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Posts Tagged ‘Story’

They dig out piles of sand

Iron scraping brownish quarts

Rhythmically weeping trees

I kiss their crests, one by one

—‘Next year rain will return’

He’s digging pits for sprouts

And sun colouring his tears bright-red

Me whispering him to go home

—‘Come, rain is sleeping far away’

Early first-falling leaves

It’s the whizzing he looks after

Oh, blessed life, I look on

—‘And with the rain I’ll be back’

Between the cities’ eyes, there

Next to a young oak, he waits

Loddon Lilies proudly pointing

I hush their calling with a nod

—‘Sing along when rain comes down’

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Yesterday morning the wind still whispered through the lime tree. Yeah, yesterday morning heaven was still empty and the world a livable place. Towns became dead alleys, houses became deserted, streets became overpopulated. Criminality celebrated heydays, governments bluntly committed fraud en justice only existed for the rich. Something had to be changed, but recovering all damage was more costly than taking down everything and start all over. The measures had failed. The reorganizations to save anything that was not yet completely broken were insufficient. The Dream Towns had flopped, in every way. How could the people not be satisfied with all possible facilities, equality, sustainability, perfection, a social tax system en preservation of local culture? Because it was no reality: the mirror that was showed to the civilians already was a lie at the time; now its shatters were spread around the globe, between wreckages of a ripped society. A chain reaction had wrenched the world and all taboos like discrimination, refugees, child soldiers and state of war again moved freely across the planet. Back again? Rather back at the surface. – Naftaly Inganor

My essay is about the history from fifty years ago until present. It was a turbulent period with a lot of wars. Then came a man called Lance D. Lansbury who everyone thought of as good. He promised nice things. He was very good at guiding people but he also started lying. Lance D. Lansbury had soldiers that were everywhere and the people got really scared. At school children learned that Lance D. Lansbury was good, but he was not, at all. When he grew older his sun Urion L. Lansbury became leader of the Empire. He called himself Urion Mirror. He was a lot worse than his father en there were lots of bloodbaths. Everything went very wrong when some people revolted against the new leader. The people who want peace call themselves puzzle pieces and then they started to eksecute their plan. A lot of Urion Mirror’s soldiers died. Lance D. Lansbury lost his power but his son still is the boss. The puzzle pieces fight against him to obtain peace. – Amber Minelja

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I have friends who admitted that confessing you’re gay is a thing you better don’t do. The ‘otherwise’ part I missed, but as it concerned friends from a very christian village near my hometown, I could only guess it had something to do with ‘not-done’.

For a very long time I wondered why some people are gay and why other are not. I already figured out that gay people are not well accepted in most cultures, because 1) men are supposed to sleep with women and produce offspring 2) gay men are not exactly masculine and 3) people find it repulsive only to think of two men kissing and/or having sex.

Let me start with the third point. Why would you find it repulsive that two other people than yourself have a good time together? You are not forced to look, you are not even forced to think about it. It is only your upbringing that somehow emphasized that men are attracted to women and vice versa.

Then the second point. No, gay men are not masculine, but they can be strong and they look like men. They only, somehow, do not act like a straight man. Gay men usually fulfill the more (very girly) feminine occupations, related to styling, fashion and design… Scientific research concluded that brains of gay men are more suited for working with art, design and other area`s that require creativity and eye for details. Though lots of gay men have an office job or a job in engineering.

The first point, and especially the part about producing offspring, is for me, an environmentalist, the most important one. In nearly all cultures gay people are not accepted for a whole range of reasons, that are based upon prejudices and opinion-based cultural values. I think the existence of gay people serves a very noble goal: it is a natural solution to overpopulation. Imagine that around 5-10% of a population does not breed because it does not feel attracted to individuals of the opposite sex. This would seriously reduce the amount of children and will prevent that the human population will expand excessively.

So, what I wanted to say was that we (all people on this globe) should not hate gay people just because they do not act masculine, or are more sensitive than straight guys, or scream like a girl in stead of roaring like a tough guy. Gay people are very nice to talk to – especially when you’re a girl (like me) and finally find a guy who understands you! – they will not hit on man`s wife, they will not fancy a girl when she is not interested, they do not contribute to overpopulation.

Actually, you could say gay people are totally harmless and do not deserve the hatred that they receive. Of course, there are criminal gay people, but there are also straight criminal people. And I have very rarely heard of gay people beating up straight people (which is also a crime, of course).

In short, confessing you’re gay should not be a torture. In stead, we should welcome gay people who step out of their closet.

NOTE: Click here for a short article about what the Bible says about gay marriage/same sex marriage that inspired me to write this post. I do not contradict the article, because I also do not see why people who can’t have childeren should raise children, but I want to add that what the Bible says is not doubtless true (as the Bible has been written by humans, and before these stories and ‘wisdoms’ have been written down, a lot of oral story telling has probably ruined the original story line (which does not exclude there is some true in Biblical stories) and people of a few centuries ago did not know as much about nature and biological process as we do now) and christians (and also muslims, jews, hindu’s etc.) should stop hating their fellow men because the authors of religious books judged in stead of looked at facts.

