Smoldering Fire

Section one.

The fire still smolders from the burning of all my possessions; a beginning motif to the start of most reoccurring events to my life, destruction. The sun creeps up from the corn field and abyss to my right' to the left the sky is bursts of orange and purple sculpting the the puffy white clouds, just between the tree lines I can see it all. From what I can see my mind paints the remaining pieces in that the trees cover up. My gazing eye is just in awe of the beauty, only a fool wouldn't be awe such by such a sight. It's the third sun rise I've seen, my eyes grow weak after seventy six hours and twenty seven minutes. This has been a daunting task, so much time to think, most of this time is just to yourself. Not many people find excitement in depriving ones self in sleep. IT's quite simple limited food, water, no caffeine, forget the use of drugs and alcohol it just takes away the full effect and revelation I seek.

One would say I'm crazy for burning down my home, I am sleep deprived after all so it's a bad decision in blinds eye. Which is why I disagree, the bear minimum in life is a guitar, clothes, cell phone, cash, ID, debit card, water bottle, rucksack (back pack), and finally some good literature.

Coppery Eyes

Fizzle explosions

remnants of sulfur and copper deposits

the rising flame, end of set abrasions

tire eyes and tired minds

the strangling lengths to which I came

brought upon long lasting lengths

form the copper deposits of my eyes

Formationed abrasions

forth bringing obscurity

desolation formed

exhaustion has set

Rising sun to settling dusk

coinciding the same day

forming copper deposits around these eyes

escaping the pleasantries

foundations predetermined

you've brought me here

now she me where

A playlist story, how lame.

It took some time to do though, I put too much thought into this. It'll be tough for people to figure it out, the theme is pretty easy. Just a theme won't work though also if you try to figure it out person based you'll have a tough time. Because I mixed that up into my own way of telling this story, hence welcome to my mind. Anyways, if anyone cares here you go. If not, there shall be more to come.

Undone -- The Sweater Song by Weezer

Your Hand in Mine (w/strings) by Explosions in the Sky

The Beat that my Heart Skipped by Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip

Bruised by The Bens

Gone Ben Folds cover by Julia Nunes

Learn to Live With What You Are by Ben Folds

Your Hand in Mine by Explosions in the Sky

First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes

Just Pretend by The Bens

Song for the Dumped by Ben Folds Five

Evaporated by Ben Folds Five

Sundress by Ben Kweller

Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard

Lizzy by Ben Kweller

Your Hand in Mine (goodbye) by Explosions in the Sky

If I Ever Leave this World Alive by Flogging Molly

*Journal*

"I enjoy what I get and what I get is what I worked for.", Saturday, May 25 2005 this was written in a xanga post by myself. This statement is a double edged blade, I worked to keep people together and be a savior for that all that I chose to try and save myself are left astray from the path I've chosen. Trying to be the hero leaves you tired and lonely, hence the reason we aren't supposed to try and be the superhero, that has already been accomplished. We have the backing of a superhero. Saying I'm alone could be a sad thing, but if I worked to get where I am why should I complain? You reap what you sow, so take responsibility I say and let the chips fall where they may. Then move ahead taking what you learned to try again but this time believing, you aren't alone.

Now I look back understanding what I wrote three years previous even more than I did than. Also written in this post was, "We all go our own direction, mine just seems so different." Still stands true, but it doesn't seem to be the fact that I am lead abruptly off from others. I choose to follow my own path, which makes a lot of aspects harder. I have hope in the fact that I am not lost because, "Not all who wander are lost.", JRR Tolkien. 

I'll end with this, "You never know.", Bob Dylan in answer to the critics who poke and prod his life. Indeed, you never know what's going on until you understand the person behind the actions.

Wanna a smoke or symbolism?

