Junkyard Quote 4 Week 7

"real-human hair handlebar mustache" this came from a book of student fiction i picked up from SCAD university. The  mustache part didnt really appeal to me but the quote as a whole made my mind start thinking about how a human hair handlebar mustache could be made or rather groomed on someones face.

Junkyard Quote 3 Week 7

"cement gum" something you normally chew on a day to day basis that is mixed with the stuff used to make our pavements. When i researched what it meant i found a second quote "cows gum" this made me laugh as well as think about if cows could chew on gum what flavor would it be? Me just being silly i suppose.

Junkyard Quote 2 Week 7

"Air made of bricks" It interested me because its another way of saying that the air is heavy or that its thick. To think about air being heavy as bricks is just another thought to add into the imagery of the world.

Junkyard Quote 1 Week 7

"Grass fed steak" I heard it on a moe's commercial and instantly thought about  the literal meaning behind it then started to think about the cow that was eating the grass before it decided to waltz into the barn to leave.

Free Verse 1 Week 6

(Just a free write that I’ve been working on for the past few days, Its really bad but I was just writing stuff out and this is what came out)

I’m biting my lip… Biting the upper arc of my skin hoping to shed off the inadequacies of my past self. With a passage I'm passing down to the lower arc to push words higher above my lips into the heavens. But they got caught by my nose. Knowing I’m snorting all these words can’t be good for my health so I sweated myself for the answers. And I found I blew my adjectives below the bust and genitals where I lust for the opposite sex. I digress though cause the words trickled down my knees appeasing the arteries that are a part of me only to be received by years of experience defecting the verbs to move faster so the sentence scatters to my higher abdomen and molds to my core. Taking blood, sweat and life lines to compose these thread lines that weave themselves for viewing purposes. Maybe even comfort purchases if you want to sleep because the thread count is so sheet. From the abdomens core I propelled many more words up my back with haste. Never slacking just wasting all the forms of a verb that could please and they hit the arch of my neck with ease. Peep though, they feel victim to the missed disk in my spinal cord so they tripped, missing my thorax hitting the lining the lining o0f my esophagus trying to get outside but I’m pulling them back in. So I threw upwards and it hit my mind frame and my mind state started conjugating the different nouns and verbs. Pronoun and adverbs pushing the limits of insanity, so when my words hit my tongue I considered it a tragedy. I’m radically free to be a travesty to the world and help people. So why is it on the tip of my tongue and I fail to speak

Reading Response 1 Week 6

This reading response is on Pretty Little Rooms by Katie Chaple. This poem was exciting to me, the comparison to the poems Ive been usually reading didn't have the depth that this poem does. From the subject matter: being able to pull an excerpt from a newspaper and create a poem from that. To actually pinpoint a technique that I would pull from Chaple isn't possible, mostly because there are so many things i want to improv on in her work. "Nobody asks:  whose body was not loved enough, that her skull could travel like a pebble, could be used to punctuate the line of a man's body?" The last three lines of the stanza just speak volumes to me in so many ways. Like we talked about in class , the use of line inside of a poem is questioning. Being able to use that technique and make it coherent and work into the overall piece would be amazing.

Improv 1 Week 6

The improv im doing is on pg. 71 of the writing poetry. The exercise is downplaying polemics and the poems goes like this:

                                                    Do
you still hang your words in air, ten years
unfinished, glued to your notice board, with gaps
or empties for the unimaginable phase

my piece:

                                                   Are
your hands trembling, seconds before
mouthing, enunciating your slurs, with hopes
or goals for the coming trials

Calisthenics 1 Week 6

For this week's  calisthenics I decided to do the same exercise we did in class on Tuesday where we pull language from a book. I decided to use an encyclopedia for this exercise soo...

*such overt politicization of the georgic finds clear echoes in the conservative agrarianism .
*Human beings are emancipated by self effort, including petitionary prayer
*the demachinization of the world picture, a general collaspe of the pictoral method in atomic physics
anti-imagists
*Its an old black and white of me holding a fish
*the rejection of my poetry book after a half a year of hoping. It was like receiving back the body of a cancerous lover who you hoped dead, safely at the morgue, in a wreathe of flowers to commerate the past
*the destruction of the blue pigment on the loweer part of the garment, distortion by the effects of age
*The low eating house

Junkyard Quote 5 Week 6

"Its not that you don't value your food mom, its that your shirt is hungrier than you are"

Junkyard Quote 4 Week 6

"Riding down i-20 with the sun chasing me"

Junkyard Quote 3 Week 6

"octogenarians" a multi-syllable word to denounce a person that is 80-90 years old. This interested me mainly because of the fact that of how the word itself looks and what it represent.

