Something is special about summer, it’s probably the almost total lack of responsibility but I like to think about the subtler parts like the way everything is always bright like an overexposed photograph. I love the way the sun casts shadows in the summer and how leaves perfectly block the suns beating rays making glowing green arrows that flutter in the wind. I love how the heat overwhelms you and forces you to jump in a pool or the ocean or maybe close the windows turn on the ac and watch a movie. I love eating snacks with friends and doing things too energetic for the stresses of the school year. I loved last summer when we went to the beach in the morning and started the day at the beach, or, after a hot day jumping into the cool seawater as the sun set or when it was pitch dark out yet the sand still held the sun warmth from the previous day. I loved the summer of covid. I’d sneak out for a ‘bike ride’ only to lounge at the river preserve for hours on end. I loved 8th-grade summer, that warm night in woodland hill sleeping on the living room floor with my dad, or the night after seeing my whole life packed into boxes in the foreign garage I now know so well. I’m glad I was here for summers, playing GTA and eating those sour candies, late nights in the RAV with the AC on, or learning to surf on the shitty red board. I’m scared about losing summer—being so caught up in my life that I forget to enjoy it. Still thinking about school, work, and money all while the sun glistens down and the tree makes its perfect shade. Im scared to be like my parents, unaware of how beautiful it is outside. Lost in my own head never letting out that final sigh, that feeling of needing nothing more and wanting nothing less. Im scared I was going to never have summer again. I don’t want to lose something special about summer.
I’ve been thinking about doing more creative story writing, I probably won’t, but, here’s an idea for one:
There’s a person in a village/town of some sort in a cold somewhat barren landscape. Some bushes and plants grow but for the most part, there’s just not much life. But there is a lot of ice, specifically a large glacier. He’s lived in the same house his whole life on the edge of the town. When this man was just a child the glacier was miles above the town but slowly the hundred-foot wall of ice crept up toward the village. Now, while the town does have history there, the fact that this glacier is going to wipe it all out was well known for years beforehand, people could watch it over a year travel a few hundred feet, over a decade travel a mile, and so the town moved everything except for the building out of the glaciers path. Everyone has a new house not far from the original town but kind of live between the two. Until the last few months, the man has been fine to leave with only some memories attached to the shabby old town, but in the months before he notices a plant growing just beyond the confines of his backyard. He becomes attached to the little sprout, and then the plant, and then the small bush, and as it’s growing his attachment to it is growing. He becomes almost obsessive sitting next to it all day watching the wall of ice get closer to destroying this little thing that he loves (I think there’s an element of him being alone I want to explore in the beginning) and then the wall is 10 feet away from this little plant, and then its three and then one. And on his last day with the plant he watches as this wall gets inches away from everything he loves and then it’s getting pushed to the side and finally it’s gone mixed together with everything else that the glacier has picked up.
Idk just what I’ve been thinking about the last few days
White Man Tells Me to Pull Up My Pants.
Just 20 minutes ago, I tripped over a chair and a white man told me, “you gotta pull your pants up.” This made me livid, I looked back at him with a black man’s rage in my eyes, and I looked him up and down, pounced, and attacked. Flinging myself at the boy I begin by attacking his eyes, I begin to dig my fingernails deep into his retinas and claw them out. Working my finger through the eyes I take my other hand and shove it down his throat and pull from the back of it his Uvula. I then jump off, and with the boy screaming in agony on the ground I walked away and began to write this story. I know that may have been a little harsh, however, this is what will happen to you if you tell me to pull up my pants. PANTS DOWN FOR LIFE!!
This is what he looked like after.
The Pocky that Zimo Brought
Holy moly these are amazing. Right now, I’m eating the pocky Zimo brought with some Tostitos chips and this combo is sending me to heaven. The taste left in my mouth is a perfect mix of salty, sweet crunchy, and chunky. Yum yum yum. Zimo is touching me with these snacks.
