I’m living out of two wallets and no money. –Kelly Johnson
Do you understand? I don’t think you understand, it’s Harry Potter, it’s Harry Fucking Potter! –Kelly Johnson
My life is now complete. FAST FIVE was the greatest thing I've seen in months. –Logan Tindol
Went to the Farmer's marker yesterday. Bought Goat meat. Cooked it. Tryed it. Intersating. –Kaylie Waller
Well it has occurred to me how the revelation of the things in my life in which I could pursue are inevitably beyond my control. - Bryant Emory Henson
Untimely nap extreme. –Daniel Reid
Saw Mikey Ramone. My life is complete. –Kaleigh Couch
The only thing worse than having an ugly baby is having ugly twins. –Brok Mabry
According to Donovan,it was a joint effort for the hot mess award last night. –Ashley Cole
The FAL is like the AR-15 of the European world. You pick it up, and the first thing you notice is... it sucks. -USAF Sniper
No, it's not Apollo 11, that would be silly. It's Neal Armstrong's foot... –Casey Harris
I'm a connoisseur of roads. I've been tasting roads my whole life. This road will never end. It probably goes all around the world. –Luke Lowry
If a sea gull flies over the bay, does that make it a bay gull? –Juan Salcedo
I wonder.... Can you list yourself as in a relationship with more than one person at a time on FB? Becuase that would better suit more people. –Kacey Williams
"I've never seen the inside of a rabbit's brain before. What's in there, anyway?"
"Nobody knows yet. Johnson and I are hoping it's cupcakes."
"Me too. Except vegan cupcakes." –Shayna Jackson
I want a pet duckling. Or a gosling. Or a pair of ducks. –Mary Ann Lee
It physically pains me to watch Spider-Man 3. –Maxwell Hill
What is it about the pool and the massive amounts of alcohol that makes you feel sexy?" -Sid Safford
Okay. Here's the plan: I show Scarlett Johansson my tits, and she shows me hers. Problem solved! –Stu Crook
Is experiencing the calm before the storm that is Finals Week by reading a book just for fun! –Coleen Vasconcellos
Life lessons are there to help you grow up. –Marcus Traylor
All of it was to be destroyed, even without me. –Unknown
La vida es la adventura. –Kelly Johnson
All you need is love. –John Lennon
Although the distance is daring, I sure know what it’s like to be alone. –Christopher Drew
I live for another chance to drive down back highways, until I stumble upon your beautiful face. –Christopher Drew
Groove is in the heart. –Dee-lite
Better pick a better option before these sauconys get to stompin. –Brandon Schaeffer
About to work with a massive vodka and redbull slash baby bomb hangover. –Daniel Reid
I hope it dies a fiery unicorn death. –Rachel Kocourek
I have now officially caressed your foot. –Leah Moore
All of the kids will eat it up, if it’s packaged properly. –Craig Harrison
We’ll get jobs and offices and wake up for the morning commute. –MGMT
Is your back wet? –Rachel Kocourek
Do you smell burnt beans? –Rachel Kocourek
I wonder how many babies it will take to flip a truck. –Maxwell Hill
When nothing goes right, go left. –Rachel Kocourek
I don’t know, I would argue that you have a lax definition of amazing, but it’s okay, we can fix that. –Pete Nelson
Steven Tyler is so much better than Joe Perry. –Kelly Johnson
Mom have you been hanging out with Hue Lately? Hue Jass. –Kelly Johnson
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Free Response
As Samantha stumbles through the quad, orange book bag in tote, she tries to remember her classroom number. She is late to class again, because the only way she can make it through the day is by drowning her sorrows in alcohol and cocaine, and her boyfriend is slowly withdrawing himself from her. After three fails, she finally drifts into the right room. Dr. Flemmers threatens to withdraw fail her if she is late one more time. As her need for the drug goes stronger, she finds herself leaving class early to heed its call. As she starts laying out this line of cocaine with the rest of the money she had to her name, she thinks to herself: why? She can’t comprehend why the call is so strong; she wants to be done with this drug, with this life. As she snorts the line, she pulls out her 500 pill Motrin IB bottle. Pills ready, drink in hand, she downs all of the pills she can, leaving in enough time to make it back to class before the end of it. After class she scurried back to her apartment. The pain reliever starts to kick in, while her life starts to fade away. Samantha is surrounded by white light, white noise, white death. Life ebbing out of her, someone near is rushing to help. “No” Samantha screams, “I don’t want to feel the pain anymore”. Next thing she hears, sirens all around. A few days later, the only person that comes to see her is her boyfriend, watching her for the last time, as she enters into the ground.
