More Uncertainties Then Certainties

I sit in a soft chair, eyes closed, time ticking away. My glasses lay on the desk upside down like I always place them. I open my eyes and look around. The soft green walls grab the black and white photos that I took and framed of different people, different places, different times. As I look around a little more a bookshelf over takes a whole wall from top to bottom filled with books and trinkets. The shelves separate the books I already read and the ones I intend to read at some point. On the corner of the farthest shelf sits a picture of me high a top of a mountain, my back to the camera. The pictures from when I studied abroad in Europe. I remember the day clearly, it took the better part of half the day to get to the top of the mountain and it took everyone in my group yelling at me for me to actually pull myself away from the mountain to take the journey back down. Dangling from a few shelves hang metals in the shape of Viking helmets all from the Warrior Dashes I participated in. It started my senior year of high school all four of us, my sisters and myself, running in the Warrior Dash and it stopped when Ash started her family. We all got too busy.  I look back to my desk and smile at the picture of me and my sisters from Sami's wedding day. She looks beautiful in her white dress and Ashley and Jess look stunning as well. I stand out a little though with my dress uniform. Sami asked me to wear it that day. She never did tell me exactly why, but I wore it all the same. Next to that pictures sits another picture this one from Jess’s wedding day. Like I told her, I would wear what ever she wanted me to that day and true to form all of us stand in matching dress with Jess standing out in her white dress. A small soft knock comes to my door as it creaks a little as it opens. “Hay babe its time to go.” I take one more look around, hop up from my chair and head off leaving the past locked in a room where it mixes with the present in hope to make me.

           

            If I close my eyes though I cannot tell you if the paper work on the desk belongs to a writer or a doctor. I cannot tell you if the window in the office over looks a city or a countryside field. I cannot tell you if the knock on the door came from a girl friend or a wife. I cannot tell you if a child cries from the room next door or just music. I can tell you though that in the closet sits an old uniform from some branch of the armed force, because at one time I saw it my duty as a citizen to serve. I can tell you that I still talk to my sisters and although we all grew older we do not grow apart. I can tell you I still love the outdoors just about as much as I love photography. I can also tell you I am happy.

            In the past two or so years I experienced so much change in myself that it changed my whole point of view of my future. If you asked me freshmen year this same question I would say “I would like to find a job as a youth pastor and of course I will get married to some gentleman.” Sophomore year, “I want to join the military I still want to eventually hold a job as a youth pastor and yes one day I will eventually marry some gentleman.” Junior year, “I want to join the military they will help me pay for medical school so I can eventually hold a job as a trauma surgeon. I will find a nice woman to settle down with.” This year I hold no for sure answer to any of those questions. What I do know right now? In the fall I will attend Simmons College in Boston, Massachusetts. I am lucky enough to live in a loving family now and forever. I am also lucky in that I found a girl that wants to date me but can also put up with me. We only think about a month in advance. I hold more questions about my future then I do answers. I know very few things and for right now I am ok with that. I think I finally understand that I do not need to provide all the answers right now. Like everything, the answers will all come in due time. Until then I will just close my eyes and think of the office with bookshelves lining one wall and lots of black and white photographs to remind me of where I came from.  

The Rise of Matilda

I am that person. I am the one whose favorite moments always appear as the most awkward ones. My favorite stories to tell always seem like the ones that at the time, felt incredibly embarrassing or devastating. Like all the rest, my favorite moment from AP English, at the time, felt like the worst moment of my life. Lets start though at the beginning. I rush to English….again. The mantra, Get there on time get there on time runs through my head over and over. Footstep after footstep matches the ticking down of the clock. The clock, though, wins like every single day. Ding ding it rings and I am still in the hallway. Great just great I’m late again. I rush through the door and hurry to an open seat. My backpack drops from my shoulder, floating like a ton of bricks towards the floor. I almost do not hear the sound. Blink, a tin water bottle hits the floor. As I look down horror fills my eyes. My completely full water bottle, which at one time sat closed in the side of my backpack, now spills its contents on the floor. Water flows out like Niagara Falls. That moment horrified me at the time. As I rushed trying to clean it up I feared for my life. I mean, I feared Ms. Serensky more then someone with a gun to my head. I stood a mere five foot four and although Ms. Serensky stands a few inches shorter, her use of words and incredible intelligence scared me more then anything ever before. Until that day my knees shook every single time I walked in that room. The discussion after class that day changed it all. Instead of some angry, scary response Ms. Serensky meet me with compassion and understanding. I never thought she would meet me with complete disdain, I just thought the upset of balance in Ms Serensky’s world would ultimately cause fire to rain down on mine. Like most other times though I saw my mind over exaggerating the truth of what came next. That day started me thinking of Ms Serensky as a human. That day I stopped looking at her like some scary person who held a Nerf gun behind her desk (used to shoot me if I said something stupid). Instead I now just see Ms. Serensky. Oh and I received my nickname that day, Matilda.

