Taking a Crack at Narration

I couldn’t sleep last night, due to high stress from exam studying endeavors, so I took a break to try my hand at writing a story of sorts. My brain is exhausted from all the scholastic absorption I’ve been pounding in to it this week. I really needed a creative writing break. So this story is based off of the characters and plot from the book Journey to the West, a Chinese novel that was originally published in the 16th century. Good ole’ Wikipedia notes Journey to the West as:

…an extended account of the legendary pilgrimage of the Tang dynasty Buddhist monk Xuanzang who traveled to the “Western Regions”, that is, Central Asia and India, to obtain Buddhist sacred texts (sūtras) and returned after many trials and much suffering…” alongside his ragtag crew of disciples consisting of:

“…three protectors who agree to help him as an atonement for their sins… Sun WukongZhu Bajie and Sha Wujing, together with a dragon prince who acts as Xuanzang’s steed, a white horse.

I have not read the novel myself as of yet, but I do plan on it in the future. For now, this is just an experimental dabbling in to the world of storytelling. I want to try to exercise my imagination muscles and really get down with my subconscious fantastical tendencies. Well, let’s see where it goes. I may or may not continue the story, but here is chapter 1 of my [potentially interesting and exciting] novel dedicated to a novel.

Adventures of the Monkey King

Part 1: Distorted Retribution

Born of a most divine mountain range, the Monkey King waltzes idly atop his stone prison.

His shining golden eyes search with indomitable curiosity across the vast plateau below.

What he seeks is adventure beyond wildest imaginations, riding the clouds and exploring the world.

The Jade Emperor and Buddha colluded to confine him to that mountain’s bleak peak.

After all, it was he, Sun Wukong, who forced the soldiers of heaven to stir, causing a long, bloody war.

As the sun subsided behind the distant horizon, Wukong [for short] contemplated his madman plan.

“225 more years of this 500-century imprisonment left,” he said, bereft. ‘I’ll wreak havoc on this land with just my left hand.”

He wields his Jingu Bang – the celestial staff he won from the Dragon King – which can bend and extend.

It can transform and grow to colossal proportions, or shrink to the mere size of a tiny hairpin.

Whilst mulling over escape plans in his head, the monkey barely noticed the approaching drunk monk.

Inquisitively cocking his head back and forth, he decides to reveal himself to the ignorant traveler.

“Hark, o benevolent one who dares enter my rocky pass,” called the ape, with a slight hint of sass.

The monk slowly turned to recognize the new voice, eyes wide in disbelief at his luck and good fortune.

“It was thee whom I sought on my journey thus far, for I am in need of new disciples, and you’d make the right choice,” cried the monk in delight, in his tipsy high voice. “My name is Xuanxang, but you can call me Tang,” his jubilant tone sang.

At this suggestion Wukong’s face lit up with joy, since that meant he could finally end his confinement.

He grasped the monk’s hands in open agreement, ignoring the truth of the vow he’d mistakenly taken.

His heart now belonged to the holy bodhisattva Guanyin, Goddess of Mercy, forgiver of sin.

He felt it leave his body in a painless farewell as it leapt for the outstretched hands of the heavens.

An elysian gold band was embedded on his head to keep his unruly roughneck behavior in check.

“If ever this lad starts to act like a cad, simply mutter this mantra to restrict him a tad,” said Guanyin to the monk. “Oṃ maṇipadme hūṃ,” She whispered, nearly unheard. “Until the end of your journeys alongside Xuanxang, I must stress that you are powerless to remove this headband, Sun Wukong.” “Pardon, oh gallant, esteemed guardian of the heavenly peach tree garden,” she added, with a laugh.

Disappearing in an ethereal cloud of sparkling mist, she left the two travelers there, eyes still transfixed.

With his mouth hanging open in stark disbelief, Wukong gradually exhaled a grief-stricken sigh of relief.


Limericks from a Stressed Student

Good day on this fine Sunday to one and all. I tend to run my wording on a more serious note, so I have been practicing limericks trying to improve my comedic sense. As much as I try to make them humorous, I sometimes have a difficult time adding a silly tone to my writings. So what is a limerick?

Wikipedia defines a limerick as,

“…a form of poetry, often humorous and sometimes obscene, in five-line, predominantly anapestic meter with a strict rhyme scheme of AABBA, in which the first, second and fifth line rhyme, while the third and fourth lines are shorter and share a different rhyme.

Fancy that. Thus, the following are two limericks dedicated to the exhausting activity of studying in school. I have doubled them – instead of 5 lines, using 10. The following 5 are an extension for the entire poem.

I hope you enjoy and that I can manage even a soft chuckle out of you.


