Grass Carpet

Well, crap. I'm kind of hitting a dead spot. Which means I'll keep writing, but I make absolutely no promises to its quality~

Orp.

I was turning out, onto the main road,
from the place that makes me see red
and shed blue,
when I saw you.

I thought it was you,
and I had nearly convinced myself,
but I didn't stop,
because I'm so ashamed of how I've treated you.

~Hammeh

Capture The Cranberries

Dostoevsky Inspired

In a brief moment of hesitation, he chose left. Arieus just looked at him, like he couldn't believe Antanas was making that kind of decision. And he couldn't believe it.

"Antanas?"

The half-elf turned around, distracted by the branches in his face. He peered over at Arieus. "What's up?"

"Are you," he paused, "are you sure this is the right way?" Antanas frowned, and then watched Arieus' eyes look somewhat forlornly to the right. He cracked a slow smile; he stepped back toward Arieus.

"You need to get your head out of those books," he teased. "Left doesn't always mean death, you know."

~Hammeh

Everyone's A Hero

Sleepless Night

Clunk,
in the night,
of the truck
and the
garbage.

Spin,
of the fan,
and the way,
I haven't
slept.

~Hammeh

Morning Before Sunrise

S'more Nash

If it weren't for her plump little belly,
swaying, swaying,
and those enormous bat ears,
twitch, twitch,
I'd be frightened by every claw,
and by the switch, switch of her tail,
and the glow in her eyes that says
she's just as wild as the rest of us.

I love my baby~

~Hammeh

A Pattern On The Ceiling

Legs

Over the waves of linens,
soft-smelling from dryer sheets,
her legs smooth out,
like an artist took a silk brush
and blended her naked thighs,
calves, ankles, feet around the white
of the bedspread.

I like legs. I think they're beautiful.

~Hammeh

Upon The Turtle's Back

Introducing The Gates, Sort Of

"You're being ridiculous, you know." He said, nearly laughing in hysterics. "I mean, really, no one is going to believe me; let alone believe you!"

Arieus just looked at the man. For a moment he seemed to debate whether this kind of outburst actually deserved a response or not. He came to a negative conclusion, and he resumed his steady walk to the end of the corridor.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to deter the man.

"I know you think I'm crazy," he was suddenly too close to Arieus, "but we both know it's just a guise," he whispered quickly before backing off. "The point is you can't just waltz on in there and expect them to believe you! Not in a million years, haha!" He began to laugh very hard. "Did you, hahaha, did you catch that? Good joke, huh?"

The Southern Elf sighed deeply. He had worked himself up to this point, and it had taken a lot of thought and internal debates before he could even begin to make his decision. Walking down this hallway was the final step in his decision-making process. He had made up his mind, and that was that.

"They'll throw you out." He whispered to the elf. "You know it too." That's when the man's voice had changed, like he had suddenly realized something and was shocked by its implications. Arieus spared him a single glance without breaking his stride. "You know they're going to throw you out?!" The man sped up, this time grabbing Arieus by the elbow and jerking him around so that they were face to face. "You know that they're going to throw you out, and you're still going?

"Yes." Arieus tried to withdraw his hand politely, but the man had an iron grip. "Yes, I know what they are going to do."

Suddenly, the man let go. "I'm coming with you," he said quietly. Arieus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Don't try to stop me."

Don't worry, Arieus thought, I won't.

The door at the end of the long hallway sprung open, and Arieus strode right in, followed closely by the man.

Sitting at the uppermost point of the isosceles triangular table, Raiis was bent over a long roll of paper, which was being held down by Klagula and being pointed to by Vohn. The man beside Arieus gasped, alerting everyone to their guests. Some of the table raised their heads, others were more intent on scrolls of paper or glowing monitors in front of them, and others still were texting.

Raiis raised his face, and upon taking notice of Arieus' entrance, he began to speak, "It seems our unexpected guest has arrived earlier than we had expected." He gave a brief smile to Klagula, who wrapped up her map, even as Vohn still had his fingers entangled in the city of Hai'Twee.

"Raiis," Arieus acknowledged, as he stopped directly at the seat-less, lower portion of the triangle. He tilted his head forward in a slight bow of respect. The Northern Gate looked over Arieus at the man still frozen by the now-closed door.