The Two Sides of Blake

You May know me as Blake
Or Blank deppending on who you talk to
Either name I'm sure you understand
I'm that man
The family man
You know and love
But hey I'm human
And I have my dark days
Especially when people ask me
To ring out sourcrout
I know it may seem simple
But its disgusting
Every time I work cashier
I count up the time till I leave here
Or rather there
The idiocracy of people
Never ceases to amaze me
One day though
One day I'll breakout of here
And I'll never
Ever need to ring up
Sourcrout again
Or hand a bomb of corn mush

To me Blake seems like an incredibly nice guy. He gives me nice compliments and crakes jokes. He even laughs at my not so funny jokes. I will never forget the day he told our Ap English class "I'm a family man". That's probably one of the few quotes i still remember,maybe even my favorite. What I never expect though, the disgruntal Blake. To me he always holds a smile on his face. I found myself proven wrong when he speaks in regeards to his work. Blake never seems excited or happy about his job. I can almost imagining him there lacking that smile with a disturbed, bored and frustrated look on his face. As people come through the line he gives the the normal pleasantries, but then proceeds to think about all the homework he must do. I think this poem reflects the first and second side of Blake. The first, the funny, calm and smiley Blake. The second, the frustrated, angry Blake who cannot stand Sourcrot or corn mush.

The Dark Side of What If

What if Tyler Clementi never felt the need to jump from the Gorge Washington Bridge? What if Jamey Rodemeyer never committed suicide? What if Brandon Tina had never been raped and then murdered?
What if holds the ability to transport someone to a whimsical world. What if I could fly? What if my hair grew blue? What if everyone posses two left feet? It also holds an incredible amount of reality (not reality television though). A pessimistic person like myself more often then not focuses on that side of What if….. Like what if I slip and that knife cuts me? What if the person behind me decides to jump me? What if that car pulls out in front of me? Now it may seem paranoid, but I think things like this quite often. To me these thoughts keep me aware and ready to react to situations that could occur. One what if that I can not get over, one I can never seem to put in the back of my mind, what if our society stays this way? By this way I mean homophobic. I know, I know “Dani again with the gay topic”. (YES, SUCK IT BUTTER CUP). Yes, again with the gay topic and I hope by the end of this you will understand why. I started this blog with a paragraph about the suicide or murder of three different people. They all hold a few things in common, society would consider all of them young adults, all of them lay six feet under, and all of them identified within the LGBT spectrum (for those not so well versed that is Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender). If you cannot handle talk of death or inhuman situation, stop reading this post now. I refuse to water down what happened to all three of these human beings. They all experienced intolerance, homophobia, and ultimately death. Tyler Clementi jumped off of the George Washington Bridge after his roommate made his love life viral. His roommate Ravi set up a webcam in order to spy on Tyler as he was kissing another man. Ravi also tweeted and Facebooked about his disdain towards his roommate’s sexuality. After this Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington Brige killing him self on September 22 2010. Jamey Rodereyer posted a video to the “It Get’s Better” web page, a resource for teenagers in the LGBT community struggling with suicide, encouraging other teenagers that it gets better. Jamey, though, could no longer withstand the taunting he experienced and committed suicide. Brandon Tina identified as transgender. After moving to a new town Brandon began to date a woman by the name of Tisdale. Brandon’s “friends” discovered that Brandon’s inner gender identity did not match his biological sex. Two “friends” of Brandon, Lotter and Nissen, then took it upon themselves “correct” Brandon. They took Brandon to an abandoned area where they brutally raped Brandon multiple times. After Brandon filed a police report, Lotter and Nissen hunted down Brandon and shot him in the head, killing Brandon instantly.