These Darn Never-Ending Study Sessions

These darn never-ending study sessions

See me drag myself through all my lessons

The pile of homework

Gives me a sly smirk

I hate never-ending study sessions


These darn never-ending study sessions

Are laden with such frustrating questions

Did my pen just scoff?

My hand might fall off!

Curse you never-ending study sessions
Drowning in a Sea of Exam Papers

Drowning in a sea of exam papers

Piled high in the air like skyscrapers

I can’t believe it

An end can’t be seen

What gives with this sea of exam papers?
Drowning in a sea of exam papers

Droves of scholastically fowl capers

Don’t go to bed yet

Don’t worry, don’t fret

Dare finish the mound of exam papers.

Dreaming a Dream of Dreams Dreamt

I was listening to the Les Misérables soundtrack and was inspired by the track I Dreamed a Dream to write this iteration of the lyrical composition. It was just such a beautiful song… it evoked within me the spirit to write! I haven’t seen it live or anything, but I thought the movie did a pretty decent job of presenting the work as it was mostly intended (though critics might certainly say otherwise). I am not a theater snob or anything – I just really like musicals and plays and stuff. Someday maybe I will be able to see it performed up close and personal!

So this rhymed poem will probably hit you in the heart a little bit. Feel free to come up with a tune to sing to it 😛 …I’m sure it can be done. To all my friends who’ve suffered heartache and such, I dedicate this short work to thee. I know I have. But life goes on. The reincarnation of the soul perseveres in the darkest of times and lowest of lows. We will be able to carry on.


A Dreamt Dream

Once the world was innocent and true,

Virtuous minds dreamt of clear oceans blue.

Whispers of lies were nary present.

Words were exchanged with honest intent.

That was a time ago.

Little did I know.


In the dreams that were dreamt in that illusory past,

I let my highest hopes be boldly cast.

Sweet brimming heart sang loving tunes.

Drinks shared beneath bright glowing moons.

Then darkness descended.

My dream had ended.


I knew not the risks of holding such blind belief,

Greedily snatched by the devious thief.

Trust was carelessly given and taken.

Lovers’ heart left torn and shaken.

He took off like a crow.

Blackened my soul in woe.


Still I dreamed of regaining that fantastic delusion.

A carefully painted  joyful illusion.

Once, I thought my life would be more than this,

Not suffering and pain, but wondrous bliss.

My dream has passed,

T’was killed at last.


Connecting to My [Inner] Self

I just wrote this! Yes. I was motivated by this brimming feeling in my heart to spill it across the pages of my journal. I have had an interesting experience as of late dealing with my expressive tendencies. I am noticing more about myself as I gain knowledge on different personality traits and the like.

At the beginning of the year, I went to a seminar on business leadership at my college, and found out that I have an “expressive” personality type.

We call the expressive the social specialist because they love to have fun. They are individuals who turn disaster into humor, they prevent dull moments, and they are very generous people. They want to be included.

On the strong side, the expressive is very outgoing. They are ambitious, charismatic, and persuasive. On the weak side, they can be disorganized, undisciplined, loud, and incredibly talkative. ”    -according to Crestcom Leadership

This pretty much is…well…me in a nutshell. Always the optimist of the group and always trying to make others happy! Not such a bad thing, right?

Well, I have been turning my expressiveness in to poetry lately, as well. This short poem is me trying to emulate the happiness I have been experiencing following some (what I would call “successful”) events in my life. It’s in an AaAa BB rhyme scheme, with the lowercase a’s signifying attempted rhymes in between. I really like rhyming things, if you couldn’t tell.

Now I have to get ready to go to class! Not fun. But it must be done. Everyone have a wonderful rest of your day, and take some time to get more in tune with yourselves moving forward.


Ecstatic Emotional Elation

While in the tall green grass I lie, the world around rolls swiftly by.

Searching clouds up in the sky, swirling dreams across the eye.

I know this place was made for me.

I feel so free.


Memories fade and memories grow from corners in my mind I know.

Familiar faces, far off places, flashing through subconscious show.

I look to the sky and then to the sea,

Replete with glee.


Breath in and out the cool rushing waves of blushing bliss.

Feeling the embrace of reminiscence in an honest kiss.

I know this amazing feeling will last,

Heart beating fast.


Every beat of my ecstatic heart filled to the brim with delight.

Plucking clovers, singing songs, making wishes on clouds bright white.

I sense the words within amassed,

Vast fields alight.


Rising from the grassy knoll, beauty surrounds my flowing soul.

Onward I stroll through the ebullient fields on my patrol.

I know now where my emotions go,

Within they grow.


Picking flowers lining the trail, face caressed by a soothing gale.

Sunshine lighting the way through the vale, following the events of our wondrous tale.

I anticipate which direction the world will flow,

Feelings I know.