This is a house without a home. The grass is matted with weeds popping out in between. The yard contains nothing more than a whisper of what it used to be. The house is stark and cold, the only sign of life is the twenty year old cat sitting in the dusty window pane. The first floor is dark and hollow. The kitchen contains no more than ten dishes, all of which have been neatly placed away for two years now. Adjacent to the kitchen is a “living” room. Two dirty flower printed sofas rest on top of a red and blue circular rug in the middle of the hardwood floor. The dining room does not exist. Up the stairs and to the left is an office. The office has nice electronics with a brand new glass desk that faces the window to outside. Beside the office is a bedroom with no air and no circulation, the comforter on the queen sized bed is moth eaten. One pillow lies in the center of the bed. Across the hall is the only bathroom in the whole house. A dingy shower mirrors the dingy toilet. Blue countertops are the only sort of light that reflects in this room, aside from the butcher knife that lies on top of it.
I walk into this house filled with despair, prepared to pack up everything that once used to be my father’s. Why did I get stuck with the task of handling his last wishes? It’s not like he “loved” me anyway. As I step into the front door, I notice a foul odor emanating from somewhere near the living room. There are dirty clothes lying on the floor, dirty dishes sitting upon tabletops which seem to have never been washed. As I peer into the corner of the room I notice the source of the stench: an over-flowing cat litter box. I didn’t even know he had a cat. I start to sort through his “belongings”, pile by pile. The amount of clutter in this house, hell in this room, begs for rodents, which to my surprise I haven’t encountered yet. As I walk outside and stumble back in with two armfuls of boxes. I ponder to myself, aren’t the people who actually cared about him supposed to be doing this?
I have managed to slip the photograph of Stella into his pocket. Maybe by letting him see something that he can’t have, he will realize what he wants. He needs to feel as if he is playing a major role in his matching of himself with other people. Leo and my daughter are both “dead” in a sense, spiritually and emotionally, and this union will be their chance at redemption, saving each other in order to save themselves.
He asks if she is okay, she replies “yes”, but in her own reality nothing is okay. She doesn’t want to leave him. He has no idea the intensity of the pull Washington State has on her. The pull he has on her is just equally as great. She doesn’t know if she will go. One day he will call and she won’t be there. She doesn’t want that. She doesn’t know what to do. Dreams or love? She wonders why it has to be like that. She wants both. Why can’t she have both? He said forever, but he also said he would not move. She wants him but he doesn’t want her dreams.
Over here no over here take him from behind he’s going to get my shirt that one was mine I’ll stab you oooh I’m so scared I got a gun bitch you don’t want to mess with me I’ve got it she screamed as she ran up to the counter to purchase it as she was laying the shirt down to buy that same woman came up and yanked her weave out the security guard came over and took both of them away.
Sally was in the process of purchasing shoes from Meg’s afternoon store. Green ones, red ones, blue, Meg had shoes of every size shape and color. Sally faced a dilemma, there were so many that she wanted, but only few that she could afford. As Sally was walking to the back of the store her hopes slowly fading, she noticed a pair of black flats with black bows on the front. Sally had to own these shoes, but if her husband Gerald knew how much they cost, he would make her return them. “Too expensive” he would say, “you can’t bleed turnips woman”. Sally purchased them despite the possible repercussions she might have to deal with from her husband. She decided that if Gerald asked about the bill on the bank statement she would say “I had to pick up groceries from Meg’s”. If he didn’t believe her, she decided that she would hit him in the head with a shovel in the way that her mother would hit her father with the shovel when they would get in arguments when Sally was younger.
Where do I begin and you end? There’s no line, no break. Two souls beat as one, forever trapped in this state of limbo. Soul mate. Define it. Why? To define takes back from the meaning of what it is. Everything I write is about you. Everything I know is you. Where do we go from here? I beat with you, if only we could intertwine as well. Is that even possible? I know what you have shown me. I feel what you have told me. Come closer, speak, listen. Do you know me? Do you know who I am? Can you feel it, can you feel me? My arms searching for yours. Where are they? I need your hands, your touch, your love. Can you promise me that? Until it fades? Until distance separates us? Until time separates us? Or until you separate us?
