ANIMAL. I am an animal exiled from the Garden of Eden, forced to live in uncharted territories unfamiliar to me like a new home in the suburbs, willing to kill whatever be in my way or in my own space. Voluntarily pulling the trigger to have my way and my right. Everything I could reach with my automatic was mine; little babies, small children, women that were mothers, sisters, friends. Men who stood their ground; Fathers, Sons, brothers. They were all mine. 47.
Beastly I was, untamed and firing at free will with people behind me feeling the exact same way a small boy feels receiving his first squirt gun; Powerful, holding an upper hand on the "enemy", mischievous, daring and bold. Everywhere we went I lead the pack like an Alpha Male marking the way for my followers, always getting a taste at the killing spree before anyone else could. It was like getting to the drinking fountain after school recess and having all the water I could hold inside my stomach. I couldn't wait to round a corner and see what I find inside just like the prize in the cereal box. Sometimes you'd get a really cool one, maybe even a double, and other times your left empty handed and proceed to pour it out in the bowl.
Relieved of my duty, I was back home where it all began. My fascination and drive, the thing that blazed the fire within me, blinding like gun fire, it was still here. But there was something else that came along with me. I could hear voices inside my head, faces of people I'd never spoken to every time I closed my eyes. Small taps and pulls on my legs that when caught my attention, I seemed to only find battle scars from bombings and the rapid fire games we challenged each other to do.
I couldn't sleep the first couple of days. The adjustment to the time change. But once I thought I could, I slept and only dreamt of the men and women I shot. The families I murdered for the "safety" of my country, the known vermin of the middle east, when really it was I who should have been squashed and left for dead, left to burn and smolder in the bleeding sun, left to crisp for natures decomposing squad to start their job. All along I had been blinded by the tactics, the silly ratio's, the insignificant tallies of things. People are much more significant then the last round in your clip.
I lay in bed pondering how I let this continue on? How did I manage to pull the trigger time after time, silencing my quiet conscience with the sounds of boys and girls screaming for their mothers as we trampled along firing at their agonizing, gut wrenching cries, pleas for help and safety, for a second chance at life, and I just fed them the bullet and moved on. Animal!
Tossing and turning all night as if enduring a never ending nightmare and the villain is me. I'm the one behind the mask, I'm the one inside the leather boots, bullet proof vest and the automatic. Call me mercy and I'll give you nothing close to it. Brutal and forceful was my way.
Staring at the ceiling unable to sleep because of the monster who lay inside me, I could see the skinny old man in black pajamas trying to run away as I shot him clean through. I still see his body freeze and plop on the floor like a glob of red gelatine just lying there swayed from shock and oozing out from small punctures made by a toddler. Only this toddler stood as a man, made from plastic, stamped with the U.S. brand and minted in the year 1976. I deserved to die as they did. I am now no better then a spider on a wed. Eating whatever gets caught in it. Not as before where I was a fly, a tiny little fly big enough to stick to the smallest of webs.
I'm no longer need to pull the trigger, or roll with the punches, I am no longer human, I'm a dirty old dog is what I am. Wondering about, thinking my own thoughts and saying, "When am I going to die?"
The pain that came to me was piercing as the point of a spear, it was a hit and run. I was down hard and fast. It hit me like a freight train bombarding my chest, weaving itself in and out on the tracks of all the people I had killed. I felt their pain and sorrow, their quiet pleas and whimpering cries.
Slow like a child I walked stumbling and falling faster then I could bring myself up again. Fall down 7, stand up 8, right? But I fell down again. I fell down, and down, and down, deep in the abyss of where the man I knew used to be. He sat curled in the corner of a dark room rocking back and forth trying to soothe the pain done to himself by someone he never dreamed of becoming. Alone we waited for some form of light to shine through our death covered window ... nothing. Only darker shadows crossed over, and over again. Deep and rich tones of black came closer and closer. Trapping us in this cold, dark, empty, and hollow room. As I turned to see how the man was doing he was gone. And when I turned back around it was me who was sitting in the corner, soothing and caressing. Trying to feel any warmth but nothing could suffice. I sat, hands wide open, to see the hands of a cold blooded killer, all in the name of Peace.
