OTTILT December

Seeing that a neighbor's house was TP'd may have been how I ended my year... But let this be a lesson to everyone to think about how much food one could have bought with the money used to acquire the toilet paper.

http://ottilt.blogspot.com/2015/12/december.html

Entering the new chapter that is 2016. In the words of Carbon/Silicon, "Every day can be New Year's Day." We don't need a new year to make ourselves over, but might as well take advantage of one when it comes our way, right? Plus, leap year!

P.S. Remember to vote! I'll be registered once I've turned eighteen!

Go Ahead: Be Inspired

If you remember that I said one thing I loved for January 4th was "all-day story-writing inspiration," you're in luck. I want to share the story I wrote that day. "Why?" you might ask. Well, since the end of NaNo, I haven't had any inspiration to write anything (except my required essays for my English and history finals), and it came as a surprise to me that a story was playing out in my head without me even forcing it to go one way or the other.

Why did I call it Go Ahead: Be Inspired? Well, after the story reel started in my head, I reached for a notebook and with a grin said aloud, "Go ahead: be inspired" to myself before I started writing it. So, that's what I wrote on the top of the page, and that's what I've been calling this story.

I'm going to put the first little part here, and the link to the rest at the end if you're interested in how the story continues. (It's eight-and-a-half pages in length, total.) I also submitted this piece to TeenInk just a little while ago, under the title of "Tonight," mostly 'cause I had no idea what else to call it. If anything notable happens with that, I will get back to you.

Anyway. Here it is.

I don't know what it is, but I'm getting dizzy at his touch. I hold onto him without really knowing why I need an anchor, breathe in the fabric of his shirt without realizing how close I am to him, how I feel his each and every heartbeat against my cheek, how my head is a hair's breadth from his mouth, his lips.

When I pull back, he's gazing at me quizzically. Maybe he's enticed by my proximity, and he's confused now that I'm backing off. Maybe he's repulsed, and wondering why I felt the animal need to touch him, to feel him. His light hair hangs over his curious brown eyes, not quite obscuring them but leaving enough to the imagination.

“Ev, I-”

His hands grab at empty air, and his tongue falls limp, desperate for the right words.

“Greg, I'm sorry.”

“But- Ev-”

I turn, then, and suddenly, the doorknob that's always stuck in its rusty vengeance rotates smoothly in my fingers. I twist it and pass through. It aches, though. My whole body is as heavy as lead as I trudge down the hall, away from him. I can't bear it; I've caught myself in a corner where either choice I make will burn like fire. Stay and endure the long, painful hours of his touch without loving him? Or leave, and let the whole of my life with him crumble into ruins?

“I'm sorry.” I feel it; it's so tangible I taste its bitterness in the back of my mouth each time I try to swallow away the guilt. “I'm sorry.” Sorry for what? Sorry for every night we intertwined our bodies 'neath the light veil of the sheets? Sorry for all the times he smiled and teased me, calling me darling and touching his lips to my neck? Sorry for every time he tossed flowers or leaves or grass or snow into my hair then painstakingly made sure I was untouched, unblemished by his games?

Sorry that I loved him?

At the thought, my throat tightens and tears threaten to spill forth and stain my face. In some ways, I must admit, I am sorry for it. I'm sorry that I gave my whole heart to him to cherish then woke up one morning and realized how empty I felt. I'm sorry for every little argument we sparked that never truly got put out. I'm sorry I let him charm me; I'm sorry I let him win me over and then left him empty-handed when the lights finally went out.

Though I hate to admit it, I am sorry I loved him.

“It's for your own good, Greg,” I murmur aloud, fingering gingerly at the pendant around my neck. “I love you,” it says, in looping script engraved into a tiny golden heart. I undo the clasp that attaches it to my neck and let it fall to the ground where I stand.

“I love you.” 

It's all just a memory now, just a gold pendant lying on the pavement outside our apartment, begging to be forgotten.

