#words writing

[bruisedandbubbly]

in the sea of oppression you never learn how to swim - merely how to stay afloat.

 

@bruisedandbubbly

[eefrostpoetry]

after you walked away there has been a bright, neon vacancy sign hanging above my heart

[lazykcdoodler]

Stars Above: A Word About The Clone Wars, and the End of Steven Universe

This is has been a weird year so far- and that’s not even with Coronavirus in the mix. Way back when I was a senior in high school, during the winter of 2015, I got into Steven Universe and the Clone Wars at roughly the same time.

I have very fond memories of spending most of November and December indoors whenever possible, laying on my bed with my beloved iPad, with a plate of Oreos and grilled cheese sandwiches tucked beside me (wit cold milk on the bedside table, of course), taking my time with Clone Wars- knowing that everyone hated the ending- and binging the entirety of Steven Universe up to that point (the episode Too Far, in Season 2).

Now it’s March 2020. The Clone Wars is back for a finishing season. Only a couple of months ago, Steven Universe came back to our screens, though I’ll admit I haven’t been following Future as much as I should have. And just a few hours ago, Steven left home to see the world and get a gauge of what he’s like away from everyone he’s ever known. Funny how things work out.

I’m a senior in college. I’m currently residing in Cape Town, thousands of miles from my home, which I left two weeks ago- only now, all my time spent indoors is due to the coronavirus quarantine that just got put in place yesterday. I’m tired. I have a killer headache. The only meal I ate today was breakfast at 8:30 AM, and it’s now 3:04 AM the following day. I still stayed up to wait for someone to upload the episodes, so I could have a proper goodbye with one of the last vestiges of my childhood. When Clone Wars ends, that’s it. I’m already kind of working; I’m in South Africa for a business internship, and the remote video calls have been hurting my eyes.

Goodbye, Steven Quartz Universe. You’ve been a cornerstone of my life in and out of fandom for five years, now. Now I’m glad I haven’t kept up much with Future- hell, I haven’t seen the Movie yet. There’s still a bit of that road left for me.

I wish I made a grilled cheese sandwich for the occasion. Unfortunately, I’ve got no Oreos; the only ones left at the grocery every time I’ve checked have no vanilla filling. The Movie can wait till I buy some proper Oreos. For now, I’ll get out of bed, make grilled cheese at 3 in the morning, and fall asleep with my iPad still on. (It’s a newer model these days).

...that last sentence encapsulated my entire experience while watching space cartoons as a senior in high school. A worthy send off indeed.

Thanks Rebecca. Thanks, Steven. Hope you all stay safe, and find what you’re looking for.

(And hopefully, I’ll finish up my first animatic by tomorrow. Here’s to you, Steven).

[lemonfrys]

i feel that existential black

tar, dripping from the sky

into my soul, flooding me with emptiness

nothingness, everywhereness and nowhereness.

im perturbed, yet resigned

another year, another year, another year,

what’s one more?

Dark before darkness, light before to soon the

sun goes out.

i’m stuck in the dark place.

10.8.19

[karmelsundae]

Where have all the good words gone

Writing used to be simple, easy. It never was a chore when I was young. It was natural. Words literally poured from my fingertips. Like a harpist’s fingers on a piece of paper and words danced through it like music. 

But now, gone. Like a bottle of glue with a solid neck, words won’t come out because of disuse. 

Still, I write, because I’ve always loved words and expressing myself through them. Even though I doubt if my thoughts are worth expressing. Even if all I ever write about is writing. Still, what else is there to do than write. 

Until it’s just right. Until it no longer feels foreign, like a hand that has forgotten how to hold a pen, a voice forgotten. What else is there to do, but write. 

***

Lately, I’ve been drawing more than writing. Often it feels like I have to choose between the two. Words or lines, art or writing, as if the two are different planets and not essentially the same. 

They’re both an act of creating - making something out of nothing, something entirely your own, reflective of your style and skill. Both a channel of self-expression, born out of a need to release a feeling, whether known or unknown. Both a distraction to break the routine. As time keeps on ticking, and tasks checked off day by day, what else could remind me that I’m still here--alive, present, breathing, thinking and feeling--than expressing myself through words or pictures. 