Junkyard Quote 2 Week 6

"slap mad ridiculous" apparently this is what people over 40 say,  just struck me as how language changes with people and time

Junkard Quote 1 Week 6

"bullets with face"- I don't know why this stuck out, but its just the image that appears when you think: what does a bullet with a face look like? does it show emotion, wince at its ensuring fate,

Junkyard Quote 6 Week 5

Maybe airplanes are mechanical angels that are here to carry us close to heaven so we can get a glimpse of what it feels like to be surrounded.

untitled

That feeling when you have something you want to write, but it slips out of your mind, down your nose, plays with your tongue and then leaves a taste that you want back. Ugh...

Calisthenics 1 Week 5

Just practicing the dialogue exercise we did in class. comments, thoughts, anything is appreciated.

"I lifted the pencil off the ivory desk taking a deep breath..."

"I'd like to write, but I'd daydream so much that I would lose my sense of place. Daisy always told me that she loved watching the sky... Watching the sky through rain, snow, and thunderstorms day in and day out. Staring at the sky however, makes my stomach lurch as if I'm drinking milk."

"Do you think all milk is processed differently?"
 
My ears began to flirt with the sound of the blaring alarms of my neighbors cream-colored SUV as kids were throwing snowballs at each other.

"Watching her count the drops fall out the cracks of crusted milk in the sky, I swear her hair match the complexion of the gloomy weather"

"Doesn't milk make you think of snow? If its as really pure as we think it is. Its dirty... Not like the third stall in the Men's restroom of Bowdon, but like recycled water crystallized. Pure in its own way."

Junkyard Quote 5 Week 5

"Eat the ashes of the ones you lost" -------> this quote really had me thinking about some off the wall stuff.. physically and metaphysical.....

Junkyard Quote 4 Week 5

“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent”
― Victor Hugo

Which makes me think, what is poetry? what is the writing we're doing? Do we give the reader the vision that cant be seen, or the emotions that cant be quantified? Yeah, maybe writing can make things happen and music can do vice versa.Yet, maybe its that 5% (or how much we all have inside us) that we can't get out in words, that we can't act out. That frustrates us, that makes labels like writers block come out.  Its possibly a lot of questioning of what we do, of what we trying to do. It makes you (well might not but made me think)  think about it. Possibly a ramble, but isn't that what most writing is? Constructive rambling... FFT...

Reading Response 1 Week 5

This is a response to The Pain Of Pink Evenings by Rosemary Moore. When I first started this play, I noticed that it was straightforward, until i reread it and analyzed it and noticed the underlying complexity of it and thats when it began to amaze me. Tracie had a dream about her deceased husband Henry who told her to let him go, or more precisely throw something away that he gave her. At first thought, I was confused about the transition from talking about her dead husband to her father. Yet, even with being confused in this play the part that I'd like to extract from this reading is the complexity that Moore was using on this piece. Being able to use this in one of my work's to having multiple meanings could help me with the concept we were talking about in class: the main topic and the discovered topic which is unearthed after realizing it. Looking at how Moore played with some of the words surprised (well more brought out ideas to write) me ."plateface, pink evenings, scruffy boat, turquoise veins" this imagery and how the words seem to just mush together shows how the English language can be used in different ways. " The torso finally sank, leaving the two arms begging the sky". This sentence actually had me empathizing with an inanimate object or rather the memory it contains. Even if the writer wasn't going for infused meanings in this work, its apparent with just this sentence the affection she has for her husband.

Junkyard Quote 3 Week 5

“Part of the problem with the word 'disabilities' is that it immediately suggests an inability to see or hear or walk or do other things that many of us take for granted. But what of people who can't feel? Or talk about their feelings? Or manage their feelings in constructive ways? What of people who aren't able to form close and strong relationships? And people who cannot find fulfillment in their lives, or those who have lost hope, who live in disappointment and bitterness and find in life no joy, no love? These, it seems to me, are the real disabilities.”
― Fred Rogers, The World According to Mister Rogers 

Makes you think about the language we toss around daily and the implications it might have on others.