It’s been a very long day and im very ready to go home. This weekend I have to ship and pack over 85 orders and I am excited but I know by the end of the weekend I will be tired. I also have an apes test that I need to study for, which I am delighted about. Emanuel is sitting to my right eating Cheetos with pencils that he’s using as chopsticks, what an odd guy. The new Fortnite season came out today and I’m going to go home and play a lot of it. If anyone wants to add me, my gamer tag is trynaholdmawood.
Pocky: Brought by Zimo
Wow Wow Wow. These snacks are delicious. It’s rare to have such wonderful and thoughtful snacks brought to journalism, I mean a lot of the time people don’t bring anything at all. I am immensely enjoying the combination of the salty Cheetos with the sweet and amazing chocolate Pocky. Pocky is really an amazing snack, they can get a little sweet, but other than that they have the chocolate covering on the biscuit stick kind of thing. It’s very unique to have this combination. I also think I like them because they were very popular in Bali when I was living there so they definitely have a sentimental value. today has been a pretty weird day, I think the rain throws off the mood a bit around here, plus, with the Mammoth trip out and all the kids getting in trouble this whole week’s been kind of off. It all culminated today I think. very strange. Anyway, I think this is about the word minimum and this isn’t my best blog so bye.
MB Quartz 502s
I recently got new speakers for my stereo. They’re the MB Quartz 502s which were a little over 1000$ when they were purchased, but I got them for much much less on Craigslist from this guy living off of Foothill named Jeff. I was pretty excited to upgrade my system as the last speakers I had came with this house when we bought it and were mounted outside on the patio so they were pretty damaged. MB Quartz used to make a bunch of audiophiles high-end speakers but they were purchased in the mid-90s and started to make much lower quality ones (these are from before the purchase), nowadays they make boat and auto speakers. These things look and so super good although I think in the upper end they sound a little metallic, for this reason, I added one of the sets of older speakers which has a much warmer (overly warm if played alone) sound. With the combination, the whole stereo setup I have been building really comes together and I’ve been enjoying building this sort of thing.
Arturo Sandoval III is 6’5”. His nickname is Tury, pronounced 2-D, and he has helped define what art means to me. His hands are huge, almost clumsy looking, with a set of meaty fingers at their end. He’s a party animal at heart; having crashed three different Porsches between the ages of eighteen and thirty five. And he’s probably the only person who’s gotten my parents to stay out past midnight in the last twenty years.
It would certainly be unordinary, perhaps even extraordinary, for one, at first glance, to associate him with the finer things. Once, on his way to Grand Central Market for lunch from his office in that neighborhood, he was stopped and handed money on the misconception he was homeless. His favorite T-Shirt, depicting a crocodile holding a phone and a Floridian phone number underneath, is so hole filled some might argue the validity of calling it a T-shirt at all. Despite the unrefined appearance, Tury is a master artist.
His work has been used in Miami, New York, and Hong Kong in exhibits, parades, and concerts. He is the co-founder of an art collective known as Friends With You whose pieces are anything but 2-D, often sculptures, large inflatables, and plasticine cut out collages. The message of their work revolves around kindness, positivity, and joy.
Away from his Downtown office, his garage, now converted tinker space, paradoxical to his untamed personality, is perfectly organized. In this garage, Tury made a ceramic sculpture which has been the most influential piece of art I have been privileged enough to own or consume at all.
The sculpture is a fairly simple form, it stands about a foot tall and four inches wide. The shape is a gentle—in mathematical terms—frustum of a cone, which has been subtly choked about two thirds of the way up, it has a dome top and a ring handle above that. The outside perimeter of the ring is a little smaller than a tennis ball, the inside, a little larger than a grape. The whole piece is covered in an off-white lava glaze with yellow under it. For those unfamiliar, lava glaze creates a heavily textured surface on a piece, it is often compared to how lava rock looks, but this particular example reminds me more of the surface of the moon or some other extraterrestrial object.