I know I am writing another post about something to do with the LGBT community maybe someone out theere wants me to just shut up about my sexuality already. I won’t shut upm until my sexuality does not prevent me from marriage, or states see it as a suitable reason for me to get fired from a job, or states no longer make laws that allow bullying due to my sexuality. I am one of the lucky ones at school. I never experience bullying for my sexual orientation. I feel no need to hide my sexual orientation from my friends in fear of torment. I am lucky. I worry though, not about me, but about the kid who does experience harassment, who experiences bullying. What if our society, my society, or your society stays just the same? That person, that child, that son/daughter, that sibling’s name will land on the long list of students who died do to their sexual orientation. What if homophobia ceases to exist? Sometimes when I’m bored or about to go to sleep I find myself thinking about this. When I close my eyes I see myself married to a wonderful woman. We hold hands as we walk down the street, no one looks at us disapprovingly, I do not worry about passing as a guy in hopes that she wont experience hatred. I open my eyes though and suicide among the LGBT community still resided as four times higher then those who identify as straight. What if though….? What if…………….?

Cool links
Awesome Video
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ibVlVzGI9y0#!
Cool Picture/ Poem
http://chotpot.tumblr.com/post/20436491880/people-are-butts-about-gender-sometimes-so-here
Worst Thing I Ever Read
http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/one-towns-war-on-gay-teens-20120202
Austral receives Cool points
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TBd-UCwVAY
I like
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrJxqvalFxM&feature=related

The Food Conqueror

Food. Food. Food. When I first saw this topic, I almost self-imploded. My world revolves around food. Maybe this stems from instinct and my ancestor’s survival needs. The need for food at one time stood as the most important and hard to obtain need. Now, though, with supermarkets and drive-thru’s it seems much easer to obtain food. For me though food still stand as the most important thing. I will do practically anything for food. To me, the best type of food? Free food. I will exchange for food, I have mucked stales and helped with friend’s chores in exchange for food. If no money comes out of my pocket for the food to me the food dwells as free. I held a conversation the other day with a friend she said “I still want to go shopping….. drive me?” My response? “Feed me and I will drive you”. It does concern me some, how much my world revolves around food. My mom grows tired of when I come home and ask, “What’s for dinner?” Now do not get me wrong I do not use food to substitute emotions and sometimes I don’t even enjoy it. My older sister, Jess, enjoys teasing me over how quickly I “scarf down” food. Now I thought long and incredibly hard about why I feel such a need for food and two, why I scarf it down so quickly. After many hours of research and an immense amount of flow charts and listening to numerous lectures on the subject (ok so maybe really it only took twenty seconds of thought) I discovered why these two things exist in me. I as a human feel an intense need to concur food. Yes, yes concur food. I do not see a need to concur people or countries (that takes far too much time) I feel the need to concur food. Like a king looking over a bordering country I see food and feel a deep seeded desire for it to rest inside my belly. I though am in no shape or form glutinous with my food. So maybe I feel a need to concur food, maybe in another life I conquered countries. Or maybe in another life I proved for a whole tribe of people and still hold the instinctual need to find and concur food. Or maybe in another life I starved to death and now feel a need to compensate for that in my now life. Or maybe I am just a teenager with far too much time on my hands and spend it over thinking my desire for food. (Really though I think I ruled a country at some point in time or a tribe).

Authors note:
I would like all to know that my parents provide me with a substantial amount of food and I do not have to work for food in my home. Although if I did I am 19 so you could not do anything about it. I only barter with friends.

