Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Ew...totally worked from 11AM to 1030PM today...here's the post :D
Page 216 - #1.
Reread Mary Paumier Jones's "The Opposite of Saffron" on page 219. Make a catalog -- a list -- of each object (bed, desk, statue, dictionary, etc.) in this creative nonfiction. What can you say about the world evoked by this pattern of "stuff"? Create a story, poem, memoir, or monologue.
VIDEO GAMES
"March 9th" he says to me, as we await the upcoming release of Final Fantasy XIII. Louie always managed to supercede me in the 'being lame' department, seeing as how despite the fact I was awaiting the release, I had no idea what the actual date was.
The dish pit swarmed its inhabitants with the aroma of stale ranch and steam billowing off freshly cleaned plates as Louie and I stood by the metal sink next to the double-door entrance discussing our interpretations of our expected time-stealing game.
"Is that when it's out?" I reply to him as I wash my hands of the left-over dressing that spilled upon my palms from the pile of salad plates I had carried back from my tables. The sheer thought of the next installment of the Final Fantasy series coming out sent a shrill up my spine that erupted through my mouth as I felt eyes widen and a smile sling across my face.
The Final Fantasy series has always been my favorite game over the years. It was even the basis behind mine and Louie's friendship when we were in middle school and he would stay the night at my house to play the game with me. Back then I never would have thought we'd be on the verge of college graduation and still talking about the same game, in a general sense. Regardless, the date it is to be release rung through my head as if an alarm clock was placed right against the cerebellum itself.
I walked out of the dish pit, back through the double doors and finished serving my tables for the night. I found myself driving home shortly after, thinking about the things I needed to do before going to bed; homework, laundry, and eat. Everything besides Final Fantasy. I walked in through the door of my house and sat on the couch and without even thinking, I opened my HP Laptop. Internet Explorer popped up and automatically displayed Facebook. Facebook had been my homepage for relatively ten months prior, often allowing everyone the opportunity to see how addicted I am to it.
I quickly opened a new tab and deviated away from my addiction without even checking a single notification or friend request and typed " www.gamestop.com ". Before I had even realized what it was I was actually doing, my debit card was out on the coffee table and I was writing down the confirmation number for a pre-order to Final Fantasy XIII. My mind had practically gone blank as a mesmorizing RPG aura swarmed my thoughts and took hold of my body turning me into it's own personal marrionette.
Seven months later, today, and I'm still waiting for the release.
RAINY DAYS
Cloudy and grey, rainy days are horrible for me. "You can borrow my umbrella if you need it James. It might start raining by the time you get home from class." said my roommate Anna as I got ready for my upcoming walking to campus. It wasn't a long walk, usually averaging around 9-12 minutes to get from point A to point B. It was a mere four streets over from campus, but when it's raining and cold, the walk turns into an urban hike through the Everglades.
On that day, though, Anna had been right. After walking out of my American Literature class at 3:15, I was welcomed back into the nature world with a hearty downpour. I stood under the overhang of the Rawl building in the center of the East Carolina University campus staring out into the terrential rainstorm that had appeared within the hour and fifteen minutes I sat in class. I reached into the pocket of my white Hurley hoodie and pulled out a cigarette, ironically one of my 'lucky cigarettes' that I had flipped over when I bought the pack. The irony of flipping a 'lucky' when my current situation was quite the opposite only seemed to mock my life and idiocy for not accepting Anna's offer before heading to campus that day. I lit the cigarette and inhaled. The release of smoke danced between the raindrops as the smell of a fresh rain became poisoned by the cigarette's emission.
"Well, fuck..." I said to myself as I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I quickly searched through my phone book for a quick ride back home to avoid the inevitable soaking I was about to receive. The thought that noone would be able to come get me had not even crossed my mind since I was always one to do favors for others. Yet, again my lucky cigarette fell short and I found myself ride-less and being forced out to fend against the elements. I accepted the situation for what it was, a sprint home through the pouring rain and a hopeful attitude that the contents of my bookbag would not be ruined by the time I got home.
"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" I yelled as I sprinted from under the overhang and darted through campus like an Olympic athlete. Hurdles seemed to dip beneath me and all obstacles ducked out of my way as if they knew I was coming.
