this is my final

1 well I've written a lot this quarter. relative to how much i normally write which is skirting the lines of zero. though none of it has been due to a genuine need to write i'm glad i wrote what i wrote, i'm proud of the work i actually did, even though that was the small percentage. I've done poetry about caged birds windows and being in charge of the world. I've written analysis' of poets and writers and books. my favorites are the fictitious short stories i have written.

2. well now that I've taken only a little time to read i've decided that out of the blogs that i have read from(2 of them) Dakota English is one of the most interesting people i have ever taken the time to read their blog. i thought that his "when the future is yesterday" piece was so fascinating and visceral. he goes into such detail and has a great "voice". his "voice" is dark, morbid, and often very melancholy. not for everyone but certainly very encapsulating for me. he is a fantastic writer and i hope he reads this post.

3. setting up my blog was rushed and honestly pretty lame. i didnt choose any images or backgrounds or even a creative name for the blog. you probably thought i was a jackass in the beginning, and i havent done much to disprove that assumption. as for who will read it, i dont know. probably someone who is into obscure art found in the blogs of lazy students. i probably wont use it after as im pretty certain my opinions arent that important to the commonwealth out there so ill never post again and its really no skin off my back, or front for that matter.

4. ooh journaling. i could have, and definitely should have done a much better job of journaling.
i think that short stories are my favorite things to write. maybe 1-3 pages, not so much a story as a snapshot, open ended where the possibilities are endless. i never like when a story ends so thats probably why i dont write very many endings. now poetry not so much. ive never been a good poet and honestly dont really know what distinguishes poetry from regular writing. i thought poems rhymed but that rule was thrown out the window years ago.and i dont know how to read poems very well as i failed the poetic meters testing. always hated that. but i do try to read poetry still as its very enjoyable. ill just leave its creation to those that are good at it

5. this was technically a journal entry first so i hope i dont get flagged for a technicality.


For a long time, i went to bed early. I don't know why i did. For the life of me i couldn't explain it. Maybe i was just tired, i don't know. Its hard, running things without you. The shop isn't a one person deal, you know? when we were running it together it was twice as easy. Now that you left for some reason i feel twice the stress. As if we were sharing it. the customers are impatient and the oven just cant handle the bread output anymore. we've gotten bigger since you left, people know about us now. ever since the little issue word got out about it and people just eat that up. people blogging left and right about the so called murder restaurant. murder, what do they know. you just left is all. if it was murder i would have been locked up, right? The police didnt think it was murder, they do but they cant prove it. it was eventually filed as a work related accident. Mom and dad were upset, they seemed to think something was going on too but what did they know? they don't know me, and they stopped answering my calls so they probably never will. They always loved you more anyways, that's all. They thought you were so special, and treated me like trash. and i was born first anyways. Only a few minutes but still first. I'm supposed to be special right? i was special up until the incident with the neighbors kid. it wasn't my fault he got in front of the car. and it was you who sent him down the hill anyways, not me. you just talked to mom first, and they never treated me the same. so yes i was angry, that's why we always fought. we could hardly handle one day at the shop without fighting, that's what led up to..you know. it was your fault it happened, you always thought you were better than me. always trying to boss me around, always making me feel stupid when i forgot things. i still love you you know? i loved you more than they ever could. more than Christi ever could, that bitch. i'm sorry i never told you that i'm the one who left her there at the bottom of the river. they never found her body, i meant it that way. I didn't want you to see what i had done. You wouldn't have understood that i was doing it for you. she wasn't good enough. nobody is good enough. i suppose that's why i did what i did. that apartment wasn't good enough. neither was the casket mom and dad put you in. you wouldn't be able to move around down there you know. my basement is a better place. it has a fridge full of fresh food and a couch and a TV. aren't you glad? makes up for the little spat at the restaurant right? i still feel bad. i shouldn't have yelled. i'm sorry about the knife. and for making it look like an accident. but if i were locked up i wouldn't be able to take care of you now. aren't i the best brother? i've done so much for you. love you bro.
                                                                                                    sincerely,
                                                                                                    your best bud
P.S. sorry i forgot to give you the mayonnaise

6. this is my favorite small piece of writing that i have ever done, and honestly i couldnt tell you why

So white was the snow that surrounded us. never had we seen such a beautiful absence of hue or color. it was perfect, a calm sea of bright nothing, seeming solid as glass yet as flowing as water. only hours ago we could have looked upon this in awe, admiring the beauty of nature before us. we would have praised god for creating such a beautiful sight just for us.now its all turned sour. the bright reflection of the snow seemed blinding now. and the once unbroken surface was not scarred with 5 pairs of snowshoe prints, and uncountable smaller paw prints following them. and the pure blank mass was now soaked with large sprays and mists and pools of the darkest red we have ever seen.

And the sky was such a beautiful blue this morning. vast and cloudless, it seemed like a perfect canvas to draw in the moon, stars and universe that would be soon visible in the night sky. the horizon showed the snow covered desert meeting the light sky, a perfect line, uninterrupted and perfect, as if god himself had pulled out his strait edge to craft this small pocket of the world. now ugly and clouded the sight of the sky filled us with dread. the dread that we would not be here to see the sun set or rise again. this ugly blotched dark cloudy sky was the last we will ever see.


7. i honestly will probably do a little when the mood suits me. i love describing beautiful and ugly things in exquisite detail, probably the explanation of the question above and the whole post it was used in. i loved finding ways to describe a color without saying it. i feel clever when i write but thats about all i get from it. maybe i get a greater sense of fulfillment i dont totally understand. its definitely hard though. mostly due to the fact that i get writers block faster than you can say Kickapoo Creative Writing Spring 2016. it gets extremely frustrating

8. honestly you guys are some of the most complex interesting people i have had the pleasure of knowing, even though i barely talked to you. i gathered a lot just from listening to your conversations like a huge weirdo but dont hate me for that, i like people watching. keep writing and keep working hard and you'll do great things