There, my antonymous readers, if there are any, have a bit more of me.

Still here,

Nathan

Flaming Pen Scratches

Let it be known that within humans there are three Flames. Each of these varies in intensity and decree for every individual, but all three are present in everyone -- for everyone is born of the same. They are: Love, Anger and Shame. The latter two of the three are closely related and often enact on one another. They, Anger and Shame, hold very close to their principles -- they spark, spread and consume and do so for destruction's end. Let us not leave the first unnamed and unidentified, for it to must be properly cautioned against with its own warnings. Although Love can go against fire’s innate principles, snuffing out its relational flames, it too can burn, spread and destroy. Some might even say that it does so more ruthlessly than the others. Of the three, Love, the fastest and perhaps the most intense, is the one most shown while the others are usually concealed. But one must remember that even though they are not seen they are still smoldering beneath the surface. Today, I only deal with one. The others are present, mind you, but into the air, I only let one.

1

Burn the Cinder

It starts with only a spark,

A simple look or action or even memory:

Any remanence or thought charged with a reminder of

Mistake or mishap, personal or societal.

First it must come,

Maybe by a suggested means or another one neglected.

Something you thought stamped out; you thought you were over it;

Why are you remembering?

You doused it with forgiveness or forgetfulness, it should be gone, yet it's not.

It burns Still,

As a small ember just waiting for fuel -- one screw-up, one trip, one slip of tongue or surfaced thought, unchecked. Fate need only neglect you for an instant

And that spark will have its fuel to burn and build on itself.

You can feel it in you, building, mounting; it's a wonder your skin does not serve as a wax! The temperature is rising and your reserve is breaking:

You cannot handle this new range, higher degree. Things will be harder at this level and this hardship will only make it worse.

You take in the air praying that it will call it back, perhaps bring it back to a cinder -- quieted once more if only for a while.

Observers must not see the flame within thee;

Are you man or beast?

The answer is the root of this horror by reckoning of Twain.

You remember, even amongst the burning and consuming flame no one feels but you; You must hold the fire in,

Beseeching the forces to quell it or else it may consume from inward out –

Maybe taking standarders-by with you!

It is okay this time,

The forces took heed to your cry and you remember that they are just words;

The past is no longer. Or you call upon a certain other flame to snuff the other

Or at least press it down. It is not gone-- most people say it cannot be.

Some might even say it is there to keep balance within.

I say:

Burn the cinder, burn it through.

Suppressing will not do, you must burn the cinder, burn it through,

Let the fire run its course consuming all fuels and forgotten fumes,

Let not but ashes remain.

This advice is dangerous, that much is true. But if you let the fire burn itself through

There will not be an amber or cinder to rekindle you;

So, I'm telling you

Burn the cinder, burn it through.

When there is no more fire to be displayed on the face or hidden to smolder behind;

You will be in a new realm of grace.

Some say this is not natural nor is it possible.

I say to you,

You must try, you must attempt to

Burn the cinder, burn it through

. If you do this and succeed in burning it through;

Then your own fire will no longer, never again, burn you!

©Keener2006

Lost Potential

Standing out in a field of all things living, I quickly take in what is before me but the eye cannot take in so much so quickly. I step here, I go there, casting seeds, those bits of insignificance, halfheartedly not knowing where they land but sure they will fall somewhere. It is sad, and most did not take to their supplied environment--it was ,I'm ashamed to say, far too "cool". Others developed poorly and are dying or dead. I should've taken the time to plant them so much more carefully, I should've taken the time with each one I wanted to reap from. It is too late, having no root they have long since scattered skyward with the wind and I have nothing to show, foolish caretaker. Alas!

The Coming Light

My friend I wonder about the world as a whole, what will come born new from old? Shadows cycle, nothing seems to change,but that is not true. When darkness fell change did come through. Some of the forces will better me and others will take me down to sneer and frown. But take heart, I tell myself, the new light that will come will allay the shadows that have hung about from a day previously done. Caution to myself: that same light that washes away the shadows of yesterday, may take away, more then I ask it to; revealing me to myself as others see. In the mirror of light I see more lines than I thought were there. Lines that I etched by undue courses taken. What I must remember is: memories will fade, as shadows do, in the beginning of day. Pages will turn, and ink may run and fallaway but Time and the powers at be will not forget, forget me. It is for the aid of people, I do scribe but not just for them but for me too. Perhaps if I write something, just a small bit, it may be deemed fit to land in the right hands, and I shall not be wholly destroyed and forgotten by man -- this is why I write. Through character I preserve, myself,even in this I reside in part.