I arrived at my house a short 4 minutes after starting at Rawl. Anna just so happened to be locking the front door as she left to head to work. "James, did you not take my umbrella?" she quickly asked upon noticing my drenched attire. "Fuck umbrellas and fuck rainy days. I'm going to go dry off and change." I replied as I stomped into the house, feeling the rain drops still rolling down my legs and across my face.
SLEEPING IN
The repetitive sound rang through my room as I tossed the mink blanket off my sweat drenched body and rolled over to turn off the alarm. The sheer sound of an alarm upsets my ears and always has, so you can imagine my expanded hatred for them waking me up also. I flip the switch and the room turns silent as I roll onto my back and look at the ceiling. The inner debate of whether I should roll back over and sleep for an hour more or wake up and be productive fights through my body as I use all my strength to raise my torso up from its slumber.
My weeks are always the same, no matter what day it is, it starts with a 9:05 wake up. This wake up is followed by a quick change from pajamas to jeans and a shirt, then a walk to campus for class until 3(ish) and then back home for a shower before work. I usually don't get home until 10 or 11 at night, every day, only to find a pile of homework awaiting me. This is when I begin cranking out as much as possible before finally succumbing to the overpowering weight of my eyelids; only to repeat the process the next day.
Yet on this day, where I woke up and scalded my alarm clock for waking me with the fiery gaze of an infernal hellfire, I felt a sneaking suspition that something was wrong. As I went through the motion of everyday life I noted the yearning my body was portraying to crawl back into bed and return to my subconscious. I walked into the living room and sat on the couch as I packed up the books that were piled atop my laptop. I looked up at the clock on the cable box and sighed from exhaustion as the time read "9:17". I knew I had to start my journey to campus yet before I went I decided to sign onto facebook and update everyone on my own personal misery. I cracked my laptop and the website opened. The blue and white website radiated across my face as I began to understand the trending topic so far that morning. My friends had all been posting for at least an hour about what they were doing or what had happened the night before.
I began typing my update as I steadily read the mini-feed of my friend's statuses, making me only seem to be creepy as I find myself overly worried about the doings of my friends. "F...M...L....Why do I ALWAYS have to wake up early" I posted as I scrolled down to read over my saving grace. My denim jeans never fealt so comfortable against the brown couch cover as it did this day. It was a was a sign, as if the God of Sleep was there to bestow me with a gift. The smell of vanilla from the Glade plug-in flew into my nose as my heart began to race from what I was reading. With one swift move I kicked my feet up and sprawled across the couch, closed my laptop and wrapped myself up with the blanket we kept on the back of the couch for lounging purposes.
I laid there for a mere 15 seconds as I replayed the status in my mind; "Fuck a Friday....Thank god it's saturday. I just got home..nothing to do all day.", until I quickly fell back asleep.
Page 216 - #1.
Reread Mary Paumier Jones's "The Opposite of Saffron" on page 219. Make a catalog -- a list -- of each object (bed, desk, statue, dictionary, etc.) in this creative nonfiction. What can you say about the world evoked by this pattern of "stuff"? Create a story, poem, memoir, or monologue.
VIDEO GAMES
"March 9th" he says to me, as we await the upcoming release of Final Fantasy XIII. Louie always managed to supercede me in the 'being lame' department, seeing as how despite the fact I was awaiting the release, I had no idea what the actual date was.
The dish pit swarmed its inhabitants with the aroma of stale ranch and steam billowing off freshly cleaned plates as Louie and I stood by the metal sink next to the double-door entrance discussing our interpretations of our expected time-stealing game.
"Is that when it's out?" I reply to him as I wash my hands of the left-over dressing that spilled upon my palms from the pile of salad plates I had carried back from my tables. The sheer thought of the next installment of the Final Fantasy series coming out sent a shrill up my spine that erupted through my mouth as I felt eyes widen and a smile sling across my face.
The Final Fantasy series has always been my favorite game over the years. It was even the basis behind mine and Louie's friendship when we were in middle school and he would stay the night at my house to play the game with me. Back then I never would have thought we'd be on the verge of college graduation and still talking about the same game, in a general sense. Regardless, the date it is to be release rung through my head as if an alarm clock was placed right against the cerebellum itself.
