College Application Letter

I write bestselling novels while drinking a cup of tea. I ride dolphins across the sea in under a day. I go fishing on the moon. On Sunday’s I travel the world. On Monday’s I visit Greece. I was the youngest president of America and am the oldest man to ever live. When I’m bored I speak to animals. When I’m bored I swim across the Pacific Ocean. When I’m bored I pitch for the Yankees in the MLB. In the summer I found a cure to cancer. In the winter I raise polar bears on my yacht. I’m adored by friends. I write symphony’s in my sleep. I taught Jimi Hendrix how to play guitar. I wrote songs for the Beatles under an alias Lennon and McCartney. My hair is brown. On January first I created New Year’s. On February fourteenth I fell in love and called it Valentine’s Day. On March 17^th I met leprechauns at the end of the rainbow. In my early age I was the writer of A Mid Summer’s Night. In my early age I played a Drum duo with Buddy Rich. In my early age I Arranged the Real Book of Jazz in ten minutes while still able to compose the rock opera Tommy for The Who. I was the first to walk on Mars, the first to make music, and the first to walk on air. I played Bass in replacement of Charles Mingus; I played tenor sax on Tenor Madness, and I played guitar on Wind Cries Mary. But I have not gone to college.

Dylan Knippelberg

A Fearful Arrival

Quarter to ten, only fifteen minutes till the exam and only fifteen minutes till I join forces with failure. The brisk air trickles up my nose as I cross the door way entering the Gymnasium. The sight of a thousand worried souls gathering every last bit of preparation they have before we begin. I walk by their nervous faces as I make my way to my desk. My brain that is throbbing in sync with my heartbeat while I place myself in my long awaited seat, unprepared and not ready to begin. I stare into the deeply carved scars on my desk and run my hand through its smooth ripples. Frustration flares inside of me as I rethink my actions. If only I would have shown up to classes to learn and study, then maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation I am in right now. The bright florescent lights shine down over my head reflecting pictures on the newly waxed floor. Closer I become to uniting with this fateful test and only looking for a way out. Soon we will begin and in no time I’ll be cursed with this never ending agony that will haunt me for the rest of the day and the rest of my life. As the principal begins to make his way to the front I can slowly feel the stroke of heat from the ceiling lights steaming on my skin, bringing an atmosphere as hot as the sun. My adrenaline, pumping through my body as he hands me my test and wishing me luck before he passes on to the next student. I pick up the freshly sharpened pencil and begin to run it along the smooth surface of the paper. As I dive in to my test I rethink one more time the cause of my actions

       Shane Koyczan's poem "More Often Than Sometimes" describes how much we know about each other and even the ones who we think we know nothing about we know something about. I liked the similie "We could’ve stayed out for weeks, could’ve watched the way the sun leaks like liquid over the horizon, casting shadows over all the right places of a bargain bin" and how he uses it to describe the speaker's endless date with this beautiful girl. As well as them being "like two games of solitaire waiting to be played by one another". I also like the the hyperbole where saying that even "if there were one million teachers breathing down my neck telling me that the answer is no, I would say yes" expressing his eternal love for this girl. The theme of this poem is that we don't always realize how often we study each other and realize the beauty in one or the personality of another becuase humans are curious, and we often can't help looking into anything that interests us.

Writing Dialogue

 

   
       "So the thing is," I explained "I was on my way to school when I forgot to deliver the daily newspapers."

       He glared at me with a stale look on his face. I could tell he was not buying my excuse.

      "Tell me more," He growled.

      I continued. "After I finished my route I was clubbed over the head by a tree trunk while walking back."

       "And how does something like that happen," He questioned.

       I was beginning to shake, my knees quivering. I could not convince him to believe me.

       "So," He spouted out, impatient with my excuses.

       I took a deep breath and finished the rest of my explanation. "By the time I got to school." I inhaled one more large gust of air. "I forgot I had left my homework on the kitchen counter back at home."

       He wasn't amused, "I'll call home after this block," he announced

       "Alright," I gasped.


 

Do Secrets Reveal Lies?

 

 

 

    The short story "Bluffing" by Gail Helgason describes the demanding Liam as he claims to have sacraficed his life to save Gabriella by directing the attention of the bear to him instead of her. Liam's ability to send out numerous orders without a feeling of guilt presents his feelings towards Gaberiella. The Kind personality of Gabriella is unaware of Liam's lies and begins to stress over his comittments to their relationship. He repeateldy takes advantage of her helpful offerings like the time she "prepared the home-made cleaning solution" only to "Liams insistence". She fears Liam's love and comittmet towards her when he leads her on to thinking they will buy the lease and settle down for the winter but instead presents his and Clive's plan for "[heading] down south". Already astonished with Liam's desicions he is still able to leave in the presence of the " dished-in face" Grizzly ready to strike. Each "shiny, rubbery scar" that lingers across the face of this "Egyptian [prince]" is infused with a secret never to be known to Gabriella that is only to be revealed with mutiple lies. 

Dylan Knippelberg                                   A Wilted Flower

           English 11 2014

 

          Weary and frightened like a baby duckling left on her own, with a voice quiet but hoarse. Her age is unknown to many although each wrinkle tells her story. This ragged structure that is stale of age is a lady who is known to all while not known at all. Her history is filled with distress and hopes to once find the Promised Land. That Promised Land only known to be love itself. Sorrow is what she hides behind every breath of smoke, hoping that one day she will gain the power to refuse. Alone and unloved while she grasps to her life. Family to her is a nightmare of the past. Those fragile bones that is as similar as her life. Weakened from years of punishment she only hopes to disguise, while friends are only dreams and wishes that could never come true. Each day begins the same when she applies another cigarette, surrounded by an atmosphere of smoke as grey as the sky on a rainy day. Dangling by a thread on the edge of life and only alive to wonder which breath may be her last? Unloved, unwanted and buried in her sorrows. A wilted flower is who she and awaiting the day it will all disappear, with no more worries and no more sorrow and no more loneliness to be haunted by every day. She hopes one day to live the dream she wishes to live. A life without flaws and imperfections, a life filled with love around every corner and everyone to be loved.