The Inner Me or The Outer Me? -Abstract

America, land of the free home of the brave. Also home to people who seem all to concerned with there outer appearance and seem not to care a bit about what lies within. I see it all to often in my own life. I watch as girls spend countless time in front of the merrier and guys spend mount of time in the gym. The situation a little strange for some one like me. For a long time the external me did not match the internal. My external self matched what people though of me. The inner me never liked dresses but the outer me wore them. Every one has an inner self and an outer self. Even if the outer self not at much conflict as say Oshima from Kafka on the Shore. I think Oshima describes this conflict perfectly when he states “‘My body is physically female, but my mind’s completely male’”(179). The juxtaposition of male and female symbolizes the disconnect between Oshima’s inner and outer self. I struggled for a long time as why Haruki Murakami would include something as controversial as a transgender man in his novel. I realized though the theme that Murakami brought through out his novel. He pins the inner self and outer self sending them into conflict, because life just like that. Murakami also include Kafka who hold multiple inner self’s. He describes this so eloquently when he states “‘I’m Kafka on the Shore You say. Your lover- and your son. The boy named Crow’”(Murakami 319). Kafka describes him self in this multiple person multiple age and even specie person. The inner self though of Kafka lead to so much more growth then the outer Kafka. I think Murakami does and excellent job at holding up a merrier to society and asking the question what really matters the inside or the outside?

Dani Boucher’s Top 10 Best Book Ideas

Dani Boucher’s Top 10 Best Book Ideas
10. How to Build a Bar
In order for me to write this book I must first learn how to build a car. After this amazing opportunity I am sure I will fall in love with the idea of writing a book about it. Although who knows if I can write an accurate book about building a car.

9. A Biography on Bronwen Durandt
While throwing around the idea of my top ten list during commons Bronwen Duradnt hit me with this extraordinary idea. Everyone must write a biography at some point, and lets all be honest an autobiography of my life? Boring. Bronwen Durandt though, well I don’t know much about her, so who better to write a biography about.

8. How to Wear Hats
If no one has not noticed by now, I wear hats a lot, a whole lot. I wear hats as if the apocalypses of hat wearing will rain down on us tomorrow. I would write on the appropriate way to wear a hat and the appropriate way to care for hats. (Very interesting)

7. Snow Boarding For the Snowboarding Impaired
As an avid snowboarded I must write a book on how to properly snowboard. I would touch mainly on how to properly maintain control of the snowboard while traveling at fast speeds down the mountain. My book would hit stores emerging as a world-renowned book and skiers, instead of snowboarders, would seem disrespectful.

6. How to Not Write a Book
After many attempts at writing a book I will develop into an expert on how not to write a book. Of course the irony of this makes me want to cry. If I write a book on how to not write a book, could I still call myself an expert on the subject?
5. Middle Child Syndrome
19 years of experience seems to me the perfect subject on which to write. Although never truly proved, I am a firm believe that middle child syndrome exists, and plagues our nation. I shall write the book that pulls the curtain back from this horrible hidden epidemic.

4. Stupid Society
Girls wear pink, boys wear blue, oh society how I hate you. Society sets up standards that I do not quite agree with. Whether the thinking that woman must always fall infer to men, or that only boys posses big strong muscles. My book would focus on the stereotypes in our society that restrict and hinder and how to start debunking them.

3.Growing Up Gay
I talk about it enough why not write a book about it. This book could go one of two directions. I would ether direct it at parents in order to help them understand there children who don’t fit into the heterosexual world and how to help them. I could also write it to those who just discovered they identify with the LGBT spectrum in order to encourage them with the knowledge that they’re not alone. That latter of the two would require interviews and other writers involved though it holds potential.

2. How to Raise the Dyslexic
I hear a lot, “We do not know what to do with you.” The phrase almost always comes in relation to my dyslexia and myself. I want to write a book that shows that dyslexia’s can do what ever we set our minds to. Although the concept seems simple, many students use dyslexia as an excuse, and parents allow it. Dyslexia’s not an excuse, and someone must say it.

1. Poems
I just really, really, really, like writing poems. I could put them together to make a book of poems. Not all would connect and most would clash against the one before and the one after, but I would create a book. A book of poems, or pieces of my soul, which ever word I choose to use that day for the writing I do.

Sharing the Interesting Memories.........

