Elle S.
Writer and Photographer

I Support:

March 14, 2011

After watching the Malcolm X movie, starring Denzel Washington, and reading the Motorcycle Diaries of Che Guevera, I found myself longing for such a figure to emerge today.
Passion, for me, has been the center of my focus for some time now. My biggest fear is that I'm passively living, that I am losing years just existing. So I try my hardest to emerse myself in the two things I love the most, but at some point I wake up from weeks of dedicating myself to my art and think that I haven't moved at all. I am still working in a circle.
Let me explain what I mean:
I have tried so hard to work under the motto: Art for Art's sake. I can't. For any type of fulfillment I have to use my art for a bigger purpose, and this is what prompted me to try and become a photojournalist.
The idea of traveling and photographing the world is exhilarting, but it also scares me. It brings out the insecurities of my work that I try to keep hidden so that I can move forward.
Plain and simple: I don't have much experience with photo documentary, and it's the one aspect of photography that I crave to master.
How does all this tie into my desire for a figure like X or Guevera? Here's how:
The vitality and devotion of figures like them amazes me. In my idleness I try my hardest to imagine how I can become this courageous and dedicated to anything. I look around at the people around me and wonder if they are settling or if they aren't ambitious enough to try. It's nothing against them, I think differently from everyone around me, and it's this thinking that is the cause of my stress and sadness.
Where are the Malcolm Xs and Che Guevaras of today? Not one person comes to mind.
Until I started writing this.
The revolutionaries and thinkers aren't in the public eye, at least not directly. The people of Libya, Egypt, and any other country in the Middle East, that are leading and creating revolutions deserve to be equated with Guevara.
And those in Wisconsin who are speaking out against an unjust system are standing against the same people Malcolm X would have stood against.
There are people everywhere who have the vitality and dedication of the public figures I admire and love.
Their plights go unnoticed, but it doesn't mean that they don't matter. Every single one of them does.
And every single one of them restores my dying faith in humanity. And it's because of them that I'm inspired to really truly live and go after what I want.

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Yellow

March 07, 2011

It's been a while since I've posted any poetry on here.
So here goes:

Your tears crumpled against the wrinkles running down
your yellow face. Like rays they streaked
and smeared and your eyes closed slowly.
Those tears like the streams running down
by the feet of children in Vietnam,
still scarred from the rocks and bark and mines
that litter the forest floor.

Yellow leaves won’t live again, they crumple and fall.
The stream holds them,
carries them till the lip- the end.
They gather at the corners, form wells
that are swept away by yellow hands. Your hands
that tremble a little, wiping those tears.

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Thinking like a columnist...

February 02, 2011

This isn’t just a violent revolution taking places in the streets; it’s a revolution of the mind. The citizens of the Arab world are fed up with a state of no rights. Kennedy once said that if you make a peaceful resolution impossible, you make a violent revolution inevitable. This movement has been a long time coming.

The people of these countries are willing to stand in the face of pressured water hoses shooting out at a strength that can rip the skin. They are willing to be tear-gased and beaten if that meant they would be any closer to a state where human rights rule, not a brutal police force.

Colonialism came and destroyed the Arab world; a vibrant society that fell into decay followed by a control from the West. But now, the people of Tunis, Egypt, and Jordan, are fed up with the dictator regimes that are backed by countries like the United States that fight for democracy, but still support the tyrants ruling in these countries.

There’s a reason the international community is watching and paying attention. This is a huge deal. For the first time a people that have been repressed are crying out and their voice is louder than ever. Tunis was able to kick out its tyrant and now Egypt is trying to follow.

The rest of the Arab world is rethinking its own country's state. Unfortunately this comes as a reaction not as a definitive action taken by the leaders of the Arab world.

The United States needs to stay out of this one. Although there have been many calls from citizens here for support of the protesters, I think this is something the protestors need to do on their own. They are fighting against a regime that has been bought off with American money; finally the Egyptians are saying no to Western imperialism.

You can’t teach people to have a voice without giving it to them first. This is something the United States needs to learn when they are fighting a war to install democracy and free the people. If you don’t give people the right to refuse democracy what you’re giving them isn’t democracy at all.

The people of a country want to feel like they are participating in the decisions of that country and for a long time the people of Tunis and Egypt haven’t felt this way. They’ve had to deal with economic woes as the corruption in the government takes the money away from the people. The people of the Arab world deserve the dignity and respect they have been stripped years ago.