So, my inner soul, my imagination and ponderous heart are now appeased. With intrinsic forces satisfied I can move back to this stuff that I truly decry.

To Be A Writer?

Embracing a dream to see what comes

Revision

The ability to fashion ideas and thoughts in such a way as to express them clearly and powerfully to others, this is a writer. To entertain with fancies an adventure. To create a world of fiction for others to enter, this is a writer. To allow the idea that is in one's head to pass to paper. Letting them be born. Reframing them from being just another thought. To revisit them until they become fully formed characters and stories. To read them until they become what you want them to be. To you, they cease to be fiction, they become real. When I speak, I'm not just speaking of those published and professional writers. I speak to and for all who have ever put pen to paper, all who have let thoughts become. The people who are not afraid to let their mind wander and their hand move. I am certain, that many writers have lived and died in darkness. That writing is never to be seen by another human eye. Now I ask does that make their writings less powerful or meaningful, perhaps, less elegant, complex. No. To be a writer takes patience. This patience is not placed on the publisher, but oneself. To have the thought, but lacked the words is one of the most frustrating fillings I have ever known. This frustration causes fatigue and lends to the idea of forgoing the effort. To this, I suspect many writers were lost to the world. I have ideas. They are all present and flashing in my head. Will half of them ever reach paper? No, not likely. Does this mean I should stop trying to do something that seems so impossible? No, I like words; I like knowing them and using them. Combining words into strange yet correct phrases. Using words in unconventional ways is not always wrong. As a matter of fact, sometimes that is the only way to tell that someone has written something and it was not someone else. This my friends, is called style. Be that as it may, many teachers’ especially high school and college teachers frown upon free liberty writing. Such writing breaks can grammatical code and is therefore wrong. I have been "wrong" many times. Did they change my writing style? To some degree they did but I like to think I kept the foundation of my format intacted through all those spirit sucking essays and research papers. For a writer, to know and use words is to love them. To love them is to use them. To use words in creation is inspiration. Do I love words? Yes, I do. It is because of that love of words and their uses that many writers aspire to become professionals. I also believe it is because many writers become professionals to gain that one element they lack, an element that is able to propell them to greatness, an audience. Even with the Internet and all other technological marvels a reading audience can be hard to find, unless one is published. To be published requires a certain level of conforming. This will not do for some, thusly, they may choose to stay in the shadows rather than compromise their ideas.

One who claims to want to be a writer and claims failure due to lack of education is in self-denial. Inspiration, imagination, is the fuel behind every word and letter. No one needs special classes or permission to come up with ideas. If someone supposedly lacks the talent to write that means they lack the passion for words or ideas. If this is true, they need not write. To those who work and toil, triumph will come. That idea, that plot, that elusive word will come in time and with it will come the fulfillment of true worth and power. Nothing beats it. This sensation of success will energize you for years to come.

Why did I choose to be a writer? There are many reasons, but ultimately only one matters. Ever since I was little I wrote stories, had thoughts most of which are kept to myself. Why this hesitation? Fear, fear of ridicule, fear of rejection, and fear of competition: losing to someone better. Although, as most know, while playing with words, you will get better: you must practice. While practicing this art you will loose to others. When you lose you will learn. When you learned you get better, eventually, you might win. Writing is also a medium which I identify as art. It is an medium I can successfully render. It is the only method that I can use to express myself. I cannot sing, I cannot paint, I cannot play music, however, I can describe. I can paint pictures with words. I can make environments and suggest music for the reader to accompany with his or her imagination. I can make a world and invite hundreds of people to come see, to come be a part of the world. Those participants are my audience, my readers. Perhaps they will love my story and thusly love me. When they love me I will love my writing. When I love my writing, I'll love my life. To love your life is indescribable, even by writers. Will I be a novelist? I know not. Will people love my writings and love me? I can't fathom. I know what it takes to be a writer, for I am one. To Be a Writer... is a choice. Choose!

Pumpkins And Candy in the Dark

Good Evening my technologically connected friends,

Today is October 31, to some of you this means Halloween, to others it is simply an other day. I'm sending this message to all. In order to cater to each group I say happy Halloween to some and offer a hollowed eve to others. With some of you I stay in constant contact, others I have met only a couple times or once. Still others,-who will remain nameless-it seems has dropped me from their social lists faster than a rotten pumpkin.