Here’s a little something from the heart. I just felt like writing my feelings down in a sickeningly sweet, crooning rhyme. It’s been an interesting couple of months with my emotions and trying to keep them reigned in! This is all about those thoughts and hopes we have when we’re on the feels train with a new relationship. I’m staying positive and emulating my innermost thoughts through my writing. It helps me stay calm and collected.

I hope you all can stay positive despite whatever pitfalls may occur in your life, or whatever uncertainties you might be perceiving as detrimental to your sanity. Happy Tuesday, all.

Take me Home

Take me home so we can roam
Wild and free
Heed my plea

Take me back with that Kodak
Burn the picture
Read the scripture

Take me there, if you dare
Hold my hand
Where we stand

Take me away so we can lay
Side by side
Nowhere to hide

Take me higher amidst the fire
Day by day
Say you’ll stay

Take me through the skies so blue
Fly with me
You will see

The Versatile Blogger Award


Shazam. This happened. How? It was the notorious nominator of nominations himself, Grabbety Covens – thank you, kind sir! This guy’s WordPress page displays upon it, very brazenly, I might add, this statement – “You’ve survived what you thought would destroy you. Now…get the fuck up, dust yourself off, and keep pushing forward…”  How about that for some motivation?

I would’ve never thought I’d be nominated for anything at all while a part of this blogosphere. I am truly honored by this consideration!

Who am I, the Indicatively Imaginative?

  1. A Finance student at a college in San Francisco, seeking intellectual enlightenment. I have gone through a good portion of my life without direction, and finally braced myself to take on higher learning to the fullest of my abilities. I have lacked confidence, and in my darkest times have sought long-term self-betterment through education.
  2. A motorcycle riding hellion that loves long rides along the coast. I tend to take my bike out when I am feeling exceptionally angsty and lose myself in my thoughts amidst the wind whipping against my helmet’s protective shell. Oh, and I blast music the whole time, too.
  3. I like the outdoors. I love hiking and camping and the like, however, I am deathly allergic to all things naturally growing! Woo…hoo…not. I get allergy immunization therapy shots every week. It’s poopy, but I hope to one day not fear a long walk through a field of flourishing flowers. P.S. I am allergic to animals and I have a dog.
  4. I fight with anxiety disorder and I used to battle with depression for some time. I am slowly weening off my medications with the help of my therapists and my friends and family. Without the people in my life that care about me, I believe I would be a lost cause in the stream of the world – flowing aimlessly in to an uncertain oblivion for the rest of my days.
  5. I am an extreme optimist! Contrary to fact #4, I tend to think only good things. Great things. I set my bar very high for satisfaction, which tends to lead to my demise overall. I have been learning to curb my optimism in a more realistic way to combat this grave tendency of mine. But hey, I am still going to be a happy-go-lucky source of ebullient extravagant energy!
  6. I cook and I bake like a semi-pro chef. Hey hey. I can whip up a meal for one, or two, or twelve, so if you ever want to throw a party, let me cater (for the cost of groceries!). But really, the kitchen is my zen zone. It is a place where I can cook away my worries in to plates of delectable foodstuffs. Sharing meals with the people I love really brings me solace in times of turmoil.
  7. No one in my family has a college degree. I am going to be the first! I don’t count my brother’s art degree because he doesn’t use it. First actual Bachelors degree in the family – I am super proud of myself. If you need a financial adviser or investment analyst, I’ve got you covered. Though I am still not confident in my ability to apply my learnings to real world applications, I feel like I will succeed in the future. Winning.

My Nominees will be…

  1. Grabbety Covens
  2. Beckies Mental Mess
  3. Kelley Farrell
  4. Hope Is Hard
  5. dharkanein
  6. Beauty By Wanji
  7. The Pradita Chronicles
  8. Manic Teodora
  9. Short Prose
  10. Sharmaji Se Kaho
  11. The Jaguar
  12. Jacob Quirke
  13. Amanda Wilson
  14. Fictionspawn Monsters
  15. On The Couch


If you are nominated, you’ve been awarded the Versatile Blogger award. These are the rules:

  1. Thank the person who nominated you to receive this award.
  2. Include a link to their blog.
  3. Write seven facts about yourself.
  4. Nominate 15 Blogs or Bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly, which you think are excellent bloggers and deserve some recognition. Include a link to their blog.
  5. Inform your nominees of their nomination.

And with that ends my post. I want to thank again Grabbety Covens for the nomination.

I say that all my nominees are winners of this award I present to thee! Congratulations to you all and keep writing up the awesome works I have had the honor of enjoying reading. You all motivate me to keep writing, myself, and to strive for excellence in my storytelling and the like. Kudos. Hugs. High-fives. All the things. Angela, signing off.