"And who might this be, Arieus?" He said.

"I have no idea, Raiis. He seems to believe I have lost my sanity. I cannot presume that he is wrong though."

"No matter," Raiis said, waving his hand as if dismissing the conversation entirely. He turned to his left, where a young man of Egyptian descent was pouting. "Amon, will you please take the man outside? Make sure he doesn't remember this meeting or the faces that he has seen." The young man sighed heavily and shoved his phone into his pocket before groaning with the effort of getting out of his chair. Raiis just smiled.

Amontari stole a furtive glance at Arieus as he passed the elf, before he went over to the man and took him by the shoulder to lead him out. Arieus watched them go. When the heavy door shut behind them, he reluctantly brought his attention back to the table. There were only seven people there.

Raiis watched the Southern Elf count the seats. He himself had counted the seats, the full ones only barely outlasting the empty ones. They couldn't deny it any longer; at this point it didn't matter what Farin thought. Gloria would back him up. The Gates couldn't stand much longer. People were already beginning to question their authority and debate their fragility.

The Gates stood for reason, for a government undecided by the people, but for the people nonetheless. Chosen by the gods, Raiis and the Eight Gates would protect the planet and try their hardest to maintain peace. But, here, in this room, there were not enough Gates. Only five remained, and it was time for the other three to be filled. Perhaps, today.

An excerpt from my stories. I was just playing with the characters, because I love them and they're fun. And, whoo-hoo, I finally got to use Amontari, because I've never solidly written about him.

Sweet.

~Hammeh

An Image In The Looking Glass

This one got away from me, and something weird happened during it.


Ganymede, A Very Brief One

It was his nose, he told me later,
that his lover first noticed,
first found attractive.

He had been at the pool that day,
sunglasses and beach towel in tow.

The weather was breezy and warm,
and the air had the heart of a storm.

The surface dazzled with turquoise gems;
He laid down by the chair.

A hostess--short shorts and laugh lines--
offers him a drink, soft and cool with limes.

In a heartbeat, a moment, a change occurs,
and suddenly ten years are gone.

Twenty more at the blink of an eye;
his face is the same--clean shaven and boyish.

He offers--short tunic and sunlight hair--
ambrosia, mixed heavy with honey.

To his Master, his King, his Lover,
his God.

~Hammeh

Stars and Bars, Baby

I'm somewhat confident that this could be pretty good if I re-worked it. :]

Tunnel Vision

The tunnel on the south exit,
before you pass into Brighton,
and on the edge of Hart County,
winks at me.

I watch the lid close and open slowly,
and I can feel my car shaking--a 1992 Chevy--
and my seat-belt coiling around me like an uncharmed snake.

Briefly, I wonder how no one else sees it,
and I remember the first time my mother drove this way.

I couldn't breathe.

This time though, I think as I flex my fingers,
bony and sore, on the steering wheel's comforting pleather.

This time, I will go through.

~Hammeh

Sweet Baby....Uh, You Know

I think that I may have slipped a bit here. These are kind of blah.

A Little Nash

At a platform,
by the train,
the ducks
line up,
in the rain.

Blueberries

Black and blue,
like a bruise,
and a promise
of blood inside.

~Hammeh

The Way To Love Anything Is To Realize That It Might Be Lost

Oiy, look! It's not a poem~ :] And the title quote is from G.K.Chesterton, who gets credit wherever I go, because he is just that awesome.

English Love

The world beyond the rim of the tea cup is blurry. It comes from not enough sleep and the sun having just passed the horizon. When I yawn I can feel the muscles stretch in my mouth, and a sharp pain followed by my jaw cracking shows just how few minutes I have been awake.

But still, in this strange situation, where the world of which I always dream has suddenly found reality, I find that my mind could never reproduce the zingy flavor of lemon tea or the cold heat of the sunrise. So when I place the cup tink on the saucer and reach for a buttery English muffin, I can only barely separate the dream from the reality.

And, before I know it, I am watching the crest of the hill that sweeps out over the distance. And my eyes settle on the sheep that mercilessly chew their grass, which blows in the sun like so many waves. The chill feels marvelous against my skin, which I suddenly realize is nearly bare.

The texture of my tongue against the channels of butter in the puckered surface of the English muffin give me the sensation that love is just around the corner. And what better a day than this to taste it?

