Scavenger Hunt

  1. One piece of graffiti-

Have you seen it? Peeking from behind the bushes? While I sit in the very front seat of the congested bus (only to escape disgorging more fake lines to the talkative people of the vehicle), blasting heavy guitar solos and expensive vocals through my eardrums, I notice an unpolished sketch of Dr. Seuss’ character, the Lorax, glancing from a hole in the bushes out at the concrete bound world, and I wonder what disgust he would feel about what we have become. What disappointment. We’ve ignored his forewarning and now we are a world of plastic and artificial upbringings.

  1. One vivid description of a person-

A tortured soul. A visionary, a living work of art, and one of the very few that can look past the static of society, but a tortured soul, just the same. He had all the support in the world, the respect and admiration of millions, yet none of the self esteem that came with it. A sort of messiah to those that dare be hated for their differences, yet filled with regret and torment.”If my eyes could show my soul, everyone would cry when they saw me smile.” “They laugh at me because I’m different. I laugh at them because they’re all the same.” ” I’d rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I am not.”

~Kurt Cobain

  1. Two pieces of dialogue-

“What if the kids at Columbine were here today, what would you say to them?”

This question was asked to Marilyn Manson by an interviewer regarding a school shooting done by a few boys blaming Manson’s music for their actions.

“I wouldn’t say a single word to them. I’d listen to what they had to say. And that’s what no one did.”

This struck me as a very intelligent thing to say. Most people would go on a rant to defend themselves, explaining how their soul purpose is to help people and inspire others, telling them how what they did was wrong,  but Marilyn Manson understands the psychology behind these boys’ actions. No one was there to listen to them; to confide to. Maybe they would only talk about completely psychotic things, but hey, at least someone was listening.

  1. Two smells-

Dog farts… Yup. My dog has the butt of a hippopotamus that feasted on a mountainous mountain of burritos, cheese, garlic, with a side of radioactive waste. I’m surprised the government hasn’t kidnapped my dog and harvested his toot flute for the mass production of their latest gas weaponry. God, help me.

Storms can rage all night, yet always leave that smell of wet, behind. A smell so fragile I need to inhale deeply to guess its fragrance, clean and crisp like mountain air. That saddening aroma that makes me miss the storm, in the first place.

  1. Two hand gestures or facial expressions a person makes-

I’ve been told that as I read a book, write a crappy piece of poetry, or even look up to listen in to mind-numbing lectures, I get this look of pure rage. They say I look as if I could murder everyone in the room, right then and there. I would, but they don’t need to know that.

There’s nothing quite like that expression of fear some people get right as I jump out from behind a corner. Their faces twist up, eyes wide, mouth open, all to summarize this surprise with a “Seriously, Katy?”

  1. Three names of food or drinks you’ve never tried before-

Three names? Okey dokey.

-Pop Tarts

-Pizza Pops

-Lucky Charms

My parents will let me eat all sorts of unhealthy food, but when it comes to these three options they look as if they had a brain aneurysm at their very mention. “Sugar cereal with a side of diabetus? Sure! Lucky Charms? No Way! Get those villainous fiends away from my daughter, you demons from hell!”

  1. A book-

Laura Hillenbrand, author of bestselling Seabiscuit, shows us once again how her lyrical writing captures a story through her latest work: Unbroken. Unbroken has secured itself as my favourite novel for factors encompassing  insightful themes, developed characters, and overall style of the written words. “A lifetime of glory is worth a moment of pain.” It is this profound quote and theme that captures the true meaning of this book and of Louie Zamperini’s life. Louie remembers this statement as he finishes his final lap in the Olympics, when he puts everything he has into surviving the savage waters of the ocean, and when he clings to his last splinter of life in the POW camp. Further, through Hillenbrand’s writing we, the readers, are able to catch a glimpse into the mind of Louie Zamperini, himself. She expertly develops his character as one of perseverance, fueled by nothing but willpower alone. With the written character of Louie so determined and committed, we feel as if he was our much beloved friend, the friend we grew up with and cracked jokes at, and must assume he was the same man in real life.  On another note, tone mood, and general style of Hillenbrand’s work is what undeniably locked this novel in my highest regard. The author chose to include just enough suspense to keep you wondering, just enough imagery to make you feel what Louie feels, and just enough characterization to make Louie your new best friend. All this created a deprived, isolated, yet inspirational tone for all readers to sympathize. All of these components have managed to convince me that fists will never overcome the soul, that no matter how hard someone beats you down, you will get up, you will persevere, because in the end, “A lifetime of glory is worth a moment of pain.”

  1. Three sounds-

Gut splitting scream. A scream off in the distance, drowned out by the sounds of late night traffic, stealthed by the fog. What horrors were they witness to?

