Bloody Mary...Bloody Mary...Leo Burnett.

As I spent the last hour thinking about everything but my homework, the old-age topic of superstitions came to mind.  There were several that immediately popped into my mind: "Don't step on the cracks", "Don't walk under ladders", "Black cats are ominous", and of course, "Never call Bloody Mary three times in a bathroom."  The latter especially sparked my interest (probably because I made my way to the basement bathroom in Bridwell Library and managed to spook myself by the creepy-factor).  If people whole-heartedly believed that calling "Bloody Mary" three times in a dark bathroom would cause the very Mary to appear in a mirror, then had anyone bothered to experiment?  Certainly you think I'm crazy at this point.  Well, given the amount of sleep I've gotten in recent days and the amount of activities I've had block up my schedule, insanity is surely a possibility.  Allow me to explain (though, you don't have much of a choice in this department) - if calling this figure's name caused her to appear (which, if you're a brave soul or over the age of 8, you'll realize is not quite so accurate), had anyone tried to call out the name of someone else?  Now, I clearly am of an age where doing such a thing would be silly, but seeing as how it was nearing 11pm in a library basement bathroom where I was alone, I decided to have a little fun.  In the mood of advertising based on a textbook I had been reading, I called upon the legendary Leo Noble Burnett.  Three times, no less.  Given, the lights were not off, but the other necessary elements were all provided and I figured, should good old Leo decide to grace me with his presence, he wouldn't mind that I had no control over library lights.  I like to think he'd appreciate the effort.  And so, I waited, almost (though, not quite) on my toes...but Leo remained in the past.  As I chuckled to myself (and realized I should get some much-needed shut-eye), I decided superstitions really were a thing for children.  Though, on the off-set that I would have Leo Burnett by my side to teach me the ropes of advertising, it was certainly worth a puerile chance.

Il est la gloire dans la vérité. (There is glory in truth.)

C'est drôle, la vie, où nous a conduit.
Tu as été mon tout.
Et maintenant?
Vous êtes le grain de poussière sur ma fenêtre.
Les oiseaux murmure votre nom,
Mais je ne tourne pas, pas plus.
J'espère que vous savez ce que vous avez perdu,
Parce que vous avez depuis longtemps perdu moi.
Le monde vient de boucler la boucle,
La lune se lève encore et le soleil toujours fixe.
Mais dans mon coeur,
Vous avez perdu votre place.

Vous ne font plus partie de moi.

(It is funny, life, where it takes us.
You were my everything.
And now?
You are a speck of dust on my window.
The birds whisper your name,
But I do not turn any more.
I hope you know what you lost
Because you've long since lost me.
The world comes full circle,
The moon rises again and the sun always sets.
But in my heart,
You have lost your place.

You are no longer part of me.)


______________________________


I will admit, I was experiencing a bitter-sweet feeling when I wrote this.  It was more of a sense that this person had lost a privilege - being in my life.  At the same time, however, it portrays a sense that life goes on and that, though it will be challenging, I will get through it.

Head-On? Stress-Off.

Stress. It gets the best of us; it gets the worst of us. There's no saying what we'll do when we're stressed. It would seem logical to take what is stressing us out and deal with it in hopes that after it fades away, the stress will follow - trailing slowly along. And yet, I find that stress does not always allow for such simple answers.

I would hope that if a pesky little Spanish assignment were bugging me, causing me to toss and turn in my bed during the wee hours of the night, the solution would be to get out of bed (as easy as it sounds, this is actually quite difficult), turn on the light, finish the assignment, and go back to bed - this time inviting the somber feeling of sleep to rush over me. But we, as silly little humans, don't do this. Instead, we will spend the entire night in a restless state until the sun has risen, the squirrels come out, and the bags under our eyes appear.

Why is that we put ourselves through such torture? I recently pointed out to a friend that doing something that, in the end, will just cause more stress in attempt at solving the initial stress is just creating a ridiculous (and unbreakable, at that) cycle of chronic stress. Chronic stress. Ha. There's a phrase that only an American would use.

So, here's my idea for the day (and I promise it's a bright one) - when you're stressed, and you're awfully low (the world doesn't have to be cold), DEAL with what is causing you to stress. Don't get on Facebook and waste an hour by checking every friend's new status. Don't create a Twitter because, hey, you never tried it out. And don't waste your time worrying about it aimlessly. Stress may not have killed the cat, but it certainly killed efficiency.

Shattered.

