Mr. W

On Tuesday, Zoe Robinson walked into a room. She was fair and delicate and had a handbag with a tin box of peppermints. As she walked in, the eight peppermints that were inside rattled a bit, like the first notes to a forgotten song. She was tentative in her manner, but her face was earnest. Her long fingers were tangled around a manila envelope with pieces of paper inside. The room was dark, but not intentionally. There were several bare light bulbs that hung many meters above the floor each of which gave off a dim but persistent glow that only illuminated the bulb itself, and uttered an incessant and perpetual buzzing noise. The room was long with a sprawling polar bear pelt rug that was made from the pelts of many separate animals, as one would never fill the great expanse even partially. As a result, the rug had three snarling heads, eight clawed limbs, and an unexplained antler. At the end of the room was a wooden chair with what appeared to be a floral patterned rickshaw canopy sewed onto it. There sat Mr. W. Zoe had never actually seen him herself, nor could she confirm what Mr. W really was. But he was always there, casting an enigmatic silhouette through the rickshaw hood. Once, she had tried to talk to him. She had come in, handed him the envelope as usual, and asked him why he needed the papers inside, and what he did with the information inside. Mr. W had responded with the noise of a startled pig. He perpetually sat in front of a huge machine that was made of dark metal. The front piece seemed to be a typewriter, judging by the noise it made, but the rest was inscrutable. It had many gears and strips of dark metal, and the clockwork of the great machine became dense as it neared the center. Every day, Zoe delivered the envelope to Mr. W.

science

Science is like a river. The river is constantly heading forwards into the unknown, but runs the risk of being blocked by stones and branches that clog it up, and slow it’s development progress. The stones and branches are like the things that slow scientific progress, such as moral disagreements, greed, pettiness, and impatience. Although inconvenient, these things are a definite part of the human condition, and thus, they continue to exist. Over a while, the debris gathers, creating a constantly growing dam in the river that threatens to stop any progress from being made. It seems that maybe, scientific advancement is so halted by this, that nothing more can be accomplished with the great dam only growing. Yet sometimes, the dam breaks loose, and one or two inconveniences are for a moment disregarded. It creates a whole in the dam that allows a bit of progress to seep out into the future, and for better or worse forge through the unknown, into the yonder of moral grayness and uncertainty.

Cities stream of consciousness

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 it. 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.

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.