Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Follow me!! To the Other Blog

this has fallen apart obviously I really dont like writing so ive made a new blog with mostly pictures of art that I have done! i would appreciate it if you followed it!!

http://artsinstereo.blogspot.com/

just updated like 2 min ago!!

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

#2 overdue!!

There was always a quiet calm about Jesse Christopher. He rarely voiced his opinion or spoke out of turn. In truth he had never really felt that he related to adults, he was a man who without effort was completely detached from society. This isn’t to say that he lived the life of a recluse or a silent monk, only to say that he was not affected by the worlds influence. He was in a word satisfied with his life, in a world full of people who were unsatisfied with their marriage and unsatisfied with their meager existence Jesse was different.
Jesse had always worn one peculiar thing, a rubber hat. The kind that a person would wear in a rain storm; the kind of storm that as you stand at the threshold of your door and peer out into the wall of drops that are coming down you take a deep breath that fills your lungs with the scent of rain and as you quickly exhale before you flash out the door in a fury of splashed and blurred yellow coat flying all about in your feverish attempt to arrive at your destination as dry as possible. Yes, his hat, his symbol, his trademark, his security, his yellow rubber hat. People often would stare when Jesse left his house, of course who could blame them; he was a spectacle especially in the summer. With his faded work pants and formerly black suspenders framing his chest only partially shrouded in a dingy muscle shirt that must have fit him at some point, and of course on top of his head was his yellow hat somehow unfaded by time and; still as yellow as the day he bought all those years ago.
Tim was a great man, a helpful man. A man with a concise view on what he believed and strong convictions to back it up. His knowledge reached far beyond that of a normal man and if you were lucky enough to be around to catch a glimpse of his knowledge as he let it slip seamlessly out you were forever, a changed person.
He had the ability to wave a tale that surpassed that of even the greatest writers. He was an honorable man, a God fearing man, a loving and gentle man who loved nothing more than having children gathered at his knees, and to entertain them for hours with tales of Jesus’ miracles. This was where Jesse was most comfortable and felt truly at home, with the children.
And so today as we not only mourn the loss of Jesse, but celebrate his life we can rejoice and take comfort in the fact that he was a believer and an unwavering one that that, buried now in his yellow hat.

Discipline or lack there of

Obviously one story is not 52 or the amount of weeks i should have. My life has always been marred by a lack of discipline it whatever ways i can think of. Lately i've been doing a lot better at it and the feeling i get from that is new and different. Inspiration comes from all things and so im going to turn off the tv and go write something in order to try and have a feeling of accomplishment today.

