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.
Junkyard quotes [week five]
1. I don't like your world being so volatile. It's definitely not condusive to keeping your head from exploding. -Megan Kelley
2. Just got a call from Sloan-Kettering today informing me that while they were impressed with my application, the committee did not feel comfortable with granting a fellowship to someone so young. They did tell me that it would be a "privilege to work with someone so talented in the future." Hi, there Disappointment! I'm Justin, and I have a feeling you and I are going to be spending an awful lot of time together! -Justin Puckett
3.Got an email from Emory University's Research Program today. To quote the message "Dear Emory Applicant [Insert Last Names O-S]." It's nice to know they care. -Justin Puckett
4. Just got a 95 on a test I barely studied for. I feel like I'm in high school again. -Cami Rose
5.Someone just asked how the professor got -1 from i^2. Someone's failing.... -Zack Danielak
2. Just got a call from Sloan-Kettering today informing me that while they were impressed with my application, the committee did not feel comfortable with granting a fellowship to someone so young. They did tell me that it would be a "privilege to work with someone so talented in the future." Hi, there Disappointment! I'm Justin, and I have a feeling you and I are going to be spending an awful lot of time together! -Justin Puckett
3.Got an email from Emory University's Research Program today. To quote the message "Dear Emory Applicant [Insert Last Names O-S]." It's nice to know they care. -Justin Puckett
4. Just got a 95 on a test I barely studied for. I feel like I'm in high school again. -Cami Rose
5.Someone just asked how the professor got -1 from i^2. Someone's failing.... -Zack Danielak
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Classmate Response [week four]: Yeeva Cheng
Backward To Do List
Walk
Run three laps at the gym (check)
Copy the alphabet in cursive
Sign divorce papers (check)
2+2=
Review Tommy’s math homework (check)
Major in Anthropology
Leave for the office by 7 (check)
Eat mango ice cream
Buy mango-scented bath soap (check)
I found this very entertaining; while at some points can be a little confusing. It seems very jumpy; in a good way, which I understand is how it is supposed to be, but at some points it can be hard to follow where you are going. I like how this piece has some things that are done and others that are not. It is easier to understand reading it from the bottom to the top. I really like how the “2+2=” jumps to “review Tommy’s math homework”. The idea of the problem not being finished just as the list is not is probably one my favorite things about this piece. After reading the lines “copy the alphabet in cursive” and “sign the divorce papers” a couple of times I finally understood how you got from one idea to the other, which I actually really like how the reader is brought from the first idea to the second. Maybe adding another line before or after the “major in Anthropology” line could help further explain the idea of that specific line. I enjoyed the lightheartedness of this piece and the personality that is given to the person in this piece. Good job!
Walk
Run three laps at the gym (check)
Copy the alphabet in cursive
Sign divorce papers (check)
2+2=
Review Tommy’s math homework (check)
Major in Anthropology
Leave for the office by 7 (check)
Eat mango ice cream
Buy mango-scented bath soap (check)
I found this very entertaining; while at some points can be a little confusing. It seems very jumpy; in a good way, which I understand is how it is supposed to be, but at some points it can be hard to follow where you are going. I like how this piece has some things that are done and others that are not. It is easier to understand reading it from the bottom to the top. I really like how the “2+2=” jumps to “review Tommy’s math homework”. The idea of the problem not being finished just as the list is not is probably one my favorite things about this piece. After reading the lines “copy the alphabet in cursive” and “sign the divorce papers” a couple of times I finally understood how you got from one idea to the other, which I actually really like how the reader is brought from the first idea to the second. Maybe adding another line before or after the “major in Anthropology” line could help further explain the idea of that specific line. I enjoyed the lightheartedness of this piece and the personality that is given to the person in this piece. Good job!
Random impulse [week four]
The Devil Wears Prada 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 in my computer, fresh with music Kyrk downloaded last night, the first band I notice is The Devil Wears Prada. Closed Casket Requiem 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’m driving down Clem Lowell Road, you ask if I have any of The Devil Wears Prada. “Yes”, I reply. Closed Casket Requiem is the first song chosen. The car tires fresh with air, lackadaisically bounce up and down the hills, while the windows slowly warp due mainly to the heat. The car is full of hot air and music as, for the last time, I drive down that familiar road to your favorite store, Walgreens.