I remember when you figured out I was gay. You had a quizzical look. Almost as if I caught you off guard. Told you something you never expected to hear. Really, though, did it surprise you when I told you? I wear my short hair about as proudly as I wear my plaid. You never saw me so much as swoon over a guy, smile at his name, or get red when he teased me. Did it come causally in conversation? Did I slip in something about my girl friend? Make a joke about my oh-so-gay tendencies? Did we start talking about me dating someone, and, after going through ever other possibility, did you finally realize then? Maybe you did not understand that easily. Maybe I sat you down and we talked about it. Maybe you knew all along, but you just waited till I found the courage to tell you. Maybe in this moment it finally hit you—Dani Boucher, very gay. Maybe this is the moment you will now remember. I remember them all—every person, every incident, every time it finally hit someone. People’s assumptions about me almost always end up incorrect. I read people, rather I look at their face and decipher what they think based on their facial expression. I depend on this, skill(?) to help me in those oh so interesting conversations. Some people understand instantly; others I watch as their faces slowly fade in to understanding. I saw this progression quite clearly when talking to a classmate:

“Does he go to our school?”
“No, they don’t.”
“Does he go to private school?”
“Yes, they do.”
“Does he go to US? St. Ignatius? Gilmore? Hawken?”
“No, they do not.”

Slowly I watched as my classmate finally realized. The thing I notice about telling people, though, is that everyone wants me to say it first. I can tell you the moment they realize that I do not match there assumptions. Still, even after they reach this point, not one person I tell says it first. No one will utter the words. They make me say them first.
“Yes, I am gay.”
Actually I am not gay. I am a lesbian, but lesbian's hard to spell and has a lot more letters then gay. Telling people about my sexuality, sometimes feels funny. Other times nerve-racking. Coming out, the act of proclaiming to the world one's sexual orientation. (Dani Boucher Dictionary) Something many of my classmates never experience. People do not come out as straight. It does not tear a family apart when their daughter dates a man. It does not repel friends or make people question when a guy talks about his girl friend. Our society creates norms, heterosexuality, for example. Which means that, for someone like me, a lot of really interesting memories occur. I remember telling someone during government class, on Facebook chat, in Panera, at Wendy's, on a bus, outside under a tree, over text message, in my little sister's room, in my living room, in my driveway. I remember every single time: the looks, the questions, my little sister screaming “Can we go on a double date?!” Those memories I share with incredibly important people in my life. Those memories are forever engraved in my mind. Not everyone gets the chance to create these memories. For now, though, I remember when you read this and it finally hit you......

Boxy Words

Past, future, present (not like the ones that a child receives on Christmas but like the time humans exist in) people always tell me you can live in the present, the future happens tomorrow, and the past already occurred. We follow it without question, assigning one word to something so complex. We never question it. We sub come to the robot notion, following rules and regulation blindly, never question anything. Andrea Gibson says it best in her poem Jelly Fish when she states so proudly
“Do you ever think about Gods ears?
Wonder if the leaf broke a promise?
Wonder if the wrecking ball
Was trying to run its fingers soft across the bricks
But its head was just too heavy”
Gibson puts to words what I think all to often. She displays a massive amount of images in order to show how little we question. How little we think. We analyze until death. Analysis finds meaning in writing, but for some reason though we analyze everything. The over analysis stands as only our fault. We do not separate so we over analyze and under think.
Analysis finds the purpose; thinking finds the meaning and the connection between the words and us. It happens everyday, we analyze how we feel about people and as a result we over use love, over use hate. Both extremely strong words that have the ability both to destroy and build. Now if we do not think we analyze hate as destruction and love as building. What if I said love can destroy and hate can build? Martin Luther King Jr. hated how people treated him; this hate lead to the building of equality. A victim of domestic abuse often justifies it with he/she loves me. The love creates destruction. Words hold more meaning then the boxes we put them in.
We tell words like we tell humans, you can only exist in this; you mean this, and only this. We place thing, words, and humans in boxes, because taking them out requires thinking not just analysis. We restrict words to boxes till they only mean one thing. Then we search for words to describe indescribable things. Thinking that the words we analysis some how suddenly arise as super words that now describe what we think. Then for some reason we stand there stunned when the words we search for do not match our thought, they’re the words we restricted to analysis.
I stopped analyzing words not too long ago. I stopped telling words they only mean this. I felt horrible when people restricted me to boxes telling me I can only live in one box at a time. They told me the box and you, one thing, they told me the boxes name “Dani”. Why if this occurrence frustrates me do I hold the right to do it to anyone or anything? So the words and I break the box, no longer restricted, because then there….. well think about it. Do not analyze, wonder about it, question it, throw it against a wall and interrogate it, question it, do not analyze it think of it, think in terms of it, wonder about it, then throw it all together and write it or draw it imagine it, do something but analysis it. Words like humans hold no one purpose, no one meaning, no one definition. Words nor people fit in boxes of analysis and understanding. How long till we think about that?

