Tomber Amourex

I all of a sudden wanted to hitch hike to the country of France though a very large lake was in between me and it. I guess geography was the large force against me and my love for Paris. It makes me want to write a sonnet about ma vie en rose though there is a 56% chance that that doesn't make one tid-bit of sense, but ols' well. I've always wondered what type of English do French kids learn. Do they learn our American (toxic) English or do they learn British? I guess it makes more sense for them to learn British English because it's closer to them, but we learn Canadian French though I don’t know/understand the difference. But for the time being I'm completely 100% addicted to La Vie En Rose. ANY form of it, well any form BUT the original. For some reason I'm not into the true French stuff, seeing as though I'm not truly French. I'm just as French as the next champagne in the ten dollar bottle. But whenever I see that $150 bottle I just want to melt into one of its glasses and have it drink me, and ship it back to France with me still inside it. So, I'll be locked inside it forever. I think I have fallen in love. I get clammy just saying that. And I'm sure my cheeks have just blushed because I've always thought I've been in love, but I'm never really. She is, of course, any sign of the French speaking world. For some reason the language just turns me on. And when I say turns me on, I, of course, mean I want to take a thousand photographs, or I want to write a thousand poems full of nothing but the words you and me. Thus in the end, I will die as a part of France and always a part of France.

Pretty Rough

I was there for ten hours today. School is all I need. I don't need my home to get me drunk with all the demands of me in this world I've created. All I need is school; my never never land. They tell us that we will go to college and the work will get harder, and it has but I don't feel any different which is simply perfect. I only want a forever lasting school day where hope and optimism is synchronized. That sounds REALLY cheesy, but it's true. All I hear at home is "you better work hard" or "don't eat that unless you wanna get on the tredmill" and really, all I want to do is jump off my roof and NOT DIE just pretend that I did and see how they would all react. Or, run away for a few days, as I wish I did in elementary school because nothing mattered then.

Personally, it's worse being constantly judged by your family than peers, though that could be pretty rough too. I'm not going to go into great details about it because I'm sure you can imagine an example of your own.

All to Mourn

As the time of grief for the Browning family has passed, I feel as though it is time to look into perspection of Nick Browning: the son, the brother and the murderer.
Clearly, he was insane. How could a sane person kill their father over seemingly petty conversations with their father's handgun. And after kill their mother and two brothers while sleeping. If you think about it, the person who killed these loving people was someone else inside. Someone else inside that hadn't dissolved over the years of punishment and scolding from the parents. Thus, the Nick the people in the neighborhoods and schools see didn't kill his family; the Nick that manifested inside him did and one day mustered up the strength to kill those whom bothered him. It's a virus. Obviously he needed help, and no one gave it to him.
I not only mourn the family and Nick's old sane self.

Kids! Look at the Water!

"kids! Look at the water!" (quote from my dad, who every time we passed over a bridge over water on our drive across the country (US, that is) would say just that with na equal amount of enthusiasm each time.)

Luckily, I refrained myself from saying it when roaming around the peer this night, though I wanted to.

Character Sketch: Seven Year Old Daniel

Nothing had jarred his senses at this pinnacle before. His whole face was disgruntled; a frown for the mouth, a furrowed brow, a soggy eye and redness in between. Emotions were confused with no map; there were too many to maintain and his boggling mind had no other mannerism but to crash. So there he sat pondering in awe on his kitchen floor beside the cupboard below the metal sink.
Sure, I've seen Dad cry like this before; Great-Uncle Pete's wedding. But he hadn't. His father wasn't known to cry often at all, and neither was Daniel.
From the ceiling of the kitchen, rumbled the footsteps of his father dragging his feet on the wooden floor. For the remainder of the hour, Daniel sat listening and counting his father's footsteps scraping against the floor. At his father's hundred and first step Daniel pulled himself out of the puddle that had accumulated beneath him, and walked out the front door into their yard. He perched himself on the grass laying his sweatshirt, which he had taken off, on the grass creating a target where his head would ly. But before he lowered himself he looked off into the neighboring yards;
He scanned Mrs. Denson's yard for her cumbersome Pug named Frodo to play with, but no good. He must be at the vet. Daniel concluded because she didn't let it inside the house too lazy to potty train him. Daniel turned his head over to Mr. Walker's fence where bunnies usually roam, but there were no bunnies today. The foxes must have captured them. Frustrated, Daniel shifted himself for the last time to search for his older neighbor, Shelby's award winning roses. He finally found them behind the humongous hydrangea bush practically empowering them. But none the less, one blue rose bush penetrated through, illuminating the spectrum. Its branches scraped her white house every time the wind blew.
After his retina enjoyed the effulgent colors, he lowered his back and hard onto the floor of his bosky yard. Instead of blinking profusely to adjust to the light, he tied his arms around his face leaving only a single crack of beaming light that muffled to a slight glow. He sat and gargled his thoughts. Swish Swash Swish Swash. Daniel could see himself holding her hand across the street as they walked home from the grocery store. Her hand was always warm but not clammy. She was very tall; Daniel always pictured her fighting the bullies if they came around. He wasn't safe without her. Daniel convinced himself never to make the mistake his she did even if it meant never crossing a street again. His mind burned with rejection.
Daniel curled his legs up to his head allowing his chin to rest on his left knee. In the morning, Momma will be back.
Daniel didn't know that she was never going to know, so he awoke to a sunrise with no one but Frodo and bunnies.

A letter to Mrs. Tina Fey

CONGRADULATIONS, TINA FEY!
you've won your first trophy (I guess you could call it that) for acting. I know I'm really really reallly late on this news that isn't really news cause it isn't knew, but oh well. I could say; I'm fashionably late because you, Tina Fey, are fashionably awesome.


Good Luck with all projects you may be working on, whether it's how to cure the common cold, cancer or simply making a new ep. of my favorite show on TV 30 Rock. Keep it real.

sincerly,
Ivy Ribbon (only a fan, clearly i dont really know you, but olzz well.)