After a good lunch at the pub, Jessica asked me to join her outside. Apparently since the last time I was in town she had picked up smoking, so I accepted the invitation. Not for the smoke per-say more for the fact she was on the opposite side of the table and the two of us have not caught up yet due to debating or the mere fact she was sitting too far for one on one conversation. Once outside we talked a bit about where we are going in life and I heard a bit inside, in which I was very perplexed. So we talked back and forth, I must say my aggravation level was rising because years ago she had scholarships and everything for a full ride in whatever she wanted and now she sits in front of me complaining because she never took them. 

Dialogue needed to be written...


Most of all out of this little conversation I remember one changing point in who I was before this encounter and after this encounter.

She offered me a cigarette and I declined. Her response was, "Good choice." From right here I realized, the gap between the relationship we once had and how at one time I was familiar with this person. Now it is as though we are two strangers who vaguely had a same past.

The idea of who I am and who I want to be.

This week I was assigned a speech, for speech class of course. In which I had to find an article pertaining to what I wish to do in the future for a job. Due to the fact I couldn't find an article on being a novelist I just gave up and decided to do it on teaching. Which sucks because I did not put my whole heart into doing the summary nor what I really thought about it. Teaching is just something I want to get me by until I decide to write one day, as a full time job of course. It kind of makes me angry... not angry, aggravated to sit in speech and never hear a word about how being a creative writer is the backdrop of a speech. To me if you can give a good speech you could probably write a decent story about that or a decent paper. I know I'm terrible at grammar and sometimes I miss spell the most obvious words, I truly do know this. 

What my point is the fact that, writing is the backdrop to it all. We get our research from books and get our forming ideas from literature. Talking amongst each other gives us the idea to write, but having it on paper leaves it to be around forever. So to me, what lives longer the speech or the text? I guess to me I'd much rather read the speech then hear it delivered. There is so much emotion wrapped up just in the fact you are at the speech itself. Let's say you read it later and realize you disagree, you have more time to think and go over the ideas given to you. Which is why I find the literal form better in a sense. Everyone works differently though, so a speech is a great thing. I suppose I'm more stating how I feel about it, which is another reason I love speeches and writing, your opinion counts.

A beginning to a new community.

My first post on Blogger.com/blogstpot... will be a story I've started.. an actual Blog soon.

(c) Kris Denoyer

Prelude

Like any scholar giong through their process in aquiring a wholesome degree it becomes relevant that times have switched. The times you were in your hometown seem to be the best times of your life and now you are covered in homework, internships, book, studies and also finding time to divulge into your own intersts (if you want to that is, like many good nerds my friend and I were well known in this area). So you decide to return back home and find where all of your past acquatances and best friends have ended up, which most students who graduated keep up through social networking online, we seemed to have had our fingers far from the pulse of the graduating class of 2006. This became apparant when I saw a girl I graduated with happily married, working a normal job and pregnat. Maybe I have been left behind, but a double major of indepth studies and being a regular of libraries, comic book stores and football (soccer fields, also for now on it's football) have been changes enough to where I realized, no I have not been left behind in any sort of manner. I made my own way ahead of the game; just in a more inttelectual sense I get a laugh when my friend compares us to Tolkien and Lewis, except without the debate on if literature should be a copy of biblical beliefs or that every story is a shadowing of...

Anyways after our graduation day and the getting rid of our apartment we packed our stuff into a storage hall to take our summer journey; because we start our new jobs, more school becoming TA's while finishing our masters work (neither of us ever want to leave college either it be teaching or going on the side while working a regular job in our respected fields).  We realized we missed home on this day of graduation, seeing our paretns and certain people whom we have met from time to time back home. We purchased tickets to the next flight home in hopes to find the "roots" of our origin, already knowing why we are studying what we are. It seems to be more that we wanted a brush over, like re-reading a book or taking a look at notes you took in class. It is a necessity to knowledge and of life, even if it is going back over your life. In many ways a way more analytical way of looking at it than most would want. I digress, this is a tale of our coming to realization of what we were looking for all along. This could be described as a comming of age tale in the sense that coming of age is the understanding of responsibility not a sex visit by some lady of the night to fornicate with; And that is where I leave you and begin to tell you this tale.