Confession Tuesday: I confess.

Confession Tuesday

I hate writing about my family.
I really do. I'll write about anything, anything personal, except my family, because its unfair as hell. It's like talking behind someone's back, talking about a stranger like you know them. I only see my family across seas once every two years. I met some of my family for the first time ever only this vacation, parts of my family on my English side are actually missing. I haven't actually met most of my family and the ones I have had we can only share scarce moments with each other. The only three groups I really know are my grandparents on both sides and my aunt and uncle on my Dutch side. But that's about it. I feel like a bastard when I write about them, I have no right to, how can I dedicate a memoir to a stranger when I have do not have many memories to share with them..

To make things worse, if I DARE write about my brother and I put one, tiny little sarcastic comment. He goes crazy on me raging completely. Yet he doesn't seem to have any problems writing a post directly labelled at attacking me, isn't it great to have such a loving, caring brother?

Memoir: Papers, People.

We are all talking and screwing around, it's what our nature is, it's what we do. As of right now,there are three diferent groups in the class, the ones blatantly doing nothing, the ones pretending to work but still talking, and the ones actually doing what they are supposed to. None of us know it at the time, but quite a few of our names are on a "list".

Yet there is something strange about this list, there are a few names, a few names that were doing their work. And almost all of the group I was in that day, when we worked loudly and sometimes pretended to. Was free. I have no idea why. It's just that when you look around and you see people who did nothing wrong get yelled at, you have to feel sorry because it just as easily could have been you.

It could have been me. I have to remember that, we all do if we want to survive the 8th grade.

SOLT: Good Morning, I Feel Bad.

SOL; Morning, Remembering.
My eyes slowly open, I feel relieved that it's a Friday, sure I have a basketball game that I really don't want to go to; but it's all over. I rise slowly, happily, start off my day on the right foot. As I bring my foot down I step right on my backpack, then I remember. “Oh crap”.

It's pitch black as I slowly walk my way across my parents room towards my laptop, which my dad has been confiscating at nine-thirty every night because of my bad grades. Bad grades mainly because of moments like these, when I have to rush to finish everything. I sneak back to my room and flip open the screen, I open Facebook to get the science stuff and I rush to work. I had promised to work on this, so I was going to. I've always felt much more responsible when I am in a group, like I HAVE to finish the work, no matter what, so I will. I've got a lot of stuff to do, but my advantage over my team-mates is that I am much better at English, therefore I can write nearly nothing but make it sound profound and thorough (kinda like what I'm trying to do right now).

Finished, it's taken me only twenty minutes, but it's all good. Thank god I did one of the chemical reactions last night. Only one problem though, what do I do to pass the time now? I go on Skype, just to check what idiocies had gone down and then I see it. A link, a link to Miguel's blog.
Blog, blog, blog, blog, blog. Why did I have the feeling I was forgetting something? Then, for the hundredth time this morning, I remembered.

Wordly Wise Wednesday: Real Music.

Ok, so when I read some of the utter crap that people posted yesterday, all the fun stuff about Lindsay having a rough time. I was more than surprised. I thought this grade had grown up, guess what? I was wrong. People obviously have never listened to the lyrics in one of Lohan's songs and thought “WHAT THE HELL AM I SINGING ALONG TO?”, people just jump on the bandwagon because of MTV( Which should change it's name to Reality TV, because nothing but crappy reality shows like Jersey Shore are broadcasted anymore)and then suddenly it's the biggest hit. Well at least she is a crappy, yet independent “musician”. This age, is the age of stupid, the age when people listen to “music” by Disney. I know I wasn't alive back then, but I don't think twenty years back people listened to the Mickey Mouse Theme for their own entertainment. Do you think people would stroll around with their Sony Walkman's going “Duuuuude, this song is soooo chill!!!”? Over the years, I have grown a profound hatred towards theses talentless auto tuning losers who get their fame by screwing stuff up. They should live in a recluse shack and be beaten every day so hard that the sound reverberates around the world for making such abhorrent music. Same thing is wrong with most celebrities now a days, leak a sex tape on purpose and the status quo gets tricked into believeing you are famous for a good reason. The singers... they write some of the most pointless, repetitive MEANINGLESS crap lyrics I have ever heard, and they don't even have decent guitar to make up for it.

For some reason signing about superficial stuff like getting high makes you epic. Deerrr. A lot of people get high, why is it special when a singer does? Is there something amiss with me, or do I just not want to take signers as role models and be surprised when they screw up.
Another thing I despise: Twitter. Why? Because it's the worlds best place for people with boring lives to catch up on the crappy celebrity bullshit. Lindsay: Going to jail! AGAIN! More money for me! Surprise, surprise, retards! Gahhh, I'm not saying I don't appreciate some of the music coming around now, yet pop disgusts me. It's all teeny crap with girls singing about being famous and going to night clubs and all that superficial, NORMAL, boring stuff.


