Friday, May 28, 2010

Young Adi

The air smelt fresh, clean and crisp. A young boy stepped into his stone bricked school brightened by the morning light that filtered through the windows. His friends took their places around him as the teacher exclaims in German, “Adi? How are you today?” The young boy smiles brightly at his teacher and takes his seat at a long pine table near the front of his class.

The boy’s face is open, oval and handsome. The young teacher has often mentioned to his parents in a greeting that he looks exactly like his mother. Perfect double eyelids frame his large eyes. His nose is sharp and straight, curving into a small mouth that tucked into his chin. His brunette hair, cut by his mother is combed forward, ruggedly framed his face. However, what the teacher considered most striking about young Adi was how his light blue eyes contrasted with his jet-black hair.

Today’s lesson is math, simple six-year-old math. The teacher scribbled each question on the black board. The town school with grey bricks is quiet except for pencils tapping on paper as the students marked down numbers. Adi’s bright blue eyes flicked to the board and back to the paper, tapping the answers out. He was done as always, before the rest of the class. A couple of jealous boys sneered ,”muttersohnchen.” This meant “mother’s boy” in German. The young teacher looked up from the attendance roll she was holding and smiled gently at Adi.

After school was over, Adi strolled back to his home with some friends; his brown shoes making small imprints on the dirt road. Adi’s little body looked quite poised clothed in a dark brown jacket, white shirt and black shorts. The little boys chatted happily in their Bavarian accents, distinguishable from the standard German with their rolling “r”. It was a healthily blue and beautiful afternoon in the town for Adi to have a little escape with his friends, but not today. Today he would have to help his father with some farming.

“Adolf!” his father Alois Sr. barked angrily at him when he saw his son coming up the dirt track.

“You little wretch, you are to be home sooner! I will beat you later!” Alois yelled, flinging his pitchfork to the ground. Adi was used to such threats from his authoritarian father who was sometimes drunk. The farm smelled of the freshly digested grass in cow manure mixed with the afternoon’s warmth. Adi tore of his jacket and flung it on a seat, running to his father’s orders. His father had beaten both him and his beloved mother before.

Adi grabbed the pitchfork resting on the mud and looked around to see his father’s broad back. He shot his father a quick, angry look before tossing the golden hay into a wooden wheelbarrow half his size. At the time, there was nothing else he could do. His brown shoes now dirty and muddy, young Hitler averted his gaze to the blue sky and wondered what the future might hold.





Tuesday, May 25, 2010

1 min 24 secs. Go.

So my friend is coming over in a couple of minutes for to bring me to his house to settle something. ANd i've decided to make a blog post in the amount of minutes he takes to get to my house. That's about four to five minutes. I shall provide a discourse on my day.

My day started out awesomely and resplendently. With birds chirping in the air and the bees buzzing in the seas. That did not make sense.

I was skipping joyfully about my house when suddenly.

Three men in black masks completely suited for urban warfare burst through my window shattering the glass. They wipped out Mp5 sub machine guns and began to start catwalking up my hallway. Posing infront of me with their machine guns

Friday, May 21, 2010

An Apology

Now it seems that every blog post begins with an apology. And for that I apologize profusely. As profusely as possible. Made possible by profuse apologies. Made possible by my profuse apologies made possible by my profuse apologies made possible by my prof...

Hee Hee.

Lately my life has been a seismic graph, very good times indeed,thrown in with a few bad ones. However, the vanilla flavored good times taste so much better after the wake up call of the coffee tasting bad ones. Truth be told, I am finding my joy in the Lord. I am finding my peace in him as well.

I am studying writing. Its just hit me that my career will one day have to do with writing. Sadly, I've begun to question the prestige of my degree. Surely something with a name that ends with a "sicist" or a "ology" sounds far better than "ter". However, I've realized that I only ever bothered with thinking about how prestigious my degree is because I wanted to show off.

Superficial?

Yes. I do agree.

But then again, writing is a love. Something I can zone out and do for at least two hours before having to get up, adjust the balance of my buttocks on my seat before deciding its time to deflate the bladder. At the moment, words, a google of them, are my color pencils to color the world I live in. To give vibrant colors to the parts that interest me. To color fill areas that make me happy with oranges and yellows. To darken pictures that scare me with greys and blacks. But I've realized I wouldn't write without an audience.

Hmm, I should probably blog more often.




Sunday, May 2, 2010

Let Me.

Let me get in your mind and paint a picture,

Let me, with clay, make you a sculpture

Let me touch, and make, and sew and thread.

With words an artpiece in your head.

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