Foot pounding against the floor, the pavement slowly kicking up, fingers moving so swiftly against the guitar strings in the movement of the way of a snake pounces to catch its prey. Pressure mounting, as I feel all of the eyes in the room turn to me. One mistake and I am done. How can I give them myself when I don’t even know who that is? To say I play this instrument well, would be lie, considering it’s the one playing me. I obey its demand, I heed its call. Every day, more of an internal struggle between life and the guitar. When did I let myself become so consumed by this instrument? As my fingers strike the last chord, I get up and walk away.
This particular one, is a new draft of this poem.
You cast your line into the water again.
As I start to get away you reel me back in.
The hook pierces through my skin.
As you pull me above water,
I slowly start to die.
Trying to break free from the hook,
I flail around in the air, but it’s to no prevail,
I’m slowly suffocating.
My scales start to flake off.
Until there are none left and I am raw.
You cut the flesh from my bones,
Pick me apart piece by piece.
Into your stomach I descend as nothing more than
Yesterday’s fresh meat.
This one is also another new draft.
The Devil Wears Prada’s music is no longer playing on our radio. Instead of intense music, Christopher Drew spouts out songs about cliché’ situations. The phrase “that word just wears me out”, constantly repeats itself, wearing me out.
As I place my USB flash drive into my computer, fresh with music Kyrk downloaded last night, the first band I notice is the Devil Wears Prada. Closed Casket Requiem is forever repeating itself on my computer and in my head. As the sound reverberates out, the first memory that comes to mind is of that blazingly hot summer day. While I am driving down Clem Lowell you ask if I have any of the Devil Wears Prada. Closed Casket Requiem is the first song chosen. The car’s tires, fresh with air, lackadaisically bounce up and down the hills while the windows slowly warp due mainly to the heat. We are full of hot air, and the car is full of music as we drive down that familiar road to your favorite store.
Car is full of air
As we start to lose our own
Love hate betrayal
You are watching me
While I start to stare off too
Help me, I need you
Pills everywhere
Fill the countertops and shelves
Functioning is hard
You are not close now
Silence and distance keep us
Lets remove the space
Friends are good to have
But not when they detract you
Keep focus in life
This is a house without a home. The grass is matted with weeds popping out in between. The yard contains nothing more than a whisper of what it used to be. The house is stark and cold, the only sign of life is the twenty year old cat sitting in the dusty window pane. The first floor is dark and hollow. The kitchen contains no more than ten dishes, all of which have been neatly placed away for two years now. Adjacent to the kitchen is a “living” room. Two dirty flower printed sofas rest on top of a red and blue circular rug in the middle of the hardwood floor. The dining room does not exist. Up the stairs and to the left is an office. The office has nice electronics with a brand new glass desk that faces the window to outside. Beside the office is a bedroom with no air and no circulation, the comforter on the queen sized bed is moth eaten. One pillow lies in the center of the bed. Across the hall is the only bathroom in the whole house. A dingy shower mirrors the dingy toilet. Blue countertops are the only sort of light that reflects in this room, aside from the butcher knife that lies on top of it.
I walk into this house filled with despair, prepared to pack up everything that once used to be my father’s. Why did I get stuck with the task of handling his last wishes? It’s not like he “loved” me anyway. As I step into the front door, I notice a foul odor emanating from somewhere near the living room. There are dirty clothes lying on the floor, dirty dishes sitting upon tabletops which seem to have never been washed. As I peer into the corner of the room I notice the source of the stench: an over-flowing cat litter box. I didn’t even know he had a cat. I start to sort through his “belongings”, pile by pile. The amount of clutter in this house, hell in this room, begs for rodents, which to my surprise I haven’t encountered yet. As I walk outside and stumble back in with two armfuls of boxes. I ponder to myself, aren’t the people who actually cared about him supposed to be doing this?
I have managed to slip the photograph of Stella into his pocket. Maybe by letting him see something that he can’t have, he will realize what he wants. He needs to feel as if he is playing a major role in his matching of himself with other people. Leo and my daughter are both “dead” in a sense, spiritually and emotionally, and this union will be their chance at redemption, saving each other in order to save themselves.