While I am watching the sloping crest of the hill, broken only by distant tops of willow trees, I feel the grass kiss my feet; and suddenly I am running, and I feel a star-burst of panic screaming that I don't know where I'm going or what I'm running too, but I breathe in the sun and the cold and the lemon and the grass and I am running faster than any panic can hope to keep up with. I have found my moment, and I would rather be lost forever than give it up.

~Hammeh

Pteromerhanophobia

After this one, I'm all caught up!! Very exciting, I know.

Conversations in Flight

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Ha, why do you ask? I'm probably your age, or something like that." She said.

"Just curious." I said, watching the way she untangled the headphones of her ipod. It was a good sign that she hadn't put them in yet, but it still looked like she planned to. "And I doubt you're my age."

She gave me this funny look, like she wasn't quite sure why some stranger would ask her these things. I could see her quick glance at the ipod; she wasn't sure she wanted to risk closing her eyes and listening to the music. "Well," she said, her hands paused in mid-motion. "How old are you, then?"

"Oh, please don't ask." I answered, and I could see her looking at me, trying to discern for herself my age. "It's so embarrassing. I'm so old." I slid the bookmark out of my book, opening it up to my most recent page. I could tell she wasn't going to be in this conversation much longer.

"Uhm, I'm sixteen." She said. And suddenly the flashy silver-pink of her ipod and the pop-star magazine she had in her bag made sense. Her lip gloss was strawberry flavored. "So, now it's your turn."

Sixteen. I hate thinking about sixteen year olds. Actually, I hate thinking about anybody under the age of sixty. It depresses me. I couldn't remember her question.

I told her so. She frowned, "If you don't want to tell me, fine then." I could see that she was scouting out a new seat.

"Plane's full." I told her. "Sorry. Also, stop thinking about whether or not Mark was cheating. He wasn't. And he really does love you." I straightened myself in my seat.

Sometimes I forget that there are certain things that you aren't supposed to mention. I mean, like, there are things you aren't allowed to mention, but those aren't the same. I'm talking about the kind of things that you really ought to refrain from saying because they have this weird tendency to upset people quite badly.

I could tell right away that I had made this kind of mistake.

"Excuse me?" She said to me, but this time her voice isn't quite as full of bravado as before. There's this shake to it.

"Sorry," I said, but I don't mean it. Shouldn't a girl know who loves her?

"Who are you?" She asked. "And how do you know Mark?" This time with a hiss.

"You know him." I told her. She wouldn't understand. And I didn't blame her at all. She shouldn't understand. Sometimes even I don't understand.

But I guess that's why you just do what you're told to. I guess that's just part of having a job.

She was putting in one headphone now; she kept the ear closest to me free, and didn't stop looking at me.

"Look, I'm sorry." I said. I would have smiled, but that really puts people on edge. "We started off on the wrong foot. What's your name?" I already knew it, but it always helps to feign normalcy.

"Lucy," she (Aiden) said. I had to give her some credit.

I sighed, and I think that that's when she knew. We were about half an hour from our destination, but it wasn't her destination.

"Oh," she said.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry, Aiden. Please don't ask for forgiveness or anything. You haven't done anything wrong." I looked into her eyes for the first time. And I could see my blue ones reflected back in hers. "Sometimes that's just how life is."

She couldn't speak. Whenever I meet with someone, it's either speechlessness or complete disjointed verbosity. It's always easier with the latter ones.

"Aiden?" Suddenly, she knew what was going to happen, like, she knew how it was going to happen. She could feel her heart beat faster. Too much. I wouldn't blame her if she called for a flight attendant, someone, anyone. But she didn't.

She just looked at me, took out the headphones, and asked if she had time for a letter. I told her that I could delay it a bit, so long as it happened before we landed.

I remember her scribbling furiously. Scratching things out, adding things. There was one point where she started to cry. But in the end, she turned to me and said.

"I just have one question, well, one that I think you can answer." I nodded for her to continue. "Do we get another chance?"

I smiled. I told you it was disconcerting when I did that, and she was no exception. My smile means many things. But for Aiden, it meant only a few.

"That's not my decision," I said softly, "that's for The Big Guy to decide."

"Oh," she whispered, her heart beginning to fail, "that's okay then, I guess."

