Description Exercise

I was working on an exercise for focusing on describing things in detail. I tend to focus on either the action, or the deeper themes when I just write haphazardly. So I was working on my description. Here you go.

 

The sun shown brightly between the slats in the blinds. I much prefer a completely dark room to sleep in, but the doctor said that I needed some ‘natural light’ during my recovery. Looking out the window, the weather actually seemed pleasant. I don’t usually care much about the outdoors, but some weather just warms your soul.

I opened the blinds, and then the window. The cool breeze rushed in to ruffle my hair and caress my face. It perfectly complemented the feeling of the sun full on my head and neck. The sun might warm the face, but it’s the breeze that touches the soul. It is the breeze that blows sweetly into the depths in each of us… I should stop right there.

I tend to overthink basically everything. I create a large amounts of stress for myself. Sometimes that starts with ascribing special qualities to everyday occurrences. My therapist specifically instructed me to get out of my own head. While I’m recovering, I’m allowed to write. I am only allowed to describe what I see.

I am in my room at home. The walls here are a pale green. It was supposed to be the pale green that reflects into the sky from tropical water during the golden hours just after sunrise and just before sunset. In the right sunshine it kind of looks that way. When lit with incandescent light or when it’s cloudy outside, it tend to look more like the inside of a mental institute. The blinds are imitation wood. I could afford custom blinds. You wouldn’t know that they are imitation at first glance. They hold the rich browns and blacks of coffee and chocolate. They really make the room feel warm and rich.

I haven’t gotten around to replacing the ceiling fan. It sort of ruins the illusion of a tropical getaway. Cheap, white blades on a brushed silver body let just about anyone know that the fan was installed when the house was built. When I wake up in morning, I stare at that fan as it swirls lazily. It reminds me every morning that I haven’t finished personalizing this house. At least the furniture doesn’t look cheap.

I spent good money at an overpriced furniture store to get just the right bedroom set. The wood matches the fake wood on the blinds rather well. It has a little more red in it though. The real wood has a less pronounced grain that the imitation blinds, but the deep reds swirled with the sweet browns just sing on richness. The styling is very masculine. It’s sort of a cross between colonial and mission style furnishings. Everything is very squared of and angular, but there is a flow between the wood grain and the smooth edges that ties the pieces together. The headboard on the king bed echoes the dresser and chest of drawers in a way that seems less like they match and more like they are long-time friends that share characteristics.

The blankets on the bed are another beautiful find. The sheets were ordered in a custom color from a website I found. The shade of green on the sheets is a perfect compliment to the banana leaf pattern that is so expertly dyed into them. I topped it all off with a rich chocolate comforter. I decided to eschew the use of any throw pillows. I didn’t want this room to look like it was designed by a woman, for use by a man.

My bedside table is where the illusion begins to breakdown again. This set didn’t have any tables that went with it. I found some that suit it well enough, but it’s clear that they don’t share the same soul as the larger pieces. Their contents are even less appealing. My lamp is another brushed metal monstrosity. It’s supposed to evoke a retro-futuristic feeling, like it was built in the 1960’s to imagine what it would look like today. Then of course there isn’t a clock radio in the world that looks like it belongs in the tropics. Black plastic with red eyes glaring the time into room. I hate it as much as I’ve hated anything in my short 28 years.

This room is to be my home  for the next few months while I recover from my psychotic break. The doctors think that being in a comfortable environment that I designed myself might be more soothing than being stuck in a hospital. I tend to agree with them. Until I see that tropical green on the walls turn sickly and institutional as the clouds begin to cross the sun.

 

Blinds

Blinds (Photo credit: spweber)

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The Carnival

The Traveling Carnival is a queer thing. It is a private, self-contained city on wheels. It rolls from place to place, bringing merriment and sadness in equal parts. There is something so incredibly interesting about an entity that is so dichotomous.
Make no mistake, the Traveling Carnival is an entity unto itself. It lives and breathes; it has hopes and dreams. It is a landlocked Leviathan with the collective mind of a small town. That makes it all the sadder that what keeps it from growing and stretching is it’s own cannibalistic nature.
For the society of the carnival to exist it must stay close knit and contained. It keeps outsiders at arm’s length to protect itself from untrustworthy people who would judge it’s inhabitants. That same isolation forces it to fester in it’s own filth. It simply travels from place to place, re-treading the same ground. Never learning and never growing.
The carnival deals in merriment. One goes there for fun a frivolity. Even though the rides are dangerous, the games are rigged and the people distasteful. From a very objective view, there is nothing that should be fun at a carnival.
The people that live and work there don’t like us. That’s part of why it’s so sad. They sell joy and have none themselves. They peddle it all away, at an overly inflated price and keep none back for their own stores.
The people of the carnival wake each day more sour than the last. Every moment that they spend at their daily lives and working their livelihood, they are resentful Some for what others have that they don’t and some just because we’re different.
No matter what we think of them, we are the ones that are different to them. Anyone who is not a part of their insulated community is an outsider. The walls aren’t built on race or money, they’re built on society. It’s all about the society inside the carnival, and outside. We are all on the outside.
This creature, this fun-regurgitating parasite is poison. It lives with a dark heart and is rotting from the inside out. It is kept alive by feeding off of the people it entertains and despises in equal measures. It will ever be slowly dying and growing in concert. It will always be filled with hatred and disgust  just below the glow of midway lights and the smell of cheap beer, cigarettes and popcorn.
The people will always be smiling, and there will always be games to play. There is fun to be had, while the ones selling it are having no fun at all.
That’s why it will always be a little bit more sad than the happiness it brings.

