Some Final Thoughts

1. This semester I have written several pieces titled: "I Am... Laura", "Marlboro Reds: A Story of a Lost Boy", "The Pond/Deep in the Woods", "Morning Light", "Amethyst Haze/Canyon Echo", "Changing Seasons", "Descending Sun", "Dream Threads", "Writers Dreaming", "The Anatomy of a Dream", "The Owl and the Crow", "Pillow Talk", "If I Were in Charge of the World", "My Take on Horoscope", "Static Waves", "6 Word Memoirs", "Big Electric Silver Clouds", "Soir Bleu", "Crimson", "Photo Hunt", "Flea Market Photos", "Unlikely Heroes", "Photograph 2014", "A Recipe for Family Gatherings", "Harris Burdick Story", and "Home is Wherever I'm With You". All of those writings were my own fictional or creative short stories. My favorite is probably the Marlboro Reds story. I love that the entire thing was inspired by an old cigarette butt that I found. I just wondered whom it might have belonged to and what their story was. That piece was a kind of warm up from not writing creatively in so long. 

2. I will never forget Glenda's story about the piece of gum that I read at the beginning of the semester. She had such a unique story and it really stood out to me. Another thing I will never forget about this class is the ongoing giraffe story that Riley, Ben, and Daniel created. Rico will always be infamous in my mind. M'Kenna has a cute blog and her personal posts are always so great to read. Taylor Denton and Katie Gann write beautiful stories. Their styles are so lovely and classic. Meghan Z's horror story really surprised me. She is so sweet as a person and that story was so wonderfully dark! Zachary B. has also really impressed me. He is an amazing writer who can cover a wide array of genres. 

3. I have a tumblr account that I am active on, and I found it fairly easy on there to copy and paste an html theme. Blogger has been a different story. I tried a bunch of different themes and I just didn't think they were very "me". I ended up using a simple purple theme and incorporating some personal aspects such as a music player with some of my favorite songs and a widget that shows my Instagram pictures. I was surprised to find that someone outside of class actually follows my blog, which is kind of cool that someone is actually interested in my writing. I got the name "Let's Tessellate" from a song by one of my favorite bands, Alt-J. I love the song because it has a hidden meaning just like all of their other songs. Also one of the lyrics is "triangles are my favorite shape", and I would have to agree. I'm not sure if I will post in the future. If I have time and don't forget, I might. One thing I know for sure is that I will continue to write on my own time.

4. I have always been a fan of journaling. I filled an entire journal with my thoughts in 7th and 8th grade. I like being able to have an outlet in which I can write my honest thoughts, because at the end of the day, we are the only ones who can truly understand ourselves. When I have the time, I journal. I usually journal in the summer when I've got a lot on my mine. I have kept all the journals I have written in for the past years. I'm glad I can add my creative writing journal to the collection. 

5. Indigo Night
Many an indigo night has been spent with you. The sound of your clear voice shoots into the night air, almost creating a space for you in the stars. You are one of them in my mind. You are the brightest; the True North. Although we are farther apart, turning to new galaxies to guide us home, we still sit beneath the indigo night. We tun, we breathe in the cool evening air, we cry, we pluck the stars from the constellations, we sit in silence, ignoring the light pollution laden by the home we love. We may be reborn, a black hole blasting into a billion balls of fiery matter, but we still find our place-side by side in the indigo sky we grew beneath. 

6. After the overwhelming thoughts of all he had been through in the past year, he slipped the cigarette box out of his pocket. He rolled it around in his palms, the quiet music from his car stereo distracting his thoughts. As he ripped away the plastic, exposing the cigarettes to the outside world, he stopped and grabbed the little black lighter from his glove box.  He placed one of the Marlboros upside down in the box for good luck, and took one out for himself. Raising the cigarette to his lips, he heard his mother’s words and turned them into his own silent prayer. “Please let me feel.”

7. I am currently trying to write a book because this class has inspired me so much. My inspiration comes in spurts, so it will take a long time, but I am really excited to see if I could maybe pursue writing someday. I am so glad I took this class. I remember at the beginning how we were so used to thesis and MLA and all of that. We were so confused when we were set loose to write whatever we wanted, no strings attached. That was one of the most liberating moments of my high school career. 

