his mouth will increasingly run dry—slow at first, but it will eventually become unbearable. Confining words is just as torturous—as water affects the body, words dictate the mind. Without an outlet, without expression, one is essentially parched.
                The thing about thought, as people will deny (though cannot escape its truth), is that its structure is without. It comes in fragments, excitement, rumbles, cries, stutters, and breaks. All this only adds to its glorious, elegant existence—that, in its raw, primary state, is as untamable as it is inescapable.
                I have decided, furthermore, that I, as a writer, and as a human being, have the duty and honor in embracing speech as it comes to me, without the need to mutilate or distort words from their conception. I will not hold shame at the form that they come in—be it in paragraphs, verse, or fragments—but regard this as a privilege to be able to witness and explore. I will not mold my speech to resemble anyone other than myself; I will use it for its true purpose, which is to convey my innermost thoughts, feelings, and my desperate, confessing heart.

I wrote this during a lecture in Earth Science. Whether I was bored or just inspired, it seemed I had a lot to say at the moment.

POSTSCRIPT: Karlee has been sorted into Slytherin. Congrats, sister?