Maybe I’ve accepted that art and writing, for me, serve a selfish purpose of keeping myself alive. To keep myself in check. To drift from the humdrum of daily living. I don’t want to die before I even start living. 

And maybe that purpose is enough. If my words are self-serving, baring my soul to the abyss that is the internet, free to feed prying strangers whom I might see in real life, where’s the harm? So I’m a bothered person, are you not as well? (If you’re not, let’s talk so I can change your mind.)

Truth is, we’re all screwed up in our own little ways. To claim to be perfect is an issue in itself. For this, we have art or writing to rewire our worn out minds, to have an illusion that things make sense just because you were able to string a bunch of words, or form a picture out of a bunch of lines, to find order amid chaos. 

***

It’s raining outside. It’s 4:00am. But why am I wide awake?

Maybe I had a late night craving for words and I found them. All I needed was to shut off my mind and welcome my thoughts as they come, to turn off self-criticism, even for a while, as words drizzled. I could go on and on about why and how I love writing, but I don’t want to run out of things to write about in the coming days. 

[dhwty-writes]

The ultimate weapon

„What the hell?!“, you murmur silently as you skip through the pages of the dusty book. Thousands and more names were written down and beside them only one word. Campbell, Dylan – Banane; Müller, Stefanie – papillon; Garcìa, Alejandro – ciento … The whole book, looking like a thin inconspicuous notebook, is filled with such things. And it seems to have no end. Every time when you think you’ve found the last page you suddenly start from the beginning at the first one with new names and words. There were names in the most different languages from the most different nations, in alphabetical order. You haven’t needed a long time to understand that you are holding the probably most powerful weapon in the world in your hands. At the latest when you found your own name you knew it with certainty. This Book was more dangerous than every nuclear weapon. This book holds the name of each person who lives on this world. And it holds the word that will kill them without doubts. A shiver crept over your spine. Often you have witnessed such an incident. A person is talking, like every person does, and suddenly someone nearby dies. It’s nothing special where you live, because you live in a world where one word can cause the immediate death of another person.  It is the most difficult thing to follow the rule and not to use the word by accident. And now… now you’ve found a book which withholds the words to kill every person on this planet. You’re thinking feverish what you have to do. It would be the right decision to bring it to your bosses. It was your job to search this house for some unusual things and you have found one. And yet… just think of the possibilities! Think of the pain you had to bear, the man times when you were pushed around or humiliated or looked down at. Now you’ve got the possibility to take revenge. You stand up, the book pressed tightly against your chest. You will-

[33for3]

All words are equal

It always struck me as odd that the dictionary considers all words as equal. There is no specific section for ‘important words’, no words that are highlighted or written in a larger font, no words that have an asterix next to them. It doesn’t matter if the word is as benign as ‘to’ or as the innocous as ‘and’. It still shares the same importance as words as loud as ‘rumbunctious’ and ‘tintinnabulate’, words that make you understand their meaning by the sheer effect they have on your ears. Rum-bunc-tious: that’s probably the sound you hear when you hammer a drum with a branch of a tree.

The writer’s challenge – and something that becomes difficult when one writes on topics close to one’s heart – is to accord each word the same importance. To ensure that he or she is not carried away by the moment by using words that sound powerful; rather to weigh each word and choose the one that will have the most telling effect. 

Here’s point No. 3 of VS Naipaul’s rules for beginners:

“Do not use big words. If your computer tells you that your average word is more than five letters long, there is something wrong. The use of small words compels you to think about what you are writing. Even difficult ideas can be broken down into small words.”

It is easy for sports writers, especially those who are covering live events, to fall for this trap. While trying to capture a great moment in sport, it is tempting to reach for the big words – to rush to type out words like ‘devastate’ and ‘annihilate’ – when, in fact, shorter words like ‘raze’ and ‘flatten’ may be more representative. There is also a tendency to say ‘mere words cannot describe the scale of this achievement’ (or something to that effect). Which is both insulting to the power of words (so powerful that it has scared dictators and despots witless) and an admission to one’s own ineptitude.