Coyote’s howl. They manifest a forsaken, sorrowful, feeble howl. They’re not, actually. Of course, it’s all a trick to lure out the other animals of the dark prairie so the pack can surround the wayward prey and go for the kill.

A siren off in the distance, a rush of beating the dispensing time. Hurry before it’s too late and more entertainment is brought to my distorted soul.

  1. Something you’ve touched-

Oh, shaking hands. A sign of confidence when enacted with the right positioning, grasp, etc. A acknowledgement  of approval, a fatherly reassurance. …Or an invention of Satan himself. Human contact, rationing germs, human contact? Not my cup of tea.

  1. A body of water-

The beautiful bow river. A flowing landmark on Calgarian soil, and also a fateful reminder of my dad’s trip to practically sleeping with the fishes. Yes, sitting on a raft, he managed to fall backwards into the water at 7 mph. (The day before the 2013 flood.) He lost his hat. I lost my breath to perpetual laughter.

  1. A secluded park-

It’s only on the colder, cloudier days I feel most at home. We walked here as a group, the river, me gritting my teeth, itching to escape the noisy chatter. So, of course, as soon as we arrived at our destination I went hiking off, alone,  into the brush. A small clearing in the dead branches, almost like a cave seemed the perfect spot to sit, blast music in my ears and write this. Now I just have to find a way to un-barricade myself…

  1. A run-down place-

A couple years ago, a friend and I went camping at Ghost Lake. We went hiking beneath the dying canopies of the forest and chanced on a ramshackled house. All the windows were shattered, and leafy, emerald vines had begun to seal the entrance. I would estimate no more than 10 years vacant. We found our way inside and were presented an equally decaying interior. Based on a cradle, just as dilapidated as the building,  it was apparent that a family used to live here. It’s as if they just left their stuff and ran.

Oh yeah, we found a knife… and an odd red stain on the wall…

  1. A tree-

I’ve always been one known to climb trees, but this tree, this tree in particular, was the most memorable. It wasn’t a dark shade of brown like most other trees, it was black. Black as the sky above me. This is the kind of tree that we read about in books, that we see in horror films. Twisted up like a hand reaching to the sky and bent over backwards contradicting the length of its reach. It was now my mission to climb it. As I scaled the charcoal trunk an idea creeped into my mind. I lay in the palm of the tree’s hand, arms and legs draping off the sides. Then I screamed. I was impressed at how well I could imitate someone being murdered. A little too impressed. My friends came running over to see me ‘lifeless’ in the tree that haunts their dreams. They screamed, too. Best laugh I’ve had.

  1. A garden-

I was staying at my cousin’s house. She and her family were quite rich and they had a garden that proved so. An arch of vines, red leaves, green leaves, purple leaves, on every strange bush lining their yard. And, wait for it… garden gnomes… Yes, they had garden gnomes. One, in particular caught my eye: a fat little guy holding a flower bouquet. He had a tear running down his face. I’m pretty sure the person that designed this gnome was rejected… probably multiple times… But he was smiling! Why the hell was he smiling? He was crying, for Pete’s sake! Not just a modest little smile though, a full on pedo-grin. It didn’t take much to convince me to put this little bugger on my cousin’s windowsill, looking in.

  1. An animal-

The Mantis Shrimp, beautiful in aesthetic, is an UNDERSEA NIGHTMARE! These things have two spears in the front of it’s body that can accelerate at the same velocity as a gunshot. Some have little clubs instead that can move so fast as to boil water. When the boiled bubbles collapse, they create an undersea shockwave that can kill prey even if it misses. Dismemberment is mainly how this little demon kills its prey. Aquariums usually don’t hold the mantis shrimp as they tend to slaughter every other animal they share with… or break through the aquarium glass. Humans have three types of colour receptive cones: green, blue, and red. By far the best part about the anatomy of a Mantis shrimp is that it has 16 types of cones! Thus concludes my love of these ‘murderific’ little devils of mass destruction.