8. Everyone from this class comes from different walks of life, different grades, different hobbies. I think that one of my favorite parts of this class has been to see some new perspectives. Some of you guys are not people that I would instantly have in my friend groups, but reading your writing has given me a glimpse into your awesome thoughts and minds. I'm so lucky to have gotten to know you in the way that I have because not many people will. I encourage you to keep using your talents in your own ways, because every individual can bring something new to the table. 

Home is Wherever I'm With You

Dear Caleb,
We have listened to the song Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros so many times in my little CR-V. In the last few years, I'm sure I've included it in more than one mix CD. I know Home has turned into quite the white girl cliche these days, but it is a cliche that we can both relate to. We have shared so many big dreams in these few years of friendship. I know that your dream is do make music and share that music with the world. The world deserves to hear you, Cal. You have dreams that I would love nothing more than to see be fulfilled. We made our summer friendship bucket list not too long ago, and a lot of it is centered around the places we want to go. I can't wait to go to those places with you at some point.
What I love most about you is that you encourage me to dream hugely, and to not care about what is in my way. I admire the way that you persevere in your goals. That night we sat on the apartment stairs, I knew I wanted to go everywhere with you. If and when you tour, I want to go with you as your support and your little bit of home. When mix CDs of different songs turn into your own produced CDs, I want to be able to say that I was there through it all. I want you to remember your roots, and that is what the mug represents. Even though we can make our home anywhere, there will still be a little piece of us left in Springfield. I never want us to forget that.
Laura

Revision #3

Edward H. Clifford 

October 8th, 1928

Dear Diary,

My slow descent into madness has not been a quiet one. I feel myself growing more and more aggressive as each day passes. My hands shake, my brow sweats, and even daily phone calls from my sweet mother no longer help me. The voices in my mind overpower hers now. Sometimes a scream escapes that I cannot control. It is a scream of rage. I try to keep my grievances private, but occasionally my roommate will hear me through my locked door.  Ever since I was sent to Lawrenceville School for Boys in New Jersey, I have grown farther away from myself. The headmaster found me stomping through the halls at two in the morning last night after several noise complaints from my peers. I was babbling loudly about my desire to kill and that concerned the boys in my dorm building. Some days, I even scare myself, but other days are filled with the fulfillment of my utterly joyful and unquenchable desire for human flesh. I want to feel the warm ocean of blood rushing over me. I want to know what it feels like to wrap my slender, pale fingers around someones sturdy neck.  I am only 18, but I am above all of these low-life prep school boys. I am worth more than they will ever be. After all, my father is a billionaire. I hardly ever see him but he gives me beautiful clothes and the sharp ivory knife I always keep in my right hand pocket. I will inherit Clifford Industries and I will bathe in the blood of those who stand in my way. I must go now. My roommate is arriving and my little knife needs something to cut. 

E.H.C

Revision #2

• Talks too much or not enough
• I still count on my fingers.
• Seventeen years and still no relationship.
• I'll always cherish the quiet life.
• Music takes me to another world.
• Excessively talks about my best friend
• Don't make me just a sidekick.
• I thought 140 characters wasn't enough.
• I'm just a number to them.
• I regret living without any regrets. 
• I want to leave my house.
• But I am scared to leave.
• I have changed in many ways.
• Realist in a world of dreamers.
• Its very hard to make revisions.
• I am such an introverted extrovert.
• I must refuse to censor myself.
• I leave censoring to my family.