It’s time for the dictators that are looting the country to step down and let a free Arab world take shape. Free to live and practice what they wish; free to hear and be heard.

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An inventory of my life in 2010

December 31, 2010

This isn't as comprehensive as the original list in my journal.

There are a lot of private things I didn't want to share.

This was my year in a list:

January

Started my 365
Broke my Lil Wayne glasses
saw my really good friend before she went off to Egypt
got my wisdom teeth removed

February

went caving for the first time ever and saw a bat up close
read The Things They Carried for the second time
figured out how to build my own fort
successfully made my first apple pie

March

fate brought someone really important into my life
went on chatroulette for the first time with Joanne and Keelan and met Oscar.
successfully produced my first real photoshopped photograph
discovered and fell in love with Sigur Ros

April

made a decision that cost me the friendship of a lot of people close to me.
read Paradise Lost by John Milton
convinced 7 of my friends to fast for MSU's fast-a-thon
saw Laura Bush up close and got dirty looks from the Secret Service

May

started becoming close with someone who was later to become one of my best friends.
Ended my Junior year of college
read Slaughterhouse 5 by Vonnegut
started writing for the Indiana Daily Student

June

had the best summer of my life
The WORLD CUP!
finally met up with that important person
got my first Argentina Jersey
undertook a letter a day for 30 days project
cried because of the way a certain person treated me
met Jon, a Vietnam Veteran

July

Spent 6 weeks in a hotel by DC
met and said goodbye to some really cool people
got a typewriter
discovered my love for Pablo Neruda
saw 2 rainbows in 2 days
went to New York City and felt anonymous for the first time
had to endure watching Argentina lose to Germany in the World Cup
started but didn't finish a photo project entitled 50 days of summer
dyed my hair for the first time
struggled with the biggest decision of my life

August

turned 20
went to Syria by myself for the first time and realized how unpleasant I could be
got really homesick for Bloomginton

September

got my turtles
moved into my first apartment
finished writing the 30 letters
bought the biggest map I'll probably ever buy

October

skipped dressing up for Halloween to stay home and cry watching Anne Frank
got into a very awkward and uncomfortable confrontation
went to my first football game, saw my first owl, and went horseback riding for the first time
failed for the first time at a photoshoot and was truly disappointed with myself

November

Decided to become a vegetarian again
was ready to cut ties with someone I considered my best friend
found out something about it all and realized how dumb I was
wrote an opinion editorial about Israel and got a lot of shit and support for it.
saw someone from my childhood I hadn't seen for 8 years
went to see my first Harry Potter midnight showing
was given my favorite t-shirt yet
officially ended something I should have ended a long time ago

December

made my first playlist
listened to that playlist all the time
finished reading Lolita, Love Sonnets by Neruda and Coming Up for Air by Orwell
fell in love with the Motorcycle Diaries and Che Guevara
started a personal project: 30 poems in 30 days
officially became an FC Barcelona supporter
realized how anxious I was to deal and face so many things in my life

I'm excited and scared for this New Year.

There are a lot of things I don't want to change, but even with a new beginning, that feeling of finality won't ever go away.

This year is going to be really different, so many things are going to change.

I just hope I have the strength to face it all without breaking.

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When there's nothing else to turn to

December 26, 2010

I've been thinking a lot about absence and leaving. I suppose it's natural with a new transition in my life quickly approaching.

It's just hard to find purpose when it feels like the past 4 years have been wasted doing absolutely nothing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the chance to attend college. I've changed as a person. I've grown closer to that person I know I'm mean to become.

But I've also done nothing.

I haven't done any of the things I wanted to do as a college student: I didn't get published, I didn't hold a photography exhibit, and I'm not any closer to figuring out what my role in life is supposed to be.

This may be a whiny post, but it's a sad reality I'm facing as I take inventory of the past four years.

I'm about to enter a new phase in my life and I have no vision for it.

In other news.

I'm currently doing a personal project: 30 poems in 30 days. And I actually plan on finishing this one. It's day 5.

I'm also currently reading 2 books: Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre and Coming Up for Air by George Orwell. Not sure if these are the best books to be reading now, but I started and can't possibly be expected to put them down.

I'm also thinking of starting a new 365. It'll be good for me. maybe.

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The Secrets of the Sea

December 18, 2010

I think I know the sea's secret.

The way it queitly sweeps into its depths

parts of the shore. Its waves

leaving prints in return.