  1. A heart soar-

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.” James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, tortured, mind wiped, experimented on, frozen, and tortured all over again, has a heart to which great sorrow belongs. Yes, a fictional character, but overwhelming misery, nonetheless. Born in 1925, orphaned and unofficially adopted by a military camp, he was trained for years. Back breaking and bone crushing effort led him to England where he was assigned to be Private Steven Rogers’ (Captain America) partner at just 15. As a duo they fought Nazis. Bucky was often assigned missions that heroes would never dare be seen doing. The Captain and Bucky, on one of their team missions, attempted to disarm a bomb, mid flight. Unsuccessfully, the bomb exploded sending Steve and James into the freezing waters of the North Atlantic. Captain America frozen in suspended animation, Bucky presumed to be dead. If only Bucky had died. No, he was found, frozen, wet, and missing as arm, by russian scientists. He was stitched to a bionic arm, brainwashed, and reprogrammed. No memories of his death. No memories of his ‘dead’ and only friend. No memories of his sweat soaked training, yet all the skill and reflexes were retained. Only the confused Soviet assassin remained in James Buchanan Barnes’ living figure. He was no longer Bucky, no longer a person. He was the Winter Soldier. He became increasingly ruthless, increasingly violent, increasingly stained with red. He filled out russian led assassinations for decades, frozen between missions so he only ever aged a couple years, never discovered the truth, never found his past. He suffered a mental breakdown on a mission in the United States and went missing for a couple days. They wiped his mind again. He tried to fight, but his memories were taken, stolen, all over again. He murdered Wolverine’s wife, seemingly killing their unborn son, who survived the attack after being cut from his mother’s womb. The Winter Soldier launched a terrorist attack on Philadelphia, killing hundreds. Captain America, who was revived 50 years in the future, tracks down and confronted the Winter Soldier. His friend from the past and certainly the only person left to remember that Bucky is alive in there, that Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier, isn’t a weapon. Regaining his memories, Bucky becomes overwhelmed by guilt over his past actions. Too much red for one man to take. Too much death. Too much regret. Someone decided that wasn’t enough for him, though. Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes were partners all throughout the war. Friends. Equals. The only good thing to come out of their fight through WWII. Steve was assassinated. He was shot and bled out. Multigeneration friendship ended by a bullet. He regained his memories for what? Gutting, compelling guilt? A death in the family? Despite popular belief, Bucky was never a villain. He was an experiment, a puppet fused to the strings of Hydra, just a body for them to hide behind, to wipe up the blood. He was never a villain. He was a weapon. Not a person; a ghost.

  1. An inspiring person, place, or thing-

This was inspired by one of the visuals we were shown in class; a dead infant and a Turkish officer.

It floats, the fat of its body keeping it from sinking too far into the black. It’s cold and numb. Dead in minutes. There were the waves of desperate screams from both that man and woman, but they’re gone too. The woman sank. She stared up at it, sorrow in her eyes, longing, as she sank too deep for light to reach.

It didn’t understand that it was dying. It didn’t even understand that it would be anything more than a screaming heap of flesh and underdeveloped bone. It’s dead now. Body preserved by the cold. The bubbles pushed up and out its throat as the water pushed in. To end the nauseating swaying of the sea, it was rolled onto a sandy shore, face down. It; the baby, died to remind us of its communities’ suffering.

  1. A walk-

Årsgång, a Swedish practice. ‘Throughout the past, man has tried to catch a glimpse of the future in the strangest of ways. They locked themselves in dark rooms. Not partaking in food or drink. At the stroke of midnight, they walked out into the night, and through the black woods where strange things roamed. The Huldra. The Night Raven. The Brook Horse. The Myling. The most feared of them all, the Church Grim. To see if they would be wealthy. To see if they would be happy. To see if they would be loved.’ To see death. Årsgång, in English: Year Walk, was practiced on New Year’s Eve and other special occasions of the year. They say it would show you the future, the future up to one year ahead. The walker would lock himself in a dark room, no food, no drink, no contact, for the day of the walk. At midnight they were to walk to the parish church, walk around the building in an intricate pattern, then blow their tired breath into the church’s keyhole. Supernatural, sometimes deadly, beings would appear only to challenge the Year Walker. If they managed to pass these trials, and only some did, and were they to touch the Church Grim’s heart, would they be bestowed a glimpse into the future either by sight or sound. Glimpses at what would happen the following year. The walk always ended at the cemetery. Spoken by one who was said to travel the Year Walk in the late 1800’s “Before I saw what happened next year, I lived among the stars. I lived there for many lifetimes it seemed. What do I care for next year? Time has already ended.” Today the practice seems to be forgotten. Not that I’m one who believes in such things, but fascinating. Very fascinating…

  1. A place you’ve never been-

I’ve never been to Disneyland, and I don’t much care to. The busy, consumerist atmosphere, the nauseating, constant aroma of deep fried everything, and the screaming, crying, pleading, bodily fluid expelling, children,  have pretty much made up my mind.

