Stories!

www.therespeoplehere.blogspot.com

Wait, why am I linking a blog?  It's my blog.  My secondary blog.  Don't go "NOOO!".  It's where I'll be putting any new stories I write.  This way, I can focus on silliness, poems, and deep thinking.  Hopefully more silliness and deep thinking.
So yeah.  Go poke around there.  No stories yet (at the time of writing this), but I write so much that there should be something soon.

Hurrah!

But You Hurt Me Too

Somehow you read my mind,

Now I’m thinking about this all the time.

You took my hand, and flew with me,

You taught me how to dream.

It was one night, years ago,

That made it all become something more.

I leaned in close, I didn’t let go,

My whole world was changed.

It was the touch of lip to lip,

The passion of an instant when you cry,

But yesterday, a little slip,

And it broke down and died.

Since I’m not seeing you, this is the best I can do,

I’m sorry for saying the wrong thing,

I never wanted to hurt you…

But you hurt me too.

I Feel Like Posting

*pokes the title*
But I don't know what to post.  This being said, ya'll know get a poem.

I wrote it a while back, it's called "I".  If I posted it before comment and I'll post a different one.  Love (:

I, who have never touched,
Thought, the mind, I,
Who has never believed in,
Anything but what is obvious, I,
Even I, can see beyond,
These painted masks, but I,
Find the people inside, I,
Who have no opinion,
The complexity almost overwhelming,
I, on only the shallowest layers,
Have seen the beast to kingdoms build,
And the creature to force them fall.

I, who do not exist,
Except in lies and myth, I,
Have seen the monster’s smile,
As true compassion is given,
And I have seen the mercy,
Of the demons and the devils, I,
Who does not matter, I,
Who has no soul, has seen,
My soul revealed before me, and
I, the sins of others forgiven,
Yet I, the true beast, they say,
I have seen Heaven but also Hell,
I, the one who listens, I,
Who sees unspeaking, I,
Have spoken God’s words and by God,
I deliver myself into Truth.

This being said, I also discovered the beginning of a story while hunting for that lovely poem I just put.  So now you get a potential story developing thing, too.  How wonderous (:

Up in an attic she wanders.  I know she does, because I have seen this before.  She opens the pages, surprised, and starts reading.  Suddenly she is immersed in a fantasy world.  A world where a girl her age is creating a story, creating a world that needs her help.  And she wants to enter so bad.  As she reads, she approaches the end.  She wants to go in.  She's about to find out.  And then I stop her.  I tell her that it's not real.  I tell her that this is real.  She says both worlds are real.  I say only this world is real.  And then I use magic to knock her out.  I open the book and look at the drawn girl's face.  "You can't ever come out," I tell her.  She looks mournful, her hand reaching, then falling, her head turning to the side.  "I'm going to burn you so you're not around until my next little sister arrives," I say.  And then I burn the book.  The little sister forgets, grows up, and then on my doorstep another baby girl is placed.  Another possible replacement for Constance.  And I protect her.  It is our eternal dance: I keep her from taking Constance's place, Constance's instincts forbid her from doing anything but luring the girl.  She longs to give the girl a happy ending, but she never can.  She never can because that's how this spell works.  Constance replaced my first little sister.  My first little sister, who I put in the book....

There you go!  See I posted and now there's pretty stuff to read! *claps*

I'm planning to do an in-depth researched post about a big deal in these days (no spoilers!).  Let's see if I actually get off of my lazy bum and do it ;)

Oh yeah, and to finish off... go visit my friend's blog, www.thekaitlynshow.blogspot.com !  It's really amazing.  That girl is a fantastic writer, minus the spelling and grammar.  Her poetry is amazing.  We're creative BFFs.  Go comment.  Get her to her fifty comments goal.  *pushes in that general direction*

Akreal the Genderfluid Dragon

Look at this Glory.

Drawn by my ever-talented friend.  Its name is Akreal.  It is a dragon.  It is male and female.  Genderfluid, so to speak.
Tired, and easily bored, he enjoys sitting... or laying... down pretty much anywhere.  Sleeping for him does NOT equal boredom... she's only bored when she's awake.  Honestly, he doesn't care what he's referred to... she can be called it, female, or male... because in a way he's all of the above.
It is also my buddy.  So yeah.

IMBED ATTEMPT:

haha it worked.

River Me

River me that little song,
You have stuck in your head,
Your tears are coming faster now,
Your body has bled.
River me that rhythm now,
I know you're terrified,
But I can't help but cheer you up,
This is electrified.
River me that day-to-day,
The to-do list that you do,
Everything you follow,
I will follow too.