Free Verse 1 Week 5

Resting,
on couch pillows waiting for the branched history
lost in mechanical caxtons. Specifically,
beginnings of civilizations lower than the wet marble staring back at me with its monotonous
face.
Across from Einstein and WGC I'm sitting, on this stained
seat with its lint and funny smell
is pages apart from the true history I'm waiting on.
The one where this book with its wrinkled spine is burning and its spoken into existence by Homer,
showing me the path to walk with closed eyes and a open heart.
Revealing his arthritis hands and pointing to the outer bounds
of 1601 Maple Street. Some unspoken agreement
between him and Virgil made me play in Limbo,
the inferno that reduced
lies by Dante
to ash. Ash, ash, crumbling  and
Strawberry ice cream I've longed  for while my lips
dried out and cut down
by my Green Blistex which betrayed me.
Betrayed
the true history of the world through its 3 clicks:
back then, here, and what's happening.
Wondering if my oratorical skill will stand the test of
spoken achievement (or history conceiving) when they look back on
the living I've done and what they've done.
To the true history they trying to get rid of.
In these      three         clicks.

Junkyard Quote 2 Week 5

“he wasn't the type for displays of affection, either verbal or not. He was disgusted by couples that made out in the hallways between classes, and got annoyed at even the slightest sapppy moments in movies. But I knew he cared about me: he just conveyed it more subtly, as concise with expressing this emotion as he was with everything else. It was in the way he'd put his hand on the small of my back, for instance, or how he'd smile at me when I said something that surprised him. Once I might have wanted more, but I'd come around to his way of thinking in the time we'd been together. And we were together, all the time. So he didn't have to prove how he felt about me. Like so much else, I should just know.”
― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever 

I was thinking about how to try an avoid the sappy cliches of love for this piece im working on and it gave me some ideas as well as a laugh. 

  “Through my love for you, I want to express my love for the whole cosmos, the whole of humanity, and all beings. By living with you, I want to learn to love everyone and all species. If I succeed in loving you, I will be able to love everyone and all species on Earth... This is the real message of love.”

playing more with cliches about love... Me and my friend discussed at length the implications of this, and then laughed because so much happiness should be spread on a daily basis.

Junkyard Quote 1 Week 5

I thought about the sycamore, without it my roots would always be lost."
my philosophy teacher told me about this when he was having a conversation about his family back in ghana. This part intrigued me because it played on my recent free verse entry and made me think about how many meanings does a tree have...

Junkyard Quote 5 Week 4

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
― Margaret Mead

and "Angus pickle" <- no clue what this is but heard it inside mcdonalds 

Reading Response 1 Week 4

This is a response to chapter 2 of Writing Poetry. I reread over the chapter to study some of the techniques used in free versing and creating numerous drafts of work to use. After reading through the different ways to use forms to create new feelings and ways to play with words. The activity where questions were asked and a resulting draft was made from those interested me because i never thought about incorporating more than one person in on my writing other than revision purposes. This is a idea that i decided to try out in the future and hopefully that will be another addition to the toolbox of things that i can use to write other things. After delving further into the chapter, I noticed the expanding and contracting process and tried my hand at free writing an idea that I had and also contracting a previous piece i had already wrote in the past. Due to past experiences with English teachers, I enjoyed doing both the expanding and contracting processes and noticed a lot of language that wasn't there before i took out some simple words throughout the piece. Looking back at the original seems distant now, hopefully with more practice this too can be another skill I can use.

Free Verse 1 Week 4

Spread out under the sycamore, feeling droplets
Samba on my chest,
Drenching the sheepskin covering me. I find
Clouds are playing with the sky. Geese playing
hide & seek in Geometric
formations, skirting above the tailwinds.
I'm shivering in the midst of the torrent we're both
facing, running towards a new land. One without
regeneration. Bathing the reincarnated wishes
of long lost.
The ground is mushy, licking
fibers holding me together.
Holding me arms' length away from drowning. Rising
from the war between Zeus and
Faunus, I sense the daydreamer
staring. I snatch his dream
deferred and sowed some for safeguarding.
Going back to which calls me.