And we were gone.

~Hammeh

Unfettered and Unfurnished

I don't even know what went on here....Sorry.

Crossing the Lines

I.

There's a train wreck,
and he's the first one there.

A sun-red moon,
and a scorching rain.

A collapsible stroller,
and the impossible.

II.

His muzzle sorts through the debris,
to find the living.

A secondary implosion,
and the faint echo of a whine.

A heartbreak,
and subway workers.

III.

There's a phone box,
with blue stripes and three sides.

An empty line,
broken from emotion.

The ambulance,
and the body bags.

IV.

It's a nightmare,
and it's hers.

It has been since she was four,
and saw her brother's face for the last time.

But when the phone rings and it's midnight,
she knows that it's a reality.

~Hammeh

Beyond The Curtains

I could not figure out how to end this....

A Cross of Gold

The crush of the pillow against my mouth,
when I inhale, it smells like oatmeal and old juniper perfume.

I tuck my head in, collapsing into the fetal position,
like a fold-away chair.

My hands are unusually cold and I can feel the snow,
waiting outside, as I turn the cross over in my hands.

There's a knock on the door,
but I've locked it from the inside with a quick, jerky movement.

The quilt beneath me is soft, like her, and lumpy too,
but in the time-worn way that reminds you of old furniture and things you would never give up.

I always know right before I'm about to cry,
and I feel it now: a sharp, resounding pain behind my nose.

The quilt consumes me, and all that I breathe is oatmeal and juniper.
Her last trace.

~Hammeh

Yetis Playing Boom-Boxes

This is weird. This story; it's really, really strange. The two characters are Els and Ayumi. :]

Lane Change

"Can you feel it?" He said, gesturing outside the car.

"Feel what?" I asked, keeping my eyes steady on the road. Els had this way of never finishing thoughts, though he started plenty of them. And I felt like this would be the situation again. I sighed quietly, not wanting him to feel the frustration building up inside me. I shouldn't have bothered hiding it. He didn't notice.

"The wind." He said, as though that explained everything. I glanced over at him; his eyes were closed and his hand was tumbling gently on the wind outside the window. It comforted me that his eyes were closed. I could never look into them anyways.

"It's like, well," he paused and mussed up his face trying to think of a way to explain it to me properly. Something I don't think Els has ever done or is even capable of doing. "It's like when you have this cake. I don't know, maybe it's yellow or chocolate or some sort of marble whatnot. But, you're frosting it, and you can smell the frosting; it's palatable––isn't that what they call it when you can taste something even when you aren't eating it?" I nodded, but I wasn't sure if he noticed, so I said yes, that's it.

"Right, so you can taste it and feel it, and the smell's everywhere, right? Like salmon, when you cook it on a Monday an'you can still smell it on Sunday, even with you taking out the garbage on Monday night." Not that Els has ever taken the garbage out. Ever.

I veered into the next lane; the exit sign was coming up. "It's like that." He said. "You know?" He looked at me. I wasn't looking anywhere but the road, but I could still feel him looking at me. I don't like it when he does that. I wish he'd wear sunglasses or contacts or something. It's disconcerting.

Obviously, I didn't know.

"The wind?" I asked, trying this time.

"Yeah," he said, and I feel like if he had been smoking, he would have exhaled a puff here. But Els doesn't smoke. At least, not using his mouth.

~Hammeh

A Shade of Sunshine

Crocus

On a bridge,
that makes the gap
in your mind
a lot smaller
than they should
see fit,

there is a
flower pot,
which holds a small
crocus.

Every time I look
at this crocus,
I think of your eyes
unfolding in the early
hours of dawn.

And how, in the beginning,
there was a blazing pink,
and a soft lilac,
with edges of sienna,
that separately
would have been hideous.

But with a blinding gold,
a blazing Indian Yellow,
and the flash of veins,
becomes a beautiful sunrise.

~Hammeh

Bugger All This For A Lark

This post is entirely about me and my learning/life disorders. It's not creative, but it's writing; and that's what counts.

