Has February Been Fraudulent?

It's the last day of February. Be it the same day in a different month, we would not be in such a predicament. I am intrigued by how the calendar was designed and assembled eons ago, by lesser (and at the same time, greater) scientists and philosophers, with such an imbalance. The second month of the year falls short two to three days in contract to it's brethren! Although every four years (and why do we have leap years anyways? Which reminds me, why do we still have daylight savings time when it has become redundant with today's technology?) it only falls short one or two days.

February leaves me a feeling of incompleteness, like I've been robbed. Two days which I could have utilized in a productive manner to prepare for a bustling month of March. A domino effect ensues and BAM it's June. I'm graduating, switching jobs and the world comes rushing in my face. That lost 48 hours could change the entire course of my supposed "destiny", or coincidences based upon resulting choices and actions.

It leaves me with one of those hypothetical trains of thoughts. What if I had an extra day of work? Make more money and that extra bit of cash then could have saved me later when finances became tight. Or, what if I had an extra day to finish that project? Perhaps then I would have finished it on time and my mark would've been salvaged (not saying that I procrastinate to ever end up in that situation, merely hypothetical possibilities we're talking here). Now what I really would like those extra few days for is gaming! Finally beating Assassin's Creed or Little Big Planet, or completing Okami (my favorite all-time game) again.

Alas I say that dear February, you fall short.

Romping off to play video games,
~Chiko!

Cogito, Ergo Sum

If I could decipher the entities outside my mind,
Then I would not need to sort fact from fiction.
If I could determine the fallibility of my senses,
Then I would not question your validity.
If I had not discovered Descartes’ theory,
Then I would not think these thoughts.
If what I imagined was figments and fractions,
Then surely therefore I could not think I am.
If I could deceive myself of my fears,
Then I would live my dream for eternity.

Pondering if anything besides myself is real,
~Chiko<3

The Psychosomatic Nature of Man

The chorus of a song written by Prodigy played back through his head, “I’m a fire starter, twisted fire starter.” He walked casually amongst the mighty trees, his scratched brass-colored Zippo twirling in his hand as he hummed the tune. He clicked open the lid to his trusty sidekick and knelt down to hold it against the parched undergrowth of a dieing tree. The aroma of naphtha swirled in his flared nostrils. Unable to resist his urge any further, he flicked the flint wheel and watched intently as the orange flame licked over the arid leaves. A crackling noise began and grew increasingly louder as the fire spread. He stepped back to admire his latest masterpiece. The vicious flames engulfed the foliage, emitting an ominous amber glow from between the trees. The intense heat pulsed from the raging fire, warming his pale skin. Grey smoke plumed up from the forest as if it were the spirits of the trees writhing in agony. White and black ash escaped the flames who reached infinitely upwards, floating down in a pathetic attempt to blanket the charred timber carcasses. Fading embers lay scattered on the ground, the blood stain of nature. Chuckling, the man strolled away from his malicious deed.

Are you a fire starter?
~Chiko!

Do You See What I See?

To see the world from another person’s height would be similar to walking the world in another person’s shoes. I am closer to the ground. I stop to smell the flowers on a late afternoon stroll. I notice the ants scurrying along an invisible line, the beetles amongst tall blades of grass and caterpillars that nibble on leaves. I amuse myself with foot prints left in the mud as I walk through remnants of yesterday’s rain shower. The pebble bouncing with a tick-clack as I kick it down the sidewalk. I relish in my surroundings that only I could see. I beam up at my companion, his warm hand intertwined with my own, delighted with what I see around me. He is closer to the sky. He sees the wind tossing locks of my golden-red hair in swirls. He watches the sparrows performing pirouettes through the air. He notices the obscurely shaped clouds floating across the bright blue sky. He stops to pick vividly colored fruit from a tree for us to share. The subtle jump in my step creates a smirk which tugs at the corner of his mouth as he tries not to laugh at my joyous antics. I want to see the world through his eyes but cannot take for granted what I see with my own.

Enjoying life,
~Chiko<3.