Pingpong Ball and Fishbowl Game

Pingpong Ball and Fishbowl Game (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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I wanna be an Astronaut!

I saw this over at Word Painting Without a Brush

Creative Writing Exercise = You are an astronaut. Describe your perfect day.

My alarm gently vibrated me awake. It’s so hard to wake up on your own in the preternatural darkness of space.

I gently slid out of my bunk. The covers stayed messy. I cackled maniacally inside my own head. I always knew making my bed was a waste of time, and being in zero gravity only serves to make me more correct.

I dressed myself slowly and deliberately. The lack of urgency in zero gravity is astounding. Hurrying was never something I was very good at. I had absolutely no motivation to hurry when everything was drifting by as if we were all suspended in still water.

I gently navigated my way the the mess hall. Time to heat up a bag of coffee. I have to admit, for as different and difficult as somethings could be in space, the fancy cooking gadgets were exceptionally refreshing.

I took my bag of warm coffee and floated to the common space. It was like a scene from a science fiction movie in there. The seats were clean and smooth and the space was open. The most striking feature was the window that took up the entire wall of the vessel.

space

space (Photo credit: Sweetie187)

I opened the shades and peered out into the darkness. Inky blackness greeted me. It was like staring through a doorway into madness. I smiled broadly.

There has never been anything that compared to floating around in zero gravity, slurping coffee and staring into that space that drive men insane. That insanity always felt more like home to me than anywhere else. It’s a shame there’s no place here on earth that compares.

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Uphill Both Ways

Sometimes yo just never get to the top of the hill.

English: Footpath junction on bridleway in Div...

English: Footpath junction on bridleway in Divan Wood The bridleway leads to Gravel Hill road, from Kettle Hill Road. The footpath goes uphill through the wood to Stalisfield Road, near Valley Farm. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sometimes everyday feels like a struggle. You just keep trudging up the hill. At first you didn’t mind, this hill just happened to be in the way of where you were going.

‘No one is going to stop me from getting where I want to go!’ you thought to yourself. You packed a bag of supplies and figured it would all be over by nightfall.

It wasn’t over. Every corner you turned led to a new bit of road going up the hill. Sometimes it was easier, there might be stairs cut into the hillside. Sometimes it was harder. The path was narrow and uneven and the gravel made it hard to keep your footing. You just kept slipping back down.

Then night came. You were forced to spend the night huddling under a cloak by a tree. It was cold and wet and dangerous. A fire was out of the question

The next morning the sun rose. It brought warmth and hope with it. Everything seemed to be looking up. There was still a lot of hill in front of you though. So you kept climbing. There were more stairs and more gravel paths. It never seemed to end. Night was coming again.

You had to spend another night on that hillside, wondering when you would ever get to the top. ‘It must be soon, the hill never looked that big when I started.’

The sun rose again. The same heat and hope warmed you again. There was still hill. That’s where you are now.

Now, after days of thinking it would be over any moment, there is still no sign of the top. Every corner is filled with potholes to turn an ankle in. every small path is frought with danger and frustration. Night comes again.

There is nothing but the growing darkness. The cold ink that follows the sweet dusk. Every morning has brought sweet sunlight and hope.

Tomorrow will surely bring the light, but will the hope still follow?

The Man Inside the Head

Have you ever seen a man that lives inside a head?

It’s very strange. Most people live in a house or other sort of shelter. This man lives inside a head!

Where there would be a brain, he lives right in there! It’s bigger on the inside you know, a head is. There’s room for a whole lot of rooms.

The human mind is capable of many things, but one wouldn’t think it could house a whole human being!

I’ve seen this man walk right out of his head-home and just move through the world as if there were nothing odd about his living arrangement. It was quite shocking.

The really surprising thing, is that it isn’t just any head that he lives in. He lives inside his own head. Can you imagine?

It’s strange enough to live inside a human head, but to live inside your own head is quite extraordinary. It’s a bit Escher-like, isn’t it?

Escher Sphere

Escher Sphere (Photo credit: LostBob Photos)

Him

Ever the soft wind blows,

Touching the quiet soul among the best of us.

Never shall we forget the dignity of him.

Always will his fire burn bright, 

Casting a stark shadow out behind him.

I shall not move him while he rests.

He has earned this rest and more,

Stronger than all of us.

Celebrate with me his soul,

All that he is.

Ever remember who he was,

Through his fire incomprehensible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fire

fire (Photo credit: matthewvenn)

 

Terror

Do you know what terror is?

Mind-numbing, soul-gripping terror?

That single moment when all of existence seems to freeze and crystallize.

Things seem to be happening but time is still.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel your pulse pounding loud and hard and fast.

It’s in your ears, your hands, and your gut, just pumping away.

Your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open in a silent scream.

That single moment of pure, uncut, unadulterated terror.

It’s followed by he shadow of terror.

In an effort to avoid that feeling you jump at every twitch and sound.

Sights and sounds constantly threaten you with the possibility that they might be full of that terror you felt once before.

Things are never quite the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scream

Scream (Photo credit: anguila40)