Art of Corpses (story)

(read the prologue <a href="http://www.kunabee.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-prologue-story.html">here</a>)

The Lady was in her coffin, as the Lord ranted and raged, pacing back and forth.  The crime she had committed against him was an unforgivable one, but yet he was not able to punish her!  The whole town was laid with greed and bitterness, anger and fear, that each, a toxin on its own, made it dangerous to be within a single mile on any end of the town.  Entry to the town would kill a psychokinetic synthesete; and none dared enter.
That is, none but the resident of the town.  Perhaps it was foolish of him - no, most assuredly it was foolish of him - but his wife at last had a babe in her belly and he could not leave her.  They had spent nearly ten years of trying, struggling to produce a babe of their own.  And now at last she was with child.  He could not leave her.
He himself, a self-proclaimed atheist, had even started praying to God and gods, his voice echoing to the elusive and never seen God of all powers; and even falling on the ears of the gods which did indeed sometimes mingle among mortals for whatever bitter purpose.  But at last she was with child.
It was clear God, gods, or even Fate itself took pity on them.  He had spent every day, fifteen minutes, tending to the child within her belly to maximize the chances for the babe to have a psychokinetic synthesete, as it was a recessive trait.
But five months into her pregnancy, the baby was able to telepathically talk with her mother - and the baby was a girl - to express and receive basic and simplistic... images nor thoughts aren't the right words; it was concepts, but perhaps even more basic then a concept.  It was so important for the father to be there, so important for the child to be as beautiful as she would but with the rare and magnificent powers of a psychokinetic synthesete.
And no woman, no matter how far into the pregnancy, should ever be made to travel with a growing child within her.  So he stayed, fearing for himself, his wife, and his unborn child, at the time with seven months of development.  The toxins in the air, the toxins of deceit and greed and horrible things, lingered and hovered, and it required him and his wife to do rituals to purify their house.
I am scared he admitted, and he felt the sympathy, tasted it on his tongue.  His wife was scared too, but she tried to be strong.  After all, these emotions were reasonable - especially fear, especially with the potential of a corpse artist - and they were practically stuck in the town.

A psychokinetic synthesete; the best way to understand it would be to understand the words themselves.  "Psych" tends to deal with the mind; while "psycho" is a short hand term for someone who is crazy, "psych" is actually just a relation to the mind ("psycho" equals someone who is a mind?).  "Kinetic" is motion, or active; "kinetic energy" refers to energy in action.  So a psychokinetic would be a mind in motion; or, rather, someone who can move and interact things without touching them, speak with other minds, and so on and so forth.  A synthesete is typically someone with synthesia, which is where senses overlap with others; such as seeing what is typically heard, tasting what is typically felt, and so on and so forth.  Each psychokinetic synthesete has a unique "array" of powers.  Of course there were some "staples", so to speak: telepathy, telekineses, the ability to manipulate certain things that were noticed with the senses (i.e. one could have hearing, or taste, and manipulate only what they could hear or taste, respectfully).
Ah, but now the story must continue, for any side-journeys detract and leave the main of the story vulnerable...

But the psychokinetic synthesete and his wife, heavy with child, are not the characters we view.  Instead, we look back at the wooden house with the stone door.  The mismatched materials of an ugly, broken toy.  Inside rested a man, his eyes half-closed as he rocked on a broken stone chair that should not have rocked.  He was the corpse artist, a manipulative and cold person that was bitter and frozen.  The goodness had long been pulled out of the man, allowing him two choices.  Become a shell and be nothing, or turn to the darkness inside of him.  He chose the darkness, and so it was always a favorite past time of his to kill people and arrange their corpses.
He traveled often, using the enchanted and terrible house to hide him.  Then he killed, and killed some more, then went on to the next place.  Already he had hundreds of years to his  name: indeed, his practical immortality was surprising and scary to others.  For he chose the dark inside of him, where a creature nameless and terrible hovered.
And then he and the creature were one, their age endless, their evil insurmountable.  But even the cruelest of creatures have their pleasures, their histories, and their surprises.
Children always have powers, though they may be hidden...

