This Sunday is my school's first robotics qualifier ever. We're all like dogs, happily on the way to the vet, before we get our dreams crushed when we see what awaits us - i.e., the competition.
Nay, I shall have faith until the very end, unless we actually qualify, in which case I say I knew we could do it all along.
...
This was a bad topic to choose to write about. Perhaps I will just edit it Sunday night to recap the events of the day.
Edit:
The competition was oh-so-slightly short of a disaster. The only thing keeping us from it was good spirit, a veteran engineer, and lots of medical tape.
Yes, medical tape.
We started out well enough at the event - we made sure our own robot was functioning (in retrospect, "functioning") and then we sauntered around looking at the rest of the robots. That's when we noticed ours was the only one with wooden parts, and a rope pully. Everyone else's were giant metal cubes in the design of war tanks, with elaborate devices and gears.
It pretty much went as expected from there: our frail frame and misjudged program soon tipped the robot over, spooling the pulley and making it pretty much useless. We regrouped and fixed the robot, but didn't change anything about it - first mistake. I don't know why we didn't; I guess we didn't have time. Our first point was so funny - there was a revving up of "Ooooooo"s as our robot approached its target, then an outburst of wild cheering - all for a couple measly points. Watching the video, I now see how dorky and naive we were in the others' eyes. No one cheers like that at a robotics competition.
And then our robot broke.
One team member improvised a brilliant strategy: we used the first roll of tape we came across, which happened to be the event's medical tape, and created a very crude but effective scoring device. And yes, we won that round! Sadly, we didn't place high enough and didn't qualify at the very end.
Oh well. Next time.
Hoatzin (Opisthocomus hoazin)
This bird is the only member of the genus Opisthocomus, which, in Ancient Greek, means, "wearing long hair behind." It's by itself because it doesn't have enough similar traits with other like birds. It's a tropical bird (not to be confused with the birds of paradise) that mainly populates the continent of South America, in the swampy, mangrove-y, riparian-y forests of the Amazon and the Orinoco delta.
Orinoco Flow, by Enya
They are roughly pheasant-sized, reaching about 25-26 inches in length and 1.8 pounds, with an unfeathered face of blue skin, topped by a rufous crest (now where have I heard that word before? Knowledge is awesome.) The rest of its body is a combination of black and russet-red, streaked with white along the neck and wings. The tail is composed of 10 loosely attached tail feathers. They breed in colonies, with usually 10-50 birds in just one. Their eggs are a creamy/beige white spotted with blue and violet splatters.
Cool Facts:
It's offspring are born with two claws on the tip of both wings, which it uses to crawl around. These claws fall off by the time they are juniors.
It's also known as the stinkbird, because of its unusual digestive system with an enlarged crop used for fermentation of vegetable matter.
Although it has completely developed wings, it rarely flies, because of its weak pectoral muscles.
They are exclusively herbivores.
If you thought they look and sound like the dinosaur Archaeopteryx, then I love you. Even so, scientists know they are not descendents because the hoatzin developed claws only to cling to trees hanging over water.
In fact, scientists don't know when, how, or why the hoatzin evolved to be the way it is now. DNA sequencing projects are giving very mixed results.
The hoatzin is the national bird of Guyana.
“We all live under the same sky, but we don't all have the
same horizon.” -Konrad
Adenauer
Why can't college apps finish themselves? Can't we just dictate the most important facts of our lives to a microphone and be done in a few minutes? Why must they vary?
The season is stressing me out, and I need to relax. Finding a quiet area in a busy suburb town can be difficult, to
say the least, but having a nearby canyon is pretty handy.
Other than the
occasional energy bar wrappers and crushed Arizona cans, Mills Canyon is like
the drought-tolerant Central Park of Burlingame. I started going there at an
early age with neighborhood friends, and when I fell out with them, continued
to go there alone. Pretty soon, established trails started to bore me – I
think at one point I could’ve walked some paths blindfolded – so I began to
pick areas adjacent to the path that weren’t covered with poison oak and simply
went wading through the dried foxtails. This year, I went off the path in a new place where I hadn't thought to go before. It was through this venture that I
discovered what I call Roost.
