Heavydirtysoul

I can’t believe you’re still here.

I thought I chased you away

that day when everything went black and blue,

that day when the soulless bloodhounds killed for me,

crawling around my heels,

with your blood dripping from their mouths and eyes.

Turns out it was mine.

Turns out all this time I’ve been shooting at a mirror.

Turns out you’re still here

credit: @twentyonepilots on instagram

in my basement

tying ropes to my ceiling

placing spikes in my sheets

pouring paint over all my books.

But you can tie your nooses and splatter blood,

but I will never

ever

let you stay.

I will smoke you out of the basement,

I will chase you out of my home

I will let out the dogs

and they will race you

until your breath feels like rattling saws

they will race you to the cliff

where you will fall for the very last time.

 

(mood inspired by heavydirtysoul by Twenty One Pilots)

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My first Thanksgiving

What is Thanksgiving? You’ll probably answer with: “It’s an American holiday and as the name suggests, it’s an occasion for people to be thankful for all the blessings in their lives.” But what’s the origin of Thanksgiving? When the Pilgrims arrived in America, they had trouble growing crops and in 1620 that lead to a famine that killed half of the Pilgrims. Fortunately for them, the Wampanoag tribe taught them how to farm on their soil and later in 1621 the Pilgrims had their first successful harvest. The Wampanoag tribe was then invited to a feast known as the “First Thanksgiving.”

As a non-US citizen, I was very curious to see how people celebrate Thanksgiving because it’s taken very seriously. Growing up, I used to love Thanksgiving specials on shows like “How I Met Your Mother” and “The Simpsons.” I knew the basics of Thanksgiving, but have never experienced it.

The food is fantastic, I never knew that turkey and cranberry sauce can go together so well. What I really appreciate about this holiday is the opportunity to reflect on your life and realize how many things we should be grateful for. I was lucky enough to spend Thanksgiving with my family and it was very sweet to have the whole day to keep saying how much we mean to each other. I’d say this experience has brought us closer in a way.

This was a very successful first Thanksgiving. Here’s to many more!

History of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving at White House

 

Photo Credit: Rose Rundown

 

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Ski Season

I am overwhelmed with excitement for the ski season approaching; the visions of snowflakes float around in my mind, reminding me of the snow-filled times of last year.

While at Mammoth Mountain over the holidays last year, my dad challenged my cousin, brother, and me to ski the face of the mountain in a complete snow storm. My heart pumped with exhilaration as the word “yes” left my lips.

This run was called Cornice Bowl and is one of the longest runs on the mountain. My body was shaking with every step as I walked closer to the building housing the gondolas. My vibrant white ski boots squeezed my feet, and my blue Patagonia jacket clung to my body as if it was giving me a hug for support. Carrying my skis in my right hand and my poles in the left, I trekked up to the big cinderblock building, awaiting my next challenge to overcome in life. Slowly but surely, I walked up the metal steps and entered a big room with doors leading to numerous rooms on the left, and the rotating gondolas on the right.

We walked up to the ticket scanners and, just like clockwork, the season passes we held so dearly in our pockets dinged, leaving a slight buzzing in the air. We then walked on big black mats that covered the concrete floor up to the thin yellow and black line that kept us from crossing. Finally, the tall man dressed in the iconic bright green and black Mammoth snowsuit waved us forward. With swift pace, we walked up to the gondola entering the crowded room.

My heartbeat accelerated quickly. I could hear it in my ears, it felt like an elephant in the room. Suddenly, the man wearing the distinctive green suit directed us to enter the moving gondola.

I hurried as fast as I could, slid my skis into one of the plastic slots on the outside of the gondola, and hopped in. I slid across the fake leather seats all the way to the far right. The doors slowly started to magnetically close as the gondola slipped away from the crowded room.

The blur of white snowflakes overtook all sides of the gondola. I thought I would never know this feeling, but for once in my life, I was blind. The winter wind left ice kisses on the side of the gondola, crystallizing the windows.

The dismal weather warped us into a white wonderland, with swirling snowflakes and drafts of wind occasionally blowing by our capsule, leaving a sudden crisp chill inside. McCoy Station was seen like the light at the end of the tunnel. Our tiny world entered the big picture again as we entered McCoy Station. As we crossed the threshold into the dim cinder block building three more men boarded our gondola and then we continued on the path to the summit.

The snow became thicker; each individual snowflake doubled in size, making for utter whiteout once again. The temperature grew colder as the summit approached us. The snow had fogged up the windows, leaving us surrounded by a kingdom of white.

The gondola seemed to slow as we traveled up, finally reaching 11,053 feet. Our carrier entered the small building at the top of the mountain. The kind men helped me release my skis from the moving gondola as I waited for the rest of my family. We hustled into the closed doors that held warmth inside, just to step foot outside again into the treacherous weather.

My ski boots hit each stair with a loud clunk. The temperature was extraordinarily low, resulting in frostbitten faces or ones which were almost completely covered in masks. After posing by the nearly frozen trail sign for a few pictures, I stepped into the bindings of my skis. My dad reassured my cousin and me that this would be no harder than what we were doing previously. The only downfall would be the steepness factor and weather. Then, my dad had a short but sweet conversation with my brother that this was not the proper hill to bomb down at mock-ten speed, but to go slowly and practice his turns.

