There were plenty of ways that I could’ve developed an active interest in writing that would’ve sounded much nobler and more romantic than the real story when related years later. For example, I had an early affinity for language that lead to me reading well by the time I was 2 years old and teaching my Polish nanny English when I was 4. That could’ve blossomed into a convenient, provocative memoir of a boy genius that had all the signs of being the next brilliant literary mind. It would’ve made for a good biopic about me years later, probably with Phillip Seymour Hoffman as the lead (with his hair dyed brown, I think it’d work) or an equally cerebral presence. You could have watched it and said, “Oh, wow, he’s already reading! How ironic that he became such an incredible writer! He was destined for greatness!” I was romantic, imaginative, playful, enthusiastic, just like most kids, really. I was a misfit, and not by choice, which is GREAT for establishing creative faculties in anyone. And the bullies, my God, I had the best bullies. I couldn’t have possibly gotten luckier with my antagonists. It could’ve been the story of enthusiasm and artistic verve overcoming negativity and emerging triumphant, yielding a phenomenal writing talent that would change the world and inspire everyone. Of course, then I went ahead and forgot all about the whole “having a phenomenal writing talent that would change the world and inspire everyone” prerequisite for that storyline. Poor narrative development, on my part. As it happens, I started writing almost entirely out of spite for the English teacher I had during my freshman year of high school who told me that I should consider dropping down to intermediate (as opposed to advanced) English because of my troubles with writing papers. That’s it. The pieces were all there for a great story and that’s the one I went with, instead. I didn’t write at all before that. In fact, I openly hated it. That was the central catalyst for my turning into someone who writes on a daily basis, and it was born out of petty spite. The synopsis of my biopic, now, is basically, “Kid gets mad at teacher for saying he’s not good at some stuff, so he tries to get better at said stuff.” Oscar-winning material, down the drain. But the strange thing is, and it still baffles me, while you might expect the triviality of my creative origins to make my voice more than a little wry and sarcastic, that romantic, imaginative, playful, enthusiastic voice with the early affinity for language carried into my writing, meaning that I always had a place to reconnect with genuine affection for words. For me, that’s why the recording of human perspective is a thing that needs to be protected, and why XRIVO means so much to me, personally. It isn’t about being a genius or a prospective best-selling author. It’s just about being human, talking
Ridiculous instances are my inspiration,close calls reeling kisses blown at yellow lights,I toil with truth tursting too much in its vision,fighting over nothing I live for the fights.Instigate sight my strife inside sighs bored,windows to the soul bore lazily pastthe past enters beast's future manly endeavors,eyes rave with power but always crave more.While raging citizens buy into the pursuit of apathy,children grovel for a better tomorrow,totalitarians tremor and bow to babies in baskets,good samaritans wallow in mortal sins and sorrow.Overweight pedestrians stradling rockets of crotch, the vibrations vicariously leave me asunder,and desensitize, I can smell your perception,refreshing immaturity beckons to step it up a notch.
I happen to love this exercise. Type for a pre-determined amount of time assuming you have no backspace key and your fingers will catch on fire the second you stop. This is what two minutes in my head looks like: The road isn't what I was missing. Close. not quite. Something that moves, sure, but not quite a motorcycle. Music does so much to my brain. Perpetually confused. Perpetually lacking in courage. music solves both. Courage. The great ones had the courage to move the way they wanted. Presented the fundamental threads their own way. universal audience. Found the rhythms that reached them and hurled them in every direction. Ultimate courage, facing everyone's response. Intensely personal. Trust. They trusted something. Ultimate courage, ultimate faith: That not only does one person's voice matter but that MINE matters, and that I'm accountable for its dispersal. Horrifying concept. Irrational. But only irrational because of personal effacement and sense of personal weakness, not genuine lack of worth. In which case, self-effacement is irrational. Self-hatred, irrational. Self-destruction, irrational. Self-deprecation, irrational. If worth is unknown, but depends on participation multiplied by an individual's self-concept, then to willingly nullify either variable with zero is an irrational act, and ultimately ineffecient.Participation X Self-concept = Personal well-being, feeling of self-worth and satisfaction(P) X (S) = Value (personal)Participation without self-affection is worthless. Self-concept with validation is groundless. No value without either. Either can be nullified by zero. MUST attempt. MUST believe yourself worthy of the attempt. Must fail.
This isn't anything special. No rhyme or reason to this rambling. Just miss the site, and want to post more of my work. Which I would this moment, but I am sitting on a computer (not literally) in Study Hall with t-minus 4 minutes until the bell. So, here is a bunch of random nonsense. Jibber jabber, hibber habber, elastic monkeys, what? I kind of, sort of, maybe want to write a love song. I really have no clue as to why, just feel the urge. So, I shall. With Photography being next and last period, I cannot, but once I arrive home, I shall. :)
I will write more later. In the mean time, don't miss me. No, I am not an ego-maniac, just saying. Off to...I need a creative nickname for Photography. I don't know why, I just do...ideas? =]
Some say it is the time of your life. I'm not so sure.
this piece is a week-long collaboration between katie & I. there had been virtually no prior planning, save for an agreement to compose a fictional piece and to write from separate character perspectives. I portrayed liam, whereas she portrayed ethan.
I figured I would just get some ideas / a map of some of the things we mentioned including in this. We can add to it and then on Sunday make it look pretty once we have content taken care of? If there is anything that I add that you don't like or think could be improved upon, please feel free. I felt our guy needed a name, but even that can be changed.
Name: Karsten Schwartz
II. Work Experience
III. Volunteer Experience
1. Civvies - necessary Civil Service in home of aged persons at request of government. Unmatched tasks, assist in day-to-day objectives.
IV. Hobbies / Achievements
1. Bike riding, football playing, family and friends to visit, meeting new people, writing of poetry and narration.
This poem is partly inspired by Gertrude Stein. I tried to let the sounds propel the poem, feeding off the energy of the words.
This is a poem about my grandma who passed away a few years ago, i usually write a lot about her.