the cheesiest ending to any blog ever written.
I remember how excited my mom was to show it to me on the computer. I remember there was a buzz it was something that was written for school to complete some sort of foolish assignment designed to stimulate the minds of ragged youth. My sister had written a poem.
I remember reading it and thinking that this was the saddest shit any second grader had ever written. It was just creepy and detached but it lasted after you read it. It wasn't a matter of being impressed, it was something else entirely. It was hers and it always would be.
She kept writing feverishly as smart kids going through grade school do, surrounded by the social trappings of her environment she closed herself off and just did it. As far as I know she lost out on parties and keg stands and pep rallies. She was writing.
Her english teachers were so smitten that they couldn't even call her high school thoughts undeveloped(which is the job of an english teacher) they were in love with how creepy it was and how passive the anger was. My sister was born so clever and so quiet that sometimes I would poke at her until she insulted me and then just LAUGH at how funny the run down would be. She's so interesting I hate when she's quiet and tries to give a sly shy look. Its crap.
When she sits alone and writes she's in complete control now, she picks up the keyboard and shuffles from stanza to stanza like Tiger Woods going hole to hole. It's something to read, I'll tell you. She's taught me a lot about poetry and when she speaks about it I listen but make sure to never let her know that she's better then I ever was, creates a more layered picture in a shorter amount of words. Less waste. I'm older so I can't do that, I have to appear like the smart successful one and turn up the effects loud enough that she doesn't look behind the curtain. If she did she'd see me studying her stuff.
I have thought about why we both were drawn to writing, whether it was something my mother did or maybe our mutual love of superhero cartoons in the late 1980's. I have no idea and I have no solid leads on an answer anything I think of sounds pretentious and makes what we do even more important then I normally classify it. I don't like doing that. For me writing is just like brick building or selling fat cream over the phone. Its an art and all that really matters is that you have the capability to do it well. My sister has a hard time doing it any other way.
I remember reading it and thinking that this was the saddest shit any second grader had ever written. It was just creepy and detached but it lasted after you read it. It wasn't a matter of being impressed, it was something else entirely. It was hers and it always would be.
She kept writing feverishly as smart kids going through grade school do, surrounded by the social trappings of her environment she closed herself off and just did it. As far as I know she lost out on parties and keg stands and pep rallies. She was writing.
Her english teachers were so smitten that they couldn't even call her high school thoughts undeveloped(which is the job of an english teacher) they were in love with how creepy it was and how passive the anger was. My sister was born so clever and so quiet that sometimes I would poke at her until she insulted me and then just LAUGH at how funny the run down would be. She's so interesting I hate when she's quiet and tries to give a sly shy look. Its crap.
When she sits alone and writes she's in complete control now, she picks up the keyboard and shuffles from stanza to stanza like Tiger Woods going hole to hole. It's something to read, I'll tell you. She's taught me a lot about poetry and when she speaks about it I listen but make sure to never let her know that she's better then I ever was, creates a more layered picture in a shorter amount of words. Less waste. I'm older so I can't do that, I have to appear like the smart successful one and turn up the effects loud enough that she doesn't look behind the curtain. If she did she'd see me studying her stuff.
I have thought about why we both were drawn to writing, whether it was something my mother did or maybe our mutual love of superhero cartoons in the late 1980's. I have no idea and I have no solid leads on an answer anything I think of sounds pretentious and makes what we do even more important then I normally classify it. I don't like doing that. For me writing is just like brick building or selling fat cream over the phone. Its an art and all that really matters is that you have the capability to do it well. My sister has a hard time doing it any other way.
posted by veritas2 at
1:22 PM
2 Comments:
Dan,
you should get your sister into the north star some night if possible to share her gifts of word with us, if she is anything like you are, she will rock the stage like stephen king writes horror (at least until the car wreck thing). Keep up the good work on the blog, makes my week just reading and laughing along side you.
Well said.
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