And a psychokinetic synthesete's child, as one can imagine, has many powers.  While the babe slept in her mother's warm and comforting womb, the father grew sick.  He could not eat, he could not drink, he could not move.  For all he tasted was fear and anger; all he felt was sickness and despair.  He was in absolute pain, with only a day of his story being put aside.  For now the people thought they knew who, what, and where the corpse artist was.  And that was a horrid thing.
The art of corpses can be learned by anyone with even the slightest interest in it.  It can only be mastered by a certain kind of person, however.  Another corpse had been found, this one of a child.  He made it seem as if she were only playing with her dolls, having killed her in her room.  He made sure it didn't make much mess.
It was a key signature of one corpse arist, one that was practically immortal, one who was no longer human... And emotions grew so strong and terrible that the psychokinetic synthesete was dying.  His wife sat dutifully beside him, trying to give him food, performing cleansing rituals to purify the air of the awful emotions, telling him about the baby.
"Daddy," he heard, and his eyes opened a little.  Our little girl, he said, and the mother nodded, tears in her eyes.  She rubbed his hand, and he smiled, but then it fell.  She can taste it, can't she?  She can't be here... but we can't leave! he cried.  Small tears began to fall.  The mother paused, looking at nothing.
She isn't a psychokinetic synthesete.  She's a telepathic healer.  This was strange news to the psychokinetic synthesete.  It's from my side of the family, the healing.  Except it's... different for her.  She can heal the mental states, the physical states, from a distance of ten or twenty meters.  She's been keeping you alive, or at least she's said she's helping you.
"Daddy, I'm here."  The words overlapped the last words of his wife's.  He told his girl, contacting her telepathically, "Let me go."  Upon her worry, he added, "I'll be okay, it will all be okay."
Sometimes parents lie to protect their children.  They love their children.  And sometimes they lie because they know what they have to do.  The psychokinetic synthesete knew what he had to do.  And so, he lied.

The Prologue (story)

The air had a slight flavor to it, if you could pay enough attention.  The taste of deceit laced the air like a gaseous poison, a bitter and tangy twinge if only you stuck the tip of your tongue out, catching the particle's memories of the deceptions that occurred earlier in the evening.  The deceptions that reverbrated, even now, to a wooden house with a stone door.  The make of it was an odd craftmanship; rough-hewn and ugly, broken, incomplete, a paradox of stone, wood, plaster and plastic, things without names.  The house was an impossibility; for it was wood, the door stone: windows were fake, painted in melted plastic that bubbled and burned - or at least did at one time.  Now it was still, molded on the outside, touching the partial-roof of plaster and tar, still sticky despite the moss and mold that covered it.
The house was rusted, as well; hinges and corners, and random blunt spikes of a metallic nature; turned to rust.  It was old and ugly, a broken child's toy that was left to burn and crack for a thousand years.  And here, if you were tasting the air, the trail of deception led.  Soft, hushed voices whispered in it, the deception thick within, though almost tasteless without.
For the house exuded a sort of strange power, a block to outside forces, locking that which was in, inside, and that which was out, outside.  It was locked, time-locked, in its own bubble.  With a firm little echo there was a demand to be let out, a demand that was thoroughly refused.  It seems the deception had turned back around on the deceiver, as a cry reverbrated throughout the bubble.

It was a full week before the decaying body was found.  The eyes were closed, as gentle and graceful in death - if not more - as they ever were in life.  Her hands rested demurely on her stomach, locked together in an elegant and modest way.  She was dressed in a beautiful robe, her feet bare and her stomach covered up.
It was clear that her killer had an art with the corpses, an art he took great pride in.  Or was it a she?  Any killer with an art of corpses could be any sort of thing, and art was a ladylike pastime in such lands.  But the Lady lay resting, her robe green silk, and she prettier then she had ever been in life.  But there was a mark on her ankles, identical mirrors of betrayel.
For anyone who dares hold an art of corpses always makes clear the reason of the corpsehood.  And this had thorough meaning.  One does not need a Bible to know that adultery is a cruel act that deserves an equally terrible punishment.

Story? STORY FROM KUNA? =o

YES.  SEE TITLE.  READ TITLE.  BE HAPPY.

For I am going to *attempt* to do a multi-part story on my blog.  It may fail miserably.  It may be finished and sit here for the rest of its days in all of its glory.
But it shall be a beautiful story, for however long it lasts.  So I'll mark all the posts with (story) that are a part of the story.
*bows*
Stories :3

Thanks for the Free Sites

Oh yes.  Websites that don't cost money.  Maybe for additional feautures, but the basics... Nope.  No money used!
Furcadia, Neopets, proboards, and more.  The places that let you create or make friends or learn things.
This is just a "THANK YOU" from a member of several websites who complains about updates.  In the end, I really appreciate what ends up going on.
I suppose I'm really focussing on Neopets and Furcadia, as these were the websites where I learned to roleplay and began to come into myself.  And have been signed up to off-and-on for about, what, six or seven years now?
Holy fudge I feel old.

I also notice that they tend to be obsessively harrassed, to the point of rudeness.  Well, this is just to let them know that I appreciate the updates.  Even if some of them drive me up a wall and makes me want to try and take over the company.
I want to take some space out of *my personal blog* to just say thank you, and put a message up where they can see it.  Yeah, you're not perfect.

But honestly?  Thanks Furcadia.  Thanks Neopets.
You're still free.

If you know anyone who works for Furcadia and/or Neopets, please direct them to here!  I just want to brighten up people's day
(and become famous... *shifyeyes*)

POP goes the weasel!

Or in this case, the brain.

My Brain Has Issues

Oh boredom, my wonderful friend.

In order of occurance, though not necessarily time drawn.