  1. Lyrics to a song-

The lyrics to Nirvana’s Aero Zeppelin are probably the best lyrics to any song I’ve heard, describing the double standards, thoughtless statements,  and mindless consumption of people in today’s society:

What’s a season in a right if you can’t have anything

What’s the reason in a rhyme if a plan means anything

What’s the meaning in a crime, it’s a fan if anything

Where’s the learning in a line, it’s a brand, it’s a brand

 

How a culture comes again, it was all here yesterday

And you swear it’s not a trend, doesn’t matter anyway

There’s only here to talk to friends, nothing new is everyday

You could shit upon the stage, they’ll be fans

 

They’ll be fans [alt: If you brand] [x3]

 

[x2]

All the kids will eat it up, if it’s packaged properly

Steal a sound and imitate, keep a format equally

Not an ode, just the facts, where our world is nowadays

An idea is what we lack, it doesn’t matter anyways

  1. One thing that is beautiful-

Is there really any beauty left in the world? Maybe it all dried up like the scorching sand of the Sahara desert. This may be an odd thing to say, but I consider the inner workings; the clockwork, of a computer ‘beautiful.’ Diminutive sections of perfectly placed wire, so fine and efficient, no emotion, no empathy, and pure control. It is extremely unlike me to acknowledge anything made or corrupted by a human to be worth any more than sawdust caught in the lungs of some unfortunate lumberjack. I’m willing to bet it’s just because I wish I could act more like a computer. Pure logic, no interference with ethics or morality.

  1. One thing that is sad-

Oh lovely humanity. Lovely, ignorant, stubborn, pea-brained, mutton-headed, humanity. I honestly believe humanity is the only thing capable of saddening my impassive soul. Just as Sheldon Cooper the Great once said, “One cries because one is sad. For example, I cry because others are stupid, and that makes me sad.” As if I haven’t raged about people enough on here yet.

  1.  One thing that is grotesque-

There is but one thing that sickens me enough to make my stomach flop. I used to be very secluded about the gutting hatred I feel for this creature, but, I’ve since grown bored. The single thing that disgusts me, that tightens my chest at the very notion of being around these foul beings, I am dictated to live in their proximity every day of my so called life; humanity. (Wow, again? Seriously, Katy?)

  1. One thing that is sick/ill-

Our world is choking in the smog spewed out by capricious, two legged, sheep. Suffocation, asphyxiation, strangulation, is all that we are good for. Earth is plagued by a disease of its own creation, spread to every dirty hole it has to offer. It is very ill, indeed.

  1. One thing that is funny-

Nothing makes me laugh just as much as watching the educated trying to compete with the ignorant. The topic of dogs, specifically Pit Bulls, I find particularly amusing. “They have locking jaws!” “They have a bite force of over 1,000 PSI!” and my favourite, “You should have let me hit him! Land sharks! How dare you let your child near such a vicious beast!” This last one someone said, screaming out their car window, as they swerve their car in an attempt to run over my dog, almost hitting me and my mom in the process. The educated try to argue with facts: “No, they don’t actually have locking jaws. They just bite and hold as most other dogs do.” “No, they have a bite force of around 230 PSI. Some people bite harder than them. Humans are 175-250, TIGERS have a bite force of around 1,000 PSI.” and fail expectedly, as there is no arguing with stupid. Watching the cycle might be just enough to change my snarl to a grin.

  1. Something to do with feet-

Feet? My choices are very limited. Should I go on a rant about walking through the forest? Oh, such a beautiful walk! Filled with the shining Sun, daffodils, and daisies! Wonderful. Yeah, no. Piano petals? I don’t really use those. So, I’m going to describe someone else’s feet. My dog’s feet about 6 years ago before we were his. Back then he was a chained dog. A dog that spent his life clipped to the end of a 10 foot steel chain, nailed to the ground, throughout the seasons. In winter, his feet would freeze; in summer, they would burn, and that was how he lived. Not like he could use his feet to run away when other dogs came to rip his skin, add some new scars to his collection. No, his feet just stood there. They stayed put, on ice and on the lava of the summer, until someone came to carry him away from his four footprints.

  1. Something to do with hands- (hopefully not!)

Brace yourself. (I find myself saying this quite often, recently.)This may seem a little psychotic. Okay, probably incredibly psychotic, but have you ever been helping someone cook, giving your baby cousin a bath, or even handling some toxic chemical while helping your dad fix his truck in the garage, and suddenly realize you have the power to kill? How easy it would be to just plunge a knife in the back of someone’s neck, hold that infant’s head under water, or pour a drop of that chemical into someone’s drink? It’s not something you would actually do, but the consideration remains, nonetheless. Maybe it’s just my brain’s attempts at taking the control of a situation; to kill; to make one of the strongest decisions possible. It sounds like I’m describing some serial killers from one of my usual short stories. Oh, good job Katherine! You just revealed your hatred of humanity and now you’re talking about cold blooded murder? How many issues do you have?

This blog will be the death of me.

 

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