Roost is a huge boulder, perhaps 15 feet tall and 20 feet in
width, that lies at the bottom of the canyon, directly next to a small creek. It
partially juts out over the water, creating a small pebbly cove where I hide
whenever I hear people on the trail. A tall but skinny oak tree lies between
Roost and a smaller boulder a few paces away; other than that, the surrounding
ground is relatively clear of foliage. On Roost’s other side, an older, taller
oak tree grows nearly flush to its side. All around this clearing, dark ivy
covers the banks. Oak and bay trees are more densely clustered; their canopy filters
the sunlight and casts dappled patterns on every surface. When I was younger, I
would pretend the wind was alive and sentient. It
would tell me of the places it had been, and whenever it rose from a gentle
breeze to a strong gale, I believed it was I who, through some magical force,
had controlled the change. I still do believe it, sometimes.
You cannot begin to imagine the feel of wind against your uplifted face and closed eyelids unless you have actually experienced it first-hand.
Of all my sanctuaries, it was Roost who taught me to
breathe. I could relax atop it, secure in the knowledge that no one below could
see me, and listen to the sounds around me. I could hold on to a thick branch
of the adjacent oak tree and run my thumb over its rough bark – in
concentrating solely on the texture of the branch, I could drive out all other
unpleasant thoughts. It is my site of meditation, my eye of the hurricane, where
I can doze and let my troubles leach out of me into the granite below. Without
Roost, I don’t know how I would’ve stayed calm all those years. Maybe I wouldn’t
have. The thought makes me appreciate all the more what Roost means to me. It
will be hard to replace in the coming years.
I'm sure the site of a haven varies wildly for other people. They may find their place of contentment in a dusty
library, or perhaps in a summer house. Maybe their peaceful environment is
their backyard pool, or situated among the white noise of a large city. I, I
climb the highest point I can find and let the wind breathe for me.
Sensitive Plant (Mimosa pudica)
I came across this plant ages ago, when river tubing (Is that the name? We were using inner tubes) down a river in Puerto Vallarta in Mexico. The tour guide had pointed it out where it grew along the path, and invited us to touch the leaves. What would you expect to happen?
The sensitive plant has a most amazing defense mechanism: it withers and folds in on itself whenever it is touched, or otherwise warmed, blown upon, or shaken. They reopen minutes later (so you can touch them again and watch them fold... and again... and again... unconscious hypnosis). They also close during the night, and open again during the day. There are about 10-26 leaflets per pinna (leaf stem thingymajigger, I don't know. Context, man). Their seeds are contained in brown pods and are mainly pollinated by insects. They produce round flower heads that range from pink to pale lavender. Have a picture, I can't describe the shape:
They are most commonly found in South and Central America
If you have taken Biology, hopefully you know what turgid means. If you don't, here's my best explanation: The reason plants are usually so crispy (think of the base of a romanian lettuce leaf) is because the spare space in their cells is filled with water. If our cells were like that, they would burst under pressure, but because of the strong cell walls that plant cells possess, they merely swell up but keep their shape. This is part of the reason why plants can remain upright without a skeleton-like system (I think... it makes sense, right?).
Knowing this, when a sensitive plant is touched, specific cells release chemicals like potassium that force the water out of the cells and cause them to lose their turgidity - i.e., they become soft and wilted. As the signals go away, the chemicals are no longer released and the plant resumes its natural form.
This is so cool I can't even handle it. Why bother with a Cool Facts list?
Cough, cough.
Cool Facts:
The sudden movement might also serve to dislodge harmful insects.
It's other common names include humble plant, shameful plant, sleeping grass, touch-me-not, chuimui (that which dies upon touch), pickerweed, and ant-plant. There are a lot more cool names in different languages.
Aqueous extracts of the roots have been adept at neutralizing the effects of the venom of the monocled cobra.