I swear to god if I hear ANYONE playing Tik-Tok one more time, someones gonna get hurt.
And it isn't going to be me.

Confession Tuesday: To Myself, Because I am Just That Humble

I confess that the more angry you get, the more fun it is :D

People tell me I am too mean,
Too cynical, Too...
Too much of a douche,
Yet they say it in a more correct manner.

People reckon I'm too patronising,
(that means I treat them as if they're stupid).
They should realize
that I don't care.
Because everyone lives
in a glass house,
And when a stone comes flying back.
We act surprised..


Why do I do it?
'Cause you deserved it.
Well,
Maybe you didn't.
But I still had fun doing it.

So to all you people complaining
“To Nick, To Nick”;
I don't hate the messages,
Trust me,
I love it.

Because it gives me another chance
To call you out on a grammatical error,
On a post about my stinginess,
About grammar.

Then people whine and complain,
When I take a shot,
A shot for an open goal.
Because you all make it too easy.
I'll call you out on something stupid.

People need to realize,
In a world of freedom,
Freedom of speech,
Freedom of religion,
Freedom of press,
I should have the freedom.
The freedom to make fun of you.

Have a nice day,
Thank you.

Memoir Monday: Pain, Laziness, Idiocy.

Memoir Monday

I'm an idiot. I should have bought my gloves, but they were upstairs so I just headed straight out. I guess that makes me a lazy idiot. Gloves, gloves, gloves, why didn't I bring them? I don't know, but I guess it's too late to worry about that. I'm going way too fast and to make it worse... I was in crocs. I should have bought my shoes, but they were upstairs and they seemed just out of reach. I'm already regretting my decision. I swerve right, hoping to hit the curb and land on the grass, but then
I swerve back again when I see the dog excrement. Lazy idiots didn't pick it up; so now it coats the grass like some kind of screwed up snow. The hill that I am speeding down is growing ever more menacing and I am picking up speed, yet I am not ready to fling myself at “processed” dog food.. I'm in deep shit already, no need to make it literal.

Ugh, only one way to handle it now, I'm going to have to try running it. I know it won't work, but if I can make it to maybe the 3rd step my fall won't be that bad. I crouch down and brace myself, this is going to hurt. I jump off at full speed, and place my foot down, there is a ripping sound as my toes rip through the low quality croc, my feet slice across the sharp pebbles which coat the ground. I am bleeding already.

So, what does stupid Nick do? He lifts up his foot in pain, and he get impelled into a face first dive.
My hand cracks back as soon as I make a grab for the gravel; I half flip, half roll over as I hit the ground, feeling my skin get ripped off by the rock, I put my good foot down and manage to slide to a stop on my knee. I'm full of the usual small cuts you get from falling, put there is a large gash in my arm. Where the skin has peeled off. Worst part? It's right on the place where I took the full impact of a bike flip a few months back.. I curse and as usual, walk over to the curb so I can sit and feel sorry for myself. Yet no sympathy comes, only a hanging aura of disgust at my own idiocy.
Lazy,
Lazy,
Idiot.

December 31st

The Coke's taste burns then fades,
The caffeine is keeping me awake,
My brother is upstairs, asleep in the house.

There are explosions outside,
All different shapes and sizes,
Awe comes from the younger children.

A few are more than tipsy,
I can already tell that.
Even when the drink that I hold
Is not the drink that they worship.

Yet when I am offered a glass,
I take it; when there is a huge firework.
That everyone is scarred to set aflame.
I step forward with a lighter.

So when January first hits the clock,
I drink,then I set the bomb off.
A rain of fire, dashing lights,
It coats the block.

Th' Ashes fall like snowflakes,
Snowflakes which I have never seen.
Sharp whirs cut the night.
Before an explosion destroys my ears. Your ears

Green, Red, Blue lights;
Lights and laughter fill the sky
Yet compared to carnival,
This is but a lullaby.

When life gives you no
North or South you have to make believe,
That somehow it's better,
Better to be in between.



Somewhere in The Middle...

WW For Idiots.

Nicholas Brands Smit
7254 Av. Wright
Panama City, Panama
September 8, 2010
Dear Writers of WW

How's life? Mine is terrible, and to top it off, I have to use YOUR Worldy Wise Book 8 and instill the idea in my mind that these simple words are supposed to be new to me. Your anthology of writing done in a cursory manner has had me and my generation encompassed by stupidity for the past 5 years, you know how that feels? The worst part is that my teacher has a disposition to act as if we have never heard the words in our lives before! I have read the Gates Of Fire, The Afghan Campaign, and Tides Of War by Steven Pressfield, I know what a damn grimace is(When some Spartan guy gets his guts ripped out by a double spiked spear, he doesn't smirk)! And the word spontaneous is supposed to be new to us? I don't know how bad the education is up north, but if that is supposed to be new to a person whose first language is English, then it must be terrible.