The way the sea is part of the land

but so apart from its worries.

I'm trying to guess the secret of the sea.

What's swallowed into its depths?

L.S.

December 17, 2010

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November 07, 2010

Today a friend told me that his life was a mess. After saying that mine was too, he was surprised and told me it seemed I had everything put together. Which shocked me a little, because most of the time I feel like my messy life is on display for everyone to see. I guess not.

But it did make me think about the ways I express myself. And then I realized that the only way anyone would know (other than me telling them) is through my writing. And no one sees that.

When I read over the words I wrote during times of emotional chaos, I realize how raw and real they are. Most of the time I'm surprised by the words and phrases I string together, because reading back on works like that feels like someone else wrote them.

And a lot of times it feels like someone else is living my life. Like the spirit inside me is trapped and wants to break free and live life. But something's always stopping it, telling it to wait, or stay put, or that it isn't a good idea.

There's so much I want to do, and see, and experience. But something's keeping me, and I wish I could overcome it and live my life how I want to.

P.S. this is not mean to sound whiny. I am very blessed, but I need to do something to make my life matter.

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Sketch #1

November 03, 2010

There's this spot in the woods where someone's attached a bench to two trees. There's harmony here, sitting under those tress in the woods. I like to imagine all the conversations they've heard. All the lovers' quarrels and friend confessions and maybe even a little bit of outward self reflection.

And sometimes when I lay across the bench I look up to a sky full of constellations and i mostly make up my own, but I know some famous ones too.

I like it here. It's safe being cradled between two tress.

Everything around me is so quiet, yet so alive.

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I've come back...

October 30, 2010

because I need this.

I need this to release all those thoughts that come to me when I'm alone.

I'm trying to build a relationship with myself. The idea of disappearing from the mass for a bit, to understand who you are is very appealing.

Anyway.

I've been thinking a lot about war. How it happens and why.

It's human I suppose to manifest anger in violence. To want to hurt someone that's hurt you.

Except war isn't a black and white documentary. It's not fair or just. But what's most disheartening is the realization that the atrocities of war are real. It's not that most of us don't realize that the numbers rattled off (or not) on the news are real living people with concerns and lives just like ours. It's that when you take a step back and you really think about each number, that it's a person with a face, arms, a heart, and lungs just like ours. That they feel angry and happy and upset and alone just like us. That what they want from this life is what we're going after each and everyday of our lives.

Maybe if the powers behind the decisions took a step back and thought of what it meant to wage war against a people. To kill, massacre, rape and pillage a group because they don't have the same religion, ideology or skin color.

I don't know if I'm hopeful or hopeless.

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Sorry I'm late,

May 26, 2010

This is beautiful.

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.

May 20, 2010

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Just a few things so I can forget

May 17, 2010

I never want to forget you if I can help it,

but I also never want to forget myself.

* * *

I'm working on a few projects till I go to D.C. in July.

One of which is a blurb book that I want to come out by December.

The other is a short story.

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May 16, 2010

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The Juggler

May 16, 2010

You thought you had enough

hands and hearts to juggle.

When one was up, the other

was low and so you

thought you could juggle

glass without dropping

yet you shattered the first

while the second was left hanging.

And now the second has met

the fate of the first

And your juggling has failed

to entertain even you.

I wrote this poem November 7th, 2009.

The words still apply today...

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So it goes.

May 13, 2010

If you've ever read Slaugherhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, you'll remember the phrase, "So it goes".

How could you not?

That phrase is repeated over and over and over, throughout the novel, and never have I ever been so annoyed by three words before.

Every time the words came up, I felt this annoyance surge. The words felt fake, they felt gimmicky, and I nearly stopped reading the book because of those three words.

After a week break from the book, I resumed reading, and I was already on page 68.

Those three words appeared less often, but I was still annoyed every time they resurged.

And when I asked a friend what he thought of the book (in particular I asked about those three words) he said he couldn't really remember how he felt, since he had read the book six years ago.

He then asked me, "Is it random? When he uses those words?

". I answered yes, but I started paying attention more and more to their placement among the chapters.

Maybe I'm slow, or maybe I was too caught up in my annoyance, but it took me until page 89 to realize that Vonnegut used the phrase "So it goes" right after a sentence where he uses the word death, or mentions the ending of a life.

And it all made sense.

My annoyance vanished. Once I realized and understood why he used those words, my blood pressure stopped going up everytime I read them.