I walked out of the dish pit, back through the double doors and finished serving my tables for the night. I found myself driving home shortly after, thinking about the things I needed to do before going to bed; homework, laundry, and eat. Everything besides Final Fantasy. I walked in through the door of my house and sat on the couch and without even thinking, I opened my HP Laptop. Internet Explorer popped up and automatically displayed Facebook. Facebook had been my homepage for relatively ten months prior, often allowing everyone the opportunity to see how addicted I am to it.
I quickly opened a new tab and deviated away from my addiction without even checking a single notification or friend request and typed " www.gamestop.com ". Before I had even realized what it was I was actually doing, my debit card was out on the coffee table and I was writing down the confirmation number for a pre-order to Final Fantasy XIII. My mind had practically gone blank as a mesmorizing RPG aura swarmed my thoughts and took hold of my body turning me into it's own personal marrionette.
Seven months later, today, and I'm still waiting for the release.
RAINY DAYS
Cloudy and grey, rainy days are horrible for me. "You can borrow my umbrella if you need it James. It might start raining by the time you get home from class." said my roommate Anna as I got ready for my upcoming walking to campus. It wasn't a long walk, usually averaging around 9-12 minutes to get from point A to point B. It was a mere four streets over from campus, but when it's raining and cold, the walk turns into an urban hike through the Everglades.
On that day, though, Anna had been right. After walking out of my American Literature class at 3:15, I was welcomed back into the nature world with a hearty downpour. I stood under the overhang of the Rawl building in the center of the East Carolina University campus staring out into the terrential rainstorm that had appeared within the hour and fifteen minutes I sat in class. I reached into the pocket of my white Hurley hoodie and pulled out a cigarette, ironically one of my 'lucky cigarettes' that I had flipped over when I bought the pack. The irony of flipping a 'lucky' when my current situation was quite the opposite only seemed to mock my life and idiocy for not accepting Anna's offer before heading to campus that day. I lit the cigarette and inhaled. The release of smoke danced between the raindrops as the smell of a fresh rain became poisoned by the cigarette's emission.
"Well, fuck..." I said to myself as I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I quickly searched through my phone book for a quick ride back home to avoid the inevitable soaking I was about to receive. The thought that noone would be able to come get me had not even crossed my mind since I was always one to do favors for others. Yet, again my lucky cigarette fell short and I found myself ride-less and being forced out to fend against the elements. I accepted the situation for what it was, a sprint home through the pouring rain and a hopeful attitude that the contents of my bookbag would not be ruined by the time I got home.
"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" I yelled as I sprinted from under the overhang and darted through campus like an Olympic athlete. Hurdles seemed to dip beneath me and all obstacles ducked out of my way as if they knew I was coming.
I arrived at my house a short 4 minutes after starting at Rawl. Anna just so happened to be locking the front door as she left to head to work. "James, did you not take my umbrella?" she quickly asked upon noticing my drenched attire. "Fuck umbrellas and fuck rainy days. I'm going to go dry off and change." I replied as I stomped into the house, feeling the rain drops still rolling down my legs and across my face.
SLEEPING IN
The repetitive sound rang through my room as I tossed the mink blanket off my sweat drenched body and rolled over to turn off the alarm. The sheer sound of an alarm upsets my ears and always has, so you can imagine my expanded hatred for them waking me up also. I flip the switch and the room turns silent as I roll onto my back and look at the ceiling. The inner debate of whether I should roll back over and sleep for an hour more or wake up and be productive fights through my body as I use all my strength to raise my torso up from its slumber.
My weeks are always the same, no matter what day it is, it starts with a 9:05 wake up. This wake up is followed by a quick change from pajamas to jeans and a shirt, then a walk to campus for class until 3(ish) and then back home for a shower before work. I usually don't get home until 10 or 11 at night, every day, only to find a pile of homework awaiting me. This is when I begin cranking out as much as possible before finally succumbing to the overpowering weight of my eyelids; only to repeat the process the next day.