He asks if she is okay, she replies “yes”, but in her own reality nothing is okay. She doesn’t want to leave him. He has no idea the intensity of the pull Washington State has on her. The pull he has on her is just equally as great. She doesn’t know if she will go. One day he will call and she won’t be there. She doesn’t want that. She doesn’t know what to do. Dreams or love? She wonders why it has to be like that. She wants both. Why can’t she have both? He said forever, but he also said he would not move. She wants him but he doesn’t want her dreams.
Over here no over here take him from behind he’s going to get my shirt that one was mine I’ll stab you oooh I’m so scared I got a gun bitch you don’t want to mess with me I’ve got it she screamed as she ran up to the counter to purchase it as she was laying the shirt down to buy that same woman came up and yanked her weave out the security guard came over and took both of them away.
Sally was in the process of purchasing shoes from Meg’s afternoon store. Green ones, red ones, blue, Meg had shoes of every size shape and color. Sally faced a dilemma, there were so many that she wanted, but only few that she could afford. As Sally was walking to the back of the store her hopes slowly fading, she noticed a pair of black flats with black bows on the front. Sally had to own these shoes, but if her husband Gerald knew how much they cost, he would make her return them. “Too expensive” he would say, “you can’t bleed turnips woman”. Sally purchased them despite the possible repercussions she might have to deal with from her husband. She decided that if Gerald asked about the bill on the bank statement she would say “I had to pick up groceries from Meg’s”. If he didn’t believe her, she decided that she would hit him in the head with a shovel in the way that her mother would hit her father with the shovel when they would get in arguments when Sally was younger.
Where do I begin and you end? There’s no line, no break. Two souls beat as one, forever trapped in this state of limbo. Soul mate. Define it. Why? To define takes back from the meaning of what it is. Everything I write is about you. Everything I know is you. Where do we go from here? I beat with you, if only we could intertwine as well. Is that even possible? I know what you have shown me. I feel what you have told me. Come closer, speak, listen. Do you know me? Do you know who I am? Can you feel it, can you feel me? My arms searching for yours. Where are they? I need your hands, your touch, your love. Can you promise me that? Until it fades? Until distance separates us? Until time separates us? Or until you separate us?
Foot pounding against the floor, the pavement slowly kicking up, fingers moving so swiftly against the guitar strings in the movement of the way of a snake pounces to catch its prey. Pressure mounting, as I feel all of the eyes in the room turn to me. One mistake and I am done. How can I give them myself when I don’t even know who that is? To say I play this instrument well, would be lie, considering it’s the one playing me. I obey its demand, I heed its call. Every day, more of an internal struggle between life and the guitar. When did I let myself become so consumed by this instrument? As my fingers strike the last chord, I get up and walk away.
This particular one, is a new draft of this poem.
You cast your line into the water again.
As I start to get away you reel me back in.
The hook pierces through my skin.
As you pull me above water,
I slowly start to die.
Trying to break free from the hook,
I flail around in the air, but it’s to no prevail,
I’m slowly suffocating.
My scales start to flake off.
Until there are none left and I am raw.
You cut the flesh from my bones,
Pick me apart piece by piece.
Into your stomach I descend as nothing more than
Yesterday’s fresh meat.
This one is also another new draft.
The Devil Wears Prada’s music is no longer playing on our radio. Instead of intense music, Christopher Drew spouts out songs about cliché’ situations. The phrase “that word just wears me out”, constantly repeats itself, wearing me out.
As I place my USB flash drive into my computer, fresh with music Kyrk downloaded last night, the first band I notice is the Devil Wears Prada. Closed Casket Requiem is forever repeating itself on my computer and in my head. As the sound reverberates out, the first memory that comes to mind is of that blazingly hot summer day. While I am driving down Clem Lowell you ask if I have any of the Devil Wears Prada. Closed Casket Requiem is the first song chosen. The car’s tires, fresh with air, lackadaisically bounce up and down the hills while the windows slowly warp due mainly to the heat. We are full of hot air, and the car is full of music as we drive down that familiar road to your favorite store.