As I place my USB flash drive in my computer, fresh with music Kyrk downloaded last night, the first band I notice is The Devil Wears Prada. Closed Casket Requiem 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’m driving down Clem Lowell Road, you ask if I have any of The Devil Wears Prada. “Yes”, I reply. Closed Casket Requiem is the first song chosen. The car tires fresh with air, lackadaisically bounce up and down the hills, while the windows slowly warp due mainly to the heat. The car is full of hot air and music as, for the last time, I drive down that familiar road to your favorite store, Walgreens.
Random impulse [week four]
Day job? Why only that?
Now, why stay unhappy here?
Leave, enjoy, explore.
Now, why stay unhappy here?
Leave, enjoy, explore.
Junkyard quotes [week four]
1. Remember, art is about figuring out which mistakes to keep. -Leah Johnson
2. I have now officially carressed your ankle. -Leah Moore
3. It's a new Tuesday and everybody is orange. -Leah Johnson
4. We sing what we know, not how it goes. -Kelly Johnson
5. My arches are killing me.
2. I have now officially carressed your ankle. -Leah Moore
3. It's a new Tuesday and everybody is orange. -Leah Johnson
4. We sing what we know, not how it goes. -Kelly Johnson
5. My arches are killing me.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Reading Response [week three]
Homage to my hips is an awesome poem. Lucille Clifton is an interesting poet. I really enjoy her eloquent and direct way of speaking. Her direct manner of speaking makes her poetry easier to understand, this poem is not something that a person needs to read over and over again and breakdown to understand, but on the other hand rereading the poem can help a person dissect what Lucille is trying to say and what voice she is speaking in. My favorite lines are “they don’t fit into little petty places” and “these hips are magic hips. I have known them to put a spell on a man and spin him like a top”. Her poetry makes her very relatable. I feel that she describes what women who have big hips think but never really say. This woman that is being referred to is very empowering, she says she does what she wants, “these hips are free hips”, while never letting them be “enslaved”. I enjoyed the kind of light-hearted sentiment of the poem. Chapter three voice in Word of Mouth was an intense read, while I enjoyed reading the chapter, some of the things mentioned took a while to set in, but I am looking forward to going back and reading this chapter later on in the semester.
I feel so far that chapter four, style, in Word of Mouth has by far been my favorite chapter to read. With the other chapters, I felt that I was in a sense just drowning in the words on the pages, but with this chapter I did not find myself in the same position. I also really enjoyed the fact that this chapter was semi-short. I liked that the first section in this chapter was Styles versus Style. I felt that this was a great way to introduce the chapter. The recursive method was really enjoyable to try out; the idea of “the power of repetition” is an awesome one. I enjoyed starting to write and seeing where that led me in the sense of letting my words repeat as well as letting them evolve into their own work. Gertrude Stein’s recursive style of writing is fun to read and tricky to say at the same time. What she writes does not really make sense, but she also lets the reader follow her ideas and shows them how she got to where she was going from beginning to end. Professor Ellison’s poem was a good read; I like how she talks about rifles and men leaning on towers.
I feel so far that chapter four, style, in Word of Mouth has by far been my favorite chapter to read. With the other chapters, I felt that I was in a sense just drowning in the words on the pages, but with this chapter I did not find myself in the same position. I also really enjoyed the fact that this chapter was semi-short. I liked that the first section in this chapter was Styles versus Style. I felt that this was a great way to introduce the chapter. The recursive method was really enjoyable to try out; the idea of “the power of repetition” is an awesome one. I enjoyed starting to write and seeing where that led me in the sense of letting my words repeat as well as letting them evolve into their own work. Gertrude Stein’s recursive style of writing is fun to read and tricky to say at the same time. What she writes does not really make sense, but she also lets the reader follow her ideas and shows them how she got to where she was going from beginning to end. Professor Ellison’s poem was a good read; I like how she talks about rifles and men leaning on towers.