Yet on this day, where I woke up and scalded my alarm clock for waking me with the fiery gaze of an infernal hellfire, I felt a sneaking suspition that something was wrong. As I went through the motion of everyday life I noted the yearning my body was portraying to crawl back into bed and return to my subconscious. I walked into the living room and sat on the couch as I packed up the books that were piled atop my laptop. I looked up at the clock on the cable box and sighed from exhaustion as the time read "9:17". I knew I had to start my journey to campus yet before I went I decided to sign onto facebook and update everyone on my own personal misery. I cracked my laptop and the website opened. The blue and white website radiated across my face as I began to understand the trending topic so far that morning. My friends had all been posting for at least an hour about what they were doing or what had happened the night before.
I began typing my update as I steadily read the mini-feed of my friend's statuses, making me only seem to be creepy as I find myself overly worried about the doings of my friends. "F...M...L....Why do I ALWAYS have to wake up early" I posted as I scrolled down to read over my saving grace. My denim jeans never fealt so comfortable against the brown couch cover as it did this day. It was a was a sign, as if the God of Sleep was there to bestow me with a gift. The smell of vanilla from the Glade plug-in flew into my nose as my heart began to race from what I was reading. With one swift move I kicked my feet up and sprawled across the couch, closed my laptop and wrapped myself up with the blanket we kept on the back of the couch for lounging purposes.
I laid there for a mere 15 seconds as I replayed the status in my mind; "Fuck a Friday....Thank god it's saturday. I just got home..nothing to do all day.", until I quickly fell back asleep.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
I did the project relating to pictures, but seeing as how this is a new computer I have only a select few. I had to use my facebook to retrieve what pictures I could, only finding three of my best friend Christine, who is the mother of my god-son.
There she is, hunched over a sleak bar table at Logan's Roadhouse. Her brown eyes are fixated dead on the camera lens as her and I share a glass of sweet tea as if it's a milkshake or some other typical drink shared on a date. The her flourescent orange shirt directly contrasting the neutral brown weathered walls and burgundy cushions of the booth we're sitting in, while I sit across in my blue and white baseball-tee. Her hair, though disheveled and pulled into a pony tail shimmers back at the flash as though it were an ocean. We shared the tea and designated the beginning of our friendship. A mere four hours after this picture had been taken, we found ourselves standing outside of a bar pleading with the bouncers to let us in as over twenty one. This day was the first of many things; pictures, nights out, and late-night festivities.
She was lucky. Her caramel complexion only darkened into a deep mocha throughout the sunny days of summer. Papers and aprons covered the backseat of her silver camry, yet it never stopped her from just popping a squat. The sun, blazing in the background, has left an ethereal appearance on her face as her half-cracked smile revealed her luminescent chomps. She had worn orange boy shorts and a white camisole in preperation for the car wash to pay for our work party. Christine had a way about her that caused multiple cars to turn into the parking lot for a scrub. We sat there, in the second town of our friendship, as if we were a traveling group of Logan's employees.
Nights out were a favorite past time for us. Not so much the going out, but the thrill of getting in as over twenty-one and the possibility of getting caught. The orange wrist bands dangling on our wrists as we give a thumbs up to the camera give an emphasis to the wide cheesy smiles we portray. The shelves behind us are lined with liquid poison. Vodka, rum, gin and the like line up behind us as if called in by the military. They would be disbanded later and Christine and I would find ourselves on the curb outside waiting for a ride to a party. The fan on the left blew air across the bar, causing her hair to dance and the smoke of her cigarette to twirl around her arm.
There she is, hunched over a sleak bar table at Logan's Roadhouse. Her brown eyes are fixated dead on the camera lens as her and I share a glass of sweet tea as if it's a milkshake or some other typical drink shared on a date. The her flourescent orange shirt directly contrasting the neutral brown weathered walls and burgundy cushions of the booth we're sitting in, while I sit across in my blue and white baseball-tee. Her hair, though disheveled and pulled into a pony tail shimmers back at the flash as though it were an ocean. We shared the tea and designated the beginning of our friendship. A mere four hours after this picture had been taken, we found ourselves standing outside of a bar pleading with the bouncers to let us in as over twenty one. This day was the first of many things; pictures, nights out, and late-night festivities.
