Hello, I’ve been working on lots of fiction lately and I felt like continuing Episode Human (nonfiction) which I started two months ago. The first part of the second piece. Hope you enjoy!
HM.
The Other Side of the End
Chapter 1: Friends
They move around and they don’t think until you start to do; they don’t smile until you throw a clue; they always told you that you grew. You grew to forget them but, you didn’t. They didn’t want to get hurt so they told themselves that you outgrew them, but they are still around eating you. Those people who were still around you and gave you a conditional love based on you, and you alone, those people were called Friends.
The Warrior
He was the first and he never stepped out of the ring. His eyes were hazel darkened with depression and anxiety. He loved to feel alive at the sight of possibilities and impossibilities, a realist whose struggle was the burden of knowing his limit; an elitist who never found his way to move back home as a comet; the finest friend whose sin was friending a person who threw him desperate. You fought around and forgot a lot but you still felt close to him like time hasn’t passed. But within his eyes, he’d probably wish if you were dead for leaving him behind.
The Poet
So many questions this poet asked. He asked about the paradise and wished-for hell to sing his ballade. A man whose fear was no implemented but more of a defense mechanism. He had dreams and he wanted to travel but honestly kept him in drivel. He told me "I'd do this and that if I left" and that's why he did not leave. He didn't know God, yet he was so close to him like Lucifer. He whispered in his own ears about Satan, but Satan was asked to be pardoned from him. He was a thinker and light to those around him but never a light for himself. A thinker who struggled with the curse of knowledge.
The Fire
Angry, precious, strong, weak, and confident. He moved around the world as an eruption but out of control, he lost sight of why he moved. He clung to this life like a hunter fighting the monsters of this forest called life, but his fire filled with ambition burned his way. Torn whether to stop or continue he walked, and he honed that fire staring at the face of God. He stared into his eyes and asked for more power, but not to be the kid of fire but the fire itself. By the attaining its weakness and powers, he never feared to be under its honors. He'd adapt to the other elements and form himself again; from ash, he would rise once the time came.
The Flower
She was bold and proud enough to realize her own greatness but from doubt of her own life, she came on various weaknesses. She flew across the land and obtained many around her, but she barely chose to call any, a friend. It was complicated for her and I don't think she understood, how long she had before she approached adulthood. She was sly like a fox and the clichés she chose to prove wrong. She had no flames and in fact, she was colder than a heart of stone, but once you are really cold, you can show what no mortal can atone for. The ability to deceive thyself and the those around you; the skill to be a clone of their comfort zones. The true meaning of being alone lied on her throne.
The FREE Writing Experimental Essays Series April Class: What is the collage essay?
The FREE Writing Experimental Essays Series April Class: What is the collage essay?
When: April, 7-9pm ESTWhere: Online, via ZoomHow to register: Send an email with “Writing Experimental Essays April Class” in the subject line to [email protected]
Many of us were taught to write personal essays in the traditional way, where the events happen chronologically and we tell one story in a straight-forward way. This is not the way I tell stories.
The people I…
noun
: the natural periodic suspension of consciousness during which the powers of the body are restored
Examples
· I just need to get some sleep
· How much sleep did you get last night?
source: Merriam Webster Dictionary
Medical doctors (MDs) are physicians who work in hospitals, clinics, medical centers, or private practices. MDs treat people for illnesses and injuries. They also prescribe medications, order diagnostic tests, diagnose ailments, and record patient information. Doctors of medicine often have a specialization such as general practice, gynecology, dermatology, pediatric medicine, orthopedics, or many others. All surgeons are medical doctors.
Step 1: Earn a Bachelor’s Degree.
Step 2: Complete Medical School.
Step 3: Complete a Residency.
Step 4: Obtain Licensure.
Step 5: Earn Certification in a Specialty Area.
source: study.com
“…In order to receive an academic scholarship to pay for school, strong grades are encouraged, as well as ranking in the top five to ten percent of your graduating class. Merit scholarships are often related to academic performance…
Walking amidst a forest of giants in a castle by the sea; the crossing of the threshold brings with it an abrupt change from the distinct aromatic experience of brine to a jumble of sensations. Sweat, sugar, coffee, and old weatherworn woodwork comprise the unique experience of this place. I am led by my guardian deep within the complex, to a pavilion of wonders encompassed by a most marvelous and peculiar tune. Within this pavilion are all manner of fantastical beasts outfitted with tack and harness; upon which my protector places me upon my own chosen steed. The music shifts to a jollier tune with a fanfare projected from somewhere deep within. The entire pavilion spins as if under some spell, my chosen beast leaping to the rhythm of the song. In that moment, I knew, there was magic in this world.