They are used as groundcover by some landscapers. I don't comprehend why, but ok.
It is one of the world's worst invasive weeds.
This song has been bothering me as of late, because of how strongly I connect with it. Or rather, how I think its theme must have connected with someone I used to know. Our relationship has perhaps been one of the biggest regrets of my life, and I wish we could have mended ourselves before they left. I wish that I would be able to at least see them again - alas, most likely, I never will.
My schoolwork, my artwork, all the clubs, my friendships, my self-consciousness...
Not to mention college...
I tried playing the piano yesterday for the first time in a couple months. To my immense surprise - for I was surprised - I couldn't play any of my old pieces straight off the bat. I'm not used to forgetting piano like this, as I have been playing for nearly 12 years now. I've taken 2 and even 3 week breaks, and gone back playing everything perfectly. What's happening? At least I still remember how to play "Here I Am," from the movie Spirit.
Oh yes. Still a child at heart.
I've been convinced that I am no longer as much as a shy secluded introvert as I used to be at the start of high school. I've surrounded myself with company that I enjoy, and am reasonably confident that they enjoy my company too (which is a big thing for me; I'm not confident in anything other than my knowledge of Harry Potter trivia). But yesterday evening, when I went out with some other friends, I felt like a third wheel for the first time in a long time. I don't know if I'm just being overreactive, as the last time I thought one of my close friends was annoyed with me, it was just a misunderstanding (so I hope). But it seemed that when they walked - on paths big enough for at most six people side by side - I was constantly walking behind them, horribly aware of what people might be thinking. "Aw, that poor girl, I feel so bad for her, booted behind her friends like that. How awkward."
On reflection, I can't really believe that they would do that on purpose - if I was shunted to the side, I believe they are all nice enough people to not have done it consciously. After all, two of them were my best friends in elementary school, and the other is my only familiar face in a class, and I hers.
On a less depressing note, I found out that a sophomore who was a drama buddy for the play I was briefly involved in last year, and is in my art class, refers to me as her sister. Warm fuzzies. Some underclassmen are so endearingly adorable (no condescension - I mean it in the best possible way). I wonder if I ever appeared that way to some juniors and seniors when I was an underclassman? Doubtful.
Rufous Hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus)
They are said to live in the area I do, but I don't know - the hummingbirds I see are dark green with iridescent red throats - the ruby-throated hummingbird. I've never seen hummingbirds IRL that are this rusty color. Oh well. I trust you, Internet, to know where these birds live... at least, the majority.
These guys are pretty ferocious - even for a hummingbird (background - pretty much all hummingbirds are super aggressive - my grandma once found a dead cat with a hummingbird bill lodged in it's skull. Yes, gross and morbid. You're welcome for that image). They are pretty small with a short, nearly straight bill and small wings that don't reach their tails when folded. "In good light, male Rufous Hummingbirds glow like coals: bright orange on
the back and belly, with a vivid iridescent-red throat" (allaboutbirds.org). I love that description. Females are more green in places, though they still have patches of orange.
As I said, these birds are "pugnacious." They chase away other birds, sometimes birds that are more than twice their size, even when passing through territory when migrating. Basically, they defend turf that isn't even theirs. Their habitat ranges along the west coast through the Rocky Mountains of the U.S., and extends down into Mexico and up into the west coast of Canada into the bottom-most part of Alaska. Along with sipping nectar, they also catch small insects.
Cool Facts:
They've been seen chasing chipmunks away from their nests.
The wingbeat frequency of Rufous Hummingbirds has been recorded at 52–62 wingbeats per second.
The Rufous Hummingbird makes one of the longest migratory journeys of any bird in the world, as measured by body size.
The female builds the nest alone using soft plant down held together with spider web.
Because it's so late and I'm in the mood for sleep, here's a song I listed in my last post: Rain by Priscilla Ahn.