She was lucky. Her caramel complexion only darkened into a deep mocha throughout the sunny days of summer. Papers and aprons covered the backseat of her silver camry, yet it never stopped her from just popping a squat. The sun, blazing in the background, has left an ethereal appearance on her face as her half-cracked smile revealed her luminescent chomps. She had worn orange boy shorts and a white camisole in preperation for the car wash to pay for our work party. Christine had a way about her that caused multiple cars to turn into the parking lot for a scrub. We sat there, in the second town of our friendship, as if we were a traveling group of Logan's employees.
Nights out were a favorite past time for us. Not so much the going out, but the thrill of getting in as over twenty-one and the possibility of getting caught. The orange wrist bands dangling on our wrists as we give a thumbs up to the camera give an emphasis to the wide cheesy smiles we portray. The shelves behind us are lined with liquid poison. Vodka, rum, gin and the like line up behind us as if called in by the military. They would be disbanded later and Christine and I would find ourselves on the curb outside waiting for a ride to a party. The fan on the left blew air across the bar, causing her hair to dance and the smoke of her cigarette to twirl around her arm.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Just for thought.
I'm sitting here reading over the mountainous pile of homework I have due for tomorrow, much like any other weeknight, and for some reason I was drawn here..to this blog...
Perhaps it's because I know I have only one impartial viewer (Ms. Mellor) or perhaps it's because I've been given an outlet for writing. Either way, I feel like this is the place to begin projects and to revise what I've done thus far.
Truth be told, I had every intention of writing again, right now. Yet my weary eyes are pleading against it.
Maybe tomorrow on my break I'll get this burst of motivation yet again and I can free-hand for a little while.
Perhaps it's because I know I have only one impartial viewer (Ms. Mellor) or perhaps it's because I've been given an outlet for writing. Either way, I feel like this is the place to begin projects and to revise what I've done thus far.
Truth be told, I had every intention of writing again, right now. Yet my weary eyes are pleading against it.
Maybe tomorrow on my break I'll get this burst of motivation yet again and I can free-hand for a little while.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Failure to Yield
Chapter 3 is about ENERGY. It's about the varying differences between words, pace, settings, etc seem to mesh together in order to produce a great piece of writing. Page 92, project 6:
Write a piece with a very fast opening, a slow middle section and a speedy end. Don't use the passive voice in any sections, or filters -- check back over the piece before you turn it in and substitute filters with verbs from your lists.
A blinking yellow light flashes on the dashboard as I speed down I-40. Green signs wiz by. Brittany sparks a cigarette. Just then, the beeping begins. "Jesus H. Christ, how many fast food signs are there? Can I just get a fucking Shell or BP?" I mutter to Brittany, as she flicks the remaining butt out the window. Exit 308 comes along and with a quick jerk of the wheel the two of us find ourselves in the midst of rural America.
A 45 second interlude of Panic! At The Disco blares through the car as we creep around the bend of the exit onto the street. "There's a Sunoco on the right" Brittany says. The car turns and we set off on our forty foot journey. This journey is only short-lived as we stumble upon utter disappointment of an unlit convenient store. Across the street the glow of a neon "OPEN" signs glares at us. Mocking our every move. Weaving through gas pumps back unto the hungry mouth of road in front of us.
"I'm all good. I'm going for it. Is there anyone coming that way?" I say as my head flings left and right.
"Yeah, you're good. I gotta fuckin' piss too." Brittany replies.
I push down on the acceleration and cruise into the middle lane. Panic! At The Disco cries through the speakers of my one true love. The solace of the open road, music you love and the company of a best friend resonate through the air. The wind crawls through the opening of my window and brushes through my freshly buzzed hair.
The crescendo hits and my head is thrown upon the side window. My sweaty hands gripping the wheel for dear life. No matter how tight I hold, though, my car is on a path of its own. I look and I see the lights of Shell station, the destination initially intended, flashing from left to right as my entire visual perspective is thrown into a 360 degree spin. My back tenses up and I hear the screams of a passenger who has returned to an almost infant like state. Her tears and cries, along with her apparent fetal position in the passenger seat as the air bags deploy send a rush down my spine.
"Are you okay?" I call out. Tears stream down my face as I struggle to find Brittany's hand.
"I'm fine! Are you okay? What the hell just happened?" She cries out as we puncture the balloons in our faces with lighters, much like the assholes we are when at children's birthday parties.