Facing Yourself in the Mirror

I think that at some point in life, we sometimes functions under the guise of a falsified persona to protect ourselves from hurt and pain. The “masks” we put on can represent many things – low self-esteem, lack of confidence, fear of judgement, or other such negatively connoted emotional criteria, etc. The list can be long and unforgiving. One day, the mask comes off, and we then expose ourselves to the truth of the world, accepting the potential to be hurt again, or to be disappointed.

The reason you look in the mirror and judge yourself might even be body dysmorphic disorder. I struggle with this all the time, and have since I was in my youth (though I’m getting better!), always keen on repeating negative things about myself or appearance in my head that caused me constant, severe mental and emotional stress.

The Anxiety and Depression Association of America characterizes BDD as:      “persistent and intrusive preoccupations with an imagined or slight defect in one’s appearance…”                                                                                                                                        It then goes on to explain that:                                                                                                  “…for someone with BDD, the flaw is significant and prominent, often causing severe emotional distress and difficulties in daily functioning.”

But hey, on the bright side, know that the mask indeed CAN come off, with enough practice and even with surrounding yourself with people who are supportive and have the right attitudes. Despite the many masks I myself have worn through my life, I have chosen to be honest and true with myself hereon and take the mask off, exposing myself to whatever the world around me might throw at me, despite my inclinations to sell myself short or criticize myself. It opens you up to wonderful and beautiful things, too. I hope that those of us who still wear those masks can learn to be true to themselves and give life a chance to impress them.

You are worth it. Believe in yourself. Believe in the ability of others to recognize your uniquely beautiful soul.

Aside: If you ever need a little bolstering motivation or a helping hand, you’re always free to send me a private message for a chat. I’m not psychiatrist, but I can be a good ear, when needed.

Smile on and follow along with this poem dedicated to the hopeful unmasking of an uncertain heart.


Mirror Misconception and Masked Imperfection

Peering in to prudent eyes reflecting morosely in the mirror,

her face slid forward, fixed gaze locked, drawing ever nearer.

With curiosity, inquiringly cognizant of the face which echoed back,

regarding with such intensity, one thought the mirror might crack.

Contemplating the visage of a woman she barely knew,

wondering whether her view was deception, or properly true.


Days and months passed, years came and went.

Each mask she had donned now looked terribly bent.

It had been many a time that this face she’d replaced.

Gloomily gawking at the likeness before her, disgraced.

Pooling in her eyes was a fountain of tears

as she confessed all her deepest, darkest black fears.


The masks which had carefully been made

had suddenly become sadly decayed.

Off the masks came, layer by layer,

amidst the breathless whisper of a promiseful prayer.

Beneath the thickness of lies and deceptions,

she no longer perceived her prideful misconceptions.


Ogling objectively at this fresh face she saw,

to much her surprise, it was found with no flaw.

Observing her newfound confident smile

made her the happiest she’d felt in a very long while.

Renewed with excitement, having been undisguised,

she was finally freed from the past she despised.


She touched each cheek with a gentle caress

then quickly slipped in to her prettiest dress.

It had been so long since she felt this way.

She was urged to step out in the light of the day

And felt the warm sun rays kissing her skin

As she walked through the world with her satisfied grin.

The Season of Fall

Happy Sunday blog buddies!

I hope everyone is having a fun Halloween pre-weekend. I whipped up this quick little Fall-dedicated poem to symbolize the inevitability of losing something. Trees lose their leaves daily – by the second, minute, hour, and on. Trees are kind of good examples for the practice of meditation and mindfulness. When you meditate, you essentially seek to let your thoughts freely flow in and out of you, observing them, and letting them go without dwelling too rightly upon them. Leaves die and fall, then grow again. Leaves have many different colors, signifying the variation in thought processes.

The constant flow of life for a tree! How cool. These tall, wise, old inanimate beings. Nature is a beautiful thing. I’m glad I can use a tree as a solid example for thoughtful contemplation. Symbolism for the win.

Enjoy this quick one and have a great rest of your day.


Falling Fall Leaves

Fall is the season

During which trees shed their leaves

They fall in tall piles

Which are visible for miles

The leaves of varying hues

Are what the branches will lose

By mid Autumn, the limbs are bare

But the trees don’t care.

When Spring comes back to this town,

Fresh new leaves will come around

Searching for Meaning

In a bout of spur-of-the-moment flowing creativity, I wrote this “story” if you will about a girl on a shadowy journey, seeking redemption and purpose in her lackluster life. It is meant to be that way, I think, though as I wrote it, I felt more like I was making up some epic tale about a fantastically brave yet lonely heroin. That’s neither here, nor there. This one is mostly, if not entirely, rhyme-free. Writing it gave me a shot at exploring my potential ability to compose stories, as I’ve been considering putting one together over a period of time. The style is definitely in that of a novel-esque production.

