Librety has arisen! Tyranny is dead!
All shall rejoice the absense of the medicule education system!
And as i sit here, yet again infront of this dreaded comp, i reflect on the school year i have so graciously indulged in.
It was a fairly decent day, with its moments and dismoments, but one thing stuck out in the most unlikely place.
I was in english class when i was told to write a short story in about err... 10 mins.
Being the great writer i am (haha) I sat down and got right to work
I had devloped something, which didn't turn out to be a story, but rather, as the teacher described, as, a painting...
A sketch if you would like, it was roughly a page long, and painted a picture of a little girl in the fields, the surrounding ranch where she lived on, and her family in a modest home of five...
I have come to realize that if a picture was worth a thousand words...
well yea... its true...
I have realized an ability to portray a single sketch in a page of words and ideas, without the use of color, shapes, or visually dazzling aspects of art...
My Unedited write up, is as follows:Time revolves around a cycle of tradition. Spring has come, the fields are lush, the hibernation ends, and the cold slowly retreats. The young girl lies upon the pastures of the ranch, the mountain snowcaps in a distance, and a sense of peace all through out the rural countryside. She awakes from her undisturbed rest, the sun just setting above the forests of old. It is getting dark indeed, as the little girl makes her way back to shelter. She can hear her Mother, preparing supper for the family. She could see her father still hard at work on the crops. She could sense her brothers near, two of them hiding amongst the evergreen trees on the edge of the clearing. They raced each other back to the front door, neither would be the victor. None the less, the little girl does not mind. A blissful aura that fills the landscape, the tempreture just right. The little girl finally realized something as she stepped onto the front porch, doesnt everything revolve around tradition?All of this in 10 mins, mind youWhile i do consider it to be mediocre at best, I truly appreciate what it has opened up my mind to.. If one may not paint, One may find an answer elsewhere...
Timothy Tang
17
Rockdige Secondery
Jan 13th 1992
[[ The Wishlist ]]
I could use a new set of headphones...
More guitars?
Maybe a grand piano...
and the will power to write my books
If only life was a fantasy story...
A weekend away with my extended family perhaps? (You know who you are) (^_^)
Fantasy of Darkness (A book project of mine)
Da creater
[[ Don't talk crap, it's ****ng rude ]]
Librety has arisen! Tyranny is dead!
All shall rejoice the absense of the medicule education system!
And as i sit here, yet again infront of this dreaded comp, i reflect on the school year i have so graciously indulged in.
It was a fairly decent day, with its moments and dismoments, but one thing stuck out in the most unlikely place.
I was in english class when i was told to write a short story in about err... 10 mins.
Being the great writer i am (haha) I sat down and got right to work
I had devloped something, which didn't turn out to be a story, but rather, as the teacher described, as, a painting...
A sketch if you would like, it was roughly a page long, and painted a picture of a little girl in the fields, the surrounding ranch where she lived on, and her family in a modest home of five...
I have come to realize that if a picture was worth a thousand words...
well yea... its true...
I have realized an ability to portray a single sketch in a page of words and ideas, without the use of color, shapes, or visually dazzling aspects of art...
My Unedited write up, is as follows:Time revolves around a cycle of tradition. Spring has come, the fields are lush, the hibernation ends, and the cold slowly retreats. The young girl lies upon the pastures of the ranch, the mountain snowcaps in a distance, and a sense of peace all through out the rural countryside. She awakes from her undisturbed rest, the sun just setting above the forests of old. It is getting dark indeed, as the little girl makes her way back to shelter. She can hear her Mother, preparing supper for the family. She could see her father still hard at work on the crops. She could sense her brothers near, two of them hiding amongst the evergreen trees on the edge of the clearing. They raced each other back to the front door, neither would be the victor. None the less, the little girl does not mind. A blissful aura that fills the landscape, the tempreture just right. The little girl finally realized something as she stepped onto the front porch, doesnt everything revolve around tradition?All of this in 10 mins, mind youWhile i do consider it to be mediocre at best, I truly appreciate what it has opened up my mind to.. If one may not paint, One may find an answer elsewhere...