I have OCD and ADD. (though apparently, I heard something about ADD no longer being a term, and that now it must only be referred to as ADHD? I don't know if that's right, but I guess for me it doesn't matter much either way.) I've been diagnosed with ADD since second grade, when they almost kicked me out of grade school. (Yes, this was a possibility, because it was a private school.) Anyways, it basically means that I can't concentrate on any one subject/conversation/person/thing for very long, even if I really do enjoy talking about/to it/them. So far as OCD is concerned, I believe that I was diagnosed in sixth grade, when the doctors realized, 'Hey, I don't think Ritalin is actually good for people.' Okay, I guess maybe it helps someone somewhere. But, in truth, it really hurt me.

I switched around with a few medications when I was still in elementary school, and some of them (like Ritalin) made my appetite disappear, while others made me ravenously hungry. But the worst thing about some of the medications was the side affects. When I was in sixth grade, I started having facial and verbal tics. (This might make you think of people who have Tourettes, which is accurate! Hello, that would be me, and no I do not burst out swearing and saying inappropriate things.) For me, it's really hard to explain exactly what I do, but it mostly has to do with my eyes and with the sound of words/letters/etc. on my tongue, like, how it came out; and I had to make certain noises or letter sounds, and they had to be perfect (in my weird sense of the word) or I would have to do it until it was perfect.

At least, that's how it started out.

Things got worse later, as they tried to find the right medicine to put me on. See, one of the side affects of Ritalin is that it can bring out OCD tendencies, but they could just come out on their own. So, I don't know if it was the Ritalin or if I was just going to end up with them anyways. Regardless of the medicinal side affects.

Moving on, my biggest OCD thing today is the rituals I preform and how they are linked with physical pressure. I'm going to try to explain this as best as I can, okay? Try to bear with me. Basically, when I touch something, for example: a glass of water. And I want to put it back down on the table; it MUST be placed straight down, absolutely perfectly, without sliding it at all across the table. Also, the pressure of my fingertips on the glass must be even and must feel "perfect" to me. I almost can't explain the pressure one....oh, wait, let's take a second example, if I walk across the floor and there is a corner of carpet touching the wood, I must feel an exact pressure on the ball of my foot when I walk over it. If I do not, I will do it again and again until I do.

Secondly, I count. This is actually more common than I thought that it was. I count everything. As in, how many steps I take, how many bites of a certain food I eat, how many sips of water, how many times I look at something, how many times I try until I get that perfect pressure, how many times I flick the light-switch, EVERYTHING. Thing is, I count it by fours. As in one two three four one two three four, constantly.

But. When I'm in Massachusetts, things seem a little easier. A little less stressful. More manageable. More, okay. And that's why it's my favorite place in the world. That's why I feel so strong a connection. Because it's a connection of my soul being free to explore the world without worrying about pressure and stress and my brain following rituals.

If you have any questions about OCD, feel free to ask. Knowledge is a wonderful, wonderful thing!

~Hammeh

Of An Older Date

Believe in me, I'm a-catching up~ :]

The Patapsco River

I've flown over the Patapsco,
and planted my feet firmly in alien soil.

My toes squelch in the drying mud of the riverbank,
and my nostrils flare with the heavy scent of pollution.

I cross my heart and winch in my wings;
I can taste the water and mud on my lips,
the salty, grainy riverbed becomes stuck in my teeth.

Suddenly, I'm reaching down and my hand
is encased in water like a magnifying glass,
and my eyes wear shades of muck.

My heart pounds against a ribcage of suspension bridges.

When I raise my eyes and lick at my lips,
I can feel the heat and the burn of the river set aflame.

~Hammeh

Eight-Eleven

Hullo!~ I'm baaaack, and now it's time to catch up on my missed week. Enjoy~


Spring Vows

There's a glass of lemonade,
and a pile of shrimp.

The dark, blotchy red of marinara sauce
and the pink plumpness of fingers
grabbing tails and indulging in the chilly spice

reminds her of the time when her dreams
were drawn out beneath a white tent.

And words like, "I do" were never said.

~Hammeh

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changin' Turn And Face The Strange

False Commitment

A hazy reason floats on the shore
between yes and no.

There is an answer in the
embrace of your fingertips.

But I cannot read braille,
and my dreams are impossible.

When it comes to this,
to love, and to cherish,
to hold, and to have,
I am hopelessly disappointing.

Before the engagement night it out--
you embracing your ring, a diamond
princess cut; the cheeky lilt of your lips,
peach lip-gloss and perfect
tells me all I need to know--

Before the night is out,
I will be scaling heights I never thought
I'd climb.