Atmosphericly this day is framed by nothing more than the dark, costumes, pranks and overly expensive candy. It is a day or night rather, that is illuminated, not by lamppost but by jackal lanterns ;so that in the darkness ,instead of white or yellow of fluorescent, you see faded orange. I imagine in some neighborhoods the sound of cars roaring up and down the streets have been traded for the hollow echoes of feet, hails of children empowered by nightly gales. Door bells that refuse to cease until night exchanges for dark day--prank or plea, you'll have to open the door to see. Streets will fill and bowls will lighten; boys will shriek and girls will frighten. Some will wait to bestow, others will come to be given, so be ready those who wish to stay and wish not to play, you will be besieged on this lantern lit night by children and by those who still claim to be. So whether you pass the night in play or you stay guarding the coveted bowl; or maybe you pass the night away with a little literacy from a guy named Ray--who likes this occasion quite a lot. So as you survey the children go, seeking what they know to find and leaving their cares behind to be picked up the next day. For this night they can break away and let fall the worries into the dark, forgotten. Well this discourse of nights not seen by the writer's eye has come to an end. Accomplishing its purpose: bleeding me of this nightly whim, but I do know something to this end: I shall send my kids into that night fearing not the tainted, for my children need to know this dark beyond the window. Their echoes of glee will be added to the chorus. For why fear pumpkins and candy in the dark?

Farewell to October and to you, my reader and friend

Higher Education

Forgive the "settling silence" valid busy adapting to college. Aside from my usual writing catharsis I'm here to evil several notions. Along the way, it is certain, that I was drenched my creative median since I am under no duress from any English inclined higher power. So college, an institution that frames your life, gives you the ability to move on with life through certification. The force that can reward and change and enlighten you. Yet, somehow, that same in lightning force cane terrify some. Why is that? Why is college so scary to certain individuals? Unfortunately, I cannot enter that question for I am only one person. Despite what some professors think I am not able to answer for anyone else but me. Why was I afraid of college? Preconceived notions have a lot to do with it. They accompanied the regular and anxieties of moving from a place to another. There was also the realization that I'm living relatively on my own. You're responsible for your daily activities. This service is no longer free nor is it mandated, you must pay suffer. As such the professors expect that the individuals present wished to be there, at least the majority of the time. Now for the denouncing process.
I shall now trying to go through a small list of falsehoods as they relate to higher learning. First, there is the notion that all professors are removed. By this I mean that they do not teach a simply assign work take papers and take your money. So far, for me, this has not been the case. I even had one professor teach us dramatics that are supposedly learned in a middle school. A college professor stood at the front teaching 18 and 19 year olds have to use commas. Needless to say, I was rather surprised. Moreover, he actually condos or informed us that there is the role actual written in rules for the reasons behind commas-this was news to me. For as long as I could remember, teachers only said something like this:, search be placed where ever there are positives in the Senate. This, as I found out, is a rather crappy way of teaching grammar. It just so happens that there are seven weapons to the basic uses of the comma, who knew?!
I shall now chart to impart them to my readers, that is, if I have any
1., search be used when dealing with numbers (1,000,000)
2., search be used in the date preceding the day and coming after the year
everyone knows those two
3. Commas is to be used after a introductory phrase or word
4. Commas is reused to set off a direct quotes (according to Paul,...)
5. Commas are to be used in listing
6. Commas are to be used in connecting independent clauses with a conjunction
7. Commas are to be used to isolate parenthetical material, that is, extra information that is not necessary to convey the idea a sentence
there you have it, if you care, information I could be used many many years ago. College will indeed awaken you to many concepts the rule find for. Some of these concepts will disturb you. Others will enlighten it is up to the individual to comb through all those stimuli and decide what to partake.
Exams are no longer something you do in school to pass the time and give the teachers something very exams are now the meet behind your success or failure. You must learn the information that is presented, take the test and pass or you will fail and waste money. Money should never be wasted especially not now.
Despite living in the college life I still find it a mere necessity to obtain the appropriate certification that supposedly says I know what I say I know. That brings me to another point, in this day in age college is mandatory, not legally but it is permission during my experiences I have gone from being idle till it hurts to lose in my head over the obstacles placed before me. Such is the lane with this particular ride in now that I have lapsed into mine less rambling I will in this edition and go back to expensive suffering
Simply
NLK