What Peace brings you pain? What Peace brings you sorrow and guilt? What Peace brings you closer to the Devil and farther from God? What more can I take when I am NOTHING! I have no worth, no skill, no importance to this world. Nothing else to offer but my physical body. Battered and bruised, torn and broken, what more could I do?
I stand here on solid ground above you all, but the only time I'll ever be of worth is when I'm headed out to see what lies ahead in the other world. It'll take all but 5 seconds really, you won't miss much. Like I said what have I got to lose? My clothes, my shoes, my shirts, and you will lose a monster.
Are you happy now father?! Are you happy now that you'll never have to deal with my mistakes? Did I make you proud with that Purple Heart? Was it good enough for you? I hope you're happy to see the monster you enlisted disappear. No more will I wear your anger like a sweater. No longer will mom and my sister mend, and replace every patch and button. Father you never told me. At the dinner table some one should have told me, my time is over, it's time to take it off. This wasn't meant for me. When is it my turn? My time is now.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Sometimes I Can Be Brilliant AND Forget About It
So there was this one time where I was really into Sarah Kay. Remember that entry? if not. look it up. Anyways. I really liked her, still do actually. But I absolutely love her poem entitled "Hand Me Downs".
As my junior year has come to an end and I have been ruthless in throwing my papers away, I stopped a moment to reminisce and read all of my writings from my Creative Writing class with the one and only, Mr. Rutter. He is a fine teacher. Kills bears for an entire week before school ends, driving his students mad with arguements about the stupidity of Newt Gingrich, Arguements with Rosemary (a lovely student intern) about the stupidity of movies and varies sodas. But none the less.. he is a great teacher. One of my favorites because of his sarcasm and his joy in making class fun with some light teasing.
BACK TO THE POINT~ I was reading my old stuff and came along this paper. One that I have no memory of writing. AT ALL.. I remember absolutely nothing from it. I think it was an in class stream of conscious about the man who shot the elephant, and how he felt bad as he saw it die and the people of the town were all rejoicing. (Have you read that? Its quite good.) WELL.. I'm going to re-submit it into the inter-web and then you guys can read it. The only reason I wrote this entry was so that you would understand why the next just starts as a long stream of conscious. Anyways.. thanks for reading. I hope you like it. AND .. sorry.. I think that I had sprouted off of her poem. so. listen to her poem and then read my next entry.. Yeah. It's not particularly happy.
-Ammonduh
As my junior year has come to an end and I have been ruthless in throwing my papers away, I stopped a moment to reminisce and read all of my writings from my Creative Writing class with the one and only, Mr. Rutter. He is a fine teacher. Kills bears for an entire week before school ends, driving his students mad with arguements about the stupidity of Newt Gingrich, Arguements with Rosemary (a lovely student intern) about the stupidity of movies and varies sodas. But none the less.. he is a great teacher. One of my favorites because of his sarcasm and his joy in making class fun with some light teasing.
BACK TO THE POINT~ I was reading my old stuff and came along this paper. One that I have no memory of writing. AT ALL.. I remember absolutely nothing from it. I think it was an in class stream of conscious about the man who shot the elephant, and how he felt bad as he saw it die and the people of the town were all rejoicing. (Have you read that? Its quite good.) WELL.. I'm going to re-submit it into the inter-web and then you guys can read it. The only reason I wrote this entry was so that you would understand why the next just starts as a long stream of conscious. Anyways.. thanks for reading. I hope you like it. AND .. sorry.. I think that I had sprouted off of her poem. so. listen to her poem and then read my next entry.. Yeah. It's not particularly happy.
-Ammonduh
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Dear Michael
This is my second attempt at writing a poem like Sylvia Plath. If you don't know who she is? Or you didn't read my last post entitled "Decision" OR! if you didn't google who she was until today. I'll tell you. But if you did.. you can just skip the next paragraph and read me second poem.
Sylvia Plath = DARKEST POET EVER FOR A GIRL. She was a bit suicidal and had a very unique taste in word choice and the way the liked portraying things. She like dark things, and death. One of my favorite poems by her is entitled "Lady Lazarus" One of my favorite lines is. "Dying, is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well". Kind of weird. But I like weird. So that's what the first poem "Decision" was about. We kinda had to portray this suicidal side of her.