But then,
anything for you, babe,
as I slip out of the bathroom door
and your life.

Forever.

~Hammeh

So Red-Headed He's A Communist

A tribute, haha, to a certain favorite character of mine who is fighting an epic battle which will determine the course of the rest of the story. D:

Act 2

I can still remember the crunch of leaves,
the bounce back as I lean back, arms out,
free-fallen into the midnight grass.

Your voice is a constant buzzing,
half the time I paw irritably at my ears.

But when you've been gone so long,
even I can't name the summer-fall sky blue
of your eyes, I make the effort to decipher the buzzing.

And yet, I realize,
I never listened to begin with,
so how could I ever know what you meant?

Oh my God, this is crap. I am /so/ sorry. Ugh.

~Hammeh

Fences of Chocolate

Goslings

There's a sudden thrill in the way feathers are ruffled,
and the way it reminds me of books and dust,
and all the pleasant things in life.

But then I feel a pull,
heavy and oil-thick,
against my veins.

And I see you, serpent,
as you wipe the gray down from your mouth.

~Hammeh

Hold The Door

Virginia Accent

I remember how you used to mention cliff-diving,
and watching buttercups grow.
About celebrating your twenty-first around the humid
glow of a village fire,
and the warm flow of the brewed drink
passed around in an unlabeled mug.

I was in sixth grade geography
and nothing was more interesting than sociology to me.
And here, I felt a chance to learn about their past through you.

But you came back, all short hair and makeup,
and the rings on your fingers were plastic
from that expensive Sweet Watermelon store,
where I once visited when we saw you in New York.

~Hammeh

Wheaties, Breakfast of Champions

As long as I make it to Friday, I'll be sane!! :]

A Death

Laughter, like pomegranate seeds
and tumbling pincushions,
penetrates my mind.

Dark corners, with heavy, blunt, neon-sign edges,
and tow trucks lifting concrete;
it's a pressure against the convex softness
of my skull.

A heart: beautiful and beating and mine.

The ice cold rush, like splintering metal,
flushes my veins, and venom seeps from my neck.

I hear a scratch of feet (cloven or un-cloven? I cannot tell.)
against the messy pathway of brick and sand.
It's fleeting and harsh and slamming in my mind,
but gone in the next second.

A brilliant shade of magenta light,
and the overwhelming feeling of a final mistake.

I just started reading the Percy Jackson series, and naturally my mind takes me back to the myths.

~Hammeh

Waffles

Untitled

There's a dip in the ocean,
and a promise that's hidden,

of a fair yellow rose
at her debutante ball.

And there's your eyes watching mine,
and my tumble and fall,

my cessation to exist,
and the violet-cerulean-violet

that echoes in the backdrop
of stars and planets.

Encasing me and reminding me
that you and she are one.

~Hammeh

Hold Me In You Eyes

Okay, this is starting to get really hard for me....

Wedding

On the corner of
Jordan and St. Paul's Circle
There is a stone Church.

I've never been there
But I have seen the pictures
Of you and him, and not me.

No seriously, that's all. D:

~Hammeh

I'm Walkin' On Sunshine

And don't it feel good! :] Bit tired right now. I used to think maybe you loved me, now baby I'm sure!

- I'm absolutely insane; this is a proven fact. I do things that no one else would do. -

Impression

There's a path between the blue hydrangeas,
that leads down to a tall azalea bush.
Like a puzzle, elaborate and inexplicable,
the azalea is sunset orange, the deep white
of twilight snow, the fluorescent pink of
post-it notes, and the dark red of her heart.

I find myself wondering how these azaleas came
to live so close to one another.
How they support where the other fails, a branch here,
a helping root there.

Is there nothing that can stop them?
I lean forward, feeling my knees fit themselves
into the earth, like eggs into a carton.
My hands squirm under the flowers,
and my body follows in one swift movement,
as if the azalea branches have pulled aside.

And I find myself at the root of the bush,
which is a mistake I realize, for it is a tree.
I have never seen an azalea trunk so close before,
and I feel bewildered that all these colors have come
from one solid bole.

I reach my neck out, leaving my arms far behind,
and I am slithering like a serpent,
and my lips brush against the dirt briefly
before finding their mark on the trunk itself.