Good day to all cyber wanderers,

I have successfully uprooted myself for my small hometown in a smaller town, or it seems so. My classes start tomorrow. Oh joy! I have often thought and on even one occasion said, men seem to define the existence by suffering. If one is not under some kind of duress board coming on a pointless task, we usually assume we are dreaming. If we do not come to consciousness then we deem in the day or task to be doomed and abandon it. Even though I go to great lengths to define myself as a fully functioning individual, I too prescribed in this crazy idea. I'd be a college as a necessary evil. A great struggle one must endure to claim the right to know something. Most the time it looks to me as though they go through all that were just get a piece of paper that says they know what they know when in fact they may know more or less than the certification declares. Oh yes, I almost forgot unlike other life ventures we must pay for this one. Yes, when did you ever left think of paying for pain. In essence that is will we do. Outside the recognition games we also enjoy social development so I've been told. So amongst the massive looming stress and physical work we must somehow find the time to find ourselves. Because apparently, up to the age of 20 or so you will know who you are. Well, I hate to defy convention but I know who I am. Of course, I can spend the time trying to educate others how to except what they see. To this wonderful, usually four year journey we get to enter the world of the working. When there, we will long for the college days and life it allowed. Whilst we are in college we usually wish to be home again at some time or another. Oh well, people will always want what they cannot have. Simultaneously, they wonder why they wished it gone so quickly. However, while you're kicking yourself remember this: these ups and downs are life. You live and die, but living does not mean you'll have a life. Living its existence. Life is interaction.

Even though it is short and riddled with grammatical errors, this one goes out to a fellow logically engrossed being. In truth, you're probably the only more that reads this anyway. Who am I talking about? I am certain that the individual can figure it out.

As always

Nathan Lee

sidenote: too lazy to reread, figure it out!

To Be A Writer?

Embracing a dream to see what comes

The ability to fashion ideas and thoughts in such a way as to express them clearly and powerfully to others, this is a writer. To entertain with fancies an adventure. To create a world of fiction for others to enter, this is a writer. To allow the idea that is in one's head to pass to paper. Letting them be born. Reframing them from being just another thought. To revisit them until they become fully formed characters and stories. To read them until they become what you want them to be. To you, they cease to be fiction, they become real. When I speak, I'm not just speaking of those published and professional writers. I speak to and for all who have ever put pen to paper, all who have let things become. The people who are not afraid to let their mind wander And their hand move. I am certain, that many writers have lived and died in darkness. That writing is never to be seen by another human eye. Now I asked does that make their writings less powerful or meaningful, perhaps, less elegant, complex. No. To be a writer takes patience. This patience is not placed on the publisher, but oneself. To have the thought, but lacked the words is one of the most frustrating fillings I have ever known. This frustration causes fatigue and lends to the idea of forgoing the effort. To this, I suspect many writers were lost to the world. I have ideas. They are all present and flashing in my head. Will half of them ever reach paper? No, not likely. Does this mean I should stop trying to do something that seems so impossible? No. I like words I like knowing them in using them. Combining words into strange yet correct phrases. Using words in unconventional ways is not always wrong. As a matter of fact, sometimes that is the only way to tell that someone has written something and it was not someone else. This my friends, is called style. Be that as it may, many teachers’ especially high school and college teachers frown upon free liberty writing. Such writing breaks grammatical code and is therefore wrong. I have been "wrong" many times. Did they change my writing style? To some degree they did but I like to think I kept the foundation of my format intact through all those spirits sucking essays and research papers. For a writer, to know and use words is to love them. To love them is to use them. To use words in creation is inspiration. Do I love words? Yes, I do. It is because of that love of words and their uses that many writers aspire to become professionals. I also believe it is because many writers become professionals to gain that one element they lack, an element that propelled them to greatness, an audience. Even with the Internet and all other technological marvels a reading audience can be hard to find, unless one is published. To be published requires a certain level of conforming. This will not do for some, thusly, may lead to stay in the shadows rather than compromise their ideas.

One who claims to want to be a writer and claims failure due to lack of education is in self-denial. Inspiration, imagination, is the fuel behind every word and letter. No one needs special classes or permission to come up with ideas. If someone supposedly lacks the talent to write that means they lack the passion for words or ideas. If this is true, they need not write. To those who work and toil, triumph will come. That idea, that plot, that elusive word will come in time and with it will come the fulfillment of true worth and power. Nothing beats it. This sensation success will energize you for years to come.

Why did I choose to be a writer? There are many reasons, but ultimately only one matters. Ever since I was little I wrote stories, had thoughts most of which are kept to myself. Why this hesitation? Fear, fear of ridicule, fear of rejection, and fear of competition: losing to someone better. Although, as most know, playing with words, you will get better you must practice. While practicing this art you will loose to others. When you lose you will learn. When you learned you get better, eventually, you might win. Riding is also a median which I identify as art. It is an median I can successfully render. It is the only method that I can use to express myself. I cannot sing, I cannot paint, I cannot play music, however, I can describe. I can paint pictures with words. I can make environments and suggest music for the reader to accompany with his or her imagination. I can make a world and invite hundreds of people to come see, to come be a part of the world. Those participants are my audience, my readers perhaps they will love this story and thusly love me. When they love me I will love my writing. When I love my writing, I'll love my life. To love your life is indescribable, even by writers. Will I be a novelist? I know not. Will people love my writings and love me? I can't fathom. I know what it takes to be a writer, for I am one. To Be a Writer... is a choice. Choose!