I just submitted my first college application yesterday - i.e., I had my first panic attack/mental breakdown yesterday. It's a silly phobia, but one would have to be extremely arrogant to believe they will get into every school they apply to. And in this case, I am definitely not arrogant.
But now that I've really got to work on schoolwork, college apps, and studio art stuff, I find my time's being used up on serious things, and this is something I'm not used to. I'm accustomed to learning and finishing chores/homework fast and having plenty of time afterward to spend on YouTube or Tumblr or whatever. What, I have to work around the clock now? I have to manage my time? I have to be responsible? What? What? What?
Ergo, I've been interested in stuff that helps me relax - I focus even worse than normal when I am under semi-pressure - full on last-minute panic always works wonders for me, though it's probably not a smart thing to do regularly. So far, music has been my destressinator. Even before art, because now art projects have two week deadlines I have to meet, and that's something that's not so good for perfectionist me. Reading also doesn't work anymore, because when I read, I'm constantly panicking about the stuff I should be doing instead.
And, of course, rain helps. Because good old soothing rain is probably the most relaxing thing to listen to.
So I made another (reference) list!
List of Songs That Go Best With RainyMood (not in order)
1. Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol
2. Rain - Priscilla Ahn
3. Weightless - Marconi Union
4. Brielle - Sky Sailing
5. Intro - The XX
6. Oceandust - Hands Like Houses
7. Pieces -Red
8. Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
9. Stable Song - Death Cab for Cutie
10. Violet Hill - Coldplay
Also, I mentally cringed and facepalmed today when I reread my "Stuck in Subpar" post. Wow. Sleep deprivation and a session of self reflection can really do things to you. So, I've decided to actually do something to better the way I look at myself! My, it's so nice being proactive!
I want to spend each week researching one plant or animal, so as to expand my knowledge about nature in general. I'll summarize what I learn, and then add on all the crazy random facts associated with each plant or animal.
I'm starting close to home: the coastal redwood tree (sequoia sempervirens).
It's the tallest tree species in the world (the tallest one measured was 379.1 ft - 6 stories higher than the Statue of Liberty. It's name is Hyperion - fitting). It's an evergreen tree, and their native habitats are only in coastal California and in mountainous slopes in China (where they were previously thought to be extinct). Their distant relatives date back to dinosaur times, and have migrated since then rather than adapted through the ages. That's why their native habitats are so narrow.
They do not rely on fog to survive, much like a lot of other evergreen trees, but it does help. The way it helps is that the fog condenses on the flat needle groups and drips down, like airborne drip irrigation. Usually 1-2% of the 100-200 seeds per cone ever germinate. Seedlings can survive for decades and even centuries in the understory, before the canopy opens enough for them to really grow. However, most new redwoods sprout from the burls at the base of the redwoods
Crazy Facts:
It holds the record for the most biomass ever recorded - one tree has a stem biomass of 1,544 tons/acre.
Oldest confirmed redwood is 2,200 years old - that's around the freaking Ancient Grecian times. Some are thought to be even older.
The bark of a redwood is very thick, and can be up to a foot in places. Also, it chars into a heat shield when exposed to heat - a.k.a., the redwood is practically fireproof.
The bark secretes some sort of distasteful chemical that prevents bugs and stuff from burrowing. So buildings use redwood on the outside of houses to prevent termites. Also, there's no resin in redwood bark.
The redwood has 6 sets of chromosomes - we only have two.
And to make you feel sad - of the nearly 2 million acres of the primeval forest, approximately 95% has been logged in the past 200 years. Today, less than 5 percent of the ancient trees survive.
And another song I've recently rediscovered: More Than It Seems, by Kutless
A human, firstly, obviously. But I think even my shallow self can go a bit deeper than that.
Colleges essays are adding more and more pressure as the deadlines come ever closer, and the topics were, to say the least, dull. Perhaps UChicago's were interesting: "'History is everything they are not telling us' - who are 'they' and what are they not telling us?" "You are you and your ______." but then again, UChicago is rather infamous for their interesting essay topics.
