still life: my mother's couch

the furniture in my mother's living room are testaments of a poverty striken existence. every piece is very old and either a hand-me-down from more prosperous relatives or a church sale find. take our couch for example. my mom bought it for twenty dollars when i was twelve. it was a nice couch, structurally sound and pleasingly comfortable. with regard to appearance, though, it left one important element to be desired: colour. at the time of purchase it was an ugly burnt orange and clashed with my mom's complexion. the burnt orange had to go.

after much idle talk about the awful colour my mom finally decided it was time for a change. she bought burgundy dye. the cushions absorbed the colour well. the body, however, proved a more difficult task. it was decided that black paint should do the trick so we tried it. being poor, however, our budget only allowed for a few bottles of black told paint and, since it needed to cover a large sectional couch, we were left with no choice but to water it down. the result was messy. the arms of our couch are a mixture of black, gray, and burnt orange while the cushions are an even burgundy. i, personally, preferred the ugly original.

detritus strewn ashore after the ebbing tide

*dancedance* with me
it'll be our resolution
*dancedance* with me
we'll make a revolution

***

I'm completely hooked on *dancedance*. I think about it _at least_ twice a day. During some sleepless nights I imagine that I'm *dancedancing* - "Play that funky music white boy" ... left down up right left right - and when I think about it during the day my mind and body become tensely excited because I cannot *dancedance* now that I'm on summer intermission from school. I've decided, though, to purchase my own and have vowed to become awesome at *dancedance*. I'm already pretty good, but I'm only on the standard level and there are frequent times when I get lost on the quicker songs. This summer I will become awesome, for real.

OK. Now for a change of pace - I'm fearing I sound like an immature high school student. I've just completed my third year of university and will be 22 next Saturday. *dancedance* brings out the kid in me which is just one reason why I adore it so.

***

Despite all appearances I am not a blogger.

This is more of a creative outlet. It offers perspective and mental clarity; it is a mouth-piece for my thoughts. My principle reason for starting such a project is to hone my writing skills, to find my voice and my style - both creative and academic, though mostly creative (though this is sounding very academic). I will start over.

Despite all appearances I am not a blogger.

(much time passes. I initially wrote this next passage as a story on my friend T's facebook wall but I decided it would be more conducive - and less public! - for my purposes here).

I don't remember much about the beginning except that it took place very early in the morning and that I was awoken by extraordinary laughter. The sound held a musical cadence with intermitent clicks and chirps, as if, I imagine, its source was some kind of humaninsect. Despite its inhuman quality, I found myself quite calm. As I became more alert I saw, in my periphery, an unusual green glow through my curtains. Still calm, yet by now quite intrigued, I lifted my covers and went to the window where I felt a sudden thrill shoot through my body. That unnatural feeling is the last thing I remember on Earth.

When I regained consciousness I found myself in a dazzling environment. Surrounding me were flowers of all shades and hues. This place was brilliantly radiant. It was the reflection in the morning dew that I first realized the magnifcent beauty of this world.

- I must stop here. I'm feeling restricted instead of expanded which is the way I would like to be. The visions in my head are beautiful - the sounds, the smells, the sights; everything. There is so much more to what I've written, I just can't seem to capture it. Perhaps it is my style that restricts? There's nothing really satisfying about the first paragraph. I find it too ambiguous - even though ambiguity is a good thing given the subject matter, I find it holds too much of this quality. As for the second, well, it's dull especially when compared to what is in my head. There is such richness to this idea, such possibility. I will work on it later - for now I sleep.

- Reminders: A.T's picture; reflections, flowers, water, shadows; alienation - in this sense: literal, metaphorical, and alegorical; expand the setting to include more than just the narrator's mind - perhaps this would best be achieved in a different narrative style? experiment with voice; detail detail detail. Conclusion: this is good for a first attempt. It'll become easier with practice!

~ jk

PS - i'm too critical of myself. "shut up critic!" - known henceforth as the Headmistress.

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