Those three words were Vonnegut's consolation.

He saw a lot of things in the bombing of Dresden; things that evidently haunted him.

Death was a huge deal for him. The phrase "So it goes" lessened the anxiety of death, so it goes..so everything goes.

But maybe I've got it all wrong. Either way, I know there's a reason behind what he did; it wasn't just a writing gimmick.

And the same goes for any annoyance- once you understand why someone is doing something (especially something that's annoying you), you stop being so annoyed by them.

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This life

May 02, 2010

Sometimes I think maybe it's in my blood to live a double life.

After all, it's in my blood to create.

To create a story out of anything and everything.

And it's true, I do live a double life.

There's the life I live now.

And the life I write about.

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P.S.

April 27, 2010

Look here, please.

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Letter to a boy somewhere in Kansas

April 26, 2010

I remember the other day, when I thought of you. And you flashed before me, an unknown, yet definable form.

You're scrawny, a country boy. I imagine you sneak away from the friends who play in the mud, to make it to the little library, that carries only 152 books, because 23 were lost to carelessness.

I know I'm capable of that beautiful language, the one you probably read in that book you're always carrying.

And you sit under that tree, the one that's in the middle of your uncle's field. Traveling to world's I want to someday create.

I write for you.

You can't see me, but I know you.

You're the reader I aim to excite, fill with beautiful words that move you to someday be a writer yourself.

I can see it in your face, the passion you hold for reading words that swirl in the heart and make that funny butterfly feeling in the stomach.

But maybe you don't even want beautiful words, just beautiful worlds to escape the life you sometimes wish you could end.

Here is a link to my photography website

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Life is partly what we make of it, and partly what are made of it by our friends.

April 25, 2010

Friends.

They are the bane of loneliness.

They are family away from family.

They can either bring us up, or put us down. And if we choose correctly, they can motivate us and take us to esteems and higher levels of living.

But if we choose incorrectly, well you know where I'm going with this.

It's not easy, finding someone who carries the same views on life, especially when you're in college and your values and priorites aren't clearly defined yet.

I scoffed at the words of my father, when he told me that the friends you make will determine what kind of person you are.

After all I thought, I am not my friends.

But I've learned differently. You are who you spend the most time with, and if you don't pick the right people, you can kiss your personality goodbye.

I don't want to be just another person who's turned into something they aren't to fit in.

And as much as I'd love to fit in, I'd rather live an isolated life than turn into someone I'd hate living with the rest of my life.

Maybe I'm being dramatic, maybe I do have control over who I become. But I'm not sure I can take the risk...not when there's a lot to lose.

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Why I love it so much + What makes me sad part 2

April 21, 2010

I wrote this blog entry yesterday, but didn't get a chance to post it. So I'm combining 2 into 1 :)

As I sat reading Samson Agonisties by John Milton, I was reminded why I love reading and literature so much.

Yes, it's a great escape, and some books are entertaining, but it's also a great way to get to know someone.

A writer's fears, desires, wants, hopes, needs, are all in their stories.

You read enough of their work and you'll know them.

I've been reading so many of Milton's works, and when I read Samson the other day, I felt a connection with the writer.

How cool is that?

I felt a connection with someone who lived in the 17th century.

Call me a dork, but I love this stuff.

What makes me sad part 2:

I just finished watching The Time Traveler's Wife,

If you haven't seen it yet, don't finish reading this, because I might spoil the ending for you.

Anyway, it's a sad movie, and for me to resonates because of the theme of loneliness.

At first, it might seem as if the wife is the one who's lonely (and while she defintely is) Henry is the one who's loneliest. He lives knowing he'll die soon, and he has to watch his family live on, while he dies, alone.

Which made me think of all the people who know they're dying (cancer patients, the elderly, other patients with terminal illnesses). Most probably aren't afraid of death, they're just afraid of dying alone.

And while I might just be making assumptions, I know that's how I would feel knowing I had only so much time to live.

And that makes me sad for all the people who do know.

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an excerpt

April 15, 2010

Vic was untouchable even in his photographs, I was surprised by his beauty; it wasn't physical, something radiated in his face...

I reread the first short story I ever wrote.

Which made me want to read the other two short stories I've written (quite recently) and here are my favorite lines from the two stories.

From A Losing Battle:

"You want to stay there? Fine, stay, but know that you're being selfish." She didn't look at him, still determined not to let him see the tears that were welling in her eyes.