Here’s to hoping you enjoy this lady’s little romp through the – guess what – darkness, yet again reaching towards an end lined with pure illumination to wash away whatever guilt or regret she has holed up in her heart. I might see a little bit of myself in this lass. Oh, and I won’t be highlighting/bolding/coloring any of the words in this one, because I want you readers to really get immersed in the descriptive emphasis I’ve woven in to each line. Have fun! It’s a smidgeon long, so read on!

She Searches for Meaning

The deep hallway lay before her in a void of cold darkness, it called out in its shadow solitude as damp walls met the flesh of her fingertips, tracing patterns on its long untouched face.

Gravity sucked her towards the void, tempting the wispy hem of her fringed white gown as though a feeble breeze had swept through the lonely passageway from nothingness.

She strained her eyes to see to the end of the hall, but, powerless to discern any end to it all, onward she struggled through the shade the precarious pass presented her.

Thoughtfully tiptoeing forth, groping at the jet black air, hands seeking guidance, she sallied forth in her effort to find the reprieve of light assuredly awaiting at the end of it all.

Dust collected on her dress with each careful step, as if to slow her efforts, to drag her down, and she regarded that deep darkening path with both interest and concern.

Concern for what she may find at the finish line, for what she may not find, with wonder at the potential failure that awaited her frail frame.

The quiet hallway breathed confidence down her spine, setting the hairs on the surface of her skin to attention, drawing her ever further in to the recesses of the straight maze of secrecy.

Blind to the intentions whispered in the wind, her prying conviction to conquer the desolate wasteland caused her to shiver with anticipation.

For miles she walked, counting each peerless step, until finally she reached a solid structure standing guard in her pathway through the void.

With a lightly placed tap, it began to crumble – slowly at first, then, like a stack of dominoes, it tumbled in a dusty jumble about her bare feet.

What vision met her delicate eyes was the soothing glow of a solitary flame in the distance, which, from what she could tell, drifted amidst a graveyard of leather-bound books along a hallway of bookcases.

Trembling fingers reached out and glided smoothly across the spine of each abandoned book, and her leisurely exploration turned to one of earnest curiosity to uncover the lives of each worn text.

The supple leather felt like silk to the touch, and though wanting to painstakingly discover each novel, she resigned to rest her excitedly shaky hands on a single work.

This volume displayed an extravagantly embroidered cover, laden with faintly glistening thread the color of iridescent pearl, and dyed a deep wine red.

Upon opening the novel to learn what sort of tantalizing tale it enclosed within its grandiose shell, she found not but blank, dusty pages worn from the unknown time it spent on that deserted shelf.

In her perceptive peripheral vision, with the aid of the still tenderly flickering flame, the shape of an ink pen stood plainly poised on the adjacent bookcase’s ledge.

Suddenly, she was overcome with the notion to write – but what, one might ask themselves in this momentous occasion, would she write of?

Understanding swelled up within her soul, and upon taking the pen up in her hesitant grasp, she began composing stories in a dreamlike fashion which told of things that had been both seen and not.

Years went by for her in the solitude of the dimly lighted chamber, being nourished only by the flowing visions which left her mind and splashed across those pages in vivid expression.

One day, the walls around her began to dissolve in to sparkling dust, opening up to a remote field of luminescent blue irises.

In disbelief, she closed and rubbed her tired eyes vigorously, opening them again only to find that that which she laid her eyes upon was neither a deception nor a delusion.

Baffled by the scene, she put down her enchanted book, and cautiously walked past where the bookcases had disappeared, letting her skirt catch gingerly on each flower she traversed along.

Smiling, she closed her eyes once again, letting the feeling of freedom and marvel envelop every inch of her body, and laid down delicately amidst the sapphire blossoms.

The roots of the perennials enrobed her fatigued limbs as she breathed a sigh of relief, giving herself to the surrounding hallowed ambiance, and she perished in that field with the smile still lingering.

To this day, no one has been able to find either that bewitched place or the spellbound tome which she scrawled her life away in to, spellbound for all those years – and no one ever will.

March On, My Friends

Now today, on this bright, sunny day, I have decided I would concoct a bit of a more repetitive, lyrical alliteration work. I don’t quite know how one would sing it, but I think it does have a catchy rhythm to it, no? It is reminiscent of my days in catholic school, and the many Sundays spent responding to hymnals in my local church (albeit I am not religious, in the slightest). The theme is “discovering the world in all its glimmer and gloom, and experiencing life through the eyes of a struggling-but-optimistic human being.” Sunny days make me exceptionally susceptible to hopeful thinking!