But constant revision on my essays with topics like, "What is your best trait?" and "What has affected you the most?" has actually made me reconsider the depth of such prompts. Yes, they're still dull and somewhat boring to answer, but they do bring to mind questions I've never really considered before, simply because the topic was never thought to be important enough to give time to. Now, I feel that I order to answer these topics in a unique and truthful way was to - you know it - create lists of everything about myself. At first, they were about stuff that would actually matter to the colleges: age, interests, grades, etc. etc. but then I got a bit carried away with all the smaller bits of my interests.
Where to begin?
I am homo sapiens (not so sure about the sapiens part all the time), of the cryptic female gender. I am at a typical about-to-graduate age, with two eyes that cannot agree on what ethnicity I am - pick white or Asian, eyes, and stop compromising. I am right-handed, size 6 1/2 shoe size (though they used to be size 7 - no, both those sizes are women's - my feet literally shrunk) and 5' 4" (I also swear I used to be 5'5"). I am an ordinary student, who could be extraordinary if I put in the time, and a documentator of the movie reels in my head.
I am the singer of the shower, the blanket of all couches, and the climber of (mostly) all trees. I am the avid reader, the dedicated artist, the sufferer of perfectionism, an ostrich when I sleep, and a laugher of lame jokes. I am a teasing flirt with my best friends (if you are reading this, "person," you know who you are), a hater of the Twilight movies, a lover of all things Harry Potter, and a group-triggered chameleon. I am a girl who has fallen out with her Oriental side (but still knows enough to recite the Chinese zodiac - in English and Chinese. Ha!). I am lazy when allowed to be so, but wildly passionate and loud when with best friends. I am somewhat clam-like, though I won't go so far as to say that I am a pearl inside. I am mostly conservative with clothes (death to skirts) and I dislike standing out on a daily basis. I am a soccer player (AYSO) and have been a horse rider since I was two. I started lessons when I was three, quit after a year due to moving, and then started again in 6th grade. I am now the lessor of a beautiful but sassy horse named Fancy Dancer, who listens to whatever I say, provided she's either tied up or I have treats in my hand (but Big Mama (she's a mama!) does have her moments - she enjoys head-hugging). I am a volunteer at my local Humane Society, a piano player, a Chinese tutor, and a victim of many, many tickle attacks. I am a Gryffindor, of Poseidon, a Hoot Owl, a part of the Cumbercollective, of District 4, an elf, and a Sherlock-without-the-intelligence, but with all the awkwardness. I am a naturalist, a gelato-lover, a heavy sleeper, a self-proclaimed water elemental, a gossiper, and "the blue in your back alley view, where the horizon and the rooftops meet." I am the fire rat, the fox, the willow, a K'ank'in,a diamond, the falcon, a Mesha, the tiger, Osiris, the kangaroo, the honeysuckle, an Aries, and many more, if only I could find more zodiacs. I am loyal, a curious cat (sometimes the proverbial one), respectful, and at times I am unable to voice what I want to say. I am blunt, honest, bluntly honest, an easy smiler, and a person who is constantly derailing from track to track. Can you tell? I am independent. I am observant.
I am transparent.
But not by the dictionary definition. If anything, I am the opposite of transparent in that way.
This is hopefully the last majorly personal blog I will write. I'm not even this open in real life - I guess it's the false sense of security the Internet gives me. After this, reader, you will know practically all there is to know about me.
Except, of course, everything else that is of actual importance that I didn't put on here.
“Who are you?" "No one of consequence." "I must know." "Get used to disappointment.”
―
William Goldman,
The Princess Bride
I don't usually like personal organization. I have one folder threatening to fall apart because of all the Econ stuff I've filled it with, and a cluttered desk with multiple stacks of binders and papers at least 1 foot high (and yet I still manage to remember in which stack I put my ACT confirmation sheet - take that, organization). Possibly the most impressive example is my horizontal closet strewn across my bedroom floor. I deem to clean it once every two weeks, but in the meanwhile, I just kick a clear path to my bed and remain satisfied.