Revision # 1

The glow of the paper lanterns in the sweat stained tavern transported him to thoughts of home. He missed the scent of baking bread in the air, even the dirty streets, bustling with people of all shapes and sizes. No matter where he lived, he was reminded of Paris daily in his accent and in the letters that his mother sent him. His mind wandered to the pile of tattered, yellow notes scattered on the floor of his dingy city apartment. 
He lifted the bottle to his lips, hoping he could stop the bitter memories with the bitter taste of vodka. The first sip of alcohol penetrated his tongue, each drink slowly becoming easier than the last. He let the booze flood his brain as he had so many times before. His wandering mind took him back to his sober day, beginning with a pounding headache. He had a long afternoon at work, the greedy screams of young children still rang in his ears. 
With another drink, a sloppy smile crept upon his bright, painted lips. So often he forgot why he moved away from the home he loved. The children. They were the ones that brought him the most happiness. The art of clowning was a dying one, and America was the only place that seemed to have any traveling carnivals. Suddenly, the hearty laugh of a man with a graying beard sent him back into drunken reality. He felt so out of place in the company of men. Their voices were gruff and their jokes were inappropriate and rowdy. Pure disgust came over him. 
He knew he was alone in this world. The heart of a child beat inside of his costumed chest. Tomorrow he could live his dying dream again, his inevitably pounding headache going away with each child's joyful giggle. He let out an exasperated sigh and took another drink. He hated the smell of cigarettes. He hated the fowl language that escaped their mouths. His vision grew obscured as he shot up from the table, the subtle clink of silverware and porcelain shaking from the impact. None of the men questioned his sudden behavior. They hated the clown just as much as he did. They became silent and watched him as he stumbled out of the cafe, vodka on his breath.
The clown clumsily rushed home and looked in the mirror, swiping a sweaty, meaty hand across his painted face. The broken man was revealed behind the clown, as it was every evening. He would never come to terms with himself. He stared angrily at the sunken, aging face that peered back at him. It felt inhuman. His hand grazed across the postcard from Paris that had been tacked to his mirror years ago. He smiled, thinking of his young, limber body, riding his rusting bicycle through the square, he would set his straw hat on the cobblestones, performing tricks as he heard francs clinking into it. He felt a sudden pain in his head and was brought back to his dirty apartment, open pots of face paint all over his dresser. A yawn escaped his lips as he stretched his worn joints. He got up and sank into his spring mattress, a loud creak emerging from beneath him. He closed his tired eyes, dreaming of twinkling paper lanterns.

Harris Burdick Story

It was a perfect lift-off. From my frosted glass window I gazed out into the night. The subtle coating of snow on the firs blew off in a blinding blast. A tiny snowstorm began beneath the old Victorian. I watched the towering street lights as they turned into tiny glowing orbs below me, becoming twinkling fireflies. I stood up from my window perch, feeling the ground rumble beneath my woolen socks. I lost my balance, toppling to the ground in a heap of giggles and shock at what was happening around me. I shot up and ran to my bed, gripping the wire frame to maintain my balance. My town turned into a tiny speck below me as I floated above the earth like a king. Regaining my bearings, I ran back to my window, staring at the figures below that gazed at me in disbelief. I would surely be the talk of my town. I floated to the next town over, the Christmas lights flickering as if to welcome me and my flying house. 

My eyes shot open from my dream as my body inched toward the edge of my wire-framed bed. I was completely awake, not even groggy from my deep slumber. I ran downstairs and past the smell of sizzling bacon which I hardly ever resisted. I flung my red oak door open, a swift slap of cool air hitting my face and turning my cheeks red. My home was secure on its foundation, the neighbors were merrily walking their dog, their shoes tapping on the sidewalk. They smiled and waved at me. I shut the door with a quiet thud, sluggishly walking back upstairs to my bed. I laid down and closed my eyes, hoping for another perfect lift-off. 

A Recipe for my Family Gatherings

2 heaping cups of my grandmothers controlling tendencies
1 burnt pie crust because "she likes it that way"
1 grandpa and 2 uncles and maybe 1 cousin screaming at a football game on the TV that only gets 5 channels on a good day
5 offers to take some of grandmas hand-me-downs
1 reluctant "sure" because you can just give them to Goodwill
1 teaspoon of hopefulness that your favorite cousin from Arkansas might actually be there this year
3 cups of disappointment when she's "busy" even though you knew that would be the answer
1 text of "I don't blame you"
4 times you take your phone out
4 "put your phone away"s from your mom
2 plates of great food
2 plates of great dessert
1 "no thank you" when grandma offers her pie
3 secret glances between cousins because you all know you don't want to be there
2 nostalgic memories

Mix together in a jumbled, clumpy mess.
Realize there is nowhere else you would rather be.

