wa 3 rough draft

Peace.
When a thousand screaming voice, meet comfort.
When no one dies from idle causes in dejected ways.
Peace is the absence of suffering, and fear, and hate.
In the walls of peace despair dissipates.
In the ways of peace anguish and agony are letters fit together with no meaning.
In peace the afflicted, agonized, ailing, disconsolate, discontented, distressed, downcast, forlorn, hopeless, hurt, ill, injured, melancholy, mournful, pained, pathetic, pitiable, racked, rueful, sad, sick, sorrowful, strained, suffering, tormented, tortured, tragic, troubled, woebegone, wounded, and wretched find solace.
The desolate halls of misery are torn down and rebuilt.
The whole world is torn down a rebuilt.
Peace cleanses us and makes us new.
When the world is washed with peace it will finally be restored.

The fragrant smell of warm homemade mashed potatoes wafts through the house. Thick yellow butter is slabbed on and melts into a puddle of lemon colored grease on the starchy dish. The roast is cut and waiting to be served, the beans float in their sauce like children overcrowding the local pool. Afternoon light seeps through; the sun is hanging low in the sky, like a hammock being weighted down. The temperature is dropping and a breeze chases through suburbia like children playing tag. The table setting could be from any high end house and garden magazine. Three plates, three napkins, three sets of cutlery, three place mats, and three oak chairs. One father, one mother, one son, one happy family. Dinner is served.

“How was everyone’s day?” says the father. His life is failing as fast as the economy. His money is gone, all gone, it’s been gone. What is he going to do with his life, how will he save himself? Money laundering, embezzlement, and tax evasion. These are the words that course through his head; they’re every crime he had been informed he was going to be charge with. Denial is no longer an option. How can he tell them, the family that trusts him? He’ll go to jail, that’s for sure, but was it worth it? Hadn’t he been better than this, wasn’t he destined for greatness? Why had he even committed these crimes? To keep his reputation and his pride. It’s all about appearances.

How was everyone’s day? The mother wants yell at her husband about how her day was. Her freshly manicured fingers twist her engagement ring and wedding band on and off her hand. Leaving. Gone. Done. That’s what she’d say to him. What a joke her marriage had become, a bitter lie, a bitter loveless lie. Why couldn’t he notice all she did for him, she deserved something better. She cleaned, cooked, and put on an act, all for him. She hated him for her life; she had been destined for more before he’d tied her down with a kid, and this horrible life. But she wouldn’t say any of this, just like she’d never leave him. It’s all about appearances.

How was everyone’s day? Like any of them cared. His family doesn’t get him. The son sits looking at the meat, he’s vegan, and his parents know but choose to ignore it. This house confines him, forces him to be someone he’s not. The walls and ceiling and floor make up his cage, his cold smooth barrier to the world. He’s destined for more than this. His family is clueless; they’re striped unicorns in his life, odd and unnecessary. Why do they need him to conform? It’s all about appearances.

And so they sit three people part of one whole. Wallowing in their self pity, drowning in it. The exact same people, with the exact same problems. Human shaped mirrors. They’re lives are unbearably hard, too difficult for anyone to understand. Each one consumed by them selves, narcissism plagues their lives. They’re happiness is a calculated illusion, because really it’s all about appearances.

wa2 draft2

The smell of warm homemade mashed potatoes wafts through the house. Thick butter is slabbed on and melts into a pool of grease on the starchy dish. The roast is cut and waiting to be served, the beans float in their sauce like children overcrowding the local pool. Afternoon light seeps through; the sun is hanging low in the sky, like a hammock being weighted down. The temperature is dropping and a breeze chases through suburbia. The table setting could be from any high end house and garden magazine. Three plates, three napkins, three sets of cutlery, three place mats, and three oak chairs. One father, one mother, one son, one happy family. Dinner is served.

“How was everyone’s day?” says the father. His life is failing as fast as the economy. His money is gone, all gone, it’s been gone. What is he going to do with his life, how will he save himself? Money laundering, embezzlement, and tax evasion. These are the words that course through his head; they’re every crime he had been informed he was going to be charge with. How can he tell them, the family that trusts him? He’ll go to jail, that’s for sure, but was it worth it? Hadn’t he been better than this, wasn’t he destined for greatness? Why had he even committed these crimes? To keep his reputation and his pride. It’s all about appearances.

