My train of thought is a wreck
without a conductor.
The wheels of my mind turn,
but don’t follow the tracks.
My train is empty,
just filled with dreams,
and dreams don’t take up space,
they simply take up time.
~written by me, obviously, since it lacks actual sense. ‘ Twas inspired by a snippet of conversation, and it’s basically a poem on the chaos of the mind and the tendency of it to dream.
WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY is there nowhere to get photos developed around here? I called every drugstore and photo store in the area (aka. all three of them) and the answer was, “Sorry, not here.” They expect me to drive an hour to get prints… while I’m a boarding school student without a car. I will be VERY unhappy if I don’t get my pictures from my LC-A+ back until the end of the school year… VERY unhappy indeed. By the time I get my prints back, actually, the batteries in my camera (my ONLY set of batteries) will have died. Screw this.
It’s official: Photography class is bad for one’s physical and mental health. Not that we didn’t all know that before — today was just a confirmation, when our experienced board of scientists (aka, the ironically appointed F Period class) conferred and decided that yes, Photo is less than beneficial. Now, it’s not photography that we so strongly dislike. No, most of us enjoy snapping away, and one or two of us actually wish to pursue art degrees. What we hate is the class itself: melting our brains over darkroom chemicals, slaving away to futile ends, and each other. We have managed to foster a hate for each other so great that we’ve bonded over it. It’s a rare complex that we like to refer to as “Photo F Syndrome”. In most cases, it can drive one to suicide, homicide, or genocide.
Okay. Rant over. I wonder how many SAT words I managed squeeze into that? But that’s what Photography does, my friends… that’s what it does. On a (much) brighter note, I finished my first roll of film in my LC-A+ today! Photos should be arriving around… Sunday? I just learned that it’s twelve dollars per roll at the local drugstore, and an actual roll of film costs about six. Curse small-town inflation.
Parent’s Weekend petered out today. My attempt to wreak my vengeance against the corrupt institution of Photography Class with the awesome weapon of awkwardness failed sadly as most of the class was absent. Sigh. And now I’m too drained to write a proper entry, so here’s something short and writing-like. And I still can’t figure out WordPress paragraph formatting — any help, please?
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The doorknob.
My eyes are fixed on it; I stare from across the room. Turn me, it whispers in my mind. No, I whisper back. I am not Alice, and this is no wonderland. I will not give in to such twisted curiosity.
But someone is turning the doorknob from the outside. They are going to open the door and let in everything I want to keep out.
They are everything I want to keep out.
“Are you in there?” The voices on the other side of the door ask. No, I think. No no no no absolutely not.
They don’t hear me. They never hear me, not even when I scream.
“We’re coming in,” say the voices. “Whether you’re in there or not.”
The doorknob twists, and the door creaks open. A sliver of yellow light slants down onto the dark floor.
I curl up into a ball as the sliver of light widens. Finally, the door is open.
But, of course, there’s no one there.
LOMO LOMO LOMO LOMO. Also known as what was going through my mind as I unwrapped my shiny new LC-A+ camera, straight from the Lomography factory:
My apologies for the crappy image quality. But today was the start of Parent’s Weekend at my school, so my camera, along with the epic Lomographic “Don’t Think Just Shoot” book arrived at my dorm room today. Now I have three cameras, and analogue is winning…. I think that I’ll bring my dad to photography class tomorrow. Just, you know, to make things a bit (more) awkward.
I learned something today. What I learned is, Day of Silence is hard for people who ARE speaking when all of their friends aren’t. My school decided to hold Day of Silence a week late due to complications with the other date, and we supporters who do speak have it hard. I would have been silent to support, but I’m in theater and that would have been a bit counterproductive. But, of course, the one day that nobody’s speaking is the one day when there’s something of incredible importance to talk about. And, of course, once everyone starts speaking they are of little to no use whatsoever. I have learned that that is the way the world works… also, if you look back on your day at the end of it, you notice that what happens next is as evident as in a badly-written novel. For example, you say, “Photography class would actually kind of suck today if the teacher was gone, because all hell would break loose,” and then what do you know, the teacher is AWOL and class does bite.
Well, anyway, happy Earth Day! Respect your planet and don’t waste photo chemicals.
Just a poem I wrote for a poetry night I attended:
Fifteen minutes past
the time you left my life
we’re getting closer to that moment
once again we’ll do it over
we’re slowly nearing that time.
I watch the minute hand tick
inching slowly, time rewinds
I need to get over this, but I can’t
’cause each second reminds
me of what I’ve lost.
At first it was so easy
we wasted hours, days, weeks
months and years going nowhere
but now we’re in reverse
and I know I shouldn’t care.
In one minute you’ll be leaving
even though I see it coming, I won’t stop it
I can’t stop it, I can’t move
and as I lie here, barely breathing
in one minute you’ll be gone.