Photograph 2014

This is my best friend
his hair is newly shortened
his fingers covered in gummy styling product
he smells like his beautiful green house on Gold road
I smell like sweat
I shaved the side of my head
my mother hated it
but I loved it
We went on a drive in his dad's rickety Bonneville
he is draped over the hood
I only had to get out to restart it once
that in itself was a miracle
but it was always worth the drive
We were alone in a secluded place
I couldn't tell you where
rarely a car would drive by and ask us if we needed anything
I only needed him

This was a moment of solitude in our lives

This is togetherness
through the divorce
the breakups
the nights where we would lie awake
the familial struggles
the financial struggles
we had paused time to laugh
we enjoyed the earth as it was made to be enjoyed
Simply together

Unlikely Heroes

As I was scrolling down the list of the photos, this one caught my eye. The description explained that a man named Carlos Arredondo helped a man named Jeff Bauman after the Boston bombings and that they are now best friends. I wondered what would have motivated this man to help someone he hadn't even met. As I researched, I found out that Carlos had lived a difficult life. One of his sons died in the army and his other son committed suicide. After his first son's death, he was involved in anti-war efforts and attended the Boston marathon to hand out little American flags. He knew no one in the race. I believe that pure fate brought him to the marathon.
He said he saw a cloud of smoke, made the sign of the cross, and asked God to keep him safe. In that cloud, he found Jeff Bauman, whose legs had been blown off in the explosion. He found an old sweater to stop the blood, put Bauman in a wheelchair, and sent him to the medical tent. I began to think, what makes someone a hero? This man was far from being a soldier. He was an ex rodeo clown and wore a cowboy hat every day.
I think one thing that makes this generation different is how we have a reputation for being selfish. When someone needs help, we would rather just save ourselves than someone else. I believe that this perception is extremely untrue. Heroes are becoming more than soldiers or strong men from movies. Heroes of this millennium can be anyone, and Carlos Arredondo is proof of this.

Flea Market Photos

Edward H. Clifford 

October 8th, 1928

Dear Diary,

My slow descent into madness has not been a quiet one. I feel myself growing more and more aggressive as each day passes. My hands shake, my brow sweats, and even daily phone calls from my sweet mother no longer help me. Ever since I was sent to Lawrenceville School for Boys in New Jersey, I have grown farther away from myself. The headmaster found me stomping through the halls at two in the morning last night. I was babbling loudly about my desire to kill. Some days, I scare myself, but other days are filled with the fulfillment of my unquenchable desire for human flesh. I am only 18, but I am above all of these low-life prep school boys. I am worth more than they will ever be. I will inherit Clifford Industries and I will bathe in the blood of those who stand in my way. I must go. It is supper time.

E.H.C

Irene R. Nell

Unapproachable love

My heart pounds when I draw near to you

They will never know me

I hide in the shadow of my sin

We kiss

Each one is like a knife into their hearts

My mother is embarrassed

25 and still no wedding band

I spend my days singing love songs

I have a love

But they will never see us

They are blind to their ignorance

I will keep you safe

They will never know

They will never see

We can never love

Photo Hunt

Something From Nature:

We have seen a lot of this bunny lately. At first, I adored her, but now my opinion has changed. I don't remember her name, but lately you could definitely use the words "annoying, poopy, or squirmy" to describe her. 

#bunnyioncethoughtwasadorable

Something That Will Always Remind You of Being at KHS:

The debate room will always remind me of Kickapoo. Debate has always been my favorite part of my high school experience and always will be. The memories I have made in this room will always be an important part of my life. 

#deb8isgr8

Someone Who Makes You Laugh/Smile:

Tony is one of my newer friends at Kickapoo, and he is someone here that never fails to crack me up. We sit together at lunch and I am always guaranteed to cackle when Tony is around. We mostly just make weird noises and make fun of Jessica Lange from American Horror Story. I know I'm going to miss him when I graduate. 

#oooooooooooooohh

Something that Looks Like a Face:

If you tilt your head sideways, you can see it. I thought it was kind of funny because I probably looked weird to whoever it was watching the security cameras. 

#ipromiseimnotsneakingout

A Book:

I love this book. I read it for an English 3 H project last year, and it really impacted me. I have always enjoyed David Levithan's work because his characters center around the LGBT community. The concept of this book is so unique and I recommend it to any teenager struggling with their identity. 