We headed down Upper Roadrunner, an easy blue run, which was short ways to the Cornice Bowl, our first Black Diamond of the season. Once we reached the edge of the drop-off, I could see dismal looks plastered on everyone’s faces. My dad told us only people with great amounts of courage would ski this run in a complete whiteout. Then, he went first to show us where to turn. My brother followed with the same energy he normally had, but at a somewhat slower pace. I followed him, or at least I tried as I couldn’t see anything but white and the hints of blue coming from my K2 skis.

I started my first turn; slowly, I placed my pole, and my skis swiveled. Soon enough I started to find a rhythm of turning. My dad stopped every once in a while to check and see how we were faring. One by one, we would emerge out of the white bliss, regroup and continue down. In my head, I listened to the rhythm of the pole turn and repeated this motion as we made our way down the precipitous slope. Then, I could make out the end of our run.

My cousin and I made it to the flat, where my dad and brother had been patiently waiting. We decided to take a sharp turn to the right and head down a piece of uneven terrain on the side of a somewhat small cliff and start powering our way down the mountain to McCoy Station. At McCoy’s, we headed back to the main lodge, where the main gondola station is located. As we slid into the crowded area of people, we all announced at once that we wanted to go again.

 

Photo Credit: pagely.netdna-ssl.com

 

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A Project For Disaster

I’m no fashion designer. In fact I’ve never sewn a piece of clothing in my life, but I feel like I know what fashion is when I see it. I know fashion is supposed to be a statement of art, a piece of someone’s mind artistically constructed into something wearable, but sometimes I wonder how pieces of fabric are hideously sewn together, given a ridiculously high price because of its brand, and called fashion.

“Project Runway” is an amazing TV show which many talented and aspiring fashion designers enter in hopes of getting a spot in New York Fashion Week. I always found it incredible how people were able to construct amazing clothes under extreme pressure in, sometimes, just one day, especially in the unconventional challenges where the designers aren’t even allowed to use fabric.

“Project Runway” has always been my favorite TV show. I would go visit my aunt and curl up in the living room together and binge episode after episode, debating over who’s going to be the winner or who’s going to be out, eventually becoming a tradition during my visits. However, over the years the show has started to disappoint me. That isn’t to say that they aren’t amazing designers, but I feel like sometimes the winners are usually based off of likability versus actual raw talent.

Photo Credit: MMC News

I haven’t watched all of the most recent season, but I did see spoilers from the finale and I was not impressed… at all. The designers had weeks to come up with a fashion line, and the clothes they managed to make in one day were much more impressive than the ones they brought to the runway. The silhouettes of each piece were inexistent and bland, the color schemes were simple, and overall it just wasn’t nearly as mind blowing as the runway pieces from previous years. If I were a judge, I would’ve sent them all home, but I guess there has to be a winner, right?

If you need a good laugh, and want to see more of the most ridiculous “Project Runway” looks, click here

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Winter sunsets

Winter sunsets are always the brightest.
The days are shorter, the nights are darker.

It’s November,
and even though it’s cold enough to see your breath in the air
we still eat dinner in the backyard.

Photo Credit: Reddit.com User: finnishlad

It’s cold, but who needs a fire in the living room
when there’s already one in the sky?

The sky is burning,
plumes of smoke in pink, purple, orange.
Colors brighter than you knew existed.

They fade into view, like spilled ink slowly spreading across a page.
They stay to entertain the mountains, dancing among the clouds.
They decide it’s time to leave, sinking below the horizon.

Once spectacular, then gone.
But don’t worry; an encore tomorrow.

We watch the clouds burn for as long as they will.

Dad thanks Mother Nature.
Mom says it’s the moments like these when she knows God is real.
I think it’s the moments like these, the simple things,
that make it all okay for a while.

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Mister Sandman

Won’t you go to someone else’s head?

There’s no space for you underneath my bed frame

To hide and pull me through my sheets

To mark my skin with claws and fear.

Call me weak and laugh at me

Because you took my tears and pretty dreams

Replaced them with nightmares

And acid

And cold sweat.

Blue and purple thoughts are eating through my brain

Like a virus would spread through its host.

I am your host,

Credit: i.pinimg.com

 

You are my uninvited guest,

Destroying my home

While I lay in bed and don’t do a thing,

Staring at the ceiling above me,

Watching it brittle and fall apart.

And you stay.

You stay and you crawl back under my bed.

You stay and you soak my pillows in black paint.

You stay and you hold my hand to break it.

You stay and you do it all over again.

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roadblock

falling in love is like learning to drive.

at first, you stop too often,

jumpy,

and look

left and right 

left and right 

left and right

before easing your way into

the intersection.

you make your first turn;

you drive past another car

unscathed.

you learn how to

drive on your side of the road,

learn the

boundaries

of your lane.

Photo Credit: pinterest.com

before you know it,

before it hits you,

you’re picking up speed,

forgetting to turn on your signals.

you start to yield less at night,

but hey,

you haven’t hit anyone yet.

now, you have your permit,

liscence,

your first car.

freeways are nice to speed on

because you like the feeling

of the wind

whipping

across your face.

you feel your heart

race

when you run through your first red.

you drive on,

for years and years

without a crash.

you never stop to

think

anymore.

why should you?

it’s only to the store.

i’ve been there so often.

nothing will happen to me.

but,

you forget about the

sneaky,

little stop sign

after that one turn.

and

BOOM,

CRASH

you’re done.

no more DMV waits

for those

gosh darn renewals.

you wake up

in a hospital

with bleary eyes and

a broken body.

next time,

if there is one,

make sure to

stop

before you

crash and burn.

remember to love fast,

but stay safe, kid.

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