But projects - God forbid one aspect is out of place. If I emulate some artist's painting, like I am right now with Delacroix's Lady Liberty Leading the People, I must grid my sheet and the copy to perfectly trace the outlines. Each line must be straight down to the last millimeter, lest the squares be wider at the top more so than the bottom and skew all my proportions. Posters and presentations must be carefully planned out - not only the content of text, but color scheme, division of information, font size, chronology, alphabetization, general balance, etc. etc.
I suppose I am a perfectionist after all, albeit a little lacking in will and uniformity at times... which I guess means I'm not really a perfectionist... but I still worry over the smallest of things... I'm not going to over-think this. I'm a quasi-perfectionist.
So whenever my organized side takes over (rarely as that happens), I do enjoy the opportunity to look at myself and iron out the little pieces of me that hide, hidden for the most part, in the folds. Basically, I create lists. I create lists of things I like, things I don't like, favorite music, blah blah blah, best Halloween costume ideas, ranking peers in order of importance, the best peeled fruits compared to their unpeeled counterparts (grapes win, hands down, even though it's such a pain getting the skins off. Oranges and bananas don't count, really). It's nice to know there are some certainties in life.
(none of these are in order of importance)
And so, List I:
Things I Like:
1. Sitting high up in spacious trees.
2. Listening to music that has such a powerful beat I can feel my chest vibrating/sub woofers.
3. Good friends who laugh when I do awkward things instead of looking at me askance.
4. Food.
5. Eyes without a uniform color (coughgreeneyesarebesteyescough).
6. Harry Potter EVERYTHING.
7. Hugging someone who's wearing a squishy sweater.
8. Riding cantering horses with arms outstretched (horses give you wings, not RedBull).
9. Books of the fiction genre.
10. Singing as loudly and as off-key as I can when no one's home (and around certain friends).
Things I Don't Like:
1. Conspiracy theories.
2. Stepping on seaweed in the ocean.
3. The nickname "J-Money." 4. Butter that is cut away in wedges or at the corners instead of in a straight vertical line that preserves its shortening rectangular shape. 5. Men who insist on sitting with their legs spread wide like they've got something there. 6. People who laugh obnoxiously loud when trying to look cool, but end up sounding like braying donkeys. 7. Writhing maggots (if you get this I love you - C&H). 8. People who text during the best part of my favorite movie/show. 9. Crying babies and children in general. 10. Drivers who don't use a turn signal.
Obligatory likes/dislikes out of the way. Now lets see...
Favorite Snacks:
1. Goldfish
2. Nutella
3. Strawberries and sugar.
4. Popsicles.
5. Those Asian jello-things with bits of aloe cubes.
6. Chips - doesn't matter what flavor as long as it's not Original (usually).
7. Tea with buttloads of sugar is totally a snack.
8. Ice cream.
9. Various dry cereal.
10. Toast.
Prettiest/Most Interesting Plants:
1. Jasmine (bonus for smelling so good).
2. Tree of a Thousand Stars (look up serissa foetida)
3. Baobab
4. Hibiscus
5. Black Bat Flower
6. Bleeding Heart
7. Welwitschia Mirabilis (I had to look it up to spell it)
8. Waterlily.
9. Oxalis
10. Green Jade Flower
Best Books:
1. Harry Potter.
2. A Wrinkle in Time.
3. Tales from Outer Suburbia.
4. Percy Jackson anything.
5. Eragon - first book only.
6. Call of the Wild/White Fang.
7. The Fault in Our Stars.
8. The Hunger Games (I finally caved, it is pretty good).
9. The Mists of Avalon.
10. Zoobiquity.
(11. The Little Prince - I had to add it on)
Best Random Trivia:
1. The world's termites outweigh the world's humans 10 to 1.
2. Pope John Paul II was named an honorary Harlem Globetrotter in 2000. 3."Queue" is the only English word where you can remove the last four letters and have it still sound the same. 4. Pinocchio is Italian for pine eye (Pino is Italian for pine, Occhio is Italian for eye). Mindblown. 5. Cat urine glows under a blacklight. 6. There are 293 ways to make change for a dollar.