#davidlevithan

Something a Kid Might Notice:

Mrs. Armstrong's room is filled with fun posters, and this Scooby Doo one caught my eye. I loved Scooby Doo as a kid, and I think it is amazing that a TV show from the 60s can still be interesting to a kid today.

#scoobydoobydo

Something Round:

Clocks will always be essential to my high school career. I always find myself watching the clock during the day, counting down the days until I finally get to go home and procrastinate on my homework.

#ticktock

Something Handwritten:

Mrs. BK's board was always what I looked to for assignments. I'm sure it is annoying for teachers to have to write their objectives every day, but it sure is nice for the student because we would always know what we had to do for the day. (And start on the assignment instead of listening to the lesson.)

#iknowhowtoplaythegame

Someone I'd Like to be More Like:

Mrs. BK has always been an inspiration to me. She is such an understanding teacher. If a student has a late assignment because of something they can't help, she always understands. I feel like she makes herself such an available resource for students that are lonely, struggling, or depressed. I would definitely like to be someone like her when I am an adult. 

#bkisbae

Something Square:

Mrs. Wyrick's class was the first class I ever had in high school. I remember what I wore that day, thinking I was super stylish, even though I looked weird. I remember being in that class with a bunch of seniors who needed their second language credit to graduate. We had to greet each other by saying, "hola guapo/a", which means handsome or beautiful. I felt so awkward saying that as a freshman. 

#firstdayoftherestofyourlife

Someone Who Has Taught You Something:

Mr. Baney is my favorite teacher at Kickapoo, and he is also one of my favorite people on this planet. He has been such an amazing coach and friend to me for these past three years. He is a teacher that genuinely cares, which is something that is hard to come by in high schools. He has taught me so much more than communication skills. He has taught me about life. 

#excusehisweirdface

Something That is Beautiful:

I worked really hard on this pumpkin. I have never taken an art class, but I still love to do art in my free time. Even though it got ruined in the rain, I was proud of how it turned out.

#capturedatitspeak

Something That Makes You Feel Nostalgic:

When I think about Kickapoo, I think of my best friend. I met Caleb in my freshman health class. He lives in Arkansas right now, but he came to visit at Kickapoo not too long ago. I will never forget sitting with him at lunch, getting in trouble for talking, seeing each other for a few minutes before class, being in a few classes with him, and texting him in class when I wasn't supposed to. I have Kickapoo to thank for bringing us together. 

#dayquilandnyquil

Spooky Stories

I looked at Sam's, Meghan's, and Maddy's blogs today. They are great writers with very different scary stories.
Sam's was about a father who was being haunted by his dead wife. It was a mixture of creepy and sad which I really liked. You don't see stories like that often!
Meghan's story was terrifying and embodied a truly scary scenario. She spoke of a girl having a nightmare that consisted of a girl in a tattered, bloody dress. The twist that I enjoyed is that her dream turned into reality. I was really creeped out!
Maddy's story was about a girl that was being followed by shadows. It had an actual plot which I really appreciated. You can't always find that in horror stories! She describes the lingering presence following the character to her home which was really eerie.
These ladies all did a great job on their stories. I can't wait to see what else they write in the future!

My Halloween plans are to have a couple of friends over for an all day Halloween movie marathon. I plan on having pizza and cookies, as well as plenty of candy! I told everyone that I wouldn't let them in without a costume, so I will see how that goes.