Games and Thoughts

Air Pressure
An open ended game.  Draw your own conclusions of what it could be.  Read carefully, look through the subject.  Getting all three endings (in my first three plays, woot!) and reading all the comments, I still don't know what the subtext is.  A very... sad, sort of game, it definitely touches your emotions.  Worth playing.

Grace's Diary
Not as obscure as Air Pressure, this focuses on Teen Dating Abuse.  The website that hosts it is mentioned very jarringly in the game, so fair warning...
Anyway, definitely worth getting all three endings.  It's pretty clear what's going on, but the emotions... oh, goodness.

Now that I've thrown out the games that have lead me to the thoughts I shall now describe... well, I'll describe the thoughts. (redundancy(sp?) and improper grammar for the win)
If there was a spoiler button I'd put it here... Play the Air Pressure before reading the rest of the post.  I don't want to do anything to change/ruin Air Pressure for you.  Play it before reading!!!!!

One person said that Air Pressure detailed depression.  It's an "excuse" to be sad and once you free yourself of it you can be happier.  No.  It is an honest-to-goodness mental disease.  There's many types of depression, seasonal, situational, clinical, etc.  I have clinical depression, and having inherited it from my dad, trust me, I know plenty about it.
My dad loves my mom; my mom loves my dad.  And yet my dad nearly destroyed this family.  He didn't want to.  He tried.  But there was a demon in him, and he lost it.  Depression also is more then just sadness.  In the case of both myself and my dad, it's anger.  For me, I'm angry at myself - I don't tend to get angry at other people.  For my dad, not only is he angry at himself, he spreads that out.
And oh, my goodness.  You want to be happy.  You are desperate to be happy.  Except you aren't.  Except it's not as simple as you want it, as you need it to be.
Depression is a serious mental disease.  It is not an "excuse".  It is not something you can just "be free of".  Even depression that isn't a disease is a serious issue.  If you're depressed, it's not a matter of freeing yourself; it's a matter of getting the help you need now.  If it's weeks after your boyfriend/girlfriend broke up with you, and you're still moping around, not wanting to do stuff, that is a serious issue.
Depression isn't anything YOU cause.  It is literally a misfire in your brain.  You can't just free yourself of it, no matter what type it comes in.  Air Pressure does not describe depression.  Abusive relationship, drug addiction, cutting, sure.  But depression?  No.  You just can't simply be free of it.  You can get the help you need, sure.  But many people have to take medication, because you can't just say, "K, I want to be happy."
I wish I could.  I wish I could say, "I want to be happy" and be happy.  But it isn't that easy.  So many times I want to be happy... There's a destructive cycle I constantly go down.  I'm unhappy.  I get frustrated with myself for being unhappy.  I get angry for being frustrated with myself.  I hate myself because I need to forgive myself.  I hate myself for hating myself.... and on and on it goes.  I want to be happy, and in many times I can.  But there's many cases where I can't be happy.... and many cases where I don't want to be happy and hate myself for not wanting to be happy.
(If I roll in self-pity I despise myself for it.  Seriously.  And then I get all angry at me because I hate me and... you can pretty much apply the destructive cycle for any negative feeling I get.)
Depression is a serious and very real disease that you can't just "get rid of".  It's a serious and very real problem that requires getting help.  Don't push it to the side.

It Doesn't Go Away

Saying your good-byes, waving a flag
a flag stained with barbeque sauce and tears
torn and covered with an ugly patch
making it old, dead,
like you wish they weren't.

Because, even now, years later,
saying your good-byes, waving your old, dusty flag,
filled with memories,
you remember them; they aren't forgotten,
their memories hover out of sight, just behind your eyes,
and nobody will notice.

It doesn't go away,
the pain,
you remember until you lose,
and every single life you find
you see it goes away
and that loss stays.

I remember yesterday
it hurt just like today
I remember when they were gone
it hurts less,
but it doesn't go away.

Saying your good-byes, waving that ruined flag,
holding out your memories like an offering of peace,
clinging to each precious reminder of the ones you loved,
calling a truce with God,
blaming you, blaming others,
Remembering how they looked when they died.

Say your good-byes, wave the ancient flag,
because this loss is not the last,
it goes on and on, until you want to scream,
and then it will be you,
who watches them
wave their flags, say their good-byes.

They'll say their good-byes, wave those silly flags,
tears in their eyes, say good-bye,
say good-bye as it's your turn to leave,
and you'll cry too, if only because you know
it doesn't go away.

Variance

Incandescence with
its held-tight light; fate forgot
to remember me

The mirror consists only
of variance and these lies
covering our hope

A black sheet of death
the shroud covering our hearts
hatred has still won

Do not give in yet
because these things are changing
faith has remained here.

I am bitter, and I am cold
And these words, empty,
The ones that can't be told.
I am unspoken in many ways;
I have been broken too many times,
I have written in blood,
I have made meaningless rhymes.

