Snapple Fact #35: Elephants Sleep Only Two Hours a Day

A Separate Peace by John Knowles is really an amazing book that I highly recommend to everyone. Even though it follows two boys during WWII, anyone can relate to the many range of problems the boys face in their New England boarding school. The beginning of the book is cheerful and relaxing, two best friends being mischievious in their prep school. But when one is crippled in an "accident", the story takes a turn and their lives as well as others begin to unravel and show the lies and deceit that were once hidden. But the plot is almost surpassed by the figurative language and imagery spread out through the book. It's a classic book for a good reason.

Snapple Fact #35: Elephants Sleep Only Two Hours a Day

A Separate Peace by John Knowles is really an amazing book that I highly recommend to everyone. Even though it follows two boys during WWII, anyone can relate to the many range of problems the boys face in their New England boarding school. The beginning of the book is cheerful and relaxing, two best friends being mischievious in their prep school. But when one is crippled in an "accident", the story takes a turn and their lives as well as others begin to unravel and show the lies and deceit that were once hidden. But the plot is almost surpassed by the figurative language and imagery spread out through the book. It's a classic book for a good reason.

Snapple Fact #91: Squids Can Have Eyes the Size of a Volleyball

How about a little rimas to brighten your day. Or make it grayer, this isn't a happy poem.

Wandering

Purgatory is a gray
That exists for no one
And brings decay
For lifeless souls.

A heaven of shade
For those who want sun;
The gluttonous weigh
Nothing, thin as a pole.

Offense are repaid
By old and young.
Decrepit bodies in disarray
Wandering on roads of coal.

It started as a poem about Hades for a Demeter and Persephone prompt, but it ended as purgatory from Dante's Divine Comedy. It's another rimas dissalutas. I don't know what it is, but poetry with limitations helps me write. Even though it's frustrating when I can't write whatever I want, the limitations help me think outside the box. When I can write whatever I want willy nilly my poems sound silly (see im such a little poet). The limitations force me to be creative. Yay creativeness!
My mom is in a really bad mood. Whenever people in my family are in bad moods, they take it out on everyone else and then it spreads until the whole house is filled with animosity. It's very saddening. And it's little things that drive us crazy. For instance, I am mad that my sister finished my box of popcorn. First of all it's mine. My box. My popcorn. It's all mine. I love popcorn it's really good. Second she didn't put it on the grocery list after she finished it so I could buy more. Third of all it belongs to me. It says my name. Well not really. But it is my popcorn so she should not be eating it. And it's really good popcorn. It has never burned and it's not a really big bag, it's the perfect snack size. I highly recommend it.
I'm working on the anger thing. I truly am, but it's hard. Lesson of the day: there are a lot of people who suck.
On a lighter note, well there is nothing that I have to share that would be on a lighter note.

Snapple Fact #119: The Largest Cheese Ever Made Weighed 57,508 Lbs

I had to rework my Sapphics poem because apparently, making dashes in between words is cheating.

Sapphics of Rubberneckers

Cramped on roads that sweat in the fire of traffic,
Hazy air congested with fumes and heated
Moisture, never knowing if they will ever
Reach their appointments.

Necks that twist with curious eyes, they watch in
Shiny cars, reflecting a bleeding sun that
Hangs at noontime. Red like the stop sign forcing
Drivers to care more.

Cars as statues, bound in desire for green lights.
Stony silence melting when drivers honk and
Noises pierce the air. In the traffic, no one
Cares about violent

Crashes. Names now pointless, it's over. Soon the
cars will drive, no traffic to hinder. Lives move
forward, no one bothers to ask his name. The
News said Robert.

So it's not much of a change, but I thought you ought to see it so that you don't think I am a cheater. Which I'm not.
Currently, I am procrastinating. Procrastination is when I have a lot of work to do but I am too lazy to do it, so I sit and post blogs. Though unproductive, it is a better alternative to Beowulf. The week returning back from Christmas break, I think, is the hardest week of school. And the annoying thing is, I have friends who had many free periods today because their teachers was absent and guess how many free periods I had? None. I don't think that's fair. I didn't even have any subsitute teachers. Why are my teachers so healthy? What do they do that is special? So because my teachers have to be so darn aseptic I get stuck with fractions and Spanish. I suppose I should go do that, fractions and Spanish I mean. I wish I had more exciting things to share with you, whoever you are. I hope you're not too bored.

Snapple Fact #117: The Starfish Is the Only Animal That Can Turn Its Stomach Inside Out

I wrote a poem in creative writing today, but it's not worth posting. I'll revise it some day, but not right now. The reason I am even bothering to write about a poem you won't hear is because even though I have not finished the poem, I have found a new favorite word! You see, my poem is about silly words with silly definitions and words that are silly sounding, so I opened the dictionary to a random page. Guess what word I saw first? I bet you can't. Jabberwocky. Is that not the coolest word? And it just so happens that it means nonsensical speech or writing. It fits my poem perfectly, because my poem itself is about jabberwocky. I think that's cool. By the way, it is okay if you want to say Jabberwocky out loud right now. Just make sure no one else is in the room. Jabberwocky. It just rolls off the tongue. Try it! In fact, even if there are people around you. Say it. It's fun! Jabberwocky. It sounds annoyingly lovable. So even though it is bad that my poem is still in the works, life is good because now I can use the word jabberwocky in my writing and in every day life. I can just hear me now: "I cannot understand your jabberwocky writing"or "Among my many quirks, jabberwocky speech is top on the list." I hope I am using them right, please inform me if I am not. If I am, I would be really very excitied. Now, I think I will conclude this jabberwocky blog entry and focus my attention on another exciting aspect of my life. Oh, just one more time... JABBERWOCKY!

