hillsman

It began with a devastating rumble that expanded across the waves, shaking boulders from the Cliffside, and creating a cause for the very heavens to shatter and mighty pines to splinter. Then rearing from the middle of the carnage, a colossal figure slowly emerged, eagerly clawing its way from its foreboding and vile place of origin. The first behemoth monster to desperately force its way up from the hellish fiery depths of the earth, to taste the cool night air with blistered, mossy skin, to peer with cobwebbed eyes towards its trembling victims. The hillsman cometh. First to rise from the eternal void beneath was the creatures wide head, the broad apex of which ended in a blunt, earthy growth that gave the creature its cursed name. The colossal shoulders and ribs as well were caked with earth, and festered with maggots and strange, sickly grass. The creatures contorted, wide face then rose from the sea. Its eyes were lifeless and vacant of the innexpliccable, lively quality with which all of god’s good creatures are indowed. Sprouting grotesquely from the beast’s huge mow, twin tusks, like two wicked twisting ivory blades. To gawk up at the creature’s immense form was akin to the tempest rage of the most carnivorous of storms. For from its goliath wrists twisted gnarled branch like fingers that grabbed with vile curiosity at all it saw.

Student Writing Contest 3

Where do all the houses come from? It seems like it must have been a lot of work to create all of the things that we see now, clustering in intricate coagulations. Brick buy steel beam by brick. Expanding on the outskirts, but slowly decaying within itself. And as the cities grow, they overlap and replace anything in the way. The forest collapses in preparation for the incoming urban apocalypse, only to be re-planted in a desperate mimicry void of the fierce inexplicable wild that was somehow lost. Is this a bad thing? Not quite. Is it truly even an un-natural thing, in the end? Humans are just as truly pure and “natural” as any wild and free animal by themselves, but the real dispute seems to more concern their by-products. Mainly, their cities and towns. But again, why are they any less natural than the tools of chimpanzees? More complexity is not evil.

student writing contest 2

As I walked through the wide expanse, the large space seemed much smaller by the addition of big rectangular pillars in the midpoint of the hall. On every available vertical surface, there seemed to be a smattering of color and form displayed in neat, modern frames. Many say that art is the purest form of communication, but this seems to beg the question: why do we make art? To communicate, yes, but why? why would the creative mind be urged so much as they are to spread his or her thoughts to the public? out of all of the vague, internal urges that the modern human feels, this one seems to be one more in-directly linked to our misty, primeval past. Is it that even the primitive, necessity driven man of pre-history had an inexplicable urge to create just like us? Could it be that the crude, simple shapes displayed on ancient cave walls prove the existence of this strange feeling? or is this urge just a by-product of our materialistic luxurious modern lifestyle, something that we only want because we can? But in the end, whatever the origin,art is still a fundamental part of our modern society, and as long as it can be appreciated and understood by others, it will continue to draw casual passers by and cultured critics alike to mosey through a gallery, invite us for a brief moment to quietly ponder, and to inspire, provoke, challenge.

slice student contest 1

To wander through a garden

To peer upon the plants

To solemn sit upon a bench

To touch the soil with hands.

The vines they have no consciousness,

the ferns are unaware.

they do not know of conflict, pain,

the have no quarrel there.

It seems that plants have no complaint at all within this earth

To never smile, but never weep

no sorrow, joy, or mirth.

But as I sit, my wrists are pricked by thistles on my seat

and yet in contrast to the pain,

sweet sun upon my feet.

So does the joy outweigh the pain, and is it all worth while,

or does the vague content of shrub

render real life too vile?

to never walk upon the sand, or use a tone of voice

but then I must remember that

we don't quite have a choice.

 

News

The morning news. mundane sentinel of the everyman's routine. Breaking events and stunning national catastrophes preserved and distorted until they fit on a cue card in some far of building. A cheery broadcast of full smiles and smooth jazz to distribute authoritative weather forecasts. But what of the information that doesn't make it to our candy colored herald? A child is killed in a basement in Egypt. A man commits murder in a Louisiana back alley. A Japanese plane crashes in a mountain range. No one knows, no one cares. perhaps, the weight and worth of information has flux not only from various perspectives, but also predisposed beliefs and values. The thought of applying demographics to important news and information can seem disillusioning, but perhaps it is a necessary step to creating relevant public broadcasting. Maybe attention spans fluctuate in accord to individual interest level and irrelevant value bias no matter how important the news.
and so we continue to look on at the pandering excuse for informational media that we see today, but who's fault is it really? Doesn't it make sense that since we refuse uninteresting fact, we only get what we get? Perhaps.

Perception of time

I sat in an off-white room. the walls the floor the baseboards. Up over the doorframe is a clock. Clocks have symbolized time for a while, now but a clock's pace is unlike real time, unwavering.  Maybe everyone experiences two separate time zones. The one that they actually experience and then the one that we imagine the world as a whole going through. Time seems like a constant unwavering thing, but our perception of it is very scheduled to change. Time is also relative, and a given amount of time will seem different based on the level of enjoyment that the person is having. So maybe it is best not to think of time like a train that only knows where it has been and goes at a constant speed, but perhaps as a thing that is dependent like many things on viewpoint. There is also the issue of the future, past and present. One might say that simply, the past is what has happened already, the future is yet to happen, and the present is what is happening now. However, I you think about the concept of these three things simultaneously existing, you have to realize that as soon as the future happens, it becomes the present, and the present becomes the past in the same instant. So that in a way, the past is the only thing that really exists. But as soon as the past exists, it is gone, never to happen again. So in a way, neither past present, or future ever exists. Then, one might ask, what is time? Time seems indisputably to exist, or else, how do events progress to other events? Maybe the present is the only thing that exists. If one thinks about the concept of time as one constantly changing time, instead of infinite static instances, the answer becomes quite clear. We have no choice but to live in the moment, for the current moment is all that ever exists, and all that ever will exist. Or we could simply not think so deep into it, not rustle the figurative undergrowth of the philosophy ecosystem. The current way of thinking about time has never lead us astray before, and events keep happening like they always have, so maybe it's not such a big deal after all.

typewriter

A relic of a time forgotten, when things were made not with minimum time and effort of today, but a blissful craftsmanship that was not to last. For cruel reality of the practical science of feeding the monster that is called consumerism could sneak and squelch the drive and ingenuity that fueled pure invention. It might now be regarded as a pop couture symbol, a billboard icon to mimic a fond antique memory. Just give it time. the  city of chimps will soon find that the stupid and easy consumerist world made just for them will loose its luster, they will return to the past, searching for something old.  Something real. For to each person, it whispers something unique. Or maybe, we will always just want more of the new. Ironically, more of the same. Like everything and everyone, it
is eventually forgotten, yet lives as  fading and untouched enigma today.