We all go through life experiencing its promises of wonderment and opportunity, but occasionally we are met with unsatisfactory situations. Though they dot our lives with their malicious intent, learning experiences always come from the moments we fear most. So I say march on, to brighter days and self-betterment. Left foot, right foot, rinse and repeat. Hold a hand or two along the way, but never admit defeat.


Onward We March

To the droning dribble of a daring drumroll

Onward we march

Through forests and fields and valleys we stroll

Onward we march

Past life and love and laughter abound

Onward we march

Over runnels and rills and rivers around

Onward we march

Moving through markets and marshes and mountains merrily

Onward we march

Surveying frigates and farmland and fountains fairily

Onward we march

Accruing answers and archives and achievements readily

Onward we march

Escaping eclipses and earthquakes and endeavors intruding

Onward we march

Courting confidence and compassion and calm eluding

Onward we march

Adventurous Alliteration Analysis

Another evening of of insomniatic contemplation edges by, and produces from my mind a most intriguing exploration in to my ability to alliterate by sentences. I took this featured picture last night of the Bay Bridge when I was traipsing about the Embarcadero. It made for a nice photograph, I think. Not bad for a cellphone camera.

This was a fun, but frustrating one to compose. The dictionary definition of alliteration is as follows:

the occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of adjacent or closely connected words

Following is the story of the sun setting, the moon rising, and then dawn yet again being destined to break the darkness. It is meant to narrate how the brightness of life can embrace us in its pleasant warmth of goodness and wholesomeness, and the darkness can take it away mercilessly. However, the bright side of things is that we can come out of the darkness again to see the light – to see the good in life. As human beings, we are susceptible to failures and accomplishments alike. As the wave of our existence climaxes and falls, we learn to roll with the punches and overcome our shortcomings to grow.

I hope you all can find a positive message in this one!

As the sun slips bashfully behind the broad, secluded supine skyline

Its lustrous light lingers no longer, leaving the limitless land lurid

The mysterious moon makes moves to maintain its moonlit manipulation

Darkness decorates the desolate, dimming distant spreading still-starless sky in drab dress


From the fading fireplaces of farmhouses and family homes, faint fluorescence flows

As the ethereal evening envelopes every estate’s edge, stars eagerly emerge

Radiating rays of reckless resplendence restlessly roam the region

Collecting clusters of concordant eyes to contemplate their eternal effervescence


Laymen looked on lethargically, lulling their hypnotized heads with heartfully lackadaisical lullabies

Nonchalantly nodding off in to the nothingness of the nefarious nightfall

Unaware of the unearthly utterances of unearthly unbalance unraveling unanimously

The world was waiting weakly while whispering waterfalls of wonderment

Dawn drearily dragged itself desperately, dripping dollops of dim daylight downward

Twilight tried tensely to thwart the trembling temptation to tiredly turn in

But being bullied beneath the brilliance of brightness beaming boisterously behind it

Rescinded restfully regarding repose rightly repaid to its relentless rally


Though the things thought thereafter through timeless trances tarried

Humanity hinged haughtily heavenward hoping helplessly, having hallucinated horrors

Slumber streaked silent suggestion sloppily spattered shortly, silhouetted by scrupulosity

Relief reclaimed reticent remembrance realized by rambling reasoning


So the shining sun slept, the mystical moon mounted, then the daring dawn drove down the darkness.

From fear and faltering consciousness comes capable resolve reminding rabble of sanguine salvation.


Money Makes Me…

Today I was pondering the balance in my bank account, and my Mint app was lording over me a negative income balance for the month of October thus far….meaning – I spent more than I earned. Blast. It happened. Finally, it happened. I hit my highest disparity of income-to-expenditure that I have had in over a year. This realization befell me after I lost some money in my stock portfolio due to poor speculation.

Realistically, I only have myself to blame for not researching more adeptly the flows in which the stock market might ebb in. Also, for going and trying to be social and spending excesses of my funds on foodstuffs and fun times. I am learning my lesson this time. I’ve been playing this like I don’t have a full deck. I just have to sit here and amass my [minute, insignificant, miniscule] wealth again so I can level the playing field. I have to let sleeping dogs lie – in this case, the dogs are my money (or lack thereof). Sorry, I got turned on to idioms today, and I’m feeling ten feet tall over it.

Enough! The following poem consists of rhyming couplets in groups of two (so like, a quadruplet?) with an AABB rhyming rhythm. I might even call it a lengthy lyric. Enjoy my rantings and ravings over my wanton wastefulness this month.

Money Makes Me Mental

Money really makes me mental

I can barely afford my dental

Prices rise and incomes fall

Any cost is far from small


Where did all my money go?

Feels like I don’t ever know

Groceries and restaurants

Casual little shopping jaunts


Despairing as my stocks all tank

See the balance in my bank

That’s what you get for speculating

The stock market can be frustrating


Why don’t you just shred your card?

