Pottery

My first piece of pottery. Pinch pot with tree.

A Short Poem I Wrote

A Winter Drive


Waking up to that bright white light,

Remembering the soft droning of rubber on cement,

Feeling of speed running over him like a flood

The sublime smell of supple leather,

Dying to that light so bright.

So along with the EMS he went,

The bitter taste of dried blood.

The crash caused by the weather.

(It rhymes, look for it) 

Some Thoughts:

     People are... Some of the strangest things in the world. You can never really know someone. All you can do is get to the point where you are comfortable enough with them to know they won't try to hurt you. People are fragile things. Constantly getting broken, run down, and suppressed, but resilient. Everyone has awesome potential. That they themselves don't even see. Or they may think they see but can't access. Relationships are all about being there for someone. Being that rope that ties them to the dock of sanity, the lighthouse on the rocky shore.
     It is amazing how much simple experiences can change your life or point of view. How learning something so simple as a new word can open up your mind to knew horizons. I hope to someday achieve the success that I have been striving for. Just to taste the fruit of a lifetime of labor. Have the sweet joy or knowing that you did the right thing, that you helped other people, or the respect you received.
     I hate ignorance. Irresponsibility. Pride. I believe these things are the very things that tear down the walls of your personality that you have worked so hard to put up. They undermine your successes, and strengthen your failures. I believe simple thoughts like these, although insignificant themselves, are what separate the good from the best. Or at least that's what I like to think.

The Road

The road curved back and forth around the mountains as the snow began to fall. Almost driving off the cliff, Ralph slams on the brakes and stops just before the car goes careening off the cliff. Gravel tumbles down the rock face as he slowly releases his death grip on the steering wheel. He can't believe someone would do such a thing. That kind of brutality requires you to have no sensitivity for any life besides yours. He couldn't get it out of his head. There was no squeal of tires. No swerve of the vehicle. He can still see the mans mirthful face as he drove away from the scene of the crime. Pushing it to the back of his head, he tried to focus on the now.  Getting out of the car he looked around, the smell of crisp air and pine trees filling the air. This was his favorite place in the whole world. A place he could go to envelope himself in his thoughts, yet he often found himself to have none.The power of nature had always amazed him. It always wasn't being here that took care of his problems, but the comfort  he received from the drive up.  The bleating of an elk roused him from his pondering, and he looked around. It was starting to fall more heavily now, and he could barely see the massive mountain range on the other side of the valley. He wished he could spend more time there, but the roads truly got treacherous after the snow fell. He hopped back in the car, and started the drive back down to the small town. Picking up the still warm animal carcass, he thought once again of the malicious intent of the man behind the wheel of that small pickup. He couldn't stand the thought of it any more. He would extract his revenge.

The Story of an Average Man

There once was an average man. He enjoyed his life, plenty of friends, little enough family, and challenging work. He drank his coffee in the morning and paid his taxes on time. He had no complaints  This man didn't bother anyone and no one bothered him. He worked for a company that produced pencils. The man specialized in making sure the grain of the pencils matched up with the saw so that the paint would lay correctly. One day this average man was checking the alignment of the pencils and seeing if the paint was drying correctly, when he dropped his protective eyewear. As he bent over, the average man with the average life with no complaints slipped on a pencil and went crashing through the window of the twelfth story of this pencil factory. He hit the pavement with a loud thud and a sharp snap. There the average man died, His warm blood slowly moving toward the gutter of the sidewalk.