Nine dead, twenty six injured. A cold blade brought down by the one who was supposed to be their advocate, their guardian. The murderer demanded reward for his deeds, for in his eyes the disabled were a burden upon society. Yet that was his profession; to care for those who were disabled. Barely touched upon by media, a reinforcing statement of the value of those whose lives were lost. Perhaps they agree. When value is valued only in terms of externalities, not valiance nor hue of the experience whom assign it; no wonder that silent population is a footnote to the whimsy and arcana of the caste of noble performance and sovereign squabbles.
The ocean reaches out to touch the earth; the full and pearlescent moon gazing down upon the world in nascent curiosity. Silver light dances upon the sable waters, waltzing with the dark depths and wondering when it’s gold and sanguine kin will visit these tides once again. Silence broken only by heartbeats and the roaring purr of playful, mercurial flows; quiet laughter at some misbegotten axiom. A spell or rite; sacrament spoken only in the comfort of the cold winds and ebony dreams. The dream tucks itself between the lapping waves and the shadows of the sky, turning to face the east as it slumbers once again, “Good Morning”
My little sister and I were brought to a strange building, magnificent in scope and grandeur. A palace, I considered, for only a palace could be so overflowing with bejeweled wonders and mysteries. Lines upon lines of crystal gates led into secluded lands that spellbinded me with their trinkets, garments, and oddities. Each portal led to its own world, some somber dressed in burnished wood and eggshell paint, other effervescent magenta and smelling lightly of flowers and the sea. Taken aback by wonders mortal minds were not meant to know, I darted away from my guardians, racing past oblivious giants as I tried to escape this pastel and marbled hellscape that had bewitched me so. When finally found, my ever present guardian scolded me for my weakness and insubordination, and we left the palace of a thousand gates, until another time.
One dead. An angel cast down by axiomatic mercenaries; pleading for the life of his charge. A city known for its poison paradise, strictures cruel and foul lessons enforced through the trigger when in fact no law of man nor god was broken upon that day. A man concerned with self, bearing only a toy in plastic ochre, required the willing sacrifice of his angel because of the negligent ignorance of those mercenaries charged with protecting that paradise. Fear had won that day, had one to add to its catalogue of casualties. Such siren song of cruelty is a tragedy for us all.
The full moon hangs low over the horizon of the City of Roses. Glittering stars cast their light up against the cloudy sky, some suspended on steel skeletons, others gates into the hidden stories of the city. Some stars soar through the winding branches that arch the lazy river, glittering in tones amber and scarlet. Magic graces this place, hidden in potions of bitter bean and crème, marketplaces of magicians who work their thaumaturgy into talismans against the tenebrous darkness in our hearts, and a garden whose wards are the sacred icons that bind the stories of this place together. Hidden spells and whispered prayers move like fog through the night, protecting from blinding cynicism within shadow of the valley of thorns. Like a coiling dragon the city breathes even as it sleeps, stars sparkling like jewels upon its back as it dreams of the stories yet to unfold within its fabled expanse. As this moment drifts away upon the winding river, I can see, magic is real.
an activity involving physical exertion and skill in which an individual or team competes against another or others for entertainment.
I’m fourteen when it first happens. There is no warning. No dramatic moment where time pauses and I come to a realization over what’s about to happen. I have no time to think, or even to catch myself on the way down. One second I’m practicing the footwork sequence of my competition routine, and the next I’m spread out flat across the ice, head stinging, vision blurring, unable to move or make sense of where I am.
My coaches have to carry me off the ice. My mom has to unlace and take off my skates. I can only sit on one of the benches in the lobby of the ice rink and hold a cold compress to the back of my head until the sun has risen and the doctor’s office opens.
I’m diagnosed with a mild concussion. No school for me today. But also no TV, computer, books, or anything that might exercise my mind. As if I could concentrate on any of that with the headache pounding against my temples. A single misplaced foot, a brief catch of my blade in the ice where it shouldn’t have been, has caused me a world of pain.
But that’s the price I must pay in order to compete.
“Speed, power, sharp blades, lifts, jumps, hard surfaces, the WALL, crowded sessions... I've seen stuff that makes me cringe. Problem is the misconception that figure skating is easy because figure skaters make it look so easy but the reality is hours of training, taking that fall over and over again to get it right, bumps bruises, and concussions.” -The Top Ten Most Dangerous Sports.
I’m shaking with nerves in my lace dress as I step onto the ice. The crowd is mostly made of other competitors and their parents, but at nine years old, that doesn’t really sink in. It feels like I’m competing at the Olympics with an entire stadium as my audience.
It’s my first competition, and the first time I experience the freedom of skating all alone on the ice, without anyone else in my way. The ice seems to expand in size with the lack of other skaters, which should intimidate me but actually fills me with excitement. It’s fun to race across the ice, and to jump and spin in time with the music, the black skirt of my dress rippling out from the movement. It’s the closest I’ll ever come to truly flying.
“I like competitions!” I tell my mom as I get off the ice. She laughs and agrees. But I learn over time that she likes competitions because of the music and “princess-like dresses.” I like them because of the thrill, and the feeling that all my hard work has paid off.