How was everyone’s day? The mother wants yell at her husband about how her day was. Her freshly manicured fingers twist her engagement ring and wedding band on and off her hand. Leaving. Gone. Done. That’s what she’d say to him. What a joke her marriage had become, a bitter lie with absolutely no love. Why couldn’t he notice all she did for him, she deserved something better. She cleaned, cooked, and put on an act, all for him. She hated him for her life; she had been destined for more before he’d tied her down with a kid, and this horrible life. But she wouldn’t say any of this, just like she’d never leave him. It’s all about appearances.

How was everyone’s day? Like any of them cared. His family doesn’t get him. The son sits looking at the meat, he’s vegan, and his parents know but choose to ignore it. This house confines him, forces him to be someone he’s not. The walls and ceiling and floor make up his cage, his cold smooth barrier to the world. He’s destined for more than this. His family is clueless; they’re striped unicorns in his life, odd and unnecessary. Why do they need him to conform? It’s all about appearances.

And so they sit three people part of one whole. Wallowing in their self pity, drowning in it. The exact same people, with the exact same problems. They’re lives are unbearably hard, too difficult for anyone to understand. Each one consumed by them selves, narcissism plagues their lives. They’re happiness is a calculated illusion, because really it’s all about appearances.

The smell of warm homemade mashed potatoes wafts through the house. Thick butter is slabbed on and melts into a pool of grease on the starchy dish. The roast is cut and waiting to be served, the beans float in their sauce like boats in a bay. Afternoon light seeps through; the sun is hanging low in the sky, like a hammock being weighted down. The temperature is dropping and a breeze chases through suburbia. The table setting could be from any high end house and garden magazine. Three plates, three napkins, three sets of cutlery, three place mats, and three oak chairs. One father, one mother, one son, one happy family. Dinner is served.
“How was everyone’s day?” says the father. His life is failing as fast as the economy. His money is gone, all gone, it’s been gone. What is he going to do with his life, how will he save himself? Money laundering, embezzlement, and tax evasion. Every crime he had been informed he was going to charge him with. How can he tell them? He’ll go to jail, but was it worth it? Hadn’t he been better than this, wasn’t he destined for greatness? Why had he even committed these crimes? To keep his reputation and his pride. It’s all about appearances.
How was everyone’s day? The mother wants yell at her husband about how her day was. Her freshly manicured fingers twist her engagement ring and wedding band on and off her hand. Leaving. Gone. Done. That’s what she’d say. What a joke her marriage had become, no love. Why couldn’t he notice all he did for her, she deserved something better. She cleaned, cooked, and put on an act, all for him. She hated him for her life; she had been destined for more before he’d tied her down with a kid, and this horrible life. But she wouldn’t say any of this, just like she’d never leave him. It’s all about appearances.
How was everyone’s day? Like any of them cared. They don’t get him. The son sits looking at the meat. He’s vegan, and his parents know. This house confines him, forces him to be someone he’s not. The walls and ceiling and floor make up his cage, his cold smooth barrier to the world. He’s destined for more than this. His family is clueless; they’re striped unicorns in his life. Odd and unnecessary. Why do they need him to conform? It’s all about appearances.
And so they sit three people part of one whole. Wallowing in self pity. The exact same people, with the exact same problems. No one understands them, they’re lives are unbearably hard. Each one consumed by them selves, narcissism plagues their lives. They’re happiness is a calculated illusion, because really it’s all about appearances.

My eyes are beyond the point of drooping; it feels like my eyelids weigh a thousand pounds. For a moment my eyes are closed and I almost feel peaceful, but I have to come back to earth. It takes all my strength to open them. The scene around me comes back into focus, the airport, a different state but the exact same place. They all are crashing into the same picture in my mind. Things are fuzzy, my brain can’t translate all the information it’s getting. Something about more plane rides, “We missed the connection”. Every bit of emotion has left my mothers voice, “We need to take three more planes to get there, or we can drive 10 hours”. Why is she saying it like it’s an option? She’s upset and doesn’t seem to realize Jake thinks she’s serious. His ears have been hurting him since the first plane ride this morning, and he immediately starts lobbying for the driving.