Crimson

I was being followed; not by a person, but by the feeling of what I had just done. My heavy feet tapped against the wet pavement, a light evening drizzle coating my clothes and hair. My shaking hand reached up to draw the strings of my hood, tightening it over my pale face. My stomach churned; I was gasping for a breath of relief that would not come. Shadows of memories came over me that seemed darker than the night sky. My hand was over his mouth, covering his muffled screams. Crimson blood seeped out of parallel gashes on his arms and caked beneath my fingernails. I tightened my grip on his mouth, my other hand creeping down to the nape of his frigid neck. I gulped, the first audible noise I had made all night. With a swift movement, I twisted my hands in opposite directions, a snap ringing through the darkened alleyway.
Sure, I had done this plenty of times. It had become my occupation, each limp body falling to the pavement like sand in my fingers. I was used to the different types of reactions. Some greeted me with fear, others with relief. I had seen an array of human beings, each unique in some sort of way. Many had tattered clothing, nothing in their bags but syringes, sticky with sin. Some were professional, with families and beautiful white mansions. They payed thousands for the most beautiful black crystals, emerging into the light to go back to work when the transaction was made. One thing I had learned in all my years was that the tattered and the rich were no different than each other. They both had the same demons- the same sunken look beneath their smiles. 
I often found myself in hospitals, with white walls and the beeping of monitors echoing through the hallway. I took care of more children than I would have liked, standing by their side as they took their last breath. Most of the time I would put my hands on the shoulders of tearful family members, but other times it was just me and the frail container of a soul that once held so much life. 
Even with my occupation, I have come to know life as the most precious gift- one that many throw away for their own selfish desires. That is why they must pay the price of death. Many become lost souls, placing their own trembling hands over the loved ones they took for granted. Others leave the world immediately, but I never deal with them. They leave the world on their own terms. 
A shiver runs up my tired spine, the millisecond of guilt is forgotten by the sound of another frail body calling my name. I run through the alleys and back roads so as not to be seen. I approach the body, her shortened breaths graze my ears as my eyes travel down to the needle stuck into her throbbing arm. "I'm ready," she pleaded, her green eyes gazing up at mine. I reached out my hand, walking toward her slowly. She was silent as I placed my hand over her mouth in habit. Her breathing slowed and her body became freezing as I placed my free hand on the nape of her neck.  

Boo

Orange pumpkins line the streets

Spooky ghosts in linen sheets

Black bats screech in the dead of night

Scary witches scream with fright

Pounds of candy fill my bag

This Halloween was not a drag 

• My favorite Halloween treat is the Pillsbury ready-to-bake cookies with the pumpkins on them. I made some two nights ago and they were completely gone by yesterday, mostly due to me and my friends. They take me back to my childhood, because my Meme would always make them with me when I came over around Halloween. I still remember feeling like a real chef, helping her place the dough on the cookie sheet, even though that was one of the only two steps to baking them. Unfortunately, still to this day that is the extent of my baking skills.

• The best Halloween candy I ever got is at a particular house in the wealthier neighborhood next to mine. We always went trick or treating at the "rich" neighborhoods, because some of the houses gave out king size candy bars. There was one house, though, that let us pick two. They always had the best selection, too. They had all different types of chocolate candies and sour candies. I remember that I would always get two different kinds of sour punch straws. Hopefully one day I can hand out candy like that.

• The first thing I ever was for Halloween was a pumpkin. After that, I don't remember every costume, but I do remember being a dalmatian, a bunny, a "diva", (which consisted of a sparkly blue dress and sunglasses), a cat, a "candy corn" witch (my first and only home-sewn costume that was not even sewn by my family), a Japanese geisha girl, (which now that I am more culturally aware, was total cultural appropriation), a princess, a 50's sock hop girl, superwoman, and the mad hatter, (which I make from taking my mom's atrocious blazer from the 80's, black pants, and a top hat.) This year I finally made my own costume. I plan on being a cow, which I made from a white shirt and shorts, black fabric paint, felt, and balloons. I am very excited to wear it because I have not dressed up in a couple of years, nor have I made a homemade costume by myself. 

• I always thought being sushi would be really cute for Halloween, and you can make that pretty simply. All you need is plain white or textured clothing, chopsticks, a salmon colored pillow, white fabric paint, and a thick piece of black fabric. Paint the pillow with white stripes to resemble raw fish and place it on your back over your white outfit. Wrap it with the black cloth, put the chopsticks in your hair, and you're sushi!