“This sort of frippery is part of the reason why non-fans dislike figure skating, too. Where some viewers swoon over the graceful twirling in ballerina-like costumes, haters see . . . the Ice Capades, a dressed-up entertainment spectacle that can’t possibly be about the things that sports are supposed to be about.” –The Washington Post, 2014
These are the essentials for a competitive figure skater:
1. A pair of custom skates molded around the feet through use of heat, which bites uncomfortably at the skin for the entire hour the boots must be worn during fitting. Blades must be selected according to jumping level, and re-sharpened every six weeks.
2. Two private coaches, one for technical skills like jumps and spins, and one for artistic skills like footwork sequences and the choreography of competition routines.
3. At least four private lessons each week, most of them in the early hours of the morning, when the rink is open to only a few of the more serious skaters for intense training sessions.
4. Power Class on Saturday morning to work on speed and stamina. And then off-ice training half an hour afterwards, with weight machines, sprints, ab work, cardio, jump exercises, and extensive stretching in order to build up muscle and perfect difficult jumps on the ground before attempting them on the ice. Ballet class later that afternoon to work on flexibility for spins and spirals.
5. Sweat, blood, and tears, all frozen into the ice to match the bruises and ice burn skaters wear like a badge of honor.
6. A thorough knowledge of common skating injuries. And also how to avoid them.
I learn the hard way, after twisting my wrist and having to wear a wrist brace during practice for the following week, not to reach towards the ice during a fall. My coach makes me hold my hands above my head to avoid temptation, until it becomes habit to let my butt and my back take the brunt of the fall so I don’t break my wrists.
I learn the hard way, after a collision in morning practice that left my thigh bleeding from where the other skater’s blade sliced through my skin, how to keep watch of everyone around me, like any team player on a field might.
I learn the hard way, after a second concussion caused by a faulty launch, how to jump properly. I stop throwing myself into the air, and start thinking about proper placement of my body, and how to save myself if I start to fall. I become a better skater because of it.
“The public doesn't see our worst falls. Yes, people fall in major competitions, but the majority of the time, the worst falls are during practice. This is usually where people break bones and sprain things.”—The Top Ten Most Dangerous Sports
The majority of injuries figure skaters receive come from overuse or improper technique. Stress fractures in the foot or spine, tendonitis, muscle strains of the hip, patellofemoral syndrome, jumpers knee, bursitis in the ankle, and lace bite are the most common of these. However, skaters can also suffer from more traumatic injuries, such as ankle sprains, ankle fractures, dislocation of the patella or shoulder, ACL and meniscal tears, head injury and concussions, labral tears of the hip, and lacerations.
Twenty-five percent of elite skaters have at least one significant skating injury. 1998 Olympic gold medalist Tara Lipinski suffered chronic back pain due to a torn labrum in her hip until getting the surgery that saved her career. 2014 Olympic gold medalist Yuzuru Hanyu suffered a serious head injury after a collision with a Chinese skater during the competition’s warm-up. Two-time World Champion Javier Fernandez competed in the 2016 World Championships with a foot injury to defend his title despite the pain.
Even champions suffer from the brutality of the sport on the body. The strain of the acrobatics skaters regularly perform wears the body down, but even worse is the pain of falling. Because the ice is solid and unyielding, and skaters don’t wear any padding or helmets for protection the way many other athletes do. Just tights and a costume and a pair of skates with thin, sharp blades, capable of leaving small scars after accidental collisions, like constellations across the skin.
“I never ever wanted to change my sport... Figure skating was my outlet, it was my breath, it was how I could live and transmit everything I was feeling and everything I had worked for and given up and all these sacrifices I'd made throughout the years. It was how I could make them all worth it.” –Johnny Weir
Competition season brings out dresses. It brings out rhinestones that sparkle beneath the rink’s lights. Heavy makeup, and gallons of hairspray to cement that perfect bun in place.
I stand in the center of the ice, arms lifted over my head with grace learned from months of practice and years of supplemental ballet instruction, and I wait for my music to begin. The ice seems smaller now than it did when I was nine. The crowd does too. Both as familiar to me as the boots laced tightly about my feet and the slick surface beneath my blades.
It still feels like I’m performing at the Olympics though, with expectation sitting heavily across my shoulders. I have a difficult routine that I must perfect. It must be flawless. Effortless. My difficulties cannot show.
Look Sharp, Part One / Why All the Fuss about Collage?
Nice essay on collage.
This is Part 1 of an article on collage. It’s shared from the website of collage artist Mark Wagner. Modern mediation has made collage a primary player in the contemporary conscious. We all collage directly in our brains by flipping through channels, by flipping through magazines, by glancing around as we walk down the street. Source: Look Sharp, Part One / Why All the Fuss about Collage?