We drove to D.C. at 4:30 and haven’t rested or eaten since. It’s dark outside, nighttime. Sleep time. An image of my bed flashes through my head. Pillows and blankets, rest. Why are we flying so far away from our beds? Babies are crying all around me, like a symphony of wailing, unabashed shrieks. Jake is crying, his ears hurt and he’s hungry, and we’re going to fly on three more planes, which take us away from Oklahoma, then back again. That’s stupid. I am so tired it’s all I can think. The howling children are inclosing me in a cage of light. Their shrills echo off of every part of my brain, I just want to sleep.

I try to think of what the clock said when I finally went to bed last night, 2:00 I think. Maybe not, I’m not sure, and really don’t care, as long as I get to sleep soon. Reality is rapidly melting into a hazy glob, everything’s unexplainable and odd. Suddenly people walking with their luggage seems absolutely ridiculous, people reading the news paper, talking on their cell phones, seem like a joke. It feels like a hallucination, why would anyone ever bend down to tie there shoes? I’m mildly aware that the things I’m saying have lost all rationality. My mother is bargaining with the woman at the airline counter. Her face is caked under so much makeup she looks like she ought to work behind the makeup counter at Belk.

My thoughts become hard to read, like a distant figure in a heavy fog. I’m sure it’s there but it could be anything. Where am I? I realize that I’m walking, my mother and brother are ahead of me, we’re going to our gate. My feet move, from pure muscle memory I’m sure, I couldn’t make this movement happen on my own. My body feels lifeless and limp, it’s late, and exhaustion is taking over. I feel like I’m wrapped in a blanket like dream, shielding me from reality. Really I’m miles away from here not boarding a plane but sleeping. My body aches, screaming for slumber.

WA1 draft 2

My eyes are beyond the point of drooping, it feels like my eyelids weigh a thousand pounds, and it takes all my strength to open them. The scene around me comes back into focus, the airport, a different state but the exact same place. They all are crashing into the same picture in my mind. Things are fuzzy, my brain can’t translate all the information it’s getting. Something about more plane rides, “We missed the connection”. Every bit of emotion has left my mothers voice, “We need to take three more planes to get there, or we can drive 10 hours”. Why is she saying it like it’s an option? She’s upset and doesn’t seem to realize Jake thinks she’s. His ears have been hurting him since the first plane ride this morning, and he immediately starts lobbying for the driving.

We drove to D.C. at 4:30 and haven’t rested or eaten since. It’s dark outside, nighttime. Sleep time. An image of my bed flashes through my head. Pillows and blankets, rest. Why are we flying so far away from our beds? Babies are crying all around me, like a symphony of wailing, unabashed shrieks. Jake is crying, his ears hurt and he’s hungry, and we’re going to fly on three more planes, which take us away from Oklahoma, then back again. That’s stupid. I am so tired it’s all I can think. The howling children are inclosing me in a cage of light. Their shrills echo off of every part of my brain, I just want to sleep.

I try to think of what the clock said when I finally went to bed last night, 2:00 I think. Maybe not, I’m not sure, and really don’t care, as long as I get to sleep soon. Everything’s hazy, unexplainable and odd. Suddenly people walking with their luggage seems absolutely ridiculous, people reading the news paper, talking on their cell phones, seem like a joke. It feels like a hallucination, why would anyone ever bend down to tie there shoes? I’m mildly aware that the things I’m saying have lost all rationality. My mother is bargaining with the woman at the airline counter. Her face is caked under so much makeup she looks like she ought to work behind the makeup counter at Belk.

My thoughts become hard to read, like a distant figure in a heavy fog. I’m sure it’s there but it could be anything. Where am I? I realize that I’m walking, my mother and brother are ahead of me, we’re going to our gate. My feet move, from pure muscle memory I’m sure, I couldn’t make this movement happen on my own. My body feels lifeless and limp, it’s late, and exhaustion is taking over. I feel like I’m wrapped in a blanket like dream, shielding me from reality. Really I’m miles away from here not boarding a plane but sleeping. My body aches, screaming for slumber. I can’t remember when I got to sleep or the exact events of how it happened, but never in my life have I ever been that tired.