~Hammeh

A Chink In The Wall

A Story Once

There was a story once; I think it was a love story, but I don't pay much attention to these things anymore. A story is a story, and we don't get a lot of them down here, so I take what I can get. But, anyways, in this story there was this really small dog who had long fur and a curly tail--kind of like a pig. Now, he was a pet of one of the characters, but I don't remember whether it was a girl or a boy, the character not the dog. The dog was a boy. Dangly bits and all.

This dog did all the normal dog-type stuff authors go on for pages describing. I think it's because people tell you to write what you know. But, so far, all I've known is not very pleasant, and no one really wants to read about my life, so I'm going to tell you about this dog. He had this power where if you touched his nose and he felt like it, he would whisk you off into another dimension. When good people touched his nose, he sent them to a better place. And the opposite for bad people. I wonder if he was reading their minds, or if he just knew in his soul or something. I always imagined that if I had the chance to touch his nose (he wore a nose protector so that he could still nuzzle his owner) I would do it no matter what. At least then I'd have an adventure. And I'd have something that I could write about.

~Hammeh

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.

I'm starting to struggle with this blog....but I won't give up!! D;

Swimming

The deep end of the pool calls to me,
I imagine a body like a whip, smooth and thin,
and how it slips into the crisp water of the outdoor pool,
the way her hands fold together and form a point.

Her eyes closed and a thin smile on her lips.
I can imagine these things, and the black and blue of her suit,
the streamlined curve of the blue as it traces her body,
and I can see her plunge into the waters of my mind.

And, like a knife to the brain, I am more awake--and more dead,
than I have ever felt before.
The water around me freezes and my mind goes searingly blank,
and my body struggles to keep itself above the surface.

When my eyes open, there is nothing but blue for miles and miles.

~Hammeh

Maybe He Didn't Have a Choice in Who He Loved

Do you know what bothers me? When Japanese-obsessed-wannabes use incorrect phrases. Most annoying one is "Aishiteru." Okay, most wannabes (and by this I could mean speakers/race/etc/not the point) use it as though it means "I love you." THIS IS NOT THE CASE. Aishiteru is too strong for the meaning "love." To say "I love you" in Japanese, it is "ga suki desu." Which is pronounced "gah-ski-des" okay? Aishiteru literally means to worship someone with love, as in, a love so powerful it practically puts Romeo and Juliet to shame. It is to say that you could not spend a second without thinking of this person, without wishing that you were with them, it is far stronger than love. It is a worship, a give up anything for them situation. It is very hard to explain. It is an archaic form of the phrase "to love" and you can even see it in today's "Shounen-Ai" and "Shoujo-Ai" which mean literally "Boy-Love" and "Girl-Love." But because of its archaic definition of love, it has crossed into English-speakers' phrase for love, and that is wrong. It just really bothers me, that's all.

So, what have we learned? When saying "I love you" in Japanese, always say "ga suki desu." ((And if you really, really LOVE someone, it's "ga daisuki desu" which is pronounced "gah die-ski des" okay?)) And, as a side note, if you don't like someone/something, it would be "ga kirai desu" which is pronounced "gah key-rye des." If it's not clear who/what you like/love/dislike, as in you are not pointing at it/looking at someone/eating yummy-gross food then you need to specify what it is that you are talking about.

Here are some examples (English, then romanji, then katakana/hiragana, then with kanji):

Colin, I like you.
Colin ga suki desu. or コリん　が　すき　です。　or コリん　が　好き　です。

Danny, I hate you.
Danny ga kirai desu. or ダニ　が　きらい　です。 or ダニ　が　嫌い　です。

Watson, I love you.
Watson ga daisuki desu. or ワツォん　が　だいすき　です。　or ワツォん　が　大好き　です。

If you have any questions or opinions, ask/talk away~ :]

~Hammeh

P.S. - Sorry, all that "Aishiteru" stuff was bothering me. :3

You Can't Take The Sky From Me

I don't like lying, and I had to do it a lot today. To someone I never lie to. For someone I love, but who hurts me all the time.

Therefore, I cannot think of much to say. There will be no poetry, prose, etc. today. And I am sorry for that, but there is too much hurt for me right now.

~Hammeh