First College Reflection

Pre-college (#1)

Truth, college is sometimes the long awaited post-secondary venture, to others it is a close terrifying encounter with the third kind. I am with the latter. College scares me. I know it will test me on all levels. More than one I have labeled college “that necessary evil”, I do not know whether or not that statement holds true. I will soon discovery the answer. With much apprehension I will enter that life of higher learning. Yes, I said life, for that is what it will become. My life is my own personal twilight zone. I was going to drag this out, but I have just now realized there is no need. If college is to become my life, then fearing it be the same as being afraid to live. That is not tolerable to any degree, no matter the reasoning. One can not life. If you do it might just leave you.

Yours Truly,

Nathan Lee

Short? Simple? Yes. Helpful you tell me, post comment.

The Tragedy of Roosevelt Warm Springs Institute for Rehabilitation
A Rhythmic Machine

A place so glorified. Held on an illuminated altar. Put up to efficiency and grace. Composed in 1937 from wood and mortar to be a haven for the imperfect. A place for healing and reconstruction. A place that makes the imperfect perfect with no visible side effects. A place that is free. A great dream and hope to help those less fortunate. Those who came out under, subpar to the rest of humanity in some fashion or other. Thusly, and the foundation was laid a structure built to house and help those lucky individuals who are deemed worthy of its magnificent aid. For appropriate symbolism the whole place was died in white. For we all know that white symbolizes light and all of its connotations. Greatness, healing, to make a new. To mend and change. This concept was born from a need and want to change. Today people better to help for the sake of it.
Sadly the execution has failed miserably. In the length of 10 years, I'm told this place has failed so far from what it once was an only has left reminiscence ruins of its former glory. Now I must be asked who suffers most from this lack of. The answers very simple. The recipients do not receive ergo they suffer. What do they suffer? That is a decent question. The answers something like this: it is true that do not lose anything they once had. They only lose a chance of something they could of had. This kind of laws is very difficult to measure. There is no scale for human potential. This place is glorified far away when it is looked upon from a distance it is a diamond of a spectacular cut and gleam. However when this supposed gem is examined closely you find it is nothing more then cubic zirconium and is for all intents and purposes aside from a fancy look, utterly worthless. Even after all these are discovered it still protests its glory to its whitecoat. This wide does not for me. It is no more than a cover a sea empathetic disguise accomplished with cheap paint, nothing more. What is the crime? Is hard to explain however it is there. This haven of white is ran by many agencies many people forces all coming together to create this wonderful harmony that is its inner workings. This mass administration does not work with a hole filled with persons of different need. Granted it is financially impossible to doctor the program for every individual. Everyone is forced into this mold which can cause more harm than good, but never on the paperwork never. Forcing someone into a mold can cause psychological or intellectual suffocation. No one cares. The staff is not paid to care. They are paid to administer care, not to. Another obstacle is the political financial and governmental complexities that I apply within each other creating a great netting. This netting prevents the service from allowing people and personalities through. The persons that being only care for paper and records, black and green. The only way this netting can be broken its apparently through money private funding from people with big names and larger bank accounts. Money is the only way to circumvent that netting of government policy and everyone knows it. Sadly in no one has the funds to break it. And this fact is the sadest one of all. Children and people will continue to be forced into the same to white and graceful-looking mold. People will bring to that will splinter one forced into that mold but no one cares. At this time you may be asking why this wonderful place still exists. Reputation and façade. It is that simple. The aim of this place is to, as I understand it: rehabilitate the mind, body, and spirit. That sounds so nice does it not? In my observation and experience it only accomplishes the adverse. In response to their statement I say the following: my body is more broken and will remain so my mind is idle and my spirit is dying. I stand protesting Roosevelt had a wonderful idea however the execution has fallen to pieces. I don't know why it is breaking only that it is. I compare it to the likeness of this Institution to a prison. Although they do avoid technical and legal definition of jail. It its a version of prison, in my opinion. This place is not glorious not great in any fashion. It was a wonderful dream and came to be but in short order has fallen to the realm of nightmare. Roosevelt warm Springs Institute for Rehabilitation is a broken system. Regardless of what they say, I contend.



Oh yeah, Happy 4th