The Chase.

Vincent Van Gogh told me to go out and taste the stars. To paint them with my wide eyed brush. That same brush that was tinted rose with the words of Emerson and Aristotle. Those 'great' poets told me to live my adventure, and to hold close my dreams. Scientists have spouted for years that I am special. That I am made from the building blocks of universes and I am innumerable.
All throughout my childhood, Doctor Seuss wrote for me a path of confounded prose. Telling me stories of all the places I could go and I believed every word. I remember the first time I picked up a Harry Potter novel and I heard Dumbledore tell me about his mismatched wool socks. I recall the sense of whimsy the words ignited in my chest.
I remember picking up Shakespeare's 'A MidSummer's Night's Dream' and having that whimsy run wild. I was entranced by the pitter patter of Iambic pentameter. I recall being engrossed by Edgar Allen Poe's trokey, as he talked about ravens rapping on his door. All these voices calling to me from the past, inspiring my mind to rebel against my present.
I remember finding out about Van Gogh's depression, Poe's too. I learned about Shakespeare being a drunkard, and my dearest Doctor fighting nazis. The way those realizations dawned upon me, the weight of their words only increased. Suddenly the raven was no longer a mischievous friend, but a sullen companion. No longer did Puck seem to be the lovable scamp, but more the righteous hand of fate.
The beauty of 'Starry Night' became insurmountable.
There is a sense of wonder that never left me. Inspired by the greats of old. They whisper to me while I try to sleep. They tell me their tales and ask me mine.
"Who are you?" They say, and "What are your sorrows?"
I miss the days when I responded freely
"I wish I had more money." "I wish that I was in love."
But now things have changed. I am no longer chasing sorrows, because despite what the greats told me, I chose to chase a more finicky beast. I chose to follow hope. The light that glows in the flowers at dawn. The way the ocean sounds at midnight. I chose to follow my heart and chase my dreams like wisps off a wishing weed. I don't know where this road leads me, because more often than not it's not a road, but I know I will land one day. Wherever I land those greats will follow.
Because people like us can't help but to chase a story.
-H.

A Lot of Shitty Things Happen at One in the Morning.

Hello friends and we are back again with another riveting insight into the brain hole that is Me!
(Little forewarning, I've currently take 80mg of melatonin, and am likely to get hella sleepy at any given point in time.)
This post is all about why you should avoid 1AM to 4AM like the plague.

Reason number one:

• Loneliness is a powerful demon.
• This isn't just a demon that eats you from the inside out, it's the kind that kills your imagination and creativity. Instead of taking the time to think of cool stuff, like a Princess commanding a dinosaur army, you're stuck thinking really sad stuff and life sucks.

Reason two:

• Your penmanship will fucking suck.

Reason three:

• All that bundled up sadness can do some serious damage in the long run.
• Moodiness and emotion, despite what the dead drunks say, are not the muses you want. 
• Sadness is a vixen, she wants to use you for all you have and then leave you to rot like Poe.
• Anger is a temptation, a seducer if you will. He'll hold your hand and pull you along while whispering sweet nothings of revenge to you. The same he did with Mary Shelly. 

Reason four: 

• Whoever said life imitates art is a dirty liar.
• art imitates life, so make your art beautiful. Surround yourself with good vibes and wonderful people. Make your art mean something different than all those who've come to pass. Live your life believing in the good.
• And please for the love of all that is holy. Avoid the danger zone while thinking.

I have more things to say and pictures to add. But I think I'll continue that on another day.

Have a beautiful evening,
H.

And So It Begins.

Hello and welcome ladies and gentlefolk.
My name is Hunter, how ya doin'?

This blog came together pretty quickly, all things considered. Either I do this to often and am getting (too) good at it, or this blog was meant to be. This one is for the remainder of my summer (all forty-two days of it) and my senior year in high school. I can promise you one thing, this will probably much more than that. I have a habit of keeping internet diaries. They've gotten me into trouble in the past, but I don't really think that matters now.

I could write out my whole life story for you, so you have a better idea of who I am. I might even be tempted to do so, if I hadn't done it three times already. Instead? I'm just going to link you to those posts.
(here) Most recent.
(here) Sophomore Year.
(here) *Shudders* Freshmen Year. We all start somewhere.

Upfront honesty time, I have a bad habit of not writing everyday, or making posts when I say I will. Expect very little from me and you will be very happy.

Hopefully we get to party.