I have a soul, it is here in me,
It is broken, like my heart,
Both are caged; neither free.
I have written words impossible;
It is the speaking which I cannot say,
I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,
Night always turns into day.

How can I say what cannot be said?
I must keep it locked up, or else,
And the rest I keep inside my head.
Oh, but it's my heart that carries the weight:
it is my heart that has lost the war.
What war?  what battle? there is neither:
I am confused in my very core.

What words can tell you what I need to say?
What words can tell you the unmentionable?
When it must be silent there is no way;
when there are no words it cannot be found.
I would say, but there's more then what you think.
I am chilled, I am happy and sad,
Happiness is gone in a blink.

What heart but mine can hold the worst,
What soul but mine can be broken and whole,
It seems sometimes that I will burst,
For what I hold inside is my secret.
I would tell you, but I cannot,
There is more then these words.
There is more then what I've sought.

Furcadia and the Fact I'm Now Obsessed with my Online Persona

*pokes title*  That's a good summary.  Well, on Furcadia, I just bought two floxes for life (that means they NEVER EVER GO AWAY).  What's a flox?  The picture above is what a flox is.  I've wanted a flox since the second grade, when I first joined Furcadia.  And I got two, one for my main alt, Kunabee (hmm, that sounds familiar), and another for an alt where it will be part of her character (Arielle Medinemor).  I also got six port spaces.  What am I going to DO with six port spaces?  I don't know.
(oh, by the way: port spaces are where you can put customized little pictures of your Furcadia person).  I'm hoping that I can convince my friends or some considerate person to do at least one for free...
///hinthinthinthint.
I'll also be willing to give away one of my port spaces in exhange for a portrait art.  I mean, c'mon, what do you DO with six port spaces (I could probably find something...)
MOVING ON NOW.
This being said, for a long time now, my online persona has been "me" (aka, blond hair hazel eyes) with a floofy kitty tail and cat ears.  Upon getting my flox, the persona has changed.  She/I/whatever now has a flower on the back.  Like a flox.
So now I'm all obsessed with my online persona, BECAUSE I WANT PORT ART GOSHDANGIT!  And I'm all like, "I WANT TO MAKE A WEBPAGE... ABOUT MY PERSON... AND IT CAN BE PRETTY..."
(webs, anyone?  Put on MEEEE!, Furc characters, roleplay characters, neopets, etc. etc.... hmm.)

So now I have this whole description in my head of the online persona: "Almost always smiling, Kunabee greets the day as if it is a bright blue sky with hardly a cloud after a hundred years of rain, no matter the weather.  Sure, she gets down in the dumps, but she tries her best to be happy.  Clever, smart, and a little bit bratty, she has fun chatplaying - and being a pain in the you-know-where to just about every character."
And of course there will be MORE to it, because there has to be MORE.
but meh.

So yeah, that's what's in my head today.  AND BECAUSE I LIKE PICTURES...:

(is it just me, or is that RIDICULOUSLY cute?)

Untitled Poem

This would be one of those times when all I want to do,
Is curl up and go away,
I need to breathe but I can't escape.
I need to feel but I can't get a break.
I am no shell, no empty person;
I feel and think and am moving; constant motion,
I'm breaking, falling, failing,
Like it happens, because people do break,
And for some reason, though I'm damaged,
I keep try and struggling; what's courage,
It's all my foolish stupidity,
I can't let go, I can't be free,
I'm an awful person; I hate being me.
Because though I try what I know doesn't change what I feel,
Knowledge is just the face that's shown,
The world will never let you go.

But you know, the really silly thing,
I still have hope and faith; I still believe.
I know there's a God above,
I know He loves me too.
I know I'm imperfect, but I'm beautiful;
I'm brilliant and kind, with just enough selfish to survive.
Sometimes I make mistakes, that's normal;
Why am I so hard on myself?
But you know, there's so much we share,
But we're so very different.
I believe that there's a way;
I believe it's hard, a solution,
That mortal eyes can't quite see;
That temporary is even eternal,
Except for the Ones we can't touch, only feel,
In our hearts, with our belief.

So I'm a broken damaged person,
How can words let me feel
Things I never knew I could?
I can't describe what it's like for me,
How happiness carries sadness,
And emotions I can't name,
But this is it, it's where I am.
In the end I can't change;
I care, the end.

Someone

Despite all the times and all the lies,
Despite the doubts and regrets,
Despite the thoguhts, the things that aren't,
Despite the lack of knowledge, wisdom,
Despite the loss of love,
I know out there, there's Someone,
And He always listens, but I can't speak,
It's hard to explain what's hiding deep inside me,
I'm a little girl, useless and frail,
But there's a strength inside.
I'm waiting to be heard, I'm waiting to be loved,
I have a Father in Heaven so far above.
And I remember the times,
When I've given into doubt,
But someone's come through.