 

Rightness to our Wrongness

• I feel like all adults want their kids to have safer and happier experiences than they did in their childhood. Most parents feel like their kids are the only thing they have control over, so when children rebel or start becoming distant, it turns into a very frustrating experience for the parent, and this turns into a "do as I say, not as I do" mentality. People that live their lives this way personally bother me. Setting examples is one of the most important and influential parts of parenting. Of course, adults make mistakes, but those can always be turned into learning experiences for both the parent and the child. I think it is very difficult for people to accept when they mess up because of pride.
• Illicit love is very appealing, especially to teenagers and young adults. "Alternative" relationships are slowly becoming less taboo, but since the beginning of time, certain types of love have been forbidden. This creates an almost secret society or group. I personally believe that most younger people romanticize love. Today, people usually meet their significant others on social media or dating apps, so when you are able to meet someone and real life and keep it a secret, it almost makes it even more romantic, even though there can be a very real danger of being caught. Everyone today is an adrenaline junkie for love. 
• My perfect day would definitely be in the fall. I would sleep in, but it would be a weekday where everyone else has school so not as many places are crowded. It would be a nice low 60s or high 50s outside. My close friends would be with me, and we would go on a drive to a playlist we made with a bunch of nostalgia-inducing music. My parents would be out of town so we could all hang out at my house whenever we wanted. We would watch movies and then go to dinner downtown, but there would be a maximum 10 minute wait. We would drive to the Verona corn maze and have a bonfire. When the stars come out, we would go on a hay ride and hang out until we get tired. Then, we would go back to my house and go to bed. 
• Three tips I would give to parents of teenagers are to 1.) Not ask so many questions about their plans, ask them how their life is going instead. 2.) Never force them to stay at home with you when you don't have plans. Wanting to spend "family time" is fine, as long as you aren't planning on sitting in the living room and being on your phone all night. 3.) If they tell you that a friend needs their help or comfort, let them go, even if it's late at night. This way, they won't sneak out anyway when you tell them no. Teenagers adore their friends, and they will stop at nothing to be there for them. 

Quoted

Cinema

• My favorite movie is The Breakfast Club. I love the music and the simplicity of the set, but mostly I love the story. It takes someone from every high school clique, but they all realize they aren't very different at all. 
• I hate science fiction and chick flicks. I feel really weird watching science fiction. I guess I just don't like alternate universes. I prefer relate-able movies. That is the exact reason why I hate average chick flick movies. None of those are the least bit realistic or moving to me. Weeping women and angst filled average romance stories do not interest me in the least.
• I usually don't have the attention span to pay attention to a full movie. When I do, I like watching them at home in our family room. I prefer to watch them alone so that I can really pay attention to the plot. 
• The survey said I was 67% EXTROVERTED, 67% AGREEABLE, 100% CONSCIENTIOUS, 8% EMOTIONALLY STABLE, and 83% OPEN TO NEW EXPERIENCES. It said the main reason why I watch films is for the nostalgia, catharsis, artistic, or adrenaline. I feel like this is true because I am a chronic movie "rewatcher".  I also love indie or foreign movies because they force me to pay attention. I also love horror movies so that is where the adrenaline junkie in me comes out.  
• If my life were a movie, I would probably have Emma Stone play me because she cracks me up in everything she's in. I would probably highlight some of my most embarrassing moments, the adventures that Caleb and I go on, and some of my personal struggles to add some drama. There would definitely be a happy, "John Green-esque" ending.  
  

Your Future Started Yesterday

In one year, I would like to be settling in to college, getting good grades, and figuring out what I'd like to do. I am planning on moving in with my best friend, Caleb, and that is a huge dream of mine. In five years, I want to get my college degree in something that I love, and I want to begin my career. It would be great if I could meet someone and start a serious relationship. In ten years, I would like to be happy and content in my career, doing something I am passionate about. I want to see Caleb pursuing music and I would love to go on trips to watch him. I want to travel, own a home, and adopt an animal from a shelter. In fifty years, I would love to see myself still being friends with Caleb. I want to be content with everything I have done, and I'd like to feel like I've made a positive difference in people's lives.