Classmate Response [week three]: Joshua West
To be sublime is to be aware. To be aware anywhere. Anywhere one can be sublime. Or one's Third Eye can be Blind(ha). Blind is what is not sublime, blind is an unseeing third eye. One blind eye is better than three. But three is where I wish to be. Beside you, with all my eyes, that would be sublime. On the docks fully aware of the way your hair is not blind, but sublime. Anywhere, anywhere, anyone, anyhow, anytime, any place, any plane, one can be sublime. One in line of one long line of lyrical logic. Like leprechauns leaping like lemurs lapping liquid LSD. One can be sublime.
I really enjoyed reading this piece. You very clearly outline your train of thought, the lack of jumping around into ideas that the reader cannot see happening is very much appreciated. Sublime means impressing the mind with a sense of grandeur or power; inspiring awe, veneration and I like how you referred to sublime as an awareness that can happen anywhere. My favorite line is “anywhere, anywhere, anyone, anyhow, anytime, any place, any plane, one can be sublime”. The part where you mention “any plane” is fascinating. I feel that you could expand more on that idea to maybe lengthen the thought even more. The “like leprechauns leaping like lemurs lapping liquid LSD” fits well with LSD because that’s kind of a trippy statement. I enjoyed how sublime started out as an action that a person can do ended with sublime meaning something a person can be. I find the kind of metaphysical aspect of the third eye being mentioned and how it can be blind, and which for a lot of people is the case. Maybe you could expand on the idea of three being where you wish you could be. This is a really interesting and fascinating piece.
I really enjoyed reading this piece. You very clearly outline your train of thought, the lack of jumping around into ideas that the reader cannot see happening is very much appreciated. Sublime means impressing the mind with a sense of grandeur or power; inspiring awe, veneration and I like how you referred to sublime as an awareness that can happen anywhere. My favorite line is “anywhere, anywhere, anyone, anyhow, anytime, any place, any plane, one can be sublime”. The part where you mention “any plane” is fascinating. I feel that you could expand more on that idea to maybe lengthen the thought even more. The “like leprechauns leaping like lemurs lapping liquid LSD” fits well with LSD because that’s kind of a trippy statement. I enjoyed how sublime started out as an action that a person can do ended with sublime meaning something a person can be. I find the kind of metaphysical aspect of the third eye being mentioned and how it can be blind, and which for a lot of people is the case. Maybe you could expand on the idea of three being where you wish you could be. This is a really interesting and fascinating piece.
Random impulse [week three]
Meg and Sally have been best friends since they were little. They consider themselves “soul sisters” because they’ve been connected at the hip since the day that Sally’s mother, Sharon, moved next door to Meg and her family in May of 1996. Rarely has anyone found one of the girls without the other. For their eighteenth birthdays they had matching tattoos done on their wrists that were two hearts side-by-side with the words best friends in the middle. One day Sharon briefly mentioned to Sally and Meg that the local skating rink Dazzles was hiring two people for stocking and cleaning. The girls applied for the job, and knew they were shoo-ins because Sharon is really good friends with the hiring manager. That fall the girls started working at Dazzles. One Saturday night Dazzles was particularly busy and the shift manager, Dana, never showed up. Sally was worried because Dana always shows up at least an hour early to make sure that everything is running smoothly. Outside was cold, damp and dreary. Sally started confiding in Meg her fears for Dana, because something just didn’t feel right. Meg agreed and called Dana’s phone but received no answer. Meg and Sally started stocking the shipment of food that came in earlier that day, trying to ignore their impending fears. As Sally placed a crate of Cherry Coke on the top shelf, all of the lights went out and the fire alarm turned on. Sally searched to try and find Meg so they could evacuate the building together. Try as she might, Meg was nowhere to be found. Sally figured that Meg left without her and she would find her outside. When Sally finally got outside, all of the workers were off in the corner discussing something that was inaudible to Sally. Sally frantically ran over to her coworkers and realized that Meg was not there. All of the employees decided that they would go back inside and try and find Meg. Sally jumped in her car and got her flashlight to go back inside with. The second Sally walked something just felt wrong to her, Meg was not alright. Sally started walking into one of the backrooms. With her flashlight she looks around and spots something on the white wall. All of the sudden, the lights come back on. Sally breathes a sigh of relief until she notices what’s on the wall, blood everywhere. She lets out an ear-piercing scream. In the corner of the room there is an arm that has a tattoo on the wrist with the words best friends in the middle of two hearts. Sally decides she is going to find Meg if it is the last thing she does. She starts running through all of the stock rooms and finds Meg’s limp body hunched over a shipment of soda. Sally runs over to Meg and starts shaking her. Meg’s eyes widen and the lights cut out and the last thing that is heard is the sound of someone’s scream.
