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“Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is a proof that humans are capable of magic”
-Carl Sagan
(via quibbler)
#writing #reading #books #TRUTH #I love this so much I could cry
Circus
Step right up,
Step right up,
Come, witness something you’ve never seen before,
In the most amazing show on Earth!
Feast your eyes on the hourglass,
Sand falling through with every motion.
A flawless surface,
A perfect gleaming white smile.
See her reflection!
Shiny hair never out of place,
Eyes clear and innocent - vacant.
The crowd swarms around to get a look at the freak show.
Move to the next tent,
See what is within.
Look upon the falseness all around you
White and red and pink painted faces.
They will try to sell you these mirages.
You could be beautiful too! Just like our clowns!
You wouldn’t want to look like you, would you?
Here! Throw your money at the masquerade! Cover your face!
When the whole world is wearing a mask
You never get to see the faces beneath.
Man is allowed to know his own features
But woman becomes blind to hers through all the paint.
Turn your eyes upward,
Take in the precarious tightrope high above.
Women start at one end,
And are promised that beauty awaits on the other.
We all walk across for Man’s amusement,
No safety net to catch us when we fall.
Because women are mere performers in a circus act,
The whole world our ever-critical audience.
We will all fall in the end.
There is no final act to our show.
Because compared to the perfect clown in the hourglass,
We are all fun house mirror reflections.
[Flash 10 is required to watch video]
My first attempt at reading slam poetry. This is a piece I wrote called Asylum.
We had to write Villanelles for one of my writing classes over spring break and this is what I came up with:
Soaring above the clouds, I become the sun,
My energy sparking, catching, burning a fire;
Take a deep breath and count – three, two, one.
Thrill races through me and I feel there is something vital I have won,
Wind sings passionately in my ears like a choir,
Soaring above the clouds, I have become the sun.
I remember my demons and doubts, from whom I so desperately wanted to run,
And close my eyes with hope that my light will blaze through them on a funeral pyre;
Take a deep breath and count – three, two, one.
I marvel at how bright and free I have become,
I have more freedom up here than in their heaven, surrounded by barbed wire,
Soaring above the clouds, I have become the sun.
I step to the edge to look down and nearly become undone
By how it looks like the whole world has called a ceasefire,
Take a deep breath and count – three, two, one.
I brace myself, for back to this earth I shall run,
I smile at the sky as we conspire.
Soaring above the clouds, I have become the sun,
Take a deep breath and count – three, two, one
+
Gary Provost (via qmsd)
This might be my favourite quote on writing ever.
(via bdoing)
(via tabbysboobs)
Not really any story behind this. I sat down to write, about what I had no idea, just to write, and the topic picked me.
Time.
More writing. I’m going to try to write (and post) something everyday, even if it’s only tiny.
This is probably considered prose-poetry (yes, that’s an actual form of writing), but I just call it my disjointed thoughts put into words. Just a quick little piece.
One of the prompts I just got back. It was for Thanksgiving but it somehow got turned into a story about cults and rebels and ritual sacrifices. So yeah.