Undertow in "Things We'll Never Know"

I fall in to the unfortunate category of, obsession (it looks a lot like oppression (in spelling not in action)). I find a band or artist I like and suddenly the only thing I listen to, there music. My current illness (the proper way to refer to my obsessive behavior) the singer songwriter duo Hannah and Maggie. I know ever one knows them (seeping with sarcasm). I am guessing that most people in my class never stumbled upon the acoustic melodies of Hannah and Maggie, which I understand due to the fact that they still live in the world of unsigned and pretty unknown. The unknown unsigned artist to me seems the most pure and quickly arise as my favorite. One of there pure Hannah Maggie moment’s occurs in their song “Things We’ll Never Know”. I probably played the song a million times (major hyperbole to give the allusion of an artistic writer) and yet the words and melody still to me seem so new and so alive especially the stanzas

“Why don't we just fall asleep in the back of the jeep

with our shoes still on and the embers burning low

I can tell that you're reaching for me

but I don't want to be caught in the undertow

Maybe it's just me

we have come so far

afraid you'll disagree

to break another heart 

you've broken into me

let's find another 

start”

Hannah and Maggie create this indiscernible picture of love (now I am going to proceed to try and describe what I just called indescribable). With the use of the words jeep and shoes they create a tone of simplicity. This tone proves a symbol of the type of love or liking in witch they describe one in which people fall asleep “with our shoes still on”(2). The simple love though finds interrupted with the word “but”(4). The abrupt dialect along with the word starting a new line shows the halting of one type of love and transition into a different type of love. “I don’t want to be caught in the undertow” the use of the metaphor undertow, an aggressive powerful force, indirectly characterizes this other love as powerful and scary. Humans often times shrink away from powerful and scary forces. In a fallowing verse though Hannah and Maggie show the other side of human nature, the adventuress unable to resists side of humans. The kind that says I know I am scared your just here “to break another heart” but “you’ve broken into me let’s find another start”. Hannah and Maggie reveal the true confusion of love. Love dos not care about the pain that could occur. Love does not care how the person does not want to get caught up in the undertow. Love for someone or even liking them does not care the inhabitants that exits. To love the only thing that matters, that the feelings exist. I am not fooling anyone, none of us do. We as humans would do anything for love and just about anything for some one we like. We all experienced that point in a relationship where slowly the undertow takes over, and all of us allowed it to take us in hopes it would spit us up on the shores of some place where heartache and pain don’t exist. With out the broken hearts though none of us would find the point we currently exist in, so maybe the benefits out way the risk. The Dani I am now would not exist with out the past relationships, no matter how rocky. Ultimately the relationship I happily reside in now would not exist with out my past. For me that makes the risk much less important. So I must depart now the undertow awaits to take me over.

The song in video form although the album version is much better

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqq5lFuifQ0&list=UUn-brDpVnLmPwp-rFbnfcTQ&index=40&feature=plcp

Devilish Technology?