Random impulse [week three]
I particularly enjoyed the activities we did in class this week, and this is my piece that I made in class on Wednesday. Professor Ellison mentioned that we should try and take something cliché and see where that goes, which is exactly what I did.
Broken heart. Heart breaking. Taking lives, breaking lives. Shaking doors, breaking broken. Broken tokes. Token broken. Showing token. Token showing. Token toked. Smoked the broke. Broke the broke. Taking breaking. Shaking, taking down the sea. Sea of dreams. Dreams of knee. Broken foot, broken knows. I’ll show you broken toes. Toes? Too many knows, cat broken. Vat token. Broken heart, breaking hearts. Darts to broken cat, knowing that. Knowing known, showing shown. Time has taken, always breaking.
Junkyard quotes [week three]
1. It sure is a sad reflection of our society when the people who go above and beyond academically are criticized, threatened, and painted poorly by our "unbiased" media, but congrats on your achievements! We're all here for you -Nneoma Ahuruonye
2.
2.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Classmate Reponse: Hannah Ross
Little Ghost
Why do you hide from me?
I feel your cold touch
I see your spector shadow
Across my walls as I sleep
I know you are there
So why do you not reveal yourself?
Soon people shall think I have gone mad,
And lock me away for fear that
I may begin too see more 'invisible beings'
So please, Show yourself, and do join me for tea <3
Why do you hide from me?
I feel your cold touch
I see your spector shadow
Across my walls as I sleep
I know you are there
So why do you not reveal yourself?
Soon people shall think I have gone mad,
And lock me away for fear that
I may begin too see more 'invisible beings'
So please, Show yourself, and do join me for tea <3
In response to Hannah Ross’s poem “Little Ghost”, I really enjoyed the simplicity of this poem. At the beginning of the poem, the ghost I first pictured was something along the lines of a cartoon ghost, and as the poem progressed, it seemed to me as if your ghost was a little child. The way you describe that you will be locked away for fear of seeing more of the invisible beings, intrigued me because you put it in a real life situation. I feel that maybe you could expand more on the little ghost, for example does he scare you at night? In what ways, if any, is the ghost trying to get your attention? Giving the ghost a dynamic character I feel would add to the “air of mystery” to your poem. Your line “so please, Show yourself, and do join me for tea <3”, is probably my favorite out the poem, because even though you acknowledge that people will probably think that you are crazy for seeing “invisible things” you still want to see this ghost, you still want to get to know him. I feel that maybe you could add to the ending a little bit more, maybe by stating the reason why you want to see him. I thought this poem was awesome!
Friday, January 28, 2011
Reading Response
Buyer’s Remorse by Charles Harper Webb intrigued me the first time I read it. This poem is stating my feelings that all people have. Everyone is unsatisfied. There is a little bit of doubt in decisions that are made. He brings this issue to light in a manner that is easy to comprehend. The quote by Mary Oliver at the beginning helps to set the tone of the poem. The idea that Chad Davidson and Gregory Fraser have about the expansion-contraction process is really interesting. I do find myself while writing create a piece, then add more to it, and then take away even more. Most of my pieces tend to be a great amount shorter then when they first started. I enjoyed the prompts about question and response writing in order to gain more material and more ideas. I find that my best material comes by improv-ing and riffing from published lines. I like the idea of radical arrangement, kind of framing everything to the strongest piece in the overwrite. I enjoyed the idea of the creative erasure being a little bit prosy. The idea of form being able to exist in a freer give-and-take process intrigues me in the way that it is being presented in this book.