7. There are 366 dimples on a regulation golf ball.
8. Polish is the only word in the English language that has two completely different meanings based on whether the first letter is capitalized or not.
9. The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar tube and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.
10. "Benkinersophobia" is the fear of never receiving your Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Best Songs (I'm definitely leaving out a lot here, and this list fluctuates constantly):
1. Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen
2. Wake Me Up - Avicii
3. The Lightning Strike - Snow Patrol
4. You Need Me, I Don't Need You - Ed Sheeran (mainly because of the last lyric)
5. Charlie Brown - Coldplay
6. Rain - Priscilla Ahn
7. Sailboats - Sky Sailing
8. If My Heart Was a House - Owl City
9. Some Nights - Fun
10. How I Became the Sea - Owl City
11. Bonus - Someone Like Me - Ylvis. Because I had to, that song cracks me up every time.
Let me just say that there are so many other Owl City songs that I didn't put here. I restricted it to two, otherwise the whole list would be Owl City, and/or Snow Patrol. The Most Useless Inventions:
1. Glow in the dark sunglasses.
2. Pedal-powered wheelchair.
3. Double sided playing cards.
4. Portable chin rest.
5. Two-person sweatshirt
6. Butter in a chapstick-like container - a "Butterstick."
7. Picnic pants.
8. Small portable fan that attaches to your chopsticks and cools your noodles as you eat them.
9. Revolving ice cream cone.
10. Dehydrated water.
Ok, so that last list I had a bit of help from the internet. But see? Crazy lists of random things to prove I'm organized - not a waste of time! I limited all these to just 10 per list, otherwise this would be going on forever. Usually they are much longer; it was so hard choosing which ones I liked the best, especially for the songs.
If you're wondering what the title of this post is, and thinking it doesn't relate, the context actually makes sense - just think about it. There is meaning behind it, and it's not just a pretty and mysterious caption. I don't think I'm the kind of person who tries to hide behind misleading veils.
And because I was extra unproductive yesterday, I have two videos to share today. The better one is last, but that doesn't mean the first song isn't also really cool. It's just because the feeling the second one leaves you with is much like saving the tastiest part of dinner for last - you can walk around for a long time afterwards, still tasting it on your tongue.
It was the wind in winter's ribbons that took me up with the roman
candle. I shielded my wide eyes from stinging iridescent lights, my
neck craning and stretching back. Colored stars - golden, violet,
crimson - fell shining like cosmic palm fronds, rushing for the silver
mirror below, flashing, crackling before winking out and fading into
smoke. Each firework was my chariot, each burst my burning waterfall,
each roar of the cannons my wild laughter. My breath came in time with
the sparks above. My heart was shaken into rhythm by the tremors, like a
tremendous pulsing sub woofer.
Imagination grew wings,
flippers and legs all at once. The fire, well, it consumed - drew
everything together in once blazed moment.
[inhale] Boom.
A
steep precipice falls away beneath my feet, golden brown and crumbling.
Dry, cracked fingernails scrabble behind me for purchase, toes
gripping the edge like a vise. Nothing much above but a sky the color of
someone's eyes, clutching a precious nugget. The cliff opposite,
streaked with dusty rust and plum shades, fades in and out of focus - a
tree growing and bursting into boulders that went raining down - the
side swelling slowly as some force tunneled from the inside - a set of
jagged cracks speeding in outline until it crumbles, inside out,
releasing a [exhale] red-tailed hawk. Dark wings stretched, growing in
span, becoming Mother Nature's Blanket of Night, peppered with
hummingbird holes. One flight feather, falling away from a limb, spiraling down,
buffeted, slowly swirling in elongated fashion towards me. My head
feels light, as though gravity decided it no longer wants me. It's
getting closer. Boy, you could knock me over with a -
I go tumbling down with the boulders, that innocent barred feather swinging back and forth after me.