I may not be made up of much,
And this world may be a dark and bitter place,
But when there's evil there is good;
When fear, there comes hope,
And maybe there won't be peace and love,
But I know they're inside of me.
And even though I don't finish everything,
And sometimes am forgetful, irresponsible,
I can really come through,
Despite all the words pushing me down,
Despite all the laughter at me,
Despite all the tears and hate,
Despite the weakness I hold,
I'm still a brave and beautiful someone.

There Are Miracles and Good Things

Today I saw this really great presentation.  There are miracles all around, all the time.  There was this guy in a really bad car accident, and he was the one to bear the brunt.  The driver caused them to crash against a telephone pole, and he was the one who's side hit it.  But he's alive, and walking, but from the knee down his left leg is paralyzed from a traumatic brain energy.  He can't remember anything before the crash and, in general, has memory problems.
But he is a brilliant poet, and it seems that his life has greatly improved.  He has a girlfriend he's going to propose to next month.  She sat with him through all of the seven surgeries he's had since he's been dating her.  In total, he's had twenty-two surgeries and in the summer will have his twenty-third.
I was truly inspired.  This guy, his name's Tyler, he lives and loves and gets it.  I mean, it's so hard to truly get it; to truly understand how much life matters.
He's so spirited and friendly, and I honestly admire him.  It was a miracle.  It was a miracle he survived, and managed to live, and develop, and change.  I thank God that he lived, that it's all getting better.  I'm not thankful or happy he was hurt in the first place, but things can and do look up.
Even in the worst of situations, there are good things.  No matter how bad it gets, there is something.  I don't always see this something in my own life, and I doubt anyone else does either.  But sometimes, just sometimes, there's that pure, unfiltered moment when you realize,
It's going to be okay.
And while it's not enough, it's something.  And I love motivational speakers, especially when they really touch - especially when they really care.
People matter, and I thank God every day for letting me go to Smokey - this wonderful place where people don't (or give there best effort to not) judge, or hate, and we get to see presentations and have amazing teachers and facilitators and on and on and on - and for bringing people into my life that mean the world to me.
None of us are perfect, but at least we're here.

Collin Raye - If You Get There Before I Do

Messed Up World

Don't you point an accusing finger,
I'm not the only one to blame.
Don't you think you're the only victim,
Because I've been hurt too.
And the person on the roof,
They're going to end up dead because,
Of something everyone did or didn't do.
And the person in the car,
They're going to go home and cry,
Because nobody cares when it's you.

Don't you scream and say I'm wrong,
Because I've been doing my best,
Don't you dare think you're perfect,
Because you're broken too.
And the person on the floor,
They're never going to rise because,
People let them lay there.
And the person in my heart,
They're going to go home and pray,
Because there's got to be a God somewhere.

But what kind of God would let this world die?
Because it's so messed up,
And babies get beaten up 'til they die,
Loose a life before it's even begun.
But there's got to be a God out there,
Because even though it's so messed up,
People are still willing to die,
People are still willing to pray.

But what kind of person would not give up?
Because it's so hopeless,
And people get shot because they're different,
None of us perfect but someone hates me,
But there's got to be some hope out there,
Because even though people give up,
I'm still willing to try,
I'm still trying to pray.

And sometimes the words don't come straight through,
And sometimes my heart is dead even though they do,
And sometimes I give up before I try,
And I wonder what makes you think,
I'm wrong and you're right,
When there's six billion people all living here,
And only one million manage to agree on anything.

So here's the facts, here's what I need to say,
There's not a single time it's been okay.
But people are still trying,
And people are still believing,
And none of it is black and white,
And we're all put to shame.

But I believe in a God out there,
And all the gods are really just the same,
A way to hold tight to a little piece of faith.
And I don't care what name He goes by,
All I know is He's there, somewhere.
And I'm not saying you're wrong,
Because I know you're not,
This world cannot be black and white,
And everyone's wrong and at the same time right.

So I will hold tight to the faith,
And I will hold on to my hope,
And it will be hard, I know,
When all I wanna do is leave the hard stuff for the heroes,
But what happens if I'm the only hero left?
Or maybe the hero is you?
One of these days I'm going to be a hero,
Because everyone ends up a hero to someone,
And then in the end everyone dies.

But even though this world is hard,
And even though I'm too small and too young,
I can make a difference for someone.
But even though this world is messed up,
I'll love instead of hate,
I'll believe instead of doubt,
And I'll find the words to pray.

There is a God somewhere,
And there is me right here,
All my convictions come from somewhere,
All of my dreams come from me.
All of my heart goes to somewhere,
All I believe goes to someone bigger then me.