Reading Response
Upon first glance of reading BUDDHIST BARBIE by Denise Duhamel, I felt that I didn’t really understand what she was talking about. After rereading the poem and discussing it with a collection of my peers, I feel that I reached an understanding of the point that Denise is trying to get across not with just BUDDHIST BARBIE, but with the compilation of her poems in this section. What Denise is saying is that in the fifth century BC Siddhartha’s teachings were easier to understand for the people who were around him, but Barbie comes from capitalism and is everything that everyone wants her to be. She wants to understand what others are understanding, but with the way society has taught her to be, this task is very arduous for her. I enjoy the way that each one of Denise’s poems helps the reader understand the next poem. Her style of writing is thought provoking in a sense that she takes something such as a Barbie, which is almost universally known, and sheds it in a different light. She portrays Barbie as something that many people if they thought about it would see as well. Denise also portrays Barbie as something that is not just one dimensional. Barbie is caught up in what she is wanted to be and she’s trying to break free from those constraints.
Random impulses
All that is found in death is regression
Looking at photographs of the grave that dons my name forces me to recall the loss of those closest to me. As I drift back into the same physical world but on a different plane, the image that displays itself before me contains only two words: beloved daughter. Was I really that, or was I something to fear, to hate, to blame? Beloved meaning so much, but nothing at all. The grave near mine displays: beloved father and grandfather. I've never met William Broham in the physical world. How am I supposed to know that what is displayed is who he truly was? William could have been a Mohandus Ghandi or a Charles Manson. Those three words do not describe him, but merely shed light on one aspect of his life. As I watch people walk past my grave, trying to find their "loved" ones, I realize that my existence is only prolonged by the memories people keep of me. I was remembered for a while, but now as I look onto my grave and see weeds growing over my headstone, barely able to make out those two words now, everything that I did in this physical world seems so insignificant. I would have loved for my gravestone to have been blank, because words cannot define a person, all they do is confine them. When you die, what do you want those few words to say about you?
Haiku time, I don't have a title
Pondering present
Looking for glimpses of life
Everthing done
Looking at photographs of the grave that dons my name forces me to recall the loss of those closest to me. As I drift back into the same physical world but on a different plane, the image that displays itself before me contains only two words: beloved daughter. Was I really that, or was I something to fear, to hate, to blame? Beloved meaning so much, but nothing at all. The grave near mine displays: beloved father and grandfather. I've never met William Broham in the physical world. How am I supposed to know that what is displayed is who he truly was? William could have been a Mohandus Ghandi or a Charles Manson. Those three words do not describe him, but merely shed light on one aspect of his life. As I watch people walk past my grave, trying to find their "loved" ones, I realize that my existence is only prolonged by the memories people keep of me. I was remembered for a while, but now as I look onto my grave and see weeds growing over my headstone, barely able to make out those two words now, everything that I did in this physical world seems so insignificant. I would have loved for my gravestone to have been blank, because words cannot define a person, all they do is confine them. When you die, what do you want those few words to say about you?
Haiku time, I don't have a title
Pondering present
Looking for glimpses of life
Everthing done
Junkyard quotes
It's a gloomy day for sunrises. -Kelly Johnson
When did my last hope become so crude? -Melissa Garcia
Life is a bitch because a hoe is too easay. -Unknown
Had to grab a lifeboat off that sinking ship. -Matthew Kelley
Words cannot describe who you are, they can only confine you to an idea. -Ken from the square
When did my last hope become so crude? -Melissa Garcia
Life is a bitch because a hoe is too easay. -Unknown
Had to grab a lifeboat off that sinking ship. -Matthew Kelley
Words cannot describe who you are, they can only confine you to an idea. -Ken from the square
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Classmate Reponse: Yeeva Cheng
My viola lies in its blue zippered case, surrounded by green felt and tucked in with a green velvet cloth, shoved under my bed to gather dust. The music is stuck in the side pocket, along with Bach’s Gigue, Suite Number Two in D. That was the last piece I played at my last recital last spring. It was by no means the perfect ending; I had botched the next-to-last chords, leaving a discordant cacophony that reverberated in the church’s sanctuary. On most days, I probably would have been frustrated, thinking only about the hours of practicing and listening to recordings of the piece, trying to match it. But for some reason, I was unfazed by it; I only pretended to look broken when my orchestra teacher past by and reassuringly patted me on the shoulder. A pseudo-sad smile covered up the “sorry-my-give-a-damn’s-broken” attitude.
