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Friday, August 30, 2013

Homework Assignment

This was an actual assignment that I had for class. The assignment was to choose a photo (from a series of 5 that were provided) and write a story as to what happened leading up to the photo being taken, and what happened after. Any perspective that you want and in any tone you want. So, as I was writing, I had to inquire into some creative freedom. My professor basically said "go for it", so I did. Excuse the expletives. :) Also, there's no title. Sorry. LOL

Here's the image that I chose

Here's my story:
          Every day lately, it seems to be the same thing: day in and day out. Everybody wants to make a name for themselves. But that they don’t understand is that while their “making a point”, they’re taking me away from my family.  My wife cooked my favorite dinner, but do I get to eat it? No.  Why? Cause I’m standing here, looking at these punks that want to protest.  I have to take away from tucking my kids in because I have to work.  “It’s all a part of the job” they tell me.  Tell that to my family. 
Hey Johnson!” One of the guys says to me as we pull up to the building. I gave the most disgruntled “fuck off” waves that I could muster back in his direction.   “This should be a peaceful one tonight they said” he said to me as I was getting out of the car.  “I sure hope so, I would like to sleep in my bed tonight” I tell him as I pull out my task force vest and shield.  ‘I’d so much rather be at home’ I tell myself…well, here goes nothing
We all get in line, arm to arm and shield to shield.  Why won’t these kids just go home?? I say as I brace myself for what is getting ready to come next. *snap* a flash goes off and it hurts my eyes.  Somebody just took a picture.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen! It’s time for you all to go on home” Chief says over a bullhorn as he walks in front of us. It’s loud and in my ear, but I’m already in defense mode.  I look over the crowd standing in front of me. There are at least 20 of them and 30 of us.  The one on the ground yells back “No justice, no peace. Tell your men to go home. We’re not going anywhere until our voices are heard”.
“Look, I’m not going to say it again. You all need to go on home!” Chief said again “We don’t want things to go left field and we can all have a good night.” Just then, something came flying through the air in our direction.  ‘What the fuck is that’ I said to myself. Then more started coming. These little ass holes had bags of dog shit and they were throwing them at us! Really?!
 “Draw your weapons and protect yourself at all costs!” we heard yelled. We knew what that meant. Shields drawn and gear in place. It was time for battle and we were in an all-out attack with some damn kids.
No sooner than I got over what happened, they started running towards us with bats and who knows whatever else. We’re using the shields and gear to protect ourselves from this chaos, trying to not really hurt anybody but not get hurt.  And all the while, this little shit is still sitting on the ground in that same damn spot not saying a word.  I want to pull my gun out and scare the living daylights out of him.  Everything about him is smug.  From the sinister grin on his face to the way he’s sitting here watching these people put themselves in jail or worse.  He doesn’t care anything about these people.  He’s out here for something else…something doesn’t quite sit well with me about him. 
Just then, my suspicions were right…the little shit stood up and pulled off his hoodie. Strapped to his chest was pound after pound of explosives.  “NO JUSTICE! NO PEACE! Meet me in hell mother fuckers!” “BOOOOOOMB!!!” Everybody (officers and protestors alike) screamed. They had no idea…They really had no idea! All of the fighting ceased and we took off after him. But before anyone could get to him, he did it. I covered my face with my shield and BOOM! There was blood, charred flesh and limbs everywhere. Blood ran down my shield from somebody, I don’t even have an idea who’s.  The entire area was covered in smoke and his lifeless mass was on the ground, right in the same damn place where he sat.  I turned around to see who was alive behind me.  Just about everybody was gone: chief, all of the protestors, camera crew from the news that came out, reporters. (I didn’t even see them) It looks like the entire block was taken out. Cars were on fire. It was nothing but a pure mess.
A drip fell and hit my eyelashes…then another. What is this? I said to myself. I touched my face and saw that it was blood. I immediately dropped my shield and felt my head. ‘where was it?’ I felt around and there was a big gaping hole where my helmet was. All I felt was wet.  The more I panicked, the more tired I became. Soon I felt myself falling. I tried to steady myself, but it my arms didn’t work. All the while, blood was dripping into my eyes.  I didn’t even feel myself hit the ground. The only thing I saw and felt was the black abyss of death.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013


The writer that knows their keys is the equivalent to the artist that knows their tools.  The skill of their craft is contingent upon how well they know them.  They have to know the individualized functions of them all to be able to use them to their fullest capacity and get the greatest result. 

I’m sitting here with my head back and my eyes closed and I’m able to move across my keys just as fluidly as if I was looking at the screen.  With no particular thought in mind, but allowing my fingers to do the thinking and allowing that creative freedom to roam.  I find it interesting that when I open my eyes and look at my keys and my screen that the words don’t flow as easily as they do when my eyes are closed.  I wonder if it’s an unsaid fear at the sight of my own thoughts staring me in my face on the screen, of just an unsaid but understood self-confidence issue. 

I believe that I’m a good writer and I love to watch or hear of the effect that my writing has on others. But the freeing aspect of putting those thoughts into visual words has always been the greatest fear of mine to overcome.  My thoughts are provoking, and after last week’s blog, just as powerful as my words. For they are the very foundation of where those words emerge.  And it’s because of that power, that I’ve kept them hidden for years. Just now really emerging to let the words fly free.  Knowing that when they are read, that a portion of me has also been revealed.   It’s a journey that I’m willing to take so that I can be just as free as those that read.  Why allow them to be free by the very thing that at one time bound me?

All Up To You

The way you live your life is according to what you speak.  If you want to do well in life, speak that wellness into it. Too often we think and speak negatively without the realization that what we have is what we’ve spoken.
  "…The power of death and life is in your tongue…”  We take that statement so lightly and don’t really think about how much weight our words hold.  To us, they are just words; not something that makes the determination for how we live our life.  I know, for me, I have experienced a lot in life and because of that, I’ve trained myself to “keep myself to myself” all for the sake of what I thought was protection.  But what I’ve found is that I wasn’t protecting myself, I was pushing everyone that cared about me away.  All in an effort to “protect me”.

Now that I’m in a position to alter some things in my life, I don’t want to hinder what I can accomplish.  Attending Full Sail was a dream of mine from the time that I entered the world of design.  But telling myself that I wasn’t able to do, and that there were too many reasons why I couldn’t do it.  So when I made up in my mind and said that I was going to do this, I had the momentum that I needed to start and continue and finish.  All because I took the initiative to change my thought process and change what I was speaking on my life.
So today, I encourage you, the reader, to change the way you think and the way you speak.  For what you say you will have, is what you will have.