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.

I have to go to work now, but I will transcribe my post from my notebook to the blog. I completely forgot it was due by 7 and not midnight.....

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"