It had been two years of not playing when I finally opened up the case last fall. I shouldered it, balanced the bow across the strings and tediously practiced my scales, just as I had done over and over again two years before.
Yeeva Cheng’s Musical Afterthoughts is a very interesting one. The detail that she used is very concise and to the point. My favorite line is “surrounded by green felt and tucked in with a green velvet cloth, shoved under my bed to gather dust”. With that line I have a clear picture in my head as to the way her viola looks surrounded by its case. Upon reading this piece a second time, I felt that I understood more as to what she is describing and the way that she is feeling. When I first read the line, “a pseudo-sad smile covered up the ‘sorry my-give-a-damn’s broken’ attitude”, I wasn’t quite sure whether she was referring to her mess up as not giving a damn or whether that line was referring to her not giving a damn that her orchestra teacher tried to comfort her. I enjoyed reading about the separation she experienced with her viola and after two years coming back to the viola; it was almost as if, to her, time had not passed. Her piece could be lengthened a little bit more, maybe by giving the piece more of a background or expanding upon what happened after she had started playing it again.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Random impulses
Professor Ellison said that we could, for this week only, post poems that we had previously written to show where we were coming from. These aren't super awesome. I wrote them a while back, but here they are:
1.
She never thought that she could love something or someone so much.
Never knew how much it would hurt.
She never thought that she would get an abortion until faced with the situation.
Never even dreamed she would get pregnant her first time.
Everything was great until they broke up.
She didn't realize she was pregnant until she lost the baby.
With no one to confide in, not her mother, not the baby's father, she told he sister who went through the same thing.
It ate her up inside, she didn't know what to do.
She never thought she could love something or someone so much.
Never knew how much it would hurt.
2.
I hear it calling out to me from everywhere.
No, I tell myself.
Don't listen.
Don't obey.
The more it calls out to me, the harder it is to resist.
After toying with the idea, I finally give in.
Later, I wish I hadn't, knowing I can't take it back.
Will there ever be a cure for this addiction?
Once again, I wrote these a good time ago. The first poem is about what one of my really good friends went through at the midpoint of the last year. The second poem was inspired by an episode of Intervention that I watched several years ago.
1.
She never thought that she could love something or someone so much.
Never knew how much it would hurt.
She never thought that she would get an abortion until faced with the situation.
Never even dreamed she would get pregnant her first time.
Everything was great until they broke up.
She didn't realize she was pregnant until she lost the baby.
With no one to confide in, not her mother, not the baby's father, she told he sister who went through the same thing.
It ate her up inside, she didn't know what to do.
She never thought she could love something or someone so much.
Never knew how much it would hurt.
2.
I hear it calling out to me from everywhere.
No, I tell myself.
Don't listen.
Don't obey.
The more it calls out to me, the harder it is to resist.
After toying with the idea, I finally give in.
Later, I wish I hadn't, knowing I can't take it back.
Will there ever be a cure for this addiction?
Once again, I wrote these a good time ago. The first poem is about what one of my really good friends went through at the midpoint of the last year. The second poem was inspired by an episode of Intervention that I watched several years ago.
Junkyard quotes
1. Life would be so much easier if we were like Mr. Potato head and could trade parts. -Simone' Collins
2. Programming is like sex: one mistake and you're providing support for a lifetime. -Michael Sinz
3. It's easy to cry when you realize everyone you love will reject you or die. -unknown
4.It's the hardest to get soulmates together because they can't handle each other. -Robyn Robinson
5. Metaphysics says that the world is both immanent and transcendant. -Deepak Chopra
2. Programming is like sex: one mistake and you're providing support for a lifetime. -Michael Sinz
3. It's easy to cry when you realize everyone you love will reject you or die. -unknown
4.It's the hardest to get soulmates together because they can't handle each other. -Robyn Robinson
5. Metaphysics says that the world is both immanent and transcendant. -Deepak Chopra
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