NOTE II: Click here for an article by Soulforce, an organization resisting political and religious oppression of gay/lesbian in a relentless, non violent way. Especially pay attention to the interpretation of Biblical texts that provide ways to be none-straight and still be a good, religious person. But above all, consider this:

Most people who are certain they know what the Bible says about homosexuality don’t know where the verses that reference same-sex behavior can be found. They haven’t read them, let alone studied them carefully. They don’t know the original meaning of the words in Hebrew or Greek. And they haven’t tried to understand the historical context in which those words were written.

Very interesting article, a real recommendation!

NOTE III: ‘People who can’t have children should not raise children’ I’ll bring about in a future post about in vitro fertilization (IVF).

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When the culmination lingers

I write you off

The words carry you away

To a distant place


Where all the love is happening


I can’t stand falling into this

Moving back and forth

Only to capture every detail

Let imagination rule my scene


The scene roughly framed

Where all the love is happening


The attempt to face my darlings

I failed

With every step a word is spilled

Back and forth, back, back, back!


I always feared

Some day you’ll get out of sight

And all the love is happening no more


You little

Perfect

Loving

Darlings

Ran away

My Calviron depleted


Sweet darlings gone


Just some gut-feeling told me

You will stay here forever

And long after me

Without me though


Enchanted words remain

The scene roughly framed

This is where all the love is happening


The attempt to face my darlings

In words I’ll keep on failing

But once with every step I take

I’ll walk between enchanted words

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Slowly breathing out of life

and hooking up on distant me

far away calls, yet they touch

as if their lifes play on next door

Lovely screaming in my head

and fighting for the urging dream

some mourning hits me, yet I find

the profound language still present

Briefly haunted between words

and facing roots I cannot cut

you sweet darlings, yet I know

contemporary, it’s no more

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At the moment I am reading a Dutch book containing essays about what is poetry, and what certainly is not. It is written by the provocative Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer, who uses his own poetry to illustrate his statements. For some reason, most things he says I agree with, especially when he shows the reader ‘prosaic poetry’, poems written by people who usually write stories, and how boring these kind of poems can be. According to Pfeijffer, poems have to be daring, contain suprising, unexpected turns and should not be quite easy to interpret.

Well, as a person who writes both poems and stories, I recognise the problems Pfeijffer discusses. I neither like poems that are simple, without any deep meaning or hidden message, but, on the other hand, I contend poems can also be a way to construct thoughts in a certain rhyme, and therefore a poem does not need to be complicated, or incomprehensible at first sight. Second, making a poem ambiguous requires a big vocabulary. For me personally becomes writing English poems rather a job of constructing thoughts than creating interesting, deep poems. Moreover, a good poem does not equal a poem that no one understands, neither does a prosaic poem equal a bad poem; the poet succeeded in writing a poem when there are people who appreciate his poem, read it all over again to hear the sound of the syllables, link the words with images, or recognise theirselves in the situations and characters.

In the same way a poem can be too much like a story, a story could also be too much like a poem. The problem is, a story written like a poem (with beautiful words, deep thoughts and weird sentences) reads like a story without any clue. A writer could use (or have) a certain unique style while writing his stories, but no matter how sophisticated his language may be, a story has to tell, (or ‘has to be told’  perhaps is a better expression), while a poem has to describe: you could choose to read it, remember it or tell other people about it.  In a way I could say a story that only describes things the way they are or supposed to be, is a very long poem without any rhyme.

And I do not claim a story that only describes is a bad story, and a poem that tells you the truth is a bad poem: this is not an issue of right or wrong; it is all about definiton. High definition.

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Last Saturday I was home alone. Therefore, I thought this post would be named ‘Home Alone’, and contain funny sketches of me preparing dinner while watching tv, realising I forgot to add butter to prevent my little pizza’s from burning – which they of course did – and eventually doing the dishes and not being able to clean my mom’s pan from the scorched pizza remnants… I could not do any more harm to my parents` property, as I went out with a friend.

But imagine being home alone, both your parents and your brother out: what would you do? Except for having dinner (uhm, preparing pizza…) I sang my lungs out. And I did not care whether I sang off-pitch: no one could hear me (well, I hope the neighbours are a little dull of hearing)

This I did in order to hold on to the vibe, as I’m gonna call my urge to do artistic, creative things like composing music, drawing, designing, writing stories and poems and, now I finally got myself a microphone, singing and recording myself. The result(s), produced, mixed and directed by no one else but me, will soon appear on my MySpace… Please be gentle, I’m not a professional singer, hehe, nor a pro in anything.

I would like to address myself as ‘the queen of metaphores’, though my Dutch metaphores are still more sophisticated than my English ones. Weren’t it I have only written in English regurly for about less than 1 year, since I started this blog (see my first post).

So much has changed. I now finally begin to get a firm grip on my life, though there are many exceptions, slipping through my fingers or simply escaping my grip. My beloved little darlings` story is not making much progress to become a widely spread and frequently read novel. So I decided to translate Chapter 2 into English. Just remember I’m not a pro-skilled translater.

Hold on to the vibe, I’d say to everyone. What makes you happy should be there everyday of your beautiful life, even though your homework piles tower you by far and your banc account begs you for a little more money. Perhaps you could make money with one of your vibrant talents…

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