"You leave and you force your kids to go through the same thing you went through with your dad," and he left her in the room to soak her pillowcase with the tears she couldn't hold back any longer.

From High Business:

I am unemployed, eating cupcakes almost everyday and Tawna tells me she can get me a job at the local bakery. I'm still groggy from my sleep or tripping from the drugs. Do you want the job or not, she asks again. She says it over and over and over, but maybe I'm still groggy. Of course I say. The scrambled eggs are brown and the bacon looks oddly like snakes among giant rocks.

Good you'll start tomorrow she tells me.

One morning you wake up and you're headed nowhere fast.

Let me know if you want to read any of my three stories!

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What makes me sad part 1

April 13, 2010

I don't like seeing old people work.

Especially if they're doing manual labor. There's an old man here, he's a cute old man; with round glasses, a white beard, and a hunched back- the kind of old man I envision sitting in a chair reading to his grandchildren.

Instead he's at the library at 5:18 am vaccuming the mess of a younger generation.

That makes me reallly sad.

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What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?

March 17, 2010

I really like those lyrics from the song "Break Even" by The Script.

It got me thinking:

How does one find that person, their best part?

I asked a friend once about it. What she said: it's a happy coincidence.

But aren't we taught that coincidences aren't really what they appear. We hear talk of fate, destiny, etc. But is that really what's happening?

I don't have the answers. Just a lot of questions. And I don't really know if there is a way to find the answer.

As embarrasing as it is, I was looking through a poster book of Robert Pattinson, and in it was a quote (I don't think it was by him): Every girl has her Edward.

I'm not sure if I can agree for EVERY girl, but this girl sure does. And he's the most handsome, real, and funny Edward.

And I can easily say, I think he would be the best part of me.

currently reading: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

P.S. I'm reconstructing my website. I have two versions, I'll have friends vote, and we'll see which one gets to stay.

Any Questions?

(This is what I worked on today, for what seems like the majority of the day, but I'm sure it was only an hour...or so I hope)

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A couple of things off my Chest

March 07, 2010

I've just realized how hard it is for me to be alone.

Not that I'm not capable of it. I know I am.

I just find it hard to say No to spending time with the people I love.

And even though I love being around others, I know that being alone suits me better.

I find myself dreaming and working.

And what better thing is there to do than both?

So I need to learn how to say No to the people I love, in order for me to pursue the things I love.

P.S. I want to be a recluse

P.P.S. I still want to see the people.

P.P.S.S. Just in controlled quantities of time :)

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I do what I do...but do I do it right?

January 20, 2010

So...

I only read 1 book out of 2.

website :)

The stop motion was finished, I just didn't upload it anywhere (You'll have to take my word for it)

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Update#1

January 06, 2010

A while back I wrote down some goals for this break. Here they are again:

1. Read 2 Books

2. Redesign online portfolio

3. Work on a stopmotion!

4. Write a short story

Well here's how those goals are coming along:

1. I have read one book; so I guess one down, one to go.

2. I've established a place online for this portfolio and while setting it up, i discovered how little I've actually taken (in terms of photographs).

3. I have no idea what to do for a stopmotion, I guess I have three days to figure it out?

4. As for the short story, I'm not sure that's going to happen. I did however write a poem (see previous entry titled "White").

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November 25, 2009

January 02, 2010

Senseless is the fragrance

I smell from your lanky body.

Though I wished you different,

you came in a package diseased

with conceit and with no concern

for me.

And when I unwrapped you I found

what I already knew.

Your hands wrapped around

my body- I was warm inside

and out, but you were cold.

And I thought I could warm you;

chage the fragrance from your body.

I failed, twice, yet somehow

I wouldn't hesitate to try again.

I found this in my journal, changed a few words, and my feelings have definitely changed as well.

Look here...

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White

December 30, 2009

I wear a mask and I know you can't see past

what it means and how it says who I am;

but at least it shields my eyes from your glaring stares.

It interwines around my head; like it belongs there.

I forget about it sometimes, I've gotten used

to the borders it casts around my eyes.

So when I look up to see someone staring at my eyes

I remember it's my mask they're really looking at.

It's kept me on the sidewalk; walking safely away

from the rush of life. An excuse I use

when I need to get away.

Without my mask I feel anonymous, new, even more private.

But I can't get myself to rip it off.