More then Shells

Can you tell me what it's like
To give up your heart, let it break,
Feel it shatter when you seperate,
Make that chance, create that try,
Be more then a shell, nothing inside?

Can I tell you what it's like,
To struggle to forgive just one,
Let the hatred come when you worked so hard,
To love each soul that comes,
But then you can't, just once?

Does anyone know what it's like,
To be perfect and make no mistakes,
Do everything right the first time,
Give second chances but don't need them?
Only One; He's not here but there.

Can someone show me what it's like,
To never doubt, but be broken inside?
Or maybe you know only what it's like,
To be doubting and hating all the time?
But more then a shell, all empty inside.

This world is hard, who told you 'easy'?
Just a warning, it gets worse,
But people are living and loving, managing,
And taking risks, more then shells,
Broken and hurting but surviving.

Survival isn't just about "life";
Being a shell, empty inside,
That could be worse; no risks, no joys,
Left as a broken piece, an unloved piece of,
Dark judgement and bitterness.

And the thing is I'm broken beyond repair,
But so are you, and everyone out there,
But we repair ourselves each time,
We take a risk, we continue to try,
More then shells: full inside.

Smile

Smile, for today is different from yesterday;
It's new but with the stains of old,
Streaking fingers and tattle-tale hopes.
And memories, why, I remember
Once upon a time and happily ever after,
Never gonna happen and,
I'm already there.

Sometimes I am weak,
But mostly I am strong,
I'm imperfect, never claimed to be
More then me.
I'm different, never claimed to be,
Another clone.

Who I am is many things,
But I am living for today.
It's hard to take things one step at a time,
But it's living day to day,
Faith, promise, honesty,
It's all there and somewhere,
Distant perfect somewhere.

Tomorrow will be different,
Brand-new with clinging fingers of hope,
But I'm not waiting for tomorrow,
Tomorrow never comes;
Today is the day I need to change,
Begin life a new,
Streaking fingers of old.

New and old side-by-side,
Love can conquer hate,
Dreams I'm still dreaming,
Worlds I'm still making,
Like nothing will ever die,
It only ever comes true.

Gravitating Towards Hate

The morals and religions of this world are probably the most difficult to decipher, the most easy to misunderstand, the most likely to bring hate towards each other.  But why?  It's not right to hate someone because of hair, or skin, or eyes, or religion.  Religion is possibly the biggest reason we find to hate.  But it's not religion.  To those who offer acceptance and hope that others can be saved or protected or what-have-you according to their religion's doctrines without shoving it down other people's throat, religion is a peace of mind.  It's a guiding light; it's something to believe in.  However, when it comes to religion things can be drastically different from one to another.
But let's be honest.  If there was no religion, none whatsoever, people would find other ways to hate and to control and to be greedy.  Religion has nothing to do with any of the world's problems.  It's human error.
Yet because of religion we are seperated and hateful.  I'm not saying everyone.  I don't care who the freak you are or what religion you practice, you're still a human.  And I know other people like this.
However, it seems to be the theme.  We hate on each other in the streets, over the phone, over the internet, over television even.  Everything we can is a weapon of hate.  We're even preaching the wrongness and horribleness (often made up from lack of better knowledge) of other religions in THE PLACES OF WORSHIP (or lack thereof).
Like I said, I'm not saying everyone is doing this.  I'm generalizing (ouch.  that's not a good idea).  I know my church at least doesn't preach of the wrongness and horribleness of other religions, just the truth and goodness of our own.
But the people who think 'join or die' or that 'Christianity is a religion of hate' or what-have-you (all those extremists!)  put a bad name on religion.  These MINORITY groups cause yet more hatred, because, "If these are like this, then the rest must be the same."
It's like saying that just because I'm white, I hate every black or vice versa.  Just because a small group does, doesn't mean the whole does.  Even big groups don't mean this!  (So yes, just because a small/big group hates doesn't mean everyone does).
And the wars in the name of religion.  How can one say that God/G-d/Allah (Christianity/Judaism/Islam to show the difference in spellings/beliefs) condones a war?  God would never want a physical war in the name of religion unless He felt it was necessary for the belief to be spread or the believers saved.  And most of the time, in these modern days, it is not true.  Is He not a God of love and mercy?  Why do we believe He is not, then, and fight against people who are practically our brothers and sisters in the similarity of their beliefs?  YES.  THE BELIEFS ARE SIMILAR.  In so many ways, in ways we cannot even understand.  Each bounds off of the other!