Car is full of air
As we start to lose our own
Love hate betrayal
You are watching me
While I start to stare off too
Help me, I need you
Pills everywhere
Fill the countertops and shelves
Functioning is hard
You are not close now
Silence and distance keep us
Lets remove the space
Friends are good to have
But not when they detract you
Keep focus in life
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Classmate Response [week five]: Lucas Chance
pants are too tight
and my ass creaks in them
like geriatric door hinges
muffin top turns to mushroom cloud
and folds over and swallows the belt
like a glutton gulps spaghetti
my cellulite is dynamite
it blows up and over
like deep fried atom bombs covered in cheese
my skinsides cracked like pavements
by the purple, vined witch fingers
called stretchmarks
huff up stairs, into cars
make dressing rooms cramed
pools overflow
benches break
i am fat, cracked, and a land yacht
but i cna dman well cook
This poem is awesome! The phrase land yacht makes me think about class last week when you said if you had to choose what boat you could you would choose a yacht. The bluntness of the poem is what I think makes it pop. My favorite lines are “and my ass creaks in them like geriatric door hinges muffin top turns to mushroom cloud”. Your poetry is very descriptive. The last line “but I can damn well cook” is a really good ending to this piece, it shows that while the person in this poem is describing this, they are okay with it because they can at least cook. Maybe you could further progress this piece by explaining more about the hips of this person.
and my ass creaks in them
like geriatric door hinges
muffin top turns to mushroom cloud
and folds over and swallows the belt
like a glutton gulps spaghetti
my cellulite is dynamite
it blows up and over
like deep fried atom bombs covered in cheese
my skinsides cracked like pavements
by the purple, vined witch fingers
called stretchmarks
huff up stairs, into cars
make dressing rooms cramed
pools overflow
benches break
i am fat, cracked, and a land yacht
but i cna dman well cook
This poem is awesome! The phrase land yacht makes me think about class last week when you said if you had to choose what boat you could you would choose a yacht. The bluntness of the poem is what I think makes it pop. My favorite lines are “and my ass creaks in them like geriatric door hinges muffin top turns to mushroom cloud”. Your poetry is very descriptive. The last line “but I can damn well cook” is a really good ending to this piece, it shows that while the person in this poem is describing this, they are okay with it because they can at least cook. Maybe you could further progress this piece by explaining more about the hips of this person.
Random impulse [week five]
Speak Now
Sitting in old Phillies’ Diner, I glance at my watch. 8:37 pm and still not here. The young waiter asks “can I get you something”? “No, they’ll be here, you just wait” I reply. I watch as John nervously glances over to Sally, knowing his time with her is almost up and she’s going to be $4,000 dollars richer. John loves her so much, but to her this is just business. The milk is stagnating in Sally’s coffee as the men covered in black burst through the doors, guns pointed high, screaming “give me all your money”! The waiter is frightened; he reaches for his gun as the robbers take point. Waiter down, Sally screams as another one bites the dust. At least Madge and Veronica were late; I couldn’t bear the idea of them dying too. I’m the last one standing, as I wait to feel the penetration of the bullet to my body, I glance outside and to my dismay Veronica’s horrified eyes are in lock with mine.
Random impulse [week five]
Like a Fish on a Line
You cast your line into the water again. As I start to get away you reel me back in. The hook pierces through my skin. As you pull me above water I slowly start to die. Trying to break free from the hook, I flail around in the air, but it’s to no prevail. Suffocated by air, my scales slowly start to flake off until there are none left and I am raw. You cut the flesh off my bones. Pick me apart piece by piece. Into your stomach I descend as nothing more than yesterday’s fresh meat.
Reading Response [week five]
The idea of the unvoiced intrigues me, stating that writing is not in what is said but more in how it is said. The idea of swift reversal is a good way of catching the reader’s attention and I actually tried that method and the writing that I came up with was very interesting. The more I read this book, the more I find that there are certain aspects of the writer’s opinions that I do not agree with. I enjoy reading this book, but it seems to go slowly in most sections.
Reading Response [week five]
The poem Burn Ward by B.H. Fairchild captivated me when we first read it in class. The poem is so beautiful in a dark sense. I enjoy the fact that an abstraction is being described by concrete ideas. “Empathy was an insult” could also be looked at when the nurse calmly “pours the gasoline on like a balm”, in order for her to understand how the patients in the burn ward were feeling she did the same to herself, which could also be considered an insult because the people in the burn ward did not elect to be put in that situation but the nurse did, so now that she has the ability to empathize, her empathy is insulting to the other patients who are going through the same situation. The fact that “a kind of fog or frozen lake lay between her and the patient, far away” is the state of limbo that is between the two forms of consciousness and being. The idea that the nurse is “lost and searching in the frozen dark” is describing the place in the journey where she is at in order to be able to truly feel the empathy for the patients.
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