Improv. 1 Week 4

The piece im imitating is Ben Grimm in Retirement. Its located on pg 27 of the Writing Poetry textbook. I'm going to recreate the 4th stanza which goes like this:

Pillbugs and night crawlers keep me soft and arable.
Beetles,ants,always scurrying through the capillaries
they've rebuilt. Lately, a mole
cricket riddles a network
of bores in my right forearm,
the ache in my wrist.
Earthworms will repair me in time. They always have.

My part:
Coughing spurts of ink sustaining me.
Compositions, Pens light patchwork that covers the scars
always open. Wondering, do lights pierce
Translucent skin that's distant. Losing feeling
from these blood tipped pencils.
Writing will reconstruct me again. As it always has.

Calisthenics 1 Week 4

This week i decided to focus on the litany exercise we did in class on Tuesday.


Thank you to the showers, boiling me in your eight
Million degree caress. To the convergence of delainy & 223
Across from old man Braggio's store. To the janitors in their West Ga biosuits,
Thank you for bringing a sterile safehaven back from the dirty depths of Bowdon Hall.
Thank you, to the cafeteria lady Janice with creases across her forehead who plopped
Food on my plate from years 6-12. To the Raindrops that caused me to slide into my valentine, not arms open but now she's always arms length from me. Thank you, to the pencil that broke
which made me notice I was running 45 mins late to my 2 hour History
Final on the other side of Campus.
Thank you, all of these things and many more that contribute to my day.

Junkyard Quote 4 Week 4

A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil. ”
― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried

Junkyard Quote 3 Week 4

“Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night.

Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else.

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It’s us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.

Was Rorschach.

Does that answer your Questions, Doctor?”
― Alan Moore, Watchmen

Junkyard Quote 2 week 4

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”
― G.K. Chesterton

Junkyard Quote 1 Week 4

“War is what happens when language fails.”
― Margaret Atwood

Reading Response 1 Week 3

This is a response to I Am twenty one by Mary Robinson. This piece interested me because without expanding upon the two pages, I learned a lot about the main character and little details that gained a bigger understanding about who she is. The clarity and the specificity that went into this story amazed me honestly, I was able to pick up some ideas here and there from the short story and i think it will be some concepts to be used in the future. 

Improv. 1 week 3

The piece i'm improv. is Yuself Komunyakaa's My Father's Love Letters.

She resided and recited
Signatures of the touches she lost,
While gaining experiences from that Friday.
Receptive to being talked at like a child
By overseers shadowed in blue and black adorned with their toys.
For the marathon she ran , she paid her price in more than just papers.
Her dear Alex, not comprehending, staring at the empty bottles. 
Coronas,Old Mills, and  Renat, begging to his God that no one saw
This scene on 224 Southmill lane, so far away from a place called home.
Wishing that his memories could be undone.

Free Verse 1 Week 3

If someone ever found these words…
They’d swear im crazy,
lazy, just lacking ambition when
I'm just trying to strive, survive by stretching these words out, by
Counting these words down,
Hoping this soon to be email wont send, and I wont let anybody in… to this
Mind, to something that’s framed on a wall, hanging..hang gliding, slowly sliding or siding with the Grim reaper, while running…
Running so damn far, so fast… that im moving slow.
And losing ground, while owing time to Chronos. Whose given me more than the allotted,
Time that is, and to those that live
with they minds and souls intact, don’t let placement
Get out of, or Consumed with feelings of frustration.  Cause a page is,
nothing more than a gateway to your soul. So these words people callously use show more than emotion or being,
just a being who refused to say the truth…
And immersed his whole being in writing

junkyard Quote 4 week 3

*I had a conversation with my nephew today. He asked me why do i love cookies so much.. I told him they remind me of what i strive for and he said. "to dunk in milk??" To dunk in milk??! and to that i smiled and said yeah because that is life through a 5yr olds eyes.

*2nd  :“Reader's Bill of Rights

1. The right to not read

2. The right to skip pages

3. The right to not finish

4. The right to reread

5. The right to read anything

6. The right to escapism

7. The right to read anywhere

8. The right to browse

9. The right to read out loud

10. The right to not defend your tastes”
― Daniel Pennac
This is self explanatory, but its like every book can cause a person to absolve themselves and assimilate all those characters into him/her. if only for those set amount of pages