This next poem is based off of another one of her poems entitled "Daddy" . We have to tell a story just as she did against he father. Also include imagery and other... little subtle things. So here it is.
Sylvia Plath = DARKEST POET EVER FOR A GIRL. She was a bit suicidal and had a very unique taste in word choice and the way the liked portraying things. She like dark things, and death. One of my favorite poems by her is entitled "Lady Lazarus" One of my favorite lines is. "Dying, is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well". Kind of weird. But I like weird. So that's what the first poem "Decision" was about. We kinda had to portray this suicidal side of her.
This next poem is based off of another one of her poems entitled "Daddy" . We have to tell a story just as she did against he father. Also include imagery and other... little subtle things. So here it is.
Dear Michael
Six years Michael. Six years have I spent
Day after day, wasting my time with you.
Your gifts always came routinely.
Always in the same purple or green hue.
Your consistency was your weakest strength.
Dear Michael, the bruises fell off eventually.
Six years, you were the biggest step
I have ever taken backwards.
You were the only mistake
I never took the time the fix.
I will never stop looking behind my shoulder,
Shoes laced ready to run.
Dear Michael, What color are my eyes?
Your words were sweet and thoughtful.
I felt wrapped inside of a verbal cocoon
Filled with thorns that were
Always pricking and festering
In all the right places.
Dear Michael, Thank you for every scar.
Six years Michael, Six years is enough time
To mull things over, run them down until
They have no strength or will to stand
And defend themselves.
I died long before the second year.
It took you five to figure it out.
Dear Michael, This is the end.
Day after day, wasting my time with you.
Your gifts always came routinely.
Always in the same purple or green hue.
Your consistency was your weakest strength.
Dear Michael, the bruises fell off eventually.
Six years, you were the biggest step
I have ever taken backwards.
You were the only mistake
I never took the time the fix.
I will never stop looking behind my shoulder,
Shoes laced ready to run.
Dear Michael, What color are my eyes?
Your words were sweet and thoughtful.
I felt wrapped inside of a verbal cocoon
Filled with thorns that were
Always pricking and festering
In all the right places.
Dear Michael, Thank you for every scar.
Six years Michael, Six years is enough time
To mull things over, run them down until
They have no strength or will to stand
And defend themselves.
I died long before the second year.
It took you five to figure it out.
Dear Michael, This is the end.
Decision
Here is my first attempt at writing a poem like Sylvia Plath would. It's an assignment for Mr. Rutter's Creative Writing Class.
Decision
I had made my decision.
It was sharp as the
Blade beneath my bed.
The feeling I get as I
Tip toe through thin, tasteless
Moments others called life was excruciating.
Respectively I went forward.
Ever hoping for a day
They could call “her accident”
The streets that I had carved along
My arms and legs, ducked and waved
As the scarves Isadora once wore.
Never more will they pass.
Never more will they seal.
Forever in the open.
It was sharp as the
Blade beneath my bed.
The feeling I get as I
Tip toe through thin, tasteless
Moments others called life was excruciating.
Respectively I went forward.
Ever hoping for a day
They could call “her accident”
The streets that I had carved along
My arms and legs, ducked and waved
As the scarves Isadora once wore.
Never more will they pass.
Never more will they seal.
Forever in the open.
Yet ANOTHER! Because i have time - PART 4
“The Rescuers” did the lovely job of basically wrapping you up in to a human tortilla covering your face from your nose down. How do they expect you to breathe through 4 blankets? I had laid you in your bed and unraveled the blankets around you. You were in a cold sweat. Cold enough to start sweating, or too cold to feel how warm you had actually gotten.
I went outside because the internal churning inside my stomach was too much to handle. I had pushed it off to the side. I realized that not only was my worry causing me to be physically ill, I also hadn’t eaten that day. As I walked back inside you were lying still in your bed, wide awake waiting for me. Why couldn’t you have fallen asleep? What was going on in your mind that wouldn’t let you sleep? You asked if I was okay, and I lied to you. I told you I was just feeling a little congested and having a harder time breathing then usual. You had finally started speaking normally for the first time in 3 hours. It was time for you to sleep and for me to stay awake just to make sure you wouldn’t start all over again.