Because I know it would hurt me; and my eyes will be left

to deal with the scorching gaze of everyone else.

This obviously needs way more editing. But I've dealt with it for now, and will probably come back later to fix it.

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I am as restless as the sea.

December 25, 2009

I have something I'm holding onto, not because I want to, but because I feel I have to. Deep down I know I should be cherishing it, but my human weakness whispers to me otherwise. I want to be free of what it means to me, what it means to others; I want to be free of how it defines who I am. Some of you reading this will understand when I say, the things that bind us are by our choice, yet we feel we have no choice. Nothing feels worse than knowing you have no choice, so that what holds you down and binds you is not the object/idea/thing itself but rather the feeling of helplessness aganist not being able to choose for yourself.

Why we should cherish freedom is simple: without it, we are merely bound to the choice of those who have it. Take for example the 'other' world, the one we are so apt to claim as lesser, the one whose people have no freedom. They blow away according to the desires of the higher, freer power. What choice do they have? A child with no freedom to choose whether he wants to work or go to school, must follow the choice of his parents. How helpless a child must feel, knowing they have no ability to change their lives; they live hoping this cycle of slavery ends somewhere.

I had no intention to make this a political or social statement. I guess once
I start writing about something personal and it evovles into something bigger- really puts things in perspective.

Going back to what I orginally wanted to write about: the object that's binding me without a feeling of choice; in truth I have the freedom to choose. I can choose to keep it or discard of it temporarily, yet I'm afraid of the consequences of my choice, and it won't hurt me, but my family. They have an expectation of me and my possession of that object completes their expectations. And what I'm afraid of the most is how my family and others who don't understand what I'm feeling will react if I chose to just let it go.

see more pictures of the sea here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/elledots/

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A few things to clear up...

December 22, 2009

So I've had time to think and I have come to several conclusions.

1) The human being is inherently lazy. Humans look to please their basest desires and anything else, they need to strive for. Some of us are content with what we have, while most of us want more, and that's not always bad. I've been struggling with the idea of medocrity. What's wrong with being mediocre? why do we have to conform to a social ideal of excellence? Maybe society's standards of mediocre are all one is capable of achieving. After all, opportunity, luck, connections, all work into how far or how powerful our work becomes.

But there is a difference when it comes to excelling in one's capabilites. If someone has been blessed with a certain talent that is all good and well. Yet it has always been said that talent is nothing without hardwork, so does that mean that hardwork is nothing without talent? And here is where I begin the realm of opinion.

I have never believed in the concept of talent. If you want something badly, say to be a good writer, then no matter what, your only job is to be that. For me, writing more is the answer to becoming better. That doesn't mean I produce anything of value, as a matter of fact I may write my whole life and produce nothing of value to the public.

And this is where society's defintion of mediocrity comes in. Someone who spends their whole life working hard and writing yet producing nothing that the public is considered a mediocre writer. Yet someone who has the ability to society is considered excellent.

2) I didn't write the above paragraph to justify my mediocrity. I don't claim to write as much as I should (and I should probably change that). But i'm scared to think that even if I work as hard as I possibly could, if nothing I do in life is needed at the time, it'll be passed on as mediocre or useless. And one thing I fear the most in life (after falling off a building) is dying without leaving even the simplest legacy behind.

3) Conclusion number three: I'm very lazy. It's worse than I knew and I need to do something about it.

4) I read somewhere, that writing down publicly what your goals are helps you achieve them so here's my attempt. Goals for winter break:

Read 2 books
Redesign online portfolio
Work on a stopmotion!
Write a short story

This entry is incredibly long but I'm ending with this:

(credit http://www.threadless.com/product/1931/zoom.gif)

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Waiting for the Sun to rise on a new day

November 27, 2009

This picture is straight out of the camera: no editing, and that's intentional. I've been struggling with my photography and writing lately; I'm looking for something new, I want to break the mold I've made for myself.

But it's proving harder than I thought. Either I'm going about it the wrong way, or I need a break from it all, move on to something different then coming back to it later. It's all so hard to figure out!

Leave me feedback, give me ideas, comments, suggestions, anything!

I'm really not going to be too picky at this point.

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A tear

November 18, 2009

I let a tear go today.

It slipped out of my eye,

unexpectedly, without permission.

Loss, it slips into life quickly;

one, then another, and they're gone.

And most people forget

that there was someone here before.

My tear felt warm, yet it came out

so coldly, I shudder to let one go

again, but there it goes.