Monday, January 12, 2009

1 ONE 1

Spelling/grammar aside idk its something feedback welcome

On and almost busy street that was close enough to the center of town that if you forgot something at the store it wasn’t too much of a bother to go back and get it, but far enough that the traffic had almost all but disappeared by the time it reached the street lived a man. He wasn’t so much a man as he was a myth or a legend. He was the man who the neighborhood kids told stories about and the man who if you happened to hit the ball into his yard during a game of street baseball you didn’t even bother to go knocking on his door to ask for it back.
This inhuman man lived in a house, or so one would assume because that’s what people normally live in nowadays. I only have to mention the doubt because of a simple truth that any half observatory person would immediately notice should you choose to take a stroll down Meadlow lane. This truth was that besides the very end of a gravel driveway that curved sharply only a few feet back; all that anyone could see of his property was trees. Trees, shrubs, and ivy, all growing in a wild tangle of a rats nest obscuring from view anything that might even resemble a house. There was more speculation than certainty when it came to Mr. Gable. His name was only known because of the occasional accidental delivery of a parcel by the local mail carrier to one of his neighbors. The mail would be placed ever so cautiously in his box on the curb that he conveniently collected the mail from through his open car window as he returned from work in the evenings.
The unfortunate neighbors, who occasionally received these unwanted pieces of mail, were Edward Greenly or Ed as most people knew him. He was the purveyor of the local organic grocery store Greenly’s Groceries. Now as you might have been thinking this is an odd sort of store for a place such as this. A town not so large that it would need a specialty food store and not so conscious of health that this was the only store they needed, however there it was. The real reason that Mr. Greenly had started such a store was the death of his wife Linda. Linda had wanted nothing more in her life than to be mother and wife. Her dreams came true when she had her two sons Will and Mark, but they had since grown up and moved out and gotten married and would on occasion visit the town of their childhood but that’s not as important now. Linda was one of those people who had you thought long and hard you couldn’t think of a day she had been sick in her life. But one day out of the blue she said she felt faint collapsed and later that night died in the local county hospital. After and autopsy the cause of death was determined as poisoning from tomatoes she had eaten on her salad that had been coated in a very dangerous pesticide. From that moment on Ed vowed to so whatever he could to stop such an event from happening to any other family. So he quit his job as a tax attorney and opened up a small store that grew into a wonderful market with a selection that had something for everyone and never sold anything that Ed didn’t personally check for the use of harmful chemicals.
And so on his life went and he immensely enjoyed his new market and knowing everyone’s name and what they enjoyed so he could make suggestions when he got new merchandise in. Ed lived on the left of Mr. Gable as you would see it from the street. On the right hand side lived sally Walker a therapist tho had always been married to her work and never found time to settle down and start a family of her own. Her lack of children only saddened her when she had enough time off to think about it, which really wasn’t very often. And so life went on fairly uninterrupted each going about their own business. Ed leaving at six each morning on his bike and riding the short but sometimes very brisk distance to his ever growing store.
Sally would jog out of her front door each morning at 6:15, she went for her morning jog down past the local park taking a turn onto the levy and back down towards the house arriving back home almost exactly an hour later. Upon arriving she would see Mr. Gable driving away in his red and white 57’ Chevy Bel Air, which was last years model now but was the envy of all the town when he first purchased it, although it was rarely seen unless you knew when to look out for it. He kept the car immaculate it was always washed and waxed and there was never anything out of place. Mr. Gable was a man who kept to himself, he never went to the store, he pumped his own gas and on the occasion that he needed to stock up on something such as toilet paper he made the long drive into the next large town to go to the new mega store. And so he lived avoiding the local people and by remaining so distant made himself into a legend.
One day while Ed was trimming his hedge in his back yard he heard a loud noise and yelling in his mysterious neighbor’s backyard. He shrugged it off telling himself it was only the TV or a movie playing but as he continued to trim and someone continued to yell he couldn’t shake this awful feeling. He went to his shed and put away his trimmer, and walked out front. To his surprise there were cars and lots of them out in front on not only Mr. Gable’s house but going down the gravel drive as well as in front of his house and the house of Mrs. Walker. He wondered silently to himself as to where all these foreign cars came from. Not that the cars were not from America only that they were not from around the town. He peered down over the tops of the cars and tried to see what was going on; alas he couldn’t see past the sharp turn and then gave up. As he walked back towards his house he heard a scream, not the scream of a girl playing whose brother had stolen her doll, but the scream of a woman who had seen something that no one should ever have to see.
That was the end of it Mr. Greenly ran inside and called the police. They quickly responded and as one car became two and two police became firemen and paramedics’ people began to gather outside. They saw the faces of people who came out of the trees faces of ghosts, faces of people who had seen a tragedy, something that no one ever deserved to see. The next morning the headline of the local paper read “Local Mystery Tragedy.” This was the headline and the article was short, police had not yet released much information about what had happened behind that wooden curtain. After many weeks of detective work and people going in and out of the crime scene a select few people were allowed to go into the scene and see what had so deeply affected the live of all who had seen it.
The news stories were always short and sorrowful. People really didn’t know what to assume and the mystery seemed to almost be okay with the people in town. The final information released and printed was 19 dead including local resident in a ritualistic slaughter. It had been determined that Mr. Gable had been the leader of a group of people who followed him religiously. And in this particular meeting had been challenged by a member of the group the confrontation had turned violent and Mr. Gable who was a collector of ancient Greek and Roman torture devices as well as antique garden tools mainly shears. As you can imagine when things turned violent they escalated quickly, with all these weapons at the disposal of the men the devastation was gruesome. It couldn’t be determined who had killed who or why the rest of the bystanders had also been so brutally and definitely killed.
In the end three men retired from the local police force, and the news paper began to look for the brighter side of life. The town which had seen its share of loss but never had experienced anything like this took its time, but eventually got up dusted itself off held its head high and carried on. As for Ed and Sally they went on with their lives trying to forget about the neighbor they never really knew. In place of Mr. Gable’s house a memorial park was built and still stands today as kids play not knowing the tragedy that had once unfolded here, and parents sit and watch their children play the misfortune events a distant memory.