Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Reading Response 1 Week 9
This weeks reading response is to Florida Lives by Dionne Irving. Upon Reading this short story i understood the concepts of the class based discussion we had back on Thursday. The way that Irving presented her characters in her story is an interesting mix from the usual stories I've read. At first I empathized with the character's but noticed how Irving went about setting her scene and that made me take more notice about the area of Florida that the character's reside in more than the character development. Yet, with regards to the characters, I also took note of how she made such complex characters in such a short amount of pages. Maybe as far as poetry is concerned, how she set up characters might or might not help establish a poem effectively unless a person is the focus of the poem. A future draft however, I could see utilizing this information to establish a character that is complex on many levels, but would allow the reader to analyze text further in order to understand a story more.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Free Verse 1 Week 9
Revisions once again :
previous:http://djaxxs.blogspot.com/2012/02/free-verse-1-week-5.html
Updated:
previous:http://djaxxs.blogspot.com/2012/02/free-verse-1-week-5.html
Updated:
Resting,
between couchs on blue granite waiting
for the thorns of history
lost in mechanical caxtons. Specifically,
beginnings of Mesopotamian civilizations lower than the seaweed marble staring back at me with its
lost in mechanical caxtons. Specifically,
beginnings of Mesopotamian civilizations lower than the seaweed marble staring back at me with its
graveyard
countenance.
Across from Einstein's bagels and WGC compact posts
Across from Einstein's bagels and WGC compact posts
I'm staring, at this stained
seat with its lint and funny smell
its pages apart from the true history I'm waiting on.
The one where this book named MC and its wrinkled spine is burning
seat with its lint and funny smell
its pages apart from the true history I'm waiting on.
The one where this book named MC and 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 crinkled and decrepit hands and pointing to the outer bounds
of 1601 Maple Street. Some unspoken agreement
between him and Virgil made me strafe 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 trees...
showing me the path to walk with closed eyes and a open heart.
Revealing his crinkled and decrepit hands and pointing to the outer bounds
of 1601 Maple Street. Some unspoken agreement
between him and Virgil made me strafe 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 trees...
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.
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.
Calisthenics 1 Week 9
This time with this weeks calisthenics, i decided to rewrite another one and improve on it some more. here are the two originals:
* Uncle! the stars look like cereal, and the moon, a marshmallow
*The moon riding rivers, while the stars remain dominant over the blankets of time (sounds a tad clichish' but i'm wondering where).
*The moon's half past 12 , stars shining like limelight, forcing the corners of the room to move back... (I'm sure theres a better way to describe the sky, but I want to liken it to a massive room.)
*Uncle, the stars are crashing into each other, painting the sky with streams of milk while the moon is waiting to split the sky with the sun.
*The moon surfing the sky and the stars are cheering him on light years away.
*Dipping below the medium, stars are lime seeds, pushing the corners of the galaxy back.
heres mine:
Daniel! if you look past this canary yellow shirt, you'll see that the stars are melting over the moon, pushing it further into the ground.
The moon's gliding, slowly past his fans, into his day.
Sailing into the equator, the galaxy struggling to fight back against stars.
* Uncle! the stars look like cereal, and the moon, a marshmallow
*The moon riding rivers, while the stars remain dominant over the blankets of time (sounds a tad clichish' but i'm wondering where).
*The moon's half past 12 , stars shining like limelight, forcing the corners of the room to move back... (I'm sure theres a better way to describe the sky, but I want to liken it to a massive room.)
*Uncle, the stars are crashing into each other, painting the sky with streams of milk while the moon is waiting to split the sky with the sun.
*The moon surfing the sky and the stars are cheering him on light years away.
*Dipping below the medium, stars are lime seeds, pushing the corners of the galaxy back.
heres mine:
Daniel! if you look past this canary yellow shirt, you'll see that the stars are melting over the moon, pushing it further into the ground.
The moon's gliding, slowly past his fans, into his day.
Sailing into the equator, the galaxy struggling to fight back against stars.
Improv 1 Week 9
This week's improv is a revision of a previous one here is the original piece:
my piece:
Are
your hands trembling, seconds before
mouthing, enunciating your slurs, with hopes
or goals for the coming trials
I decided to move somethings around and this is what i got.
Is some
thing violently caressing words that
form, mouthing seconds and slurs,
of trials of hope.
my piece:
Are
your hands trembling, seconds before
mouthing, enunciating your slurs, with hopes
or goals for the coming trials
I decided to move somethings around and this is what i got.