And nothing would make them stop.

As I thought of a sister losing her brother

and the thought of losing my own,

made my face wet with cold.

I didn't know him, but his death makes me cry for the loss of every sister her brother, every parent their son, and every friend their friend.

Rest In Peace Benjamin Kempf.

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The Bicyclist

November 02, 2009

When he was six his grandfather

gave him his first bicycle. The one he

rode to the grocery stall to pick up

Mother's endless list

of tomatoes, meat, oil, and celery.

Even though he hated it more

than he hated waking up

every morning to a cold room's air

that suffocated his mind with thoughts

of simply yet complicated ways

to make things better for him and his

Family.

So instead he rode his bike back

and forth to pick up lists

that never ended. And he went on

to buy a bigger bike with his earnings

one that would keep sturdy while he was going

crazy from the daily wear and tear.

His life's net worth invested in that bicycle.

So he bought two locks: one to proctect it

the other to protect his mind

from the worry of a stolen livelihood

and the worry of a starving family.

But he discovered that two just wasn't enough.

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A Tale of Truth

October 29, 2009

It's not that I was confused

or that I didn't know

where to go

but I stumbled down

the path of needles

and pins where

the Wolf was standing

waiting, plotting, cunning.

And I leaned against

his warm, pulsing chest

his cold heart beating

softly then loudly

as if speaking in my ear

of desperate measures

in not so desperate times.

And I felt my hood

turn red with the loss

of innocent hope

that I clung onto

him and his arms

tightly wrapping my arms

quivering frame, squeezing

out the hope that he

was the prefect predator

and I the prefect prey.

Both lost in our fairytale

where every action has

a moral to be gained

and an innocence

to be lost for good.

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The ring

October 29, 2009

The round metal band

shone among the pile

of dirt

S c a t t e r e d.

Bronze, rusted, and cheap.

It fit on my finger

like a ring

which it might be

long to a wrinkled lady

with a carved head

like a greek coin.

She attached to it physically;

It attached to her emotionally.

Handed

to her from her great-aunt

who hated social drinking

who did anyway

like her great-aunt

who married for money

who didn't really need it.

This ring with only

its band left behind

must have loved her.

But she stumbling home

one night dropped it

down a drain.

So that now it smelled

of rusted metal

that burns the little hairs in my nose.

And I could only smell

the intoxicating rust

of that metal band

that I threw down the drain

for someone else to find.

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Untitled

October 29, 2009

I didn't know

if I should use

'it' or 'he' when I told her

how he saved me

from the horrific Forest

that spurted out monkeys,

who liked their bananas in bulk

and leopards who tortured their prey.

To tell her how it taught me to open

my eyes to the sound

of fluttering birds

that enjoyed pecking at your foolishness.

How he protected me

from the lure of the elephants

who found stray girls and boys

and worked them in mines.

That when I walked into the cave

scared, alone, and lost

he held my arm

and led me through,

the sounds of its hooves

echoing loudly like the screech

of the bats he awoke

and who liked their fruit tasteless.

It would let me lay

on his back as he swam

across the rivers to the other side

that was less greener.

And my friend would look at me

wonder, guess, maybe realize

that I had fallen

for it and he for me.

But I could never live

in the Forest

with a centaur who liked

to live his life unrealistically.

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The Story

October 28, 2009

It smelled just like any war;

rotten-egg screams, burnt-tire cries,

moldy living flesh.

Piles of half-closed eyelids

scattered ears with no pairs

limbs stacked; fingers and toes awkwardly bent.

The view from the sky

etched a different sight;

The air carried a light scent.

Both lives carried fear,

one drowned by constant screams

the other muffled by clouds and dreams.

Until the plane came

crashing to the runway.

One had the choice to run away.

Instead the doctor ran

to the pilot's aid;

pulled him from burning scrapes.

And it ended like it never came.

But both lives left scarred

moments to live a 'real' life.

One real life meant saving more;

another real life meant hurting

to hold onto a throne.

The only 'real' taken away

was a faded memory

of that runway.

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This is just the beginning...

August 31, 2009

Photobucket

This is the beginning of my photo journal. I'm not sure what I want, but the fun is in the discovery I suppose. I had a long post about what I wanted from this and where I wanted the journaling to go...but I deleted it, and I'm starting off with no expectations at all. And who knows maybe this will change a life- even if it's only my own.

-Elle.S

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