That, my dear, would prove too hard

One must spend, one must eat

We all deserve a little treat


Bills and costs hold hands like friends

The spending cycle never ends

But whenever a paycheck drops

My wallet joyously hip hops


How long ‘til green turns to red?

Maybe when I’m flat out dead

Pace yourself, you’re almost out

Try to shake off all the doubt


Random items wished on Amazon

Means the money soon will be gone

Just don’t press the checkout button!

Quit buying things, you silly glutton!

We Regret to Forget What Time Ticks Away

So I wrote this short one as a nod to memories and times past. I was thinking about all the situations in my life which I would wish to forget, but would always remember in flickering pictures swimming across my eyes when I lay my head to sleep. We all have those times in our lives we wish to relive, and those times can also be the hardest for us to hold on to. Rather, we really don’t want to be able to revisit those times so vividly in our heads. It can drive a person to both despair and happiness in a moment. Remembering can be taxing. Remembering can be hurtful. Remembering can be motivating, as well.

We live and we learn from mistakes we’ve made. We grow. We live. We persevere. Through all the trials and tribulations of life, time guides us through the annals of existence. Keep on keeping on, says the clock. It ticks by seconds, minutes, hours, days, years… and so on and so forth. Finding the strength to interpret where we have come from to where we are now can be tough. Being able to survive with the weight of our actions is a monumental chore.

But here I am, the person I am today, because of the past. Living in the now. Looking to the future. Reaching for what time will bring in to my life to be.


We Regret to Forget What Time Ticks Away

Time flies by in a winged rush

Feathering off flurried whirlwinds

Wiping memories on the tip of a paintbrush


Chiming away with every tick

Wooden chamber suppressing dreams

Time skips by desperately quick


Where do the pictures of our past dwell?

Grandfather time hides them away in his burlap sack

Consciousness rings out like a bell under a spell


Winding breaks as the clock slows down

Pastimes fade in to bleak fogs encapsulating forests

Time is a bog where memories drown


If what you seek is to regain

Those fantasies past, you wish to recapture,

Prepare to face your fears and pain


The Condemnation of a House in my Dream

The other night I had the most visually stimulating and somewhat scary dream I’ve had in a while. As soon as I was awoken from my slumber by the dream’s end, I jotted down as much a I could remember, and decided to write it out and dedicate this next blog post to the scene.

I was wondering through the morning whether the dream had any significance. I turned to the Google-sphere to seek a meaning and came up with these notes:

  • To dream of seeing a house being destroyed: represents some area of your life that you have become accustomed to coming to an end. A perspective on a situation being normal or stable being ruined.
  • To dream of a broken or damaged house: may reflect feelings about your life deteriorating or your identity threatened. Something valuable in your life feels crushed or lost. A sense that a situation is becoming troubling. It may also reflect feelings about your body being damaged

(information acquired from DreamBible.com)

I am not sure that I fall under either of these descriptions provided, but I will have to mull it over in my mind a little if I do wish to seek the significance of this dream. It might very well just be a random vision, with no specific connection to my reality. This is my first narrative story-style writing, so hopefully it is an enjoyable, short read. Have a wonderful Thursday. The weekend is almost nigh. We can all make it in one piece!


The empty house groaned gravely from its rotting wooden beams. A dismal room displayed wooden cooking tools, scattered about like jewels in a cavernous treasure trove of memories. Sunlight bled sharply through the dust-caked windows with a gentle and warmth infused glow. On this auspicious day, a drove of doves drifted delicately past the single glass window on the far side of the space. It was spotted with dust so much so that the doves seemed distorted. The decaying mahogany floorboards creaked cryptically in rhythm. Wind raked at the weather-worn rooftop in a scornful sonata as a thunderous downpour swept the sun away, soaking through the softened seams of decomposing wall’s panels. The scent of the murky mud that bubbled up from a far corner of the room flowed freely across the carpet with purpose.

As time crawled on, the house surrendered to that sickening mire. The sound of a hound broke the reckless resonance of rainfall rattling against the roof’s shuddering shingles. As if on cue, a chorus of thunder rang through the house, and lightning blazed patterned panoramas of what little dusty furniture rested rigidly in their long forgotten posts. The flashes frantically flittered about the residence like a lackluster lantern, revealing the ridiculous reality of the state of dire disrepair which plagued the devastated dwelling. Torn velvet curtains, soaked in a dull shade of red, thrashed wildly against their sunken supports. Shattered crystalline glasses sprawled across the floor in kaleidoscopic disarray. In scarce view leaned a solitary table, tipped against the boundary of a blackened brick fireplace. For what seemed an eternity, after rumbling across every rain soaked wall, the thunder echoed egotistically down the deep dreary hall and was devoured by the darkness.