The similarity between human beings - compare yourself to anyone, and your DNA is AT LEAST 99.9% the same (as long as they're human, heh).  A fruit fly compared to a human has 98% of the same DNA.
What are the basic needs?  Food, water, and shelter.  Why are romance books so popular? Because everyone cares about love in some way, shape, or form.  What should everyone have?  Family and friends.  What do we sympathize with the most in books, movies, and reality?  A lack of food, water, and shelter, as well as a lack of family and friends.
If you answered similarily, agree with, and/or answered exactly what I said to these questions, you understand that everyone is so much the same.
It doesn't matter what you believe in.  You have SOMETHING to believe in.  Even atheists and agnostics have to take a leap of faith.
That's what the true definition of religion is: Something to believe in, and taking a leap of faith.
So why, if we are so similar, share similarities with everyone on the planet, do we keep gravitating towards hate?

Ready to Do Something

I'm ready to do something, anything,
But not as small as smiles and waves.
It can change a person's day and life,
And keep it going,
But I'm ready to do something big.
I want to change the world in
Some small way.
I want to go out there
With time and money,
Loving, living, doing.

I'm ready to do something,
Something that's bigger then before,
Like rescuing a human
Who's never had a home,
Or an animal,
Who's only known pain.
I have a heart and I keep saying,
"I want to do something.
Let's stop the wars."
I'm sick of being a hypocrite.

I'm ready to do something,
Share with the world who I am,
So everyone can see, and everyone knows,
Where I am has brought happiness,
And sometimes even fools find truth.
So I want to go, to help and to aid,
So I want to go, to show the world
How each and everyone is made.

Why Is This?

Before School: "So, I'm going to do my homework, then work a little on my room, and then practice my guitar, and that's not much at all."
After School: "Ugh... I know I said I'd do it... and it's not a lot... but I don't want to...  No energy to..."

Why is this?  I feel fail.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OFME

*pokes title*
This post just consists of random tidbits from conversations today.  They'd be a lot funnier if you were there.

Me: "There's a chance for magical leprechaun elves to steal your invisible nonexistant imaginary hat!" (yes, I DO know that's a reduntant phrase)
Friend: "Oh, they do that all the time!"

Person 1: "Where's Maria?!  She said she'd be playing a tuba!"
Person 2: "She's not here."
Person 1: "WE NEED A TUBA!  You!  I thought you were going to play a tuba!"
Person 3: "I was, but I just got in the class today!"
Person 4: "We should have a tuba war!"
And something like that.  TUBAS.  OH THE MANY TUBAS.

But We Try

Bitter torn pieces
that make us up,
each and every one,
a formation of dark and bitter,
regret, forget,
fallen ignorants,
a sky too blue to understand,
but we try.

No leaving things to rest
no magic in the world,
no love and peace,
no letting things be,
always have to understand,
explain, and be right,
sometimes it's not possible,
but we try.

Where did the faith go
and the hope,
and the dreams,
building us up into
more then we are?
they're long-lost,
but we try.

My heart aches,
because I will never get it right,
and you will never get it right,
and they will never get it right,
we will never get it right,
but we try.

And perhaps I should find the peace,
if I could get it right,
that's something,
but everyone is fighting,
a fight for peace, contradiction,
a fight for love, contradiction,
it's not religion, it's human error,
but we try.

The blame is not on us,
even though it is,
the fault of each and every one,
the other,
some people try, and maybe they get it right,
but most get it wrong,
but still we try.

But we try,
to find the hope,
the love,
the things long-lost,
and bring back happiness,
the stuff we forgot.

A Piece of a World

There's hundreds, thousands, a countless number of worlds out there.  This is just one of many, and not the full world at that.  This is just a small glance into the possibilities that are everywhere.  The place you call home is a place to go to.  Your imagination is a place for magic.

Info: Here, there are different types of stones almost "grown" for different tasks.  In the pictures, the stones seen are stones used for heating.  They have shrines in which money is occasionally left.  Their religion is that everyone and everything is equal, but there must be guidance.  This Guidance is what the shrine statue is.  Large pieces of rocks float in the air from the ground, and they can be moved to the will of the inhabitants.  The more important a person or family is, the higher their house sits.

Shine, Star, Shine

Shine, star, shine,
Grow into the sky,
Let the world see you're beautiful,
A million miles away, a billion lightyears away,
Hot gases changing, growing, glowing,
Ha! what ugliness it turns to,
As we bring science to a close!

Shine, star, shine,
An angel you must be,
For glorious is your light,
Shining down on me.
Take me away, carry me through,
Why can't I live up there with you?
But sadness only, as belief comes to a close.

Shine, star, shine,
God's gift you were to me,
No, there's no such thing,
God gave it just to me!
But it's only a star, the world can see,
The world to us, God's gift,
Oh please, his gift would be more; religion to a close.

Perhaps some things should be seen
With better eyes then these.
A star is just a pretty light,
A firefly, an angel, hot gases and a gift,
Joined all together in a unity,
And such would it all be,
If only we could agree.

(This is about people's stubbornness and lack of acceptance, but I think you get that feeling.)

I HAVE REACHED ONE HUNDRED POSTS ON MY BLOG!  CELEBRATION!