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And you know what he asked me? He asked me if I knew how to breathe. And I Said “yes, of corse!” “I’m still living, aren’t I?” “no no non no no” he rushed out And I asked “What?” and he asked me again he said “do you know how to breathe?” and so I said “no” just for the heck of it and he looked at me he smiled so wide, his square teeth white and winking at me like flashlights he said “I knew it!” he said it through his smile and his bright eyes and i knew he was so mad and so in love with living and with breathing and perhaps he was also in love with me and I was glad. |
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Listen, John I think you should leave I think you should leave right now because I can’t love you I can't love anyone and I always mess things up I think you should leave and go find someone normal someone kind and caring and warm. And its not….its not that I don't care about you or anything I….I do. but i’m not in love with you and you can’t wait for me to be you just leave now. go. |
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I remember that day… he held my face between his hands and he looked at me as if he was looking at the moon His gaze caressed the bridge of my nose and the curve of my cheeks and the dimple in my chin and the rise of my lips and I looked at the softness of his smile and the bush in his brow and the folds around his eyes from smiling too much and It felt like we were exchanging secrets I felt like a little kid. And then one day I didn’t. I didn’t love him anymore. So I left. And it was so simple and so sad. |
I wrote the poem to the right a few weeks ago as an experimental price to try and incorporate two different voices/perspectives in the same text. However, as I later discovered, the piece can also be interpreted to be just one person speaking (to his/herself). Although I wrote the poem independently, we did end up using it in our collaborative Theatre project in my HL theatre class. It was interesting to view my work open up to interpretations of people. I find that my initial inclinations tend to be that when other people look at my work there is something of it that is lost. Whether this thing is the simple fact that the poem was mine and now it is theirs or that their interpretation will not be entirely the same as my own, I don't know. However, I found, through sharing my work, that other people can give more meaning to my work than I had at originally wrote it with. This is Great! no? As opposed to something being lost in translation, something new is found.
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Poem: come to mecome to me and you will find love
that is not true come to me and you will find hope that is not true come to me and you will find joy that, also, is not true. come to me, and you will find some broken disgusting thing you will find some tragic, weeping body that you will have to fix that you will have to let lean on your shoulder until it aches like a broken heart and once your bones break under the weight of my grief and your flesh disintergrates under the fire of my anger and your laugh is snatched form your lips and never given back to you you will change you will shatter into the shadows smeared under my eyes and finally we will dance, we will sing, we will skip our way down a path of light together, humming, with our graphite palms in a bundle between us, towards our death. so dont come to me if you know what’s good for you |
Good Morning Twigas:
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"Good Morning Twigas" is an idea that was initiated my my two friends Moustafa and Andrew and myself. We initiated as a platform for us to develop our skills as filmmakers, actors, organnisers, leaders and various other hthings but also to provide the IST community with another medium through which to receive news and entertainment. A more detailed report of our intentions with it is pictured to the right (that is our proposal form). We launched the first episode a few weeks ago and received a lot of attention and much more interest than we had expected. I feel that it is slightly overwhelming for us the nerves are paralyzing. I fear that with all the responsibility that we will have to bear with the project we might start to overload or something or the other but I am excited to take on the challenge. I hope it will go in the direction that we intend it to although at the moment we are facing a few issues regain the manner in which we will select those who can join and those who cannot etc. This forces us to ask ourselves: what quality of work do we want? who would best enable us the achieve that? what would be a fair decision and what would not? questions like those are ones we have been discussing amongst ourselves a lot but hopefully we will succeed and come out as more rounded people. Im excited for the possibility that this project holds and hope with all my heart that it goes well.
PROMO VIDEO LINK: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MV_tS4uR91Q |
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There was a big empty box
With a big empty body with a big empty head and a red thumping heart There was a big empty box with the same six words and the same six eyes and the same six voices There was a big empty box with a big empty body with a big empty head with a red thumping heart There was a big empty box with small flimsy shadow with a vile, ungrateful worry and an abundance of golden rings There was a big empty box With the trace of a song with a soft yellow rim and a black thumping heart. There was a big empty box With a big empty body with a big empty head and a big empty heart |
short reflection on poem:I very much like this poem. I like the rhythm created by the repetition and I enjoy the way it sounds when spoken. I think It is very powerful and very honest. Looking back at one of my older reflections, I noted that I had wanted to improve on my use of expressive language as well as wordplay and general skill with the english language. I think this new poem demonstrates a huge amount of growth in technique when compared to my previous work.
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10/21/15
Poem: The trouble is... my brain is at a point of utter blindness. my head feels like it has been stuffed with cotton wool and I cannot think. My days feel like they are composed of empty, fruitless hours of mindless staring into the distance Creating the illusion of being submerged in a deep pool of rumbling imagination or floating down a sky full of memories but really I am thinking of nothing I am doing nothing I am making nothing I am saying nothing It starts to feel like I am nothing. Sound comes in through one ear and out the other I can hear you but I’m not listening I’m talking to you but I’m not really because i dont think i care and I’m sorry. My time is slipping away like fine sand through fingers. It is melting away like candlewax and I’m sorry for it. how useless. |
I don't like this poem. When I wrote it I was frustrated with myself and with my brain so I suppose I wasn't bothered by the quality of the work, my primary focus remained on letting out whatever I was feeling. Reading the poem back today, it seems quite sloppy and my word choice poor and unimaginative. I think the sentiment I intended to deliver is delivered but I think I could have used more expressive vocabulary and been more creative in my wordplay. I have trouble sharing things that I don't like so I feel slightly cautious about posting this but I have recently learned that in order to improve, I must not be afraid of not meeting whatever criteria I perceive to inspire perfection. I must instead focus on writing, and writing excessively then reflecting on what I like and don't like about my work, then improving on it.
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Poem: Wings and A Heart
A thousand times she told herself that maybe it could be, that birds could fly in soft spotless skies and to love was to be free. She taught herself to have a heart and to have wings were really one and the same thing, but birds can’t fly with laden wings and too heavy hearts. The skies are grey, the smoke is thick, the tears are blinding, the bird is weak. The wind is sharp, her bones are fighting with nerves that tell her not to move, not to speak. To move her wings is painful. To more her wings is painful. How can she fly when it hurts to move her wings? |
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High School PlayThis year I am participating in the high school play partially due to the fact that I am required to because I am taking HL theatre and partially because i have an obsessive love for theatre and self-expression through movement. This year the play we are putting on is called "too much light makes the baby go blind". The play is a huge risk both in the theatre and in the school environment due to its alternative style and slightly mature content. It is however an extremely interesting exploration of humanity an our tendency to seek for excess and too much of the unnecessary in order to gain satisfaction. I feel like the play itself is a form of defiance in that it takes the opposite path to tradition theatre, employing the style of neo-futurism which lays emphasis on minimalism and which essentially strips theatre bare of anything excess. It has been fun to explore the implications of the play both in class and at home by myself. So far I have done nothing substantial in terms of performing and directing because of the way rehearsals are scheduled but i have done a lot of research regarding directing, neo-futurism, and Greg Allen, the playwright to equip myself with the right knowledge for when I start directing and acting (which hopefully will be soon)
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