Here's the entire story:  https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_rInf4eu6V9VkZNAraC5ePZwIdw6QsTLZCaHVzNAuJ0/edit?usp=sharing

Scroll 3/4 of the way down the first page to skip past seeing this part again and to read the continuation. If you have any thoughts on it, please comment, either in the document itself or on this blog post. (A note to more sensitive readers: there are a few instances of profanity.)

Thanks for reading.

Okay, sorry, I should probably also mention that the main character's (Evelyn's) decision is extremely controversial in our government and society today. If you have a strong opinion on her decision, I strongly advise you to comment. We may not agree, but that is fine.

Thanks again.

To John Lennon

You beautiful man. What else can I say? You were positively gorgeous, and that beauty didn't end at your face. As you matured, you learned to give and care, and grew to be irresistible in personality and character. Peace and love became your main goals, and you showed all of us this in your music and later activism.

It's not always easy to understand your motives for things, but the one thing about you that to this moment I continue to find a mystery are your eyes. At this, it's easy to think that maybe I can read your emotions through your eyes, and at times I can. Perhaps you emit a power through them that I can feel if I hold your gaze for long enough, and surely this is also true. But their color. I had always thought brown, but upon close inspection of the cover of a biography, they appeared almost green, and in some pictures they could pass as blue. I like to settle for the idea that they change, like you did, because you did change often as we all need to.

Something I appreciate that not everyone of your fans does or can was your love for Yoko. It sprouted in the most unlikely of ways, and it fought on through all of the tough spots in your relationship. You loved her every moment of every day, and gave her the opportunity to bring her music to our ears in a reasonable way. You fought for her, as any man should when they're lucky enough to have someone as creative and talented as Yoko, and for that I applaud both her and you.

There's something about your music that makes it more than just a melody with guitar chords and a predictable chorus. There's a pain behind it, the pain of experience, of living through the tough years you did, that I appreciate. I appreciate that you could project yourself in this way, and that we could know you on what seemed to be a more personal level.

 

The journey of your life and goal of peace was something that has inspired me since I knew. The tragedy of you being unfairly ripped from this world was something that I mourn even though I couldn't have stopped it. Your message of peace today would perhaps be what the world needed as a whole to get back on track. But your music hasn't disappeared. It hasn't disappeared, it never will, and "Imagine" will still be the anthem for world harmony for as long as music exists.

To George Harrison

My dear, sweet George. Sometimes I wonder about you. How you could have been the person you are: nice to everyone, selfless, giving, kind-hearted. You had the biggest heart of any living mortal, yet you yourself were a kind of god. I don't question this, question who someone is in their heart and soul, and I don't question your being. You were who you were, and I would do nothing to change that.

I love your smile. I try to remember it everyday, and I am unconsciously reminded of it all the time. Many a smile I see bears a striking resemblance to your own luminous, light-hearted grin. I wish I could have seen it for myself, seen it in person.

Concert for Bangladesh - 1971

On seeing you in person, I wonder what it would have been like to see you in concert, or on TV, here, alive. How far away would your music sweep me? How much would my heart race and my face flush even if I only saw you on television? Would I have loved you had our life timelines overlapped more than they had? I often wonder, sometimes knowing how vital the timing was, or else I may not have discovered you, really.

Somewhere in England - back cover

 

There is no way to describe in words the power your music has. I admit I disagree with the message certain songs project, but if I hear a song of yours blast out of the blue, unexpected in the shuffle, I am covered in all-over warmth, from my head to my toes. The big-band sounds in All Things Must Pass are the most striking, I'd say, the ones that captivate you in their seat, shining with a clear majestic glory. George Harrison is cloaked in an intriguing, jungle-y mystery I cannot solve but am all too capable of exploring. Living in the Material World is gentle and spiritual, and Brainwashed is your bittersweet goodbye to us, the one where we feel your departure in each line, even if the song was not your own.

Sharing how I feel about you with a friend is, I guess, one of my first steps in accepting that you are not solely mine, but the whole world's to cherish and treasure. It doesn't hurt to fantasize your smile and voice, though, and think what it would be like to have truly lost you. I haven't lost you though, and for that I thank you, George. Thank you, for letting me see the world.