Silence takes over. A knock on the window breaks through. I look up to see the shape of a man standing outside. Another knock roars through the car.
"Are you guys okay? I didn't even see you!" he tells us as I open the door of my now dilapidated Focus.
"Yeah, we're okay, are you?" I reply.
I climb out the car to assess the situation at hand. A cold breeze blows against my legs and up my khaki cargo shorts. I shiver and walk around. Pieces of my beautiful toy are strewn about the road as if a rabid dog had devoured it like a chew toy. I rub my head and sigh. The jeep is completely fine, ironically. Leave it to Ford to build a car that can't take a punch.
"Did your lights break in the accident bro?" I ask as I take pictures of the damage to his car.
"Nah, they've been out. Where were you going?"
My heart begins racing. I want to know why he would be driving when his lights are out but I choose to ignore it. "I was trying to get to the gas station over there to fill up so I can get back to Greenville. Where the fuck are the cops?" I yell as I light a Camel Menthol Light.
The time drew on. What was only thirty minutes seemed like a lifetime as we paced around the barren road. It was my luck though. On a barren road, I would get hit by the only other lifeform capable of working an automobile. It's just another chapter from my "Book of Job" life.
So honestly, I tried to follow the technique of starting fast, going slow and then speeding up again. I'm not sure if I conquered it but it's definately something I can tell I need to work on. Regardless, after i started writing this and actually got into it I found myself wanting to go on more about my "Book of Job life", aka my unlucky habit of having to deal with everything that can possibly go wrong. Possibly going more into some of the vastly ridiculous events that happen to me and ending with the inevitable DUI I received that night. It might make for a hilarious story or even an enlightening piece for myself.
I guess I have some work to do on it. A lot of revising, definately.
Write a piece with a very fast opening, a slow middle section and a speedy end. Don't use the passive voice in any sections, or filters -- check back over the piece before you turn it in and substitute filters with verbs from your lists.
A blinking yellow light flashes on the dashboard as I speed down I-40. Green signs wiz by. Brittany sparks a cigarette. Just then, the beeping begins. "Jesus H. Christ, how many fast food signs are there? Can I just get a fucking Shell or BP?" I mutter to Brittany, as she flicks the remaining butt out the window. Exit 308 comes along and with a quick jerk of the wheel the two of us find ourselves in the midst of rural America.
A 45 second interlude of Panic! At The Disco blares through the car as we creep around the bend of the exit onto the street. "There's a Sunoco on the right" Brittany says. The car turns and we set off on our forty foot journey. This journey is only short-lived as we stumble upon utter disappointment of an unlit convenient store. Across the street the glow of a neon "OPEN" signs glares at us. Mocking our every move. Weaving through gas pumps back unto the hungry mouth of road in front of us.
"I'm all good. I'm going for it. Is there anyone coming that way?" I say as my head flings left and right.
"Yeah, you're good. I gotta fuckin' piss too." Brittany replies.
I push down on the acceleration and cruise into the middle lane. Panic! At The Disco cries through the speakers of my one true love. The solace of the open road, music you love and the company of a best friend resonate through the air. The wind crawls through the opening of my window and brushes through my freshly buzzed hair.
The crescendo hits and my head is thrown upon the side window. My sweaty hands gripping the wheel for dear life. No matter how tight I hold, though, my car is on a path of its own. I look and I see the lights of Shell station, the destination initially intended, flashing from left to right as my entire visual perspective is thrown into a 360 degree spin. My back tenses up and I hear the screams of a passenger who has returned to an almost infant like state. Her tears and cries, along with her apparent fetal position in the passenger seat as the air bags deploy send a rush down my spine.
"Are you okay?" I call out. Tears stream down my face as I struggle to find Brittany's hand.
"I'm fine! Are you okay? What the hell just happened?" She cries out as we puncture the balloons in our faces with lighters, much like the assholes we are when at children's birthday parties.
Silence takes over. A knock on the window breaks through. I look up to see the shape of a man standing outside. Another knock roars through the car.
"Are you guys okay? I didn't even see you!" he tells us as I open the door of my now dilapidated Focus.
