Jo.n.il

Jon - 18 - he/him

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me some more

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This was me 13 days after my eighteenth birthday.

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All of the plains in Oklahoma make the sky and the clouds very clear. They might be clearer if there weren’t so many tall things around.

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I sometimes like to draw. These are some of my characters or reoccurring figures.

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I’d meant to post all of my band camp packed dinners for my last year of marching band but never got to it because they didn’t look very pretty. But this was my last ever band-camp- packed-salad so I am sharing now, hooray! I also boiled an egg for the first time ever for this so I lost my boiled egg virginity and I think that’s pretty important.

There is lettuce that was a little bit wilted & red for some reason, and cabbage I had to use ‘cause it was going bad. And then there’s apple, avacado, egg, cheese, almonds, and craisins. I also made a little dressing with olive oil, mustard, and honey. I think it was the best of all the salads.

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kitty sneakers hooray!

limited edition Vans X ASPCA

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Mysterious characters on a highway? The day before school ended and the last time I’ve seen either of them.

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A quick one before the end of National Poetry Month:

I’ve known the flies to flutter, the wasps to hum, and the beetles to shuffle with night,

And frogs to sing, and crabs to scuttle, and mice—if provoked—to bite.

I’ve known foxes to hunt, and wolves to howl, and coyotes to scavenge for food,

I’ve known hawks, eagles, vultures, falcons whose calls were mighty and shrewd.

I’ve known creatures that fly, and creatures that trot, and creatures that will sway and totter,

And yet—as one—they’d gather around a common source of water.

I’ve known the Earth, She had inquired, and yet I couldn’t recall,

She opened her lips, the waves turned, and in a gentle breeze She’d drawl,

“What difference is there to discern at all,

between the lives of those big and those small?”

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Books/short stories everyone should read for better or for worse (my favorites so far):

- To Build a Fire by Jack London

- The Life You Save May Be Your Own by Flannery O’Conner

- The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

- The Open Boat by Stephen Crane

- The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

- The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

- Lord of the Flies by William Golding

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I can appreciate the way wet asphalt forms a distorted reflection of the world

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“Design”

By Robert Frost

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,

On a white heal-all, holding up a moth

Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth--

Assorted characters of death and blight

Mixed ready to begin the morning right,

Like the ingredients of a witches' broth--

A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,

And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,

The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?

What brought the kindred spider to that height,

Then steered the white moth thither in the night?

What but design of darkness to appall?--

If design govern in a thing so small.

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The Truman Show (1998)

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“The Negro Speaks of Rivers”

By Langston Hughes

I’ve known rivers:

I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.

I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.

I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

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“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

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My new (second hand) digicam! Sony DSC-W50

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Does the fog roll with the intent to slick the roads? With lack of thinking, dearth of consideration for the individual and the machine which they “control”? Or does the mist unfurl, unfettered, to creep across the pavement and wet and conceal whatever happens to be in its path, not with intent, nor contempt, but with its understanding that all Nature requires of it is simply to be?

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my 3DS, freshly sticker-ed