Emotional Release WD

My eyes are beyond the point of drooping, my eyelids weigh a thousand pounds, and it takes all my strong will to open them. The scene around me comes back into focus, the airport, a different state but the exact same place. They all are crashing into the same picture in my mind. Things are fuzzy, my brain can’t translate all the information it’s getting. Something about more plane rides, “We missed the connection”. Every bit of emotion has left my mothers voice, “We need to take three more planes to get there, or we can drive 10 hours”. Why is she saying it like it’s an option? We know we’re not going to drive that long, but Jake doesn’t get it. His ears have been hurting him since the first plane ride this morning, and he immediately starts lobbying for the driving.

We drove to D.C. at 4:30 and haven’t rested or eaten since. It’s dark outside, nighttime. Sleep time. An image of my bed flashes through my head. Pillows and blankets, rest. Babies are crying all around me, like a symphony of wailing, unabashed shrieks. Jake is crying, his ears hurt and he’s hungry, and we’re going to fly on three more planes, which take us away from Oklahoma, then back again. That’s stupid. I am so tired it’s all I can think. The howling children are inclosing me in a cage of light. Their shrills echo off of every part of my brain, I just want to sleep.

I try to think of what the clock said when I finally went to bed last night, 2:00 I think. Maybe not, I’m not sure, and really don’t care, as long as I get to sleep soon. Everything’s hazy, unexplainable and odd. Suddenly people walking with their luggage seems absolutely ridiculous, people reading the news paper, talking on their cell phones, seem like a joke. It feels like a hallucination, why would anyone ever bend down to tie there shoes? I’m mildly aware that the things I’m saying have lost all rationality. My mother is bargaining with the woman at the airline counter. Her face is caked under so much makeup she looks like she ought to work behind the makeup counter at Belk.

My thoughts become hard to read, like a distant figure in a heavy fog. You’re sure it’s there but it could be anything. Where am I? I realize that I’m walking, my mother and brother are ahead of me, we’re going to our gate. My feet move, from pure muscle memory I’m sure, I couldn’t make this movement happen on my own. My body feels lifeless and limp, it’s late, and exhaustion is taking over. I feel like I’m wrapped in a blanket like dream, shielding me from reality. Really I’m miles away from here not boarding a plane but sleeping. My body aches, screaming for sleep. I can’t remember when I got to sleep or the exact events of how it happened, but never in my life have I ever been that tired.

Happiness

In the air, bounding off the clouds. An inflated balloon about to pop. Tingly and brimming and joyous. Everything seems brighter and better. Colors are more vibrant and everything dreary melts away. You can feel your feet prickling with excitement and your ears tickle. Your whole face creeps into your smile. Your body contorts into a taller, bigger version of itself. Stepping out of your body and sailing above the streets seems completely plausible. All of a sudden every little move becomes faster and animated, like an old black and white cartoon. Your vision becomes something that resembles a strobe light. The weather turns placid and sour faces become glad. Every little piece of life becomes exorbitant. The air smells like every type of pastry, and for once you take the time to notice. Problems aren’t allowed in, they don’t deserve the energy, and you realize it. All of a sudden you hear clacking, it’s your teeth! Your teeth are chattering, but not because you’re cold, but because your body can’t contain everything your feeling. All of a sudden you’re dancing for no reason at all! Everything is so full and bright you feel buoyant, and then you begin to rise, floating into the air with no end in sight. A strip of fog is pulled off you’re eyes and suddenly everything is clearer, everything has a solution and pain is a pointless word. It feels like the last big gush of fire that lifts a hot air balloon off the ground. Your insides are steaming, warming and alive. You can hold your dreams in your hands and make them happen. Nothing can hide from your sight; you can see specs of dust thousands of miles away. Music takes on a different form, it starts living. Outside your door people are jumping and leaping into the sky. Everything seems transcendent. Everything’s happy.