the earth is my body

so yesterday i spent a good nice chunk of the day going through loads of shit that has been piling up in a certain large bookcase in my room. i found lots of nice things i plan on scanning a little later. but a find that i am most pleased about is that that follows. i believe that i wrote this story in 8th grade and at the time had intentions of illustrating it for my own amusement. i have looked far and wide for this one piece of paper for a few years now and yesterday i was successful!!!!! so, again, mainly for my own amusement, here is my tale:

In an age filled with mystics who roamed the hills and sepents who haunted the depths of the crimson seas, there lived a boy. He was a small child, with hair that shone in the mid-day sun as he dreamed of dragons and damsels. The king of his country had been at war for a long time. The kingdom was battling an army of soldiers who were not of this world. They wore diamond armor and fought with hienas by their side. They were unstoppable and poetic. They fought not with swords, but with words. When they spoke, their hatred and anger would rise from their lungs and fly into our kinsmen in the form of a glittering rain. The king's army would ramble and flail as the dust reached their eyes. It made them blind and wild. The boy saw this. He witnessed these barbarians fling their language across the countryside. The boy yearned for a spot in the plight to save his kingdom.

One day while planting seeds for the springtme, the boy nearly stepped upon a small gnome who had seemingly made a home for himself inside a troublesome root. The gnome was very angry and frightened by the boy and shouted at him. But the boy knew the ways of gnomes, and so he picked him up off the ground and soothed him in his arms. He whispered to the gnome that instead of the root, he would welcome him into his own home to live with him where he may eat and drink all he cared to. The gnome accepted and was very thankful. As a repayment for this kindness, he gave the boy beautiful words. He told him that these words could save these lands, if he learned to use them in the right way. The boy was baffled and intrigued by the little mane. Each passing day, the boy would recite these words aloud with the gnome. Until suddenely one day as he spoke the word "beauty," a butterfly flew out of his mouth. The boy was startled. He believed he might be dying, for he has seen many a peaceful woman leave this world with butterflies escaping their lips. He began to shake but the gnome tugged at his pant leg and smiled. The boy knelt down to see eye to eye with him. The gnome told him that it was with these butterflies and these words that he could win the war. He spoke in a dialect unknown to many, and told the boy that he must visit the king. He must show the king the beauty and power that these words held. He must teach his armies these ways. Suddenly the boy understood. He knew what has been missing from his country; hope, love, happiness, mystery, sparkle, freedom, passion and thought. The words he spoke would surely convince the king to change his tactics...maybe even his heart.

At sunrise, the boy packed a hankerchief with a bit of bread, a wooden box with a key, and the little gnome who was in need of a journey. They walked until sundown, where his eyes finally reflected the majestic view of the king's stone castle. He took in a deep breath. He could taste the sunlight upon his lips. He made his way to the gates of the wondrous structure and was led in by two guards with grave looks upon their faces. He was escorted to the king and knelt down before him and could smell the burgandy carpet beneath his feet. The king asked him what his long pilgrimage had been for. The boy opened his mouth and pushed with his gut and began to sing. His song told of the beautiful words and of the dreadful war. As his last not hung in the air, the king asked him to show him what he had meant by this so called "beauty." The king was a naive man and had never heard of such a word, nor had a word ever caused such warmth to rise from within his bones. So the boy opened his mouth once again, and out of it flew, not just one, but a flurry of butterflies. They spiraled upwards leaving behind a trail of glittering, speckled maple leaves. At once the king felt his very own butterfly stir from within his belly and he shouted "GRACE" and out fluttered a blue and purple butterfly. The court that surrounded them cheered and smiled. The king knew that this so called "beauty" was the key to the peace of his people. For weeks he wrote all words whimsical and good on rose colored paper and taught this art of speaking to his knights.

On a chilly morn, the boy awoke with a start to the terrible sounds of evil words sprinkling the green grass below him. He watched as the king's army danced to meet them. They were like babes the way they tip-toed about. The boy took with him the gnome and his little box and joined the men, who were really children, on the battlefield. In unison, the army screamed "wisdom!" The opposing forces gracefully fell to the ground in awe. The butterflies were swirling around the men, letting all those perish who would not submit to the power of love. In their places, lay piles of speckled maple leaves. The boy watched them all fall. All but one. The boy and the gnome walked quietly towards the warrior. They stood face to face. He could see his reflection in the glimmer of the diamond shield. He reached his hands, which now shone as do the stars, to remove the helmet of this true being. As the helmet crashed to the soft ground, he sighed when in place of it, he gazed upon the face of a beautiful maiden. Her face was wet with tears of moondust. The boy remembered the box that had been kept safe within his hands. He kissed it's top and wrapped her hands around it. With hands shaking, she took the golden key from his fingers and opened the box. Inside of it, smoothed with velvet, lay the boy's heart beating, breaking, mending, being. He told the maiden that the wise gnome had told him that when the evil fell, only one would stand, and this one will deserve a token of immense proportions. Therefore, he had felt it only fit to reward such a being with his own heart. Behind them, the stars were beginning to immerge against a purple sky. The boy took the girl's face into his own hands and put his lips to hers. As they pulled away from the most beautiful thing of all, a butterfly was drawn from the girl's mouth. Behind them, was a shooting star and to please the heavens and themselves, they kissed again.

They stayed that way until the end of time.

THE END.

soooooo i was just perusing through the beginnings of my sketchbook this summer and came across a list of my favorite things.
of course, it is not complete but alas, here it is, in no particular order:

My favorite things-

cats
weed
rings on my fingers
vinyl
trains
wine. white if possible
the seasons' scent
driving + singing
warm feet
drawing pictures of naked girls and patterns
taking pictures
reading most anything
secret spots
outside. always.
sending and receiving letters
jumpsuits
the beatles
making love. really though.
kissing
butterflies
stones
making people laugh. or just smile.
not going to school
legwarmers
ice cream+candy
sleeping
dreaming
cooking things
meeting new humans
dance parties+smoking cigarettes on porches/ various fire escapes
the ocean
riding old bikes
travel
new places
sharing
laughing
eating
tea
getting squeezed
going home
my family
memories
incense
candles
creation
love
positivism
pretending
playing
walking with another
boats
the woods
all animals
whispering
moonlight
tomatoes
avacadoes
darkrooms
film
being sneaky
the number 7
green and purple
stars
ear kisses
new things- not material things. just new.
old things
typewriters
braided rugs
ear muffs
dirty hair
layers
cheese
polaroids
old cameras
streams
underneath bridges
feathers
stains
yard sales
first snowfall
surprises
sleeping in
the beach
growing things
listening
being alone
streaks
breaking the law