That night I did everything in my power to protect you. I tried to remember everything I had learned to do in situations like this one. Until that night I had never saved a life before. I‘d never been in a position so stressful to where I had to think for another person, and physically had to be another person! I wished that a night like that wouldn’t happen to me again. When it does, I’ll be ready.
I went outside because the internal churning inside my stomach was too much to handle. I had pushed it off to the side. I realized that not only was my worry causing me to be physically ill, I also hadn’t eaten that day. As I walked back inside you were lying still in your bed, wide awake waiting for me. Why couldn’t you have fallen asleep? What was going on in your mind that wouldn’t let you sleep? You asked if I was okay, and I lied to you. I told you I was just feeling a little congested and having a harder time breathing then usual. You had finally started speaking normally for the first time in 3 hours. It was time for you to sleep and for me to stay awake just to make sure you wouldn’t start all over again.
That night I did everything in my power to protect you. I tried to remember everything I had learned to do in situations like this one. Until that night I had never saved a life before. I‘d never been in a position so stressful to where I had to think for another person, and physically had to be another person! I wished that a night like that wouldn’t happen to me again. When it does, I’ll be ready.
THATS ALLLLLL FOLKS!
a thousand apologies for being so late - PART 3
When they asked for your name, you stuttered your way through the first four letters. I gave in and blurted out your name like the answer to a 1st grade geography question.
How else would they have figured out you weren’t okay. “Okay Captain Obvious, I‘m Lieutenant Sarcasm. You would think a shivering, stuttering, twitching, pale-faced, young woman would be just fine, Right?” You promised me you’d never go to far beyond eye sight, and that you wouldn’t do anything stupid to put yourself in harms way. You broke one of those promises that night. My mom always says “Never make promises you can‘t keep.”
Generally someone with any common sense would be smart enough to do the proper check. History, Inspection, Palpation, and Special Tests. Who knew that the ones that we would have to trust with our lives, would leave us to hope and get better on our own while they went to the bathroom. So I took matters into my own hands. I fought off the chills and the feelings of doubt that you would never get out of it. I stayed close by, ready to hear what ever you stuttered to say.
Five minutes go by … Ten minutes go by … You hadn’t changed at all. I went to take a walk to think about all the training I’d ever taken to prevent this. I tried to remember everything I’d ever heard in emergency classes, health classes, anything and everything I had learned about the human body. Just when I was about to give up on finding the answer, I was called over because you had spoken your first word completely through. You told me to not leave you. I stayed the rest of the night in one place. One state of mind.
I carried you on my back to our much colder cabin to where I figured you would need rest and warmth from all the extra blankets. Rest and warmth were the first things in my check list. I remembered that when someone is enduring hypothermia they need an airway.
How else would they have figured out you weren’t okay. “Okay Captain Obvious, I‘m Lieutenant Sarcasm. You would think a shivering, stuttering, twitching, pale-faced, young woman would be just fine, Right?” You promised me you’d never go to far beyond eye sight, and that you wouldn’t do anything stupid to put yourself in harms way. You broke one of those promises that night. My mom always says “Never make promises you can‘t keep.”
Generally someone with any common sense would be smart enough to do the proper check. History, Inspection, Palpation, and Special Tests. Who knew that the ones that we would have to trust with our lives, would leave us to hope and get better on our own while they went to the bathroom. So I took matters into my own hands. I fought off the chills and the feelings of doubt that you would never get out of it. I stayed close by, ready to hear what ever you stuttered to say.
Five minutes go by … Ten minutes go by … You hadn’t changed at all. I went to take a walk to think about all the training I’d ever taken to prevent this. I tried to remember everything I’d ever heard in emergency classes, health classes, anything and everything I had learned about the human body. Just when I was about to give up on finding the answer, I was called over because you had spoken your first word completely through. You told me to not leave you. I stayed the rest of the night in one place. One state of mind.