Snapple Fact #214: Giraffes Can Lick Their Own Eyes

I wrote another sapphics poem, just for fun. There is something missing from it though, and I can't quite figure out what it is. It really need some workshopping!

Sapphics of Rubberneckers

Cramped on roads that sweat in the fire of traffic,
Hazy air congested with fumes and heat ex-
haustion, never knowing if they will ever
Reach their appointments.

Necks that twist with curious eyes, they watch in
shiny cars, reflecting a bleeding sun that
Hangs at noontime. Red like the stop sign forcing
Drivers to care more.

Cars as statues, bound in desire for green lights.
Stony silence melting when drivers honk and
Noises pierce the air. In the traffic, no one
Cares about violent

Crashes. Names now pointless, it's over. Soon the
cars will drive, no traffic to hinder. Lives ad-
vancing, no one bothers to ask his name. The
Paper said Robert.

The poem is kind of depressing to me. I don't really write depressing poems well, so if it's not convincing, please tell me! It took me a really long time to get the Sapphics aspect right, but I feel like meter helps me explore new options. For instance I'll write something and realize it doesn't fit in the meter so I'll have to expand and find new words that end up giving the poem a deeper meaning. Even though meter makes my brain hurt after a while, it is very rewarding. I like my Paris one (the one below) better. Oh well, I'll keep trying.

Snapple Fact #168: One Brow Wrinkle Is the Result of 200,000 Frowns

The moral of the story, don't frown!

I am extremely happy right now because I have finished my Sapphics poem, one of my assignments in creative writing. Here it is:

Sapphics of the Man Who Painted Paris
Based on the photograph Paris by Marc Riboud

Paris skyline, hovering over buildings.
Fading down, succumbing to newer brighter
Colors. Not too clearly the solid black or
White that frames the view.

Waking up, already the stars are leaving
cold in hallow skies, he is placing brushes
In a metal box that he carries on his
Way to the Eiffel.

Painting gray on faithfully peeling towers
Disregarding rainbows, just bluish grayish
Skies that wander endlessly, moving in and
Out of the city.

Singing as the people below are marching.
Traffic, swarms of heads, like an army on its
way to battle. Smoky and tired roads that
Dust in congestion.

Overlooking chatter he watches, listens.
Aging, graying terriers yap like wheels that
Screech too loudly. Children in strollers crying,
Endlessly wailing.

Ends of days bring ashen and dark horizons.
Gone is dawn’s ambiguous somber sky where
Rain rests, clouds sleep, silvery moons collide. The
Skyline of Paris.

More later!

Snapple Fact #101: About Half of All Americans Are On a Diet On Any Given Day

I was working on a piece that seemed like it should be easy. It's about rebellious teenagers, and as a normal teenager living in a normal place with a normal family and a generally normal life I should know a two or thing about being rebellious. But this piece was just sucking, and I couldn't figure out why. (I know, I know, as a "good" writer I should be able to write about anything I want to, but you write what you know... right? Write what you know, draw what you see? So If I don't know anything, I can't write anything...right?)
Usually I delete the stupid chain emails I get from my younger sister, but because she decided to write me a cute little note on the top I decided to read it. Apparently, Ghandi himself wrote it, and if I didn't email it to twenty people within the next 96 hours my life would not improve drastically and everything I have ever dreamed of would not take shape. Anyway, in between corny lines about respecting other people and striving for world peace there was this little sentence, the smallest in the bunch. "Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly." That just stuck out. I started to think about being in middle school, muddle school, and trying to be such a rebel. It pissed me off that I couldn't think of any good ways to get in trouble without being so drastic because I was too afraid to misbehave. I didn't want to be punished. At this point, after deleting the email from my inbox and moving onto one promising me a vacation to Aruba, I had an epiphany.
The reason I am having so much trouble writing a story about an outcast is because I have no idea what it is like to be different. Compare me to anyone and I'm sure you'll find similarities, even ones so inane like we both have purple linens. But I am no different from anyone else. I can't be a rebel because I have nothing to rebel against. Everything that is rebelable has already been done (rebelable, not a word, you know what I mean) and I wouldn't be much of an anarchist if I copied someone else would I? Rebels are independant, free of all constrictions and inhibitions, ground breakers and earth shakers. I'm the most sane person I know.
I guess that's why I am having trouble writing about someone with an interesting personality. So that's the epiphany of the day. I can't write because I'm not a rebel and I'm not a rebel because I'm too behaved a person. It sucks to be nice.


P.S. I hope this counts as mailing this to twenty people, because I could really use a boyfriend. One with a motorcycle and a mohawk and piercings in unspeakable places.