What do you do when your entire reality falls to pieces? Not the dainty falling of the leaves when fall finally comes to visit, but rather the falling of shards of glass as they hit the marble floor. Listen to the sound it makes. If only the sound that would ring in my ears was the soft sound of a single feather falling to the ground. But it is not. It never is. Reality is far too frail to remain silent as it falls to the ground. Instead, my ears ring of shattered memories. It's different now. It'll be ok. I imagine we all tell ourselves these very things - that life moves on and we will never again think of the shards of glass that now remain scattered across the floor. You can't pick up the pieces and put them back together - it's not that easy. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. For why else does life test us if not to poke and prod at us while we make fools of ourselves? Imagine life standing on the side of the road, snickering at our bumbling selves as we try to piece our lives back together. Life is just not the same with reality all over the floor. How could it be? A lollipop is no longer thought to be a healthy broccoli added to our healthy bodies, but rather a heart attack waiting to happen. Comatose. What do you do? What are we supposed to DO? I don't know. I don't know if we should continue to sit there, sobbing like idiots at what we once knew to be our realities, or if we should pick ourselves up and move along. Perhaps shop for another reality. A nicer one - one with windows and a white picket fence. Yes, perhaps we should all do that. After all, what do we have to lose?

The Ballad of the Dragonfly

(Found Object Blog Post)


His wings fluttered - not like that of a bird, yet not quite like that of a butterfly.  His body levitated - soaring smoothly until it began to drop.  His wings fluttered once more until his body began to soar to great heights, once again.


He flew past the quarrelling squirrels as they fought for ownership of the most glorious acorn.  As he soared past them, their beady eyes glared up at him - envous for his beautiful gift of flight.  As he soared past the black birds - pecking away at the tender Earth in search for the juicy, plump, worms that would surely satisfy their hunger - they glared up with wonder at his small, nimble body.  


Once again, as his routine came to be, his body begain to drop slowly until he was to, once again flutter his wings.  One flutter, two flutters, three...He began to drop to a height which seemed to close to the Earth from which he was born.  The steep descent fought with his tiny body and shocked his small, beating heart.  The rough wind blew past him - tearing his body down until, finally, his body collided with the Earth beneath him.  He twitched, knowing fully-well that his frail body could take no more.  As his heart slowed, his wings slowly stopped twitching.  His heart - gone.  His wings - gone.  His life - gone.  His flight - gone.  His beauty - 


A young girl bent slowly to stare at the fallen dragonfly.  She examined its wings, its body, its being.  She held it in her hands and admired the beauty of the creature.  Suddenly, something came about her as she felt her heart flutter for a slight instant.  


The moment, which quickly came to pass, was over and forgotten.  She bent, once more, to lay the dragonfly to rest on the lush green grass.  As she walked away, returning to the journey she had previously began, she left every thought of the creature and its beauty behind.  All that remained was the instantaneous flutter of her heart that, on occasion, returned to her being.

Droplets

What happens when everything you have worked so hard for is questioned by those you thought it never would be?  It's easy to lose yourself in your surroundings - whether it be a joyous place, or a somber place.  You eventually become one with your environment - or, rather, that's the theory.  Many people decide they'd rather stand apart from their environment than become a homologous being in the surroundings.  But I don't see it that way.  I think...you can become one with your surroundings without becoming homologous with the world.  Think about it - if a wall contains twenty photographs, each different, certainly one could deduce that the surroundings were indeed different.  Add another photo, however, and it becomes one with the environment of the room.  It blends while remaining itself.  If only that was always the case, however.  


I fear...I fear that my surroundings may begin to mold me.  I have worked to hard to get where I am.  To who I am.  Certainly I wish to become one with my surroundings, but I do not wish to become like everyone else around me.  I do not want to be molded to be just like everyone I am aquainted with.  Not even if it is what my friends expect of me.  But what then?  How far does one go for friends?


I suppose it's like a simple titration.  You can add a differently colored chemical to a base in droplets, and they will quickly fade away - the base remains the same color and the chemical characteristics, for the most part, remain unchanged.  After a certain number of drops, however, the base is no longer what it once was.  The color has changed.  The characteristics have morphed or changed in ways that may or may not be known.  


I don't want to be that base.

The Flutter Of The Wings

I've been thinking, more often as of late, about the consequences our actions have on, not only our own lives, but on life in general.  I wish I could say it was all deep and wondrous, but many of the actions I consider are petty actions such as, "Should I have eaten that sandwich for lunch, today, or should I have saved it for dinner?"  As unfortunate as it is that my mind is plagued by such silly thoughts, they are, in essence, thoughts of large significance.  I wonder, how would we react differently if we were to think about our actions beforehand?  Of course, we've always been told, "Think before you act, deary", but I mean really think.  Think of how your life will change.  Think of how it will affect those around you.  Think of how the guy down the street will think differently of you.  Think of how your grandchildren years from now will chew their food differently.  Think of how the dog you owned as a child could have grown up differently.


It's insane to think that a single butterfly can single-handedly (or single-wingly, I should say) effect the path of a tornado; It's mind boggling.  If such a small creature has such a great impact on the world, certainly we effect the events of the world without even noticing.  If that doesn't instill fear within you, I don't know what will.  I think...if we were to just slow down in what has become this utterly chaotic world, we could change things for the better.  Perhaps that's a rather large notion for a single person to make, but maybe, just maybe, it could work.  Maybe we could be the heroes of this world instead of the destructors.  Maybe.