Since it was gifted to me, this piece has remained inspirational for a few reasons. The first, is simply that as far as a piece of art goes it is beautifully crafted. When light shines from one side of it (how it’s displayed in my room) the light wraps across the surface in such a beautiful way that it changed the way I think about how my work interacts with its environment, through texture, pattern, and color. It also does something that I think defines some of the best ceramic pieces I’ve seen: it expresses the natural form of a clay body, demonstrating the essence of the material in combination with a modern and minimalist look and aesthetic. Conceptually, much of my work revolves around attaining this dichotomy within my pieces. To make something beautifully modern without compromising the identity of the clay itself.
But, I think its biggest influence on me is that it is simply a sculpture, it has no purpose other than to be looked at, truly just a piece of art. From the time I started ceramics in fourth grade, all the way until junior year, I believed that the ceramic pieces I created needed a function. I thought throwing a cup, bowl, or vase made more sense than making a sculptural piece. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value of a sculpture or a piece of art, rather, I did not believe myself to be an artist, and so, my job was to make utilitarian items. This piece, along with encouragement from my ceramics teacher, allowed me to understand that ceramics didn’t just have to be about making simple cups but it truly could be an outlet to express my creativity.
Despite its simple appearance this piece of art changed the way I thought about and interacted with clay forms. It defined, above all, the value of creating a ceramic piece with the sole purpose of being a work of art.
my recent poems
“An Old Farmer’s Smile”
The dirge of a battered life
Wrinkles his weathered face,
A life of work and little grace,
But in his eyes, there is still a fire,
And his smile is warm, like summer mires.
He surveys his earthy prize,
It speaks of love and toil and pride,
Of hard-won peace that can’t be denied,
For the dirt and sweat of his daily chore,
So when you see that farmer smile,
Take a moment, stay a while,
For his happiness is worth a fortune,
And his simple smile, a true accomplishment.
“A Bird’s Last Look”
The bird takes flight, with a weary sigh
Against a sky of blue, he soars high
His eyes take in, the world below
So much to see, he doesn’t know
Where to go, what to do
With just one life,
So he dips and dives, on graceful wing
A dance of life, a symphony to sing.
And as the sun sets in the west
The bird slows down, his time at rest
One final look, at what he’s known
Before he’s gone, and off he’s flown.
The Art of Trying New Things
There is no one I feel more sorry for than those who live life without ever branching out. Those who stick to what they know and play it safe.
I don’t know a lot about how I want to live but I do believe in trying new things. To me, it’s about discovering what life has to offer, pushing boundaries, and most importantly, growing as a person.
I have my finger in a lot of pies. I’ve dabbled in crochet, tested my skills at the piano, and even explored my artistic side through painting and ceramics. I’ve learned discipline through martial arts and ballet. I’ve challenged myself physically through volleyball, basketball, and cross country. My most recent passion has been chess. Every new experience has taught me something valuable. Whether it’s patience, perseverance, or just a new appreciation for the world around me, I’ve come out the other side a little wiser and a little better.
Trying new things can be scary, I won’t deny that. But the rewards are worth it. You might find a new hobby, a new skill, or a new friend. The point is, you can only improve yourself or find new opportunities by stepping out of your comfort zone. So don’t be afraid to try new things. Embrace this art and see where it takes you. Life is an endless canvas, and it’s up to you to paint the picture.
little spanish farmstead
The other day I saw a video documenting a woman’s year restoring an abandoned smallholding in eastern Spain all alone. She left her husband in the city to live simply in the countryside. The 4-acre property and the house had no furniture, running water, tools, or heating. And this woman, from scratch, completely transformed it into a full-fledged smallholding. Anyway, the whole video is watching this process: thrifting the furniture & decor, painting the walls, landscaping a whole garden, and doing some handiwork. She meets a whole new community of people like her and builds a big tipi outside for guests and visitors to stay.
What an incredible difference she made in just one year, and to think she went out there on her own, knowing so little, and gained all the skills she needed. She absolutely deserves all the fruits of her labor.
Now she spends her days hanging out with stray cats, gardening, building things all on her own, and raising animals, instead of working 9-5 just to get by. The energy is so positive I can’t help but think this is the way we’re meant to live: healthy, happy, eating the best food, and loving life.
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