Both of you, Kenneth Hodkinson and Sandra Adams can change this, for some UNKNOW reason schools respect your books, so you should try to save a retarted world.I think it is an imperative matter that your books be updated and modified, so your nation will be able to extricate itself from it's fame of being so... so stupid. This may be your last hope.

Best of luck,

Nicholas

Confession Tuesday

Confession Tuesday Tuesday, September 8 2010

1. Ever hit a car? I have, on two different occasions. BOTH were my fault, and one was a parked car.
2. The first time was a failure. I was talking to my brother while riding on my bike, we were speeding down the main road, then I swerve off and start telling my brother some sob story about my teacher being unfair and blah blah blah, then boom, I hit a parked car and smash right into the wind shield.
3. The second time was not all my fault, I lied. The idiot driving the car screwed you over. You are going down a hill on a skateboard, your friend Ludovico is ahead of you, your neighbour Alex is going much slower, and is still only half way down the hill. Then you see this idiot drive around the corner and STOP right in front of Eleanor's house, you swerve off to the left after you see Ludo smash into the car bumper, and you ramp up the curb onto the pavement, for the first time in ages, you land a flip. You get hit by Ludo's bamboo long-board right in the chest, and you get sent flailing off your board. You get up, ready to break the ****er's window who smashed into you. Then you get up, turns out the bastard isn't a bastard, but some lady(a woman and a car accident?Go figure.) and there is a girl you know laughing her heart out. You swear loudly when the lady doesn't even check if you are ok.
4. Both time´s hurt my ego more than my physical self.
5. The second one more than the first
6. I didn't mind the teasing in 6th grade, I found it entertaining.
7. When bored, I do nothing, then I realize how much time I just wasted
8. By the time I do, it's way past too late.

Memoir Monday: Graves, Homework, and People.

Dirt, rust, leaves, twigs, they grasp to my shoe, and they cling there. I extricate my foot from a hole I myself dug, my father and brother are there, yet my mind is not on them. Not on the graves we are hunting for, but the grave I dug for myself. The metal detector in my hand is silent as I sweep it along, a foot above the ground. The knowledge that I was screwed had slowly instilled itself in me, all the work I had not done was going to hit me like a tidal wave, anger and the most pathetic form of self-pity would encompass me. I was the victim of my own guile, of my own “BS” as people love to call it when they talk to me.

Then metal detector goes crazy, and I sweep it back to where it was before, iron, probably just a pipe or something, but that's not up for me to decide. I take a shovel and I slam it down to the ground, but the strength and the enthusiasm that I usually can summon fails me, and it slams in miserably. Bill makes a comment about how my generation has no backbone, but what people think of all the idiots at school is not an imperative issue to me.

My dad looks at me with a look of disappointment and worry, but I know it will not compare to his look on Monday. The idea of just skipping school recurs in my mind constantly, to escape my doom. He takes the shovel, and starts to dig up in the place my brother indicated, prevalent as it is. In an act of spontaneity and rage, I took the other shovel, and started to dig up in a spot we had already dug up. The shovel sliced through the dirt, splitting through it's layers of life, the roots, and breaking them into pieces. I stare at what we had uncovered earlier. Strangely enough, a foot under the layer of soil was concrete, with a rusty piece of metal sticking out, stuck in the concrete.

We were digging here because next to Bills house, the one's whose garden we were wreaking havoc on, they had found dozens of French graves, with only numbers on them, keeping the casualties anonymous. Chances are I live not only next to two graveyards, but on one.
Creepy.

I stare down at the concrete, knowing that this could have been part of some suckers grave, and that the rusty trash metal was likely part of a grave marker which had been ripped up and dumped in the pile next door all those years ago. I wonder what it would be like, just to not have to worry about anything, about all the school, all the drama, all the stuck up idiots, all the sensitive retards. It could be nice, in a way, just to escape all the crap in life. Then I look back at the green of my neighbourhood, random people are going through the streets, and I remember back to my friends who are all around the world.

What a stupid idea.
Now to go back to my disposition of a cynical, sarcastic, arrogant, but damn happy individual, and pick up the damn shovel.

The Paper

Holding my light computer with only two of my fingers, I sit down at the bar top we have in the lounge, I can tell this is serious. If a look could kill... My father pauses, and then checks back to see if my mom is out of earshot. I know I am dead, I know I can't do anything about it, I regret the endless hours of procrastination already, and I await my demise.I brace expecting the worst(figured out over the years that when you expect the worst all the time, the second to worst feels much better) He doesn't sigh, scream, or shout, he just pulls out the paper, and unfolds it, it's an email and oh...
Oh shit.
I am so screwed, I await a hail of arguments about how I spend too much time goofing off, a hail of shouts shot straight at me.
But there are none.
"Fix this, and I won't tell your mother about it"
I love my dad.
Especially when he knows exactly what I need to survive.