"Yeah, we're okay, are you?" I reply.
I climb out the car to assess the situation at hand. A cold breeze blows against my legs and up my khaki cargo shorts. I shiver and walk around. Pieces of my beautiful toy are strewn about the road as if a rabid dog had devoured it like a chew toy. I rub my head and sigh. The jeep is completely fine, ironically. Leave it to Ford to build a car that can't take a punch.
"Did your lights break in the accident bro?" I ask as I take pictures of the damage to his car.
"Nah, they've been out. Where were you going?"
My heart begins racing. I want to know why he would be driving when his lights are out but I choose to ignore it. "I was trying to get to the gas station over there to fill up so I can get back to Greenville. Where the fuck are the cops?" I yell as I light a Camel Menthol Light.
The time drew on. What was only thirty minutes seemed like a lifetime as we paced around the barren road. It was my luck though. On a barren road, I would get hit by the only other lifeform capable of working an automobile. It's just another chapter from my "Book of Job" life.
So honestly, I tried to follow the technique of starting fast, going slow and then speeding up again. I'm not sure if I conquered it but it's definately something I can tell I need to work on. Regardless, after i started writing this and actually got into it I found myself wanting to go on more about my "Book of Job life", aka my unlucky habit of having to deal with everything that can possibly go wrong. Possibly going more into some of the vastly ridiculous events that happen to me and ending with the inevitable DUI I received that night. It might make for a hilarious story or even an enlightening piece for myself.
I guess I have some work to do on it. A lot of revising, definately.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Consolations of a Sleepless Slumber
So, in class today we had to, basically, mimic another poem. In a general sense, we were suppose to twist words around into our own and create a new piece that resembled the one given. The one in class was James Tate's, "Consolations After an Affair". Here it is:
Consolations After an Affair - James Tate
My plants are whispering to one another
They are planning a little party
Later on in the week about watering time.
I have quilts on the bed and walls
That think it is still the 19th century.
For them, a wheat field in January
is their mother and enough.
I've discovered that I don't need
A retirement plan, a plan to succeed.
A snow leopard sleeps behind me
Like a slow, warm breeze.
And I can hear the inner birds singing
Alone in this house I love.
Now, here's my remake.
Consolations of a Sleepless Slumber - James Lofland
My parents are conspiring against me
They are cutting me off
When I have tons of bills due later this week.
A computer cord weaves across my floor
As it considers the room its personal playground.
For it, the blazing cold of winter
Is its soothing rest from overworking.
I've discovered that I don't need
A trust fund or to be seen as a charity case.
A newborn canary sings from the trees
Like the melodic sounds of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra
And I can taste the winter frost
As I lay, quietly, awake, in the bed I love.
Mind you, this remake was a first/rough draft done within ten minutes of class. Although it was a quick-writing practice, I found myself realizing more and more that due to recent events I really am on my own. The recent weeks have turned me from a dependent student into an independent adult.
Well, c'est la vie.
James Lofland
"Jimmy Neutron"
Consolations After an Affair - James Tate
My plants are whispering to one another
They are planning a little party
Later on in the week about watering time.
I have quilts on the bed and walls
That think it is still the 19th century.
For them, a wheat field in January
is their mother and enough.
I've discovered that I don't need
A retirement plan, a plan to succeed.
A snow leopard sleeps behind me
Like a slow, warm breeze.
And I can hear the inner birds singing
Alone in this house I love.
Now, here's my remake.
Consolations of a Sleepless Slumber - James Lofland
My parents are conspiring against me
They are cutting me off
When I have tons of bills due later this week.
A computer cord weaves across my floor
As it considers the room its personal playground.
For it, the blazing cold of winter
Is its soothing rest from overworking.
I've discovered that I don't need
A trust fund or to be seen as a charity case.
A newborn canary sings from the trees
Like the melodic sounds of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra
And I can taste the winter frost
As I lay, quietly, awake, in the bed I love.
Mind you, this remake was a first/rough draft done within ten minutes of class. Although it was a quick-writing practice, I found myself realizing more and more that due to recent events I really am on my own. The recent weeks have turned me from a dependent student into an independent adult.
Well, c'est la vie.
James Lofland
"Jimmy Neutron"
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