Roses Are Red, Bananas Are Yellow

Fruit and Flowers

The afternoon sun dances across the metal sink as it bursts through the white trimmed window. A curved glass vase sits perched upon the window sill. Nine candy-red roses soak their feet in day old tap water. Their pale green stalks cut short on crooked angles three days prior. Dew collects on the interior of the crystal vase and casting beams of shimmering light around the kitchenette. Upon closer observation, the delicate silk petals are flecked with off-white and pastel yellow markings. The traditional romantic flower symbolizes the fresh and everlasting passion between the two occupants of the modern apartment. Contained in a silver basin to the left of the picture-perfect roses, a variety of fruit lay waiting to be chosen as a mid-day snack. From delectable bananas to mouth-watering apples to succulent oranges. The taxi-yellow bananas are ripe with hints of lime green resting on ridges that run the length of the fruit. The Macintosh apples gleam bright red, dripping with flavor. Fluorescent green patterns marking the peaks of them. The sporadic glimpses of the over-sized oranges reveal days in age, faint tan creases scar the tangerine-oranges' hide. Despite the slight aging, the oranges pop out as the fruit of choice, victim to the next consumer who enters the scene.

Craving fresh sliced oranges,
~Chiko.

The Human Heart In Just 55 Words

"He's just toying with you!" She yelled.
"You know nothing about him!" I screamed in agony.
"But I know everything about you." She mocked.
"Do you even care?" I murmured.
"As much as you do" She said, placing her hand on my cheek.
Then my eyes welled up and I turned away from the mirror.

Good old WC assignments.
Inspired by Revenge Is Sweeter by The Veronicas,
~Chiko<3.

Battle Between Men

Two elderly men sit engrossed in silence.
A quick motion from the first’s arm. A light clank.
“Hmmm” escapes the second’s pursed lips.
Moment of hesitation then he flicks his wrist. A soft clink.
The first’s furrowed eyebrows crease his forehead.
His hand outstretches in exaggerated movement.
A dull thud of a wooden figurine.
Checkmate.

Done the days' homework,
~Chiko.

White Knight

Power. Efficiency. Grace. Words that collaborate to describe such a magnificent beast. The immense power contained within each individual cell. The efficiency in which those cells coincide to perform, like the cogs and gears beneath the hood of a well-tuned machine. The grace found amongst the fluid movement when such an animal leaps effortlessly. To delve further into this entity, we could question the potential ability or the existentialism of self-awareness within the gelding. We can only fathom what sort of spirit resides in this horse. Does it function solely as a pawn, a minuscule piece in our evolution as humans? Or does it obey our every command simply out of a knight‘s loyalty? Lastly, does it aid us in our conquest for greatness and kingship while plotting our demise?

Be it a pawn or rook, a bishop or a knight, this is another piece in life’s game of chess. Each pawn desires to be king. But the top is lonely. The queen is mighty powerful, far more potent and deadly then the king. Yet she lacks the title to control congress. Seen as a threat, she becomes a primary target for the lurking enemy. The underling is taken for granted, being a pawn unknowingly holds the element of surprise. One small step at a time, he advances towards his enemy head on. The white king thinks too far ahead, speculating his enemy to flank from behind, to take more complex routes. Blinded by his own treacherous thinking, he overlooked the tiny black pawn at his feet who herded him over the course of the battle into a corner of the pig pen. The white knight is too late to gallantly leap to the rescue of his king. Check and Mate.

Underdog of the underworld,
~Chiko.

Maple & Me

Early to bed, early to rise. An old saying that I find applies to me quite well. Regardless of when I crash, I seem to have a habit of waking up early. The ability to just lay in bed staring at a light-less space eludes me. Lucky for the dog, his Lazy-Bonez bed is placed in the only room where this halcyon mood could exist and his rhythmic snooze goes undisturbed.

This bright Sunday morning a notably reoccurring whim has me taking advantage of the large windows at the rear of my room. I now realize the benefits of Daylight Savings Time for people such as myself. Between the awkward group of evergreen trees just past the furthest corner of my elongated urban lot, I watch the orange winter sun rise and peek through the bristles as they're rustled in the wind. My white walls amplify the light which pours through my windows and adds to the freshness of my morning. Although the sun spots are annoying while trying to write following minutes of staring at that blinding but alluring ball of burning hydrogen.

Allowing myself to divulge in my mind, I tumble around concepts of stillness & silence. The occupants of my house lay quietly asleep in their beds, donned in probably an odd assortment of late night clothes. These moments of tranquility are what I enjoy most about the consequences of my nocturnal habits.

Alas, I am sad to say that my stomach is getting the better half of my blogging time, as apparently it is of the others' sleep. With the bustling of hairdryers and televisions disrupting my train of thought, the sun has hidden behind the thicker bough of the center tree.

Time to feed the monster that drives me,
~Chiko.