I carried you on my back to our much colder cabin to where I figured you would need rest and warmth from all the extra blankets. Rest and warmth were the first things in my check list. I remembered that when someone is enduring hypothermia they need an airway.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
ANSWERS - PART 2
This years General Conference has been so different then the ones before. All of my life --since I can remember-- I have been listening to G.C. in bed with my parents, coloring in books I'd receive from primary (the ones where you'd have to draw the type of tie the General Authorities were wearing? Yeah I miss those. Honestly.) As I have gotten older its been up to me to find my own answers.
In seminary this past week we've had a BYU Student come and teach us; Brother Roberts. He's kinda gotten off the beaten path and he had an entire lesson answering our questions like, How much money should we pay for our Tithing? Can we chew gum while fasting? All of our questions that we wanted to ask. One of my good friends suggested that we ask questions right before each session, and we will receive our answers. So I tried.
I asked, and I received. I don't think I've ever had so many "ah-ha" moments in two days. One after the other, after the other, after the other! It's amazing how the Lord speaks through his servants.
"Whether it be by mine own voice, or by the voice of my servants, it is the same."
I'm only paraphrasing that Scripture Mastery but you understand me. Hopefully I'll continue finding my answers and hopefully being the answer for others around me. Maybe one day, I will be a mouthpiece for The Lord. I will be a beacon for someone whose alone, scared, and lost. One day I will be able to bring eternal happiness to a person, and effect their families to come. Now, I don't have the priesthood. I'm not entirely sure I'll get to the point of being a missionary but, who says I can't start now? I know so many wonderful people who aren't members and who says I can't help them get a sense of what I believe in?
Now.. What you've been waiting for! .. Hoping that you actually aren't just reading this for my stories. but either way its just fine. ;)
You were just as cold as I was, if not even colder. As night did its magic trick and changed the color of the sky, the winds began to chill. You were pondering the moves of the fire. Dazed by it’s glow we were in a trance, unaware of what would happen next.
When the night had settled in I knew that you were the one who needed care for. You were the one who needed attention. Not me. The way your eyes glazed over and your head began to swivel and drop at any moment. I knew something was wrong as help was on their way. They treated me first and took me from you. I was well enough to hear the news you had gone and only wanted my return. When I found you, all I could hear was the stutter and uneasy slur of your speech. As help had set their precautionary I watched as they carelessly placed you by the fire and crossed their fingers.
TO BE CONTINUED...
In seminary this past week we've had a BYU Student come and teach us; Brother Roberts. He's kinda gotten off the beaten path and he had an entire lesson answering our questions like, How much money should we pay for our Tithing? Can we chew gum while fasting? All of our questions that we wanted to ask. One of my good friends suggested that we ask questions right before each session, and we will receive our answers. So I tried.
I asked, and I received. I don't think I've ever had so many "ah-ha" moments in two days. One after the other, after the other, after the other! It's amazing how the Lord speaks through his servants.
"Whether it be by mine own voice, or by the voice of my servants, it is the same."
I'm only paraphrasing that Scripture Mastery but you understand me. Hopefully I'll continue finding my answers and hopefully being the answer for others around me. Maybe one day, I will be a mouthpiece for The Lord. I will be a beacon for someone whose alone, scared, and lost. One day I will be able to bring eternal happiness to a person, and effect their families to come. Now, I don't have the priesthood. I'm not entirely sure I'll get to the point of being a missionary but, who says I can't start now? I know so many wonderful people who aren't members and who says I can't help them get a sense of what I believe in?
Now.. What you've been waiting for! .. Hoping that you actually aren't just reading this for my stories. but either way its just fine. ;)
You were just as cold as I was, if not even colder. As night did its magic trick and changed the color of the sky, the winds began to chill. You were pondering the moves of the fire. Dazed by it’s glow we were in a trance, unaware of what would happen next.
When the night had settled in I knew that you were the one who needed care for. You were the one who needed attention. Not me. The way your eyes glazed over and your head began to swivel and drop at any moment. I knew something was wrong as help was on their way. They treated me first and took me from you. I was well enough to hear the news you had gone and only wanted my return. When I found you, all I could hear was the stutter and uneasy slur of your speech. As help had set their precautionary I watched as they carelessly placed you by the fire and crossed their fingers.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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