#prose practice

[subiysu-chan]

Prose practice

C'était une de ces journées froides et humides où la brume semblait, comme un fantôme, voler la chaleur humaine par les poumons, frigorifiant toujours un peu plus à chaque inspiration. Le ciel était si gris qu'il fallait s'éclairer même à midi. Une fois la nuit tombée, les rues devenaient aussi sombres et glaciales que le fond d'une rivière en novembre, dans lequel circulait les passants espérant trouver chez-eux une île hospitalière. Elle traversait donc ce fond, avec ses habitants hostiles et ses ténèbres impénétrables pour trouver sa petite île à elle, son petit morceau de berge où elle pouvait reprendre son souffle. Elle tenait entre ses doigts son trousseau de clé comme balise d'espoir et comme arme. Pour vérifier qu'elle n'était pas suivie, elle s'accula à un mur et tourna la tête en écarquillant les yeux. Une fois s'être assurée que les figures passaient devant, inintéressées de tout sauf de retrouver un lit douillet et une tasse de bouillon brûlant, elle se rassura en portant ses clés à son nez, respirant à plein poumon leur senteur métalique et familière. Calmée, elle repris son chemin vers chez-elle.

[gurestart]

shitty onenote doodles 2/2

i aint putting this shit with the fnf whitty post XD

[thetorturesessions]

Prose Practice, November 28th.

I thought I would also include some of my more lucid practice exercises on here, for fun.

Also, feel free to repost/whatever anything on this blog, with due credit.

(1) Fish Out of Water

He tries to explain (the crux, the point, the intersection…

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[lavendori]

Four Seasons

The leaves don’t turn scarlet here but the feel of the air as it changes into fall is almost just as visible; the winds become thinner and harsher, the shadows move with the Earth as it passes the sun at a slightly different angle, the shorts get pushed behind the orange cardigans. The magic, albeit more subtle, is still present in socal.

It reminds me of a decision we’ve all faced in elementary school when we had to choose our favorite season and draw what that means to us. I used to go back and forth, finding things to love about each one. Now I realize where my mistake was. My favorite season isn’t summer, fall, spring, nor winter, but rather the subtle changes and transformations that happen in between each of them. That after a long cold season from December, the buds of life begin to grow in March. The beautiful way the sky is painted in October as the chilly wind finds its way to penetrate the air after a long stretch of thick summer heat. If I had known this before, I would’ve drawn tank tops and shorts trapped in a continuous cycle with boots and warm pea coats, or a Target store in the middle of changing their designs and candle scents. I wonder what Vivaldi thought when he wrote his famous song, whether he cared about the transitions. I hope he did, because in the end, that’s what seasons are all about.

[lavendori]

How to stay safe

Street sweeping happens on Wednesdays and Thursdays in my neighborhood. On one hand, there is a constant risk of a pricey ticket two days of the week (if you bus and have occasional dry spells of unemployment as I do), but on the other hand, every Wednesday and Thursday at noon, there is a long ample row of vacant parking spots waiting to be claimed.

As I drove down my street this morning admiring the empty sidewalk on one side, I suddenly felt a restless anxiety in the pit of my stomach, an irrational and compulsive desire to park my car immediately as if the curb was begging me to come fill its space despite my intention to leave.

"Calm down," I thought to myself. "You’ll only be gone for twenty minutes max. There is no way spots fill up that quickly."

And of course they don’t. It would take more than fifty people who all happen to want to park along this street at 12 pm for that to happen. I know this to be true, so why am I feeling worried?

Upon closer inspection, it appears that inside of me, down to my very bones, is an inherent need to always be ensuring myself, to stay put instead of take risks. I’m the kid who clings to the safety tree in a game of tag for as long as possible, slowly wandering away from it only when the time limit is up, but hurrying back as soon as it’s available again. I’m the kid who dashes to the back of the line in kickball in the hopes that we’ll switch out before my turn comes so I don’t have to worry about embarrassing myself in front of others with my poor kicking skills. I’m the kid who thinks this is a good strategy for not getting tagged or not being shamed but in the end, I never actually improved my kicks and I never actually played the game.

There’s a part of me—the defeatist side—that’s willing to settle for living in the comfort of never knowing how badly I can fail. It’s not worth the hassle to struggle with kicking poorly in front of my peers. It’s not fun being “it” in tag because you stand out from the crowd, outnumbered, and you may not be able to chase someone down.

But there’s a meeker and possibly, just possibly adventurous side that recognizes the hidden roots of fear and asks, “Are you going to let yourself be satisfied with this?”

I have always allowed myself to settle. It has become second nature. I prefer the comfort of the safety tree and the back of the line. I prefer the comfort of hiding any manuscripts I’ve written from public scrutiny and the comfort of never having to know whether people think my ideas are bad. That’s the safe route of not knowing whether you will fail. However, I think God has finally awakened my conscience to the fears that have been choking me for all these years and I don’t know how to respond. He offers me to walk in His light instead of tiptoeing around darkness. Sure, I will fail many times to come, but He says His grace is sufficient for me. I have contemplated His amazing grace for many years but it seems only now I am beginning to understand what it REALLY means.

"Be dissatisfied with comfort. Take risks. Try and fail. Accept, don’t settle. Try again. And most importantly, live in my grace. Just live.”

[lavendori]

"seems that only children weep"

Short summary of my thoughts:

"There's nothing more sickening to me than a low-grade white man who'll take advantage of a Negro's ignorance. Don't fool yourselves--it's all adding up and one of these days we're going to pay the bill for it. I hope it's not in you children's time."

Coincidentally, I finished rereading To Kill a Mockingbird this past week, a few days before the Zimmerman verdict. I hadn't read it since high school and this time around, I couldn't help thinking how prophetic Harper Lee's words were. By now, we've paid the bill for it many times and are still reaping what we sow.

Although I am saddened by how the case turned out, it is even more heart breaking to me to see the way people respond. Whether it is casual apathy, sympathy for Zimmerman, or anger at Zimmerman (and I admit I tend towards anger at him, too), I think the world needs more compassion and mercy because fighting violence with violence has never ended well. Yes, things have progressed, but racism still exists in our "post-racial" America.

And when I ask the same question Jem Finch asked, "How could they do it, how could they?" Atticus's answer echoes back, "I don't know, but they did it. They've done it before and they did it tonight and they'll do it again and when they do it--seems that only children weep."