Just taking some time to gather my thoughts before opening some documents and typing. I feel that there aren't a lot of days where people stop and think about what's good. It's always something so immediate, something that has to be done right away, or something so depressing that it can't leave you alone...

As of late, I've peered into an old diary I kept in middle school, not a lot of years ago. Sadly, I ended up feeling years beyond 16, like I had been peering into the life of a child that lived...say...a century or decade from my time (whatever that means). I laughed and slapped my forehead in disbelief in what was my lame writing (since I wrote in print and mediocre cursive) and the words I chose to describe my day. It was...questionable.

Among the box where my diary was kept were stuffed toys, photos/pictures, little cut-outs from video game packages, old cards (one birthday one from my father and a christmas one from a classmate) and several notebooks/notepads (one of them given from a teacher where we had to write poetry in). The poetry...struck me the most, only because (from speculation) it was during the time when the title "best friends" didn't apply anymore. For the sake of practice for a piece I'm working on I'll attempt to describe what I saw...

The writing style was mixed--an array of printed letters and cursive. Words had no particular slant but deviated from left, right or straight; the words themselves either passed or never touched the guidelines of the paper. Some words are incoherent, meaning that emotions guided the shaky hand that wrote this piece--the stand-alone word "friend" written as such is the title. There is no date as to which this was written.
The content is as such, written in pencil:

friend

Somehow, you think of a person as a friend
And that they would be with you till the end

But like everything else, the term 'friend' is a facade
to the great scheme, preferably by god,

angel wings captivate innocence
and two hands conjoining captivates friend

but what is the deal [this is striked out] but when people are alone they tend,
to those pains in the heart that begets a fred (friend).

for me, a friend cost me things, emotions barter(ed) here and there,
the life being played from this path which I stray,
from fate and destiny,
I regret having this friend [the last two words are written with significantly more pressure than the rest].

So what was my point exactly for the previous bit of depressing information? Not a lot. I have seen books where it's in a diary perspective but the words are strictly in the words of the writer. I wanted to try something new for the purpose of practicing to what I think to be a bad/risky idea. Think a narrative in diary format but there are elements in it that describe certain aspects of the writing. Like another person, a third party, has read it already and noted things down beit memos or if words are omitted but are recognizable still so the words are written down and is noted afterwards to have been striked out...minor things like that. "There's only so much you can do with the typed word compared to the written word. So why not recreate it?" That's the point I'm trying to get across, I finally realized it just now. *hits forehead*

Yeah. I blog as I think. Kind of makes me wonder how other people blog...?

Err...it appears I've blogged for too long (and here I was hoping for a short post to get the writing juices flowing) but it doesn't mean that I have to close down the word processing programs (of course I'd lose some sleep but...)

...reading over the post, another point was appreciating the good things wasn't it? I don't feel like I do that enough. And because of that I lose sight of what I want to accomplish. Right now, I want to get to writing! On the other hand, I should treat my body better and get some sleep (it's only fair since my body's been working overtime for the past week). Who knew the week after Spring Break would be a bit...difficult...? Haha I've got nothing to complain about though. It's just that the teachers are rushing on what information we need to get in our heads before assessments...again.

*pushes away school from brain* Aargh! Okay. I really need to stop drifting on and off topics here.

I remember a time of peace where, on those cloudy sunny days during lunch, on the large expanse of grass, there was no one around that could disturb the setting. So we'd lay there, backpacks propped underneath our heads as our eyes watched the clouds roll by. My hands intertwined together over my stomach--never had I felt more in tune with myself. I heard, felt, could hear myself breathe. A breeze never smelled so sweet. And the sky never looked so inviting. The clamor of reality simmered to a low buzz in my head, and all there was in this space was myself and a person I kept dear next to me at the time. It felt like an eternity before the sound of a bell broke this peace, signaling us back from the comforts of dreamworld.

And no, there were no animals. Just clouds.

The box in which I kept my middle school things... I doubt I'll return it to it's place in the garage. But I shall close it eventually because it takes a considerable amount of space in my room. However, it's also been a considerable amount of time ever since I first closed my mind on the past. At least, on the good things. (And here I was wondering why I always thought of the bad things.) Without the good balancing the bad, what do you turn into I wonder?

What we call 'life' passes by so quickly without us noticing because the concept of time is an illusion. But I'm sure you all know or have considered it as such at times.

What ho! (the Shakespeare meaning please) Tis' another weekend to which I'm grateful is finally here. It's been a tough week for me but I'm sure others have it tougher than I. (If so, how are you? and you've got a listener on your side if one is called for.)

So lately I've been assigned by my Graphics teacher to design something for a T-shirt--it's a class project--but, what he doesn't know, is that I've been in a big artistic slump ever since I've been writing. Though I don't see it as a bad thing since I've been writing more poems as of late and that's quite an achievement for me (though they don't make much sense at times, or they focus on a character or a specific story). But I'm glad that I've gotten into the habit of writing in poem form since it helped me on an English assignment I had to do on Tennessee Williams' play A Streetcar Named Desire. It's a lovely play, though violent and at times suggestive, but it gave me a lot of insight on real-life conflicts and character development.

The strange thing in my school is that no one likes the books that are assigned...is that true? maybe, but I previously watched the movie and loved it so I loved the play version twice as much. Then, there was Millers' The Crucible, which I liked and made me take an interest in Nathaniel Hawthorne's works... Before that, we had to read various articles, though a bit boring (since the way we did these were really repetitive) they were on interesting subjects. Some, if I remember correctly were on: childhood obesity--who is responsible?; teenage crimes and whether sending them to adult jail was justified...things like that.

...I believe what I was trying to say is that reading is a fun and educational activity. Call me old fashioned but people, especially teenagers need to read more. I'm kind of tired, if not a little annoyed, when a student says something that is so obvious if they had read the material assigned.

I'm at a crossroads right now. One, I could continue ranting about what I find faulty in the educational system, while implementing multiple exclamation marks in the process. Or, two, I stick to my Libran nature and not poke the sleeping bear with a 3 cm toothpick. IT JUST CAN'T BE DONE! And besides, my mind wanders faster than the Roadrunner does from Wile E. Coyote. (I'm trying not to focus on anger because it makes me feel idiotic as I type.)

Is it just me who feels a bit lost? Probably...or not.

...Here's something that was mentioned today.

Crap. I just lost the game.

There's my dilemma for you...in nifty poem form. I have no fitting title for the re-write. But, I came here (since we have thirty minute periods b/c of an assembly before heading to Spring Break) to ask what defines a good title? Whether it's a story or even an essay (or a title for a person)... What does that title define for whatever object it's given?

I know that a title can't be given unless there was some sort of connection to, say...a book. The Metamorphosis obviously has some guy going through a great change. And The Idiot surely mentions...an idiot, to put it simply (but a lovable idiot at that). Oh. And a prime example: Harry Potter and the...(blah blah etc. etc.) You can't not know what's going to be introduced in the HP books if you haven't looked at the cover!

...So I'm sitting here wondering, and I have been sitting on this mental bench for awhile because all I can call my work now is Untitled or...the other names I listed next to all the character names and related poems. I've got to get focused on the main idea because, well, don't they sum up the most important part of a story? but in one word? (or three at best if you don't count those Panic! at the Disco songs...etc.)

A good title...before or after plot completion? :) Asking myself this, I say after plot completion. It only sounds right...*ponders*

Oh, Happy Thursday Bloggers it's almost the weekend and I hope everyone is pulling through fine...besides my title issue.