The gloom of the room was now even more painfully pronounced by the absence of that briefly flittering luminous light. The reverberating lumber pillars which kept the house standing had started to crumble numbly to the ground in fragmented heaps. Moldy timber peaked out from beneath the grime that sloughed off the stanchions. One by one, the posts tumbled with tremendous weight upon the flooring, which surrendered willfully to the heft of the burden. The ground caved in with relative ease, and took with it bookcases, chairs, and the rest. That old house yielded at last to its age, and with a sigh of relief, it dissolved decisively in to the dirt.

When the house had finally finished its departure from that spot, the sun peeked defiantly through dissipating rain clouds high up above. The sky shifted from black to blue with a speed that was questionable – for having observed with disbelief the dire scene which had just taken place, none could imagine with what immeasurable strength that bright ball of salvation had employed to break free. Piercing rays of sunlight swiftly warmed the wet ground until grass, trees, and flowers started popping up promptly from the spot where that house had made its grave. The dreaminess of this perfect picture was a sight to behold. A well-groomed group of geese blissfully bellowed their chiming calls across the brightened blue sky. Mysterious magic floated through the air, carried on the gently blowing breeze that wishfully wrapped around the blooming expanse, and brought life back to that once-abandoned wasteland.

Exploring Limericks

As previously promised, I’ve composed a collection of literary limericks to share. I must admit, in trying to adhere to the specific style of this poem, I had a mildly difficult time of it. But, regardless, it was fun, and I certainly think they’re fairly funny.

I’m at my wit’s end with writing these whimsical rhymes. I wrote these while I was impossibly imprisoned in my classes on campus with little stimuli to occupy my mind besides a constant chirping outside the window behind me. Nothing like a handful of silly rhyming poems to start off your day with a smile.

A Strange Lady with a Silly Red Hat

A strange lady with a silly red hat

Went to fetch her darling child wearing that

Who, down at the school

T’was seen as a fool

Since his mother wore that silly red hat

Waiting Outside in the Cold Autumn Rain

Waiting outside in the cold autumn rain

Was a damsel waiting for the last train

The chill of the night

Made her skin seem white

As she stood there in the cold autumn rain

Fear Not, For Here Comes the Fearless Don Juan

Fear not, for here comes the fearless Don Juan

Riding his steed swiftly across the lawn

He fell to the floor

And loudly he swore

Bystanders taunted the fearless Don Juan

There Was a Bottle of Milk in his Kilt

There was a bottle of milk in his kilt

Full to the brim, it would spill with a tilt

A stray cat soon came

To play a small game

It made plans to take the milk in his kilt

I liked the third one the most – about the fearless Don Juan – since I have recently taken up the task of re-reading through Don Quixote. Just a little nod at a great written work.

Keep in mind that today’s lesson was on limerick. The standard format is rhymed in an AABBA fashion – as in the 1st, 2nd, and 5th lines rhyme, then the 3rd and 4th lines rhyme. The limerick is delivered with a lighthearted, playful, even absurd tone. The 1st line is where you introduce the focus subject (i.e. the main character, even an object, animal, or place), followed by some comical tie-ins and a conclusion to the short story.

Simple, enough, right? Why not try making your own limericks? It could be fun.


Introduction to the Narrator


Greetings ye who fortuitously ventured upon this blog page. This is Angela, your resident fledgling wordsmith, bidding you a most hospitable welcome to this new enterprise wherein I aim to take you on a fantastical jaunt through my indicatively imaginative mind. I’d like to start with a little bit of a pseudo-introduction to my person and what to expect from this blog.

I was born and raised in San Francisco, CA, however I do not live directly within the city itself, for it would be a detriment to my already meager college student income. I am a Finance student, which might come to you as a surprise in that I aspire to deliver a reasonably eloquent slew of poems, narratives, short stories, food-related contemplations, and other prose. There will also be random text coloration and photographic elements casually added to posts to supplement your visual faculties. On occasion, I might also throw in a sprinkle of financial and economics associated advice. However, overall, I seek simply to provide you inquisitive readers with some evocative, imagination stimulating literary compositions. Or so I hope.

To get us off on the right foot, I would like to bestow you with your first taste of one-of-many of my poetic productions to come. Let’s have a short set of independent haikus with a weather theme.

The ocean waves roll

Roughly storming and swirling

Flipping a frail boat

                                         The wind howls in grief

                                         Leaves whip fiercely through the air

                                         A gale wind sweeps past

                                                                                 Sunlight shines so bright

                                                                                 Glaring between tall treetops

                                                                                  Flame colored luster

The date is October 16, 2017, and thus concludes our first brief encounter. Tune in next time for an experiment with limericks and rhymes.