Soir Bleu

The glow of the paper lanterns reminds him of home. He missed the dirty streets, the scent of baking bread in the air. The bitter taste of alcohol penetrates his tongue, each drink easier than the last. It was a long night at work, the screams of little children still rang in his ears. A smile crept upon his bright, painted lips. So often he forgot what he did it for. The children. They were the ones that brought him the most happiness. He felt so out of place in the company of men- with their gruff voices and rowdy jokes. A wave of disgust came over him. He was alone in this world. The heart of a child beat inside of his broadened chest. Tomorrow he could live his dream again, his pounding headache going away with each child's joyful giggle. The thought of coming back to the cafe at night entered his head as he let out an exasperated sigh. He hated the smell of cigarettes. He hated the fowl language that escaped their mouths. His vision grew obscured as he shot up from the table, the subtle clink of silverware shaking from the impact. No one questioned his sudden behavior. They watched him as he stumbled out of the cafe, vodka on his breath.
He looked in the mirror, swiping a meaty hand across his painted face. The real man was revealed behind the clown, as it was every evening. He had to come to terms with himself, staring at the sunken, aging face that peered back at him. It felt inhuman. His hand grazed across the postcard from Paris that he took with him all those years ago. He smiled, thinking of his limber body, riding his rusting bicycle through the square, he would set his straw hat on the cobblestones, performing tricks as he heard francs clinking into it. He felt a sudden pain in his head and was brought back to his dirty apartment, open pots of paint all over his dresser. A yawn escaped him as he stretched his worn joints. He got up and sank into his spring mattress, a loud creak emerging from beneath him. He closed his eyes, dreaming of twinkling paper lanterns.

Big Electric Silver Clouds

Silver Clouds

They float above me lazily,

rolling in the haze of yesterday's storm.

Like an old friend, reminding me that peace is soon to come.

A deep rumble emerges from the haze.

It feels as if I could touch them,

as if they were made of pure silver.

The morning dew cakes my eyelashes.

I reach out a trembling finger,

no longer afraid of the storm to come.

Big Electric Chair

Gunshots and screams

wake me from my deepest slumber

my eyes become heavy again

I read the morning paper

coffee on my breath

two people I do not know are dead at the hand of another 

They take him away, 

his grunts shake my home as they drag him to their car

I thought justice was served

I was wrong

he too, will be dead by the morning

his last words were a whispered "I'm sorry."

The chair stares back at me

its hulking wooden frame grinning slyly.

It has taken its victim.

Artist Profile

Andrew Worhola Jr. (Andy Warhol)

Born: August 6th, 1928

Died: February 22nd, 1987

Hometown: Pittsburgh, PA

Father: Ondrej Warhola

Father's Occupation: Immigrant coal miner

Mother: Julia Warhola

Mother's Occupation: Stay-at-home mother, artist

Siblings: Pavol (Paul) and Jan (John) Warhola, both older

Education: Graduated from Schenley High School in 1945. He enrolled in the Carnegie Institute of Technology in Pittsburgh, where he studied commercial art. Warhol earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts in pictorial design in 1949.

Marriages/Romances/Friendships: Warhol was gay but never acted upon a romantic relationship. He used many of his friends in his art and managed the band The Velvet Underground, making several of their album covers.

8 Historical Events During Warhol's Lifetime: 

1962- British Invasion, death of Marilyn Monroe

1967- Summer of Love

1968- Assassination of MLK Jr. 

1969- Moon Landing, Woodstock

1975- end of Vietnam War

1984- HIV recognized as cause of AIDS

3 Struggles Warhol Faced:

• Warhol was gay but he was also a devout Catholic.
• On June 3rd, 1968 Warhol was shot in an attempted murder and barely survived.
• Warhol died due to an allergic reaction to penicillin after a gallbladder surgery. 

1 Thing Most People Do Not Know:

Andy Warhol died a virgin.

Mediums:

• Drawing/Painting
• Sculpture
• Audio
• Time Capsules
• Television
• Fashion
• Photography
• Graphics
• Theater

Movement: Pop Art

3 Famous Works:

"Marilyn Diptych"

"Campbell's Soup Cans"

"Eight Elvises"

2 Pieces That I Like:

"Silver Clouds"

Made in 1966, Silver Clouds showcased many balloons filled with helium and oxygen. The 

piece was interactive, so viewers could be touched by the artwork.

"Big Electric Chair"

This work made in 1967 took a picture of several electric chairs after they had been used to execute criminals. This was a very controversial subject in New York, where Warhol lived at the time.