"The Mighty Pharaoh, Laid Low" Headline Blog-post

“The Mighty Pharaoh, Laid Low” was a headline in the newspaper that really caught my attention. Apparently, the now forever legendary horse that won the Triple Crown earlier in 2015 has been losing some of his momentum. For any horse to win the Triple Crown is history, I know this much. Now, it’s true, I know nearly nothing about horses or racing in general. But I know about the hype a horse can get. My parents wouldn’t stop talking about this win, and they don’t even follow racing. American Pharaoh is this horse’s name, and when I saw the article about American Pharaoh losing some kind of massive race, I felt heartbroken. And I didn’t know why. Why should I care? It wasn’t as if I knew the horse personally, and I didn’t have any stakes in the matter. On top of all this, it isn’t as if the horse will somehow be disappointed. I can’t imagine American Pharaoh cares who wins and who loses. Still, there was something disappointing about this news.

 It, in a way, reminded me of Pablo Picasso. Everyone seems to know his legendary masterpiece, Guernica. But it’s also been said that after he created Guernica, his work was never quite as brilliant or as thought provoking. It was as if he used up all his inspiration on this one piece of work, and then never quite got it back again. Of course, this is completely a matter of opinion, but there might be some truth to it. What happens when you’ve lived out your glory days and then you have to spend the rest of your life as something that feels lesser than what you used to be? I sincerely doubt this would ever happen to me, I'll never be famous or relevant enough, but the fact that it has happened to others is heartbreaking. I cannot imagine what that must feel like, to be revered and praised and then forgotten completely. I think sometimes we forget that legends were really just people. We immortalize them and use their names in daily conversation, but in the end there’s one thing we all have in common. We’re all human looking for a way to be happy. It’s quite funny really, because it took an article about a horse to remind me of this. American Pharaoh may be an animal, but his story made me remember the somehow forgettable fact that we are all very much human. 

(Link to the original article - http://www.ibloomberg.net/the-mighty-pharoah-laid-low/)

Writers as Readers

When I read, I need silence. Granted, I can read without silence, but the experience won’t be nearly as memorable or as enjoyable. My mind works and thinks at a fast pace, so I cannot have any distractions when I read. And I will not suffer though bad writing when I read. If the writing is really unfortunate, then not even the silence can make the experience a good one. Perhaps that is really one of the things that I need to be comfortable in my reading – for the author to be a talented one. That may sound cruel, but it is the truth.

One of my best memories connected with reading has to be when my mother and I would read together at night. When I was young, my mother and I would lay in my bed and work on our own separate books without saying a word to one another. Yet, this experience brought us closer. I don’t even remember what it was I used to read, all I know is that there was a dragon involved. And if there was even a mention of a dragon in a story, nothing and nobody could tear me away.

My favorite book is, without a doubt, The Kite Runner. This is my favorite because of what it teaches about life. The message is vivid and beautiful. The story is heartbreaking, and I finished the book nearly exhausted because of the emotional impact it had on me. I think back to this book all the time, and my copy is one of my most prized possessions. Without it, I honestly think I would be a different person all together. It taught me that life isn’t always going to turn out the way we want it too, and that happens to be okay.

I do believe that a person who reads a lot might become a stronger writer. I don’t think a person can become talented by simply reading, but I think it can give a person fresh ideas and improves the quality of their writing. As Pablo Picasso said, “good artists copy, great artists steal.” Of course, I don’t completely believe this, but I think it is an interesting concept. How can we not pick up on things other writers have done? I think that anything we read that is memorable will come out in our writing later, it is our inspiration.

I would love to write a book someday. I don’t know if I have the talent for such a thing, but I would truly find it fantastic if it were to come to pass. I have already completed a couple of books myself, but nothing good enough to publish. I hope one day to write a book that is good enough. I don’t know about what yet, I’m still looking for that one idea that changes everything. If I was to be described in some way in the “About the Author” section, I would want to specify that I was nothing special – which is the honest truth. 

Memorable Passage

A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking


"A well-known scientist (some say it was Bertrand Russell) once gave a public lecture on astronomy. He described how the earth orbits around the sun and how the sun, in turn, orbits around the center of a vast collection of stars called our galaxy. At the end of the lecture, a little old lady at the back of the room got up and said: “What you have told us is rubbish. The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise.” The scientist gave a superior smile before replying, “What is the tortoise standing on.” “You’re very clever, young man, very clever,” said the old lady. “But it’s turtles all the way down!” Most people would find the picture of our universe as an infinite tower of tortoises rather ridiculous, but why do we think we know better? What do we know about the universe, and how do we know it? Where did the universe come from, and where is it going? Did the universe have a beginning, and if so, what happened before then? What is the nature of time? Will it ever come to an end? Can we go back in time? Recent breakthroughs in physics, made possible in part by fantastic new technologies, suggest answers to some of these longstanding questions. Someday these answers may seem as obvious to us as the earth orbiting the sun – or perhaps as ridiculous as a tower of tortoises. Only time (whatever that may be) will tell."