[inhale] Boom.
I sit at the end of the long line. We are crammed
against the wall in a bleak carpeted waiting
room, with gray pencil cacti placed unceremoniously in three corners of
the
room. The only source of light is an unshaded fluorescent bulb, hanging
from
the ceiling. Its harsh light cast shadows on our [inhale] taunt, drawn
faces. In the last corner there is an unassuming steel door. We all
start as the doorknob shifts and a nurse enters the room. She scans a
long checklist, looks up,
and calls out my name.
I
follow the woman through the
door into a [exhale] stainless steel room. Varied instruments lie on a
sleek silver
tray. A man with a dark shock of hair
greets me with, what seems to me, false cordiality. He shakes my hand
and guides
me to a chair. He eyes me calculatingly as he pulls out a
small syringe. I think, I hate needles. The man smiles icily, and tells
me not to worry - a sharp, jabbing pain; he had stuck me in the arm with
that needle, and my vision swims.
I wake up in a shifting, ethereal
world. I can't make out the glimmering lights around me, though they
hover just out of reach. I try to blink, and discover [inhale] I can’t. My
peripheral vision tunnels, as I
move what felt like my head all the way around to see. It was dark, the space
reaching outwards, and I start to feel a sense of claustrophobia when a
beautiful French door - false gold gilt - appears in front of me. I desperately clutch at the
handle and stagger through.
The door
slams shut with a snap, and I am suddenly hovering uncertainly over a
roiling, tumbling mass. Everything in black and white. I turned my head
with painful slowness, and saw that a craggy black rock looms in front of me.
It seems to exude light through its blackness, feeding the small fig tree clinging
to the surface. I am drawn to that pathetic tree, but the longing scares me. I
turn, [exhale] urgently sweeping my eyes left and right, trying to find an exit out of
this horrid place, but that small tree, glorious in its uselessness, follows
me. I run, somewhere, anywhere, but that tree keeps following me. I can’t
stand it.
[inhale] Bo[exhale]om.
A vast expanse of blue grassland extends to the horizon,
dotted here and there with gnarled trees and bushes. Clumps of dark heather
bends before the night wind, sending their whispering voices along with the
breeze as it moves between the leaning stems. Above the grassland, stars
twinkle coldly down from high in the heavens. Their hazy bed of indigo velvet stretches across the roof
of the world; everything beneath it bears its color. The full moon
[inhale] silvers the edges of indistinct objects, so that the whole of the
grassland looks as though it has been brushed across the top with shimmering
dust. Everything is silent, save for the blithe wind, who continues to tumble
its way across the dark grass, rustling the heather as it goes.
At the
farthermost edge of the horizon, I watch silently as [exhale] a slight purple glow appears, steadily
arching its back to fill the indigo sky with a crescent streak of violet. The
crescent pulls up a slight line of green as it ascends, who in turn drags
with it the muted colors of pastel orange and red. The new colors gaze out
across the blue and silver grass, shake out their bright robes, and toss them
across the sky. They paint over the shadowy grass with streaks of pink and
orange, reaching out with their arms until the sky is a glorious blaze of
golden and crimson rays, heralding the way for the sun. It's not until I feel its warmth that I realize I'm shivering.
[inhale] Boom.
[exhale]
The
great finale starts, a ricocheting mass of gold fountains, green
sparklers and screeching rockets. I shake the hair out of my eyes,
cheering with everyone else. Whatever force possessed me slips away, my
images dissolving like morning dreams before I remember they even
existed. Does this happen a lot? Do others experience this mental
flight? I can't remember; my heart's still vibrating, beating in time to the synthetic constellations above .
[inhale]
Let me light the last fuse.
--
Just a song that's been stuck in my head a lot as of late. Explicit - i.e. one F-Bomb. Just in case though, if you care.
Human After All, by Twin Atlantic.
You do not know how hard it was to not choose "Fireworks" by Katy Perry.