It seems simple, no cell phone one hour. Then though it buzzes taunting me with the sound it makes reminding me I'm not paying attention to it. Yelling at me almost "Dani someone wants you, someone is trying to get your attention". Often times my phones on vibrate, (that way no one gets annoyed with the mass amount of texts I have and I still have the knowledge of if or when someone tries to get a hold of me) but on the rare occasion its not on vibrate, when I receive a text the beautiful annoying voice screams out of my phone in an British accent "Hello its your phone in your pocket I'm on vibrate buzzzz see buzz I'm vibrating because you got a text bzzzzzzzzzz read it then bzzzzzzzz" This ring tone to me sounds like what my phone would yell at me if it had a voice. I bought into it though. My phone vibrates and I hear it wondering, who? why are they texting? what do they need? maybe its urgent, what am I missing? The last question disturbs me the most. It shows the true mentality I live inm one in which my cell phone appears the vein of life. I worry when my phones not on me. If I'm not home my parents demand that my cell phone is on me, just in case. At what cost though? What am I sacrificing when I have my cell phone constantly on me, when I'm costly in conversation like that? The best conversations I've ever had, the most hart to heart honest conversations occurred when I ignored my phone. My family goes boating in the summer and skiboarding (everyone in my family skies except me, I'm a snowboarder) in the winter. When I'm all wet or when gloves cover my hands I can't text, I cannot answer my phone. These are the times I have seen the most beautiful scenes, the sun setting on a lake, or the breathtaking view form the top of a mountain. Experts say that texting causes a decrease in ability to write properly; I would say that’s a very important problem with overuse of cell phones. I think though the thing we risk the most by over using our cell phone- we could miss out. Miss out on breath taking views, heart to heart conversations, the quietness of nature, the simplicity of it all. I'm part of the technology generation full of instant information, quick conversations, and overuse of screens. I have sat through Original Oratory speeches one after another speaking on the danger of technology and detrimental it will prove to the human race. Technology proves incredibly helpful (especially for the dyslexic kid who can't spell) I am not saying down with technology. I just think sometimes I need to go on a walk through the woods and leave my phone on silent. I need to go hang out with my friends and ignore my phone; sometimes I just need an hour of simplicity.

W, X, Y, and Z The Ending of The Alphabet and The Ending of Our Journey

I really really like poetry (last night I learned really has two L’s not just one) and Andrea Gibson’s poetry especially interests me. For the longest time I could not figure out why. She’s a poet, nothing special or different, just a poet. As my iPod filled with her poems and I found myself dwelling over the words I kept finding the same question arising: why? Why this obsession? Poems are not like songs with catchy melodies, they’re just words, words on pages filling lines, and eventually flying out of someone’s mouth. One day while listening to a Gibson poem it hit me (not like a pound of bricks but rather like rain falling in a heavy storm) I admired her honesty. Gibson writes with no hesitation, no apologies, she writes the way she speaks. She makes no apologies for the swear words she may say or how honest she may be, her poems all seem to lead to self discovery. For so long I have forced my writing to reveal the least possible about me. I wanted myself and my writing to stand separate. I thought for some reason that I could do this. This project, though, made me realize the impassibleness of that. As I let myself become the subject, instead of the back round noise, I started to understand myself more (or who I thought of as me). My writing started to look less and less like the work of an overly structured person and began to look so much like me. The parentheses in my writing representing the side notes that, when I talk, slip out of my mouth; my overly sarcastic voice and ultimately a huge helping of me. I stopped trying to hide myself from my writing, but began finding myself in my writing. Although it sounds a bit schizophrenic, sometimes I do not know something about myself until I start writing. For me, writings no longer just means writing, it means discovering. I think for me that’s what blogging has done. I have learned more about me. I think more importantly though blogging has maid me much more reassured in myself. I think we often struggle with who we are and what people expect of us. This project shows me, I am only me, and I should be proud of who I am. I am someone who likes to play music. I like listening to poetry. I believe everyone has something important to say, I am a writer but not a writer. I am the middle child but the oldest child (depending on who you know). I am loud, but I am also quiet depending upon whom I am with. I am often referred to as a five-year-old boy. I am also told I am wise beyond my years. I am independent and I am unsettling to some and incredible welcoming to others. I am a rebel rouser. I refuse to conform. I am Dani Boucher and I wrote these posts with my own hands filled with my own thoughts and poring out my heart into them. Now I know that type of writing, the whole hearted full body writing, that’s the only kind I ever want to do, and this project shows me that.