I’ve been a fan of Stephen Hawking since I was young. I believe that this paragraph, from his brilliant book, A Brief History of Time, has something memorable for everyone who has the courage to give it a chance. I was so terrified when I first took a look at this paperback. I didn’t think I was smart enough to understand the things he wrote about, my self-confidence was that low. I couldn’t bring myself to believe in my intelligence enough to really look forward to reading it, but once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. He answers so many questions that I’d been asking myself for years. The things he writes about blows my mind, and this paragraph itself does the same. This is, however, the first words written in his book. Many would say that it is not the most profound or the most interesting, but I think it is real genius. How many books can start out with something like this? His ideas, which he talks about casually and with wit, have changed my life and my view of the world in general. I admire Hawking, he has found the strength and bravery to live a full life despite the physical setbacks he faces. He is truly an inspiration, and his knowledge, which he has been gracious enough to share with the world, has opened up new doors in my mind and allows me to think in ways I never could before. And this paragraph represents all his book has done for me. 

Salvation

Sleep. Dreams. Nightmares. Anything is better than the reality I face. I wake up to the torment of my mind. The sun that streams through the window of my room feels like shards of angry glass that stab at my being, tearing me to shreds with angry vengeance. By midday my soul is gasping, desperate for the air it cannot receive trapped inside my body. I can feel it claw at my ribs, scratch at my stomach and bite my skin. It’s hungry, it’s starving, and the only food it knows how to digest now is itself. The thirst will never quench, at least not when I’m awake. By evening my heart is crumbing. It turns to dust and withers away with the north wind. There’s no music, not a sign of light or darkness. That’s the worst thing of all, it’s neutral, worn down like a stone that’s been washed away by the tide over the years. And the sea never forgets, and the ocean never repents. My pillow is my salvation, the escape where my body can revive. The light of the moon and stars flow into me like golden nectar, better than ambrosia. It’s my cure, and I wake up again every morning with the sickness reborn. But the pillow is my ship, my plane, my car. It lets me go, and doesn’t ask me to come back. The only one who beckons me home again is the sun. Traitor. Would it really be so bad if the sun stayed away for a day?

If I Were in Charge of the World

If I were to change the world
I'd cancel ignorance, prejudice,
stupidity, and also the lies we tell ourselves.

If I were in charge of the world
there'd be honesty, love, peace, and
genuine happiness.

If I were in charge of the world
you wouldn't have depression
you wouldn't have anxiety
you wouldn't have mass hysteria.
Or, "ignorance is bliss".
You wouldn't even have ignorance.

If I were in charge of the world
a hamburger would be a vegetable.
All people would accept each other
and a person who sometimes forgot how to be happy
and sometimes forgot to smile and laugh
would still be allowed to be in charge of the world.

I Know

I know why the angels weep, why they keep their eyes cast to the ground and their harps silent.
I know why the demons in me laugh, I know the sound of their cackle well.
I know the battle rages, I can feel it underneath the surface of my skin.
I know my soul is their weapon, the only weapon of use to anyone.
I know the wryness of defeat, I know what a candle feels when the flame blows out.
I know the pride of victory.
I know the darkness, and I know the light.
I know I must choose to fight, and I know that I can lose.
I know the war.
I do not know surrender.

A Dream Come True

Q – The worst dream you’ve ever had

A – I’ve been having extremely vivid dreams since I was a child. Since before I can remember, actually. And, although it may sound ridiculous, some of my dreams come true. Wait, hear me out. I’m not saying that I can fall asleep at night and discover the exact date of the inevitable apocalypse. But, I do sometimes dream about bad storms before they occur, or about someone coming to talk to me after months of silence. But the most bizarre and horrible image that has appeared to me in the night happened a few months ago. My brother lives in Colorado, and I only see him every few months. I hadn’t been thinking about him at all when this dream occurred. In my dream, my brother was trapped in a small, compact room with bright shards of glass protruding from every surface. His eyes were wild, and he never said a word. I think he was trying to make some kind of contact with me, he keeping looking right into my eyes, but never made a move towards me. And I never made a move towards him, I can’t imagine why I didn’t. He did his best to work around his glass, and avoided cutting himself for the longest time. I thought he was safe, and I sensed he thought it, too. Then, just when security began to kick in, he violently lurched forwards and rammed his own skull through the glass. Blood gushed from his head and filled the room with the crimson liquid. I woke up in a sweat, panting and shouting. I forced my dad to call him, even though my dad thought the whole ordeal was ridiculous. But when my dad hung up, he said he had discovered something. Earlier that day, my brother had suffered a head injury from slicing open his scalp on a piece of glass.