Is some
thing violently caressing words that
form, mouthing seconds and slurs,
of trials of hope.
Junkyard Quote 4 Week 9
The July sun caused a fragment of black pine wax to ooze on the velvet
quilt.
Junkyard Quote 3 Week 9
Jelly-like above the high wire, six quaking pachyderms kept the climax
of the extravaganza in a dazzling state of flux.
Junkyard Quote 2 Week 9
A rough-coated, dough-faced, thoughtful ploughman
strode through the streets of Scarborough;
after falling into a slough,
he coughed and hiccoughed... This was a description exercise that i was reading about and this interest me.
strode through the streets of Scarborough;
after falling into a slough,
he coughed and hiccoughed... This was a description exercise that i was reading about and this interest me.
Junkyard Quote 1 Week 9
I feel like gerbils are tickling me with their teeth... "spring break madness"
Monday, March 12, 2012
Classmates Response 1 Week 8
This is a response to Aprils' Free Verse Week 8. Here is the link to it: http://aprilantoniou.blogspot.com/2012/03/trip-to-grandmas.html?showComment=1331601843665#c7461917873145100788.
After reading's this piece by april, I started researching some of the things she describe in her piece. Words like "Tchotchkes (another word for small toys and knicknacks) and using member as another word from sexual organs adds a new spin on the language usually used in this piece. Even the title "A trip to grandma's" makes its seem like the character entered a new world within a place that seems so familiar. For a future revision though, I like to see the sentences played with, more of the piece broken up over multiple lines to throw the reader off. Adding some erasure to lines that might not fit into the writer further drafts.
After reading's this piece by april, I started researching some of the things she describe in her piece. Words like "Tchotchkes (another word for small toys and knicknacks) and using member as another word from sexual organs adds a new spin on the language usually used in this piece. Even the title "A trip to grandma's" makes its seem like the character entered a new world within a place that seems so familiar. For a future revision though, I like to see the sentences played with, more of the piece broken up over multiple lines to throw the reader off. Adding some erasure to lines that might not fit into the writer further drafts.
Free Verse #1 Week 8
I just decided to make this week all about revising old work and seeing what i could do with it after learning new things. This week's free verse is about expanding something previously. Here is the link to the old one: http://djaxxs.blogspot.com/2012/01/free-verse-2-week-3.html
This week:
They say to be a poet is an ailment,
in tune with mother's green
thumb while pacifying the dormant narratives that plague
this world. Whether Douglass or Lincoln, King or X.
I'm reluctant to watch these letters scribble
themselves like scrabble on this page. Their ugly,
but not that ugly like the 50
sexiest woman list that gets posted every year, but like that duckling
bloomed shedding its past in that one story. I want that
feeling, to see the best in this writing come out. No agreements with the blue
enemy that stagnates the tempo. Just a personified pencil
aiming to rewrite some words that may form sentences
about nouns that use verbs to describe what they do in between the adjectives.
Their living and breathing using my blood as life
support, words that is
and they strive to be something greater than the withering tree outside your mothers house, or the black rose that wilts.
I'm trying to curb that feeling
to write because its like that feeling when you
have something you want to use but it slips out of your mind,
down your nose, plays with your
tongue and then leaves a taste that you want back. That diction I'm urging for, does that mean
I'm sick because my sound is off, Or sounding off because im sick
of vowels that dont listen...
To the consonants, the clashing cacophony that claps at the tempo.
When it should be blossoms that bloom blissfully under moonlight.
Something like euphony.
This week:
They say to be a poet is an ailment,
in tune with mother's green
thumb while pacifying the dormant narratives that plague
this world. Whether Douglass or Lincoln, King or X.
I'm reluctant to watch these letters scribble
themselves like scrabble on this page. Their ugly,
but not that ugly like the 50
sexiest woman list that gets posted every year, but like that duckling
bloomed shedding its past in that one story. I want that
feeling, to see the best in this writing come out. No agreements with the blue
enemy that stagnates the tempo. Just a personified pencil
aiming to rewrite some words that may form sentences
about nouns that use verbs to describe what they do in between the adjectives.
Their living and breathing using my blood as life
support, words that is
and they strive to be something greater than the withering tree outside your mothers house, or the black rose that wilts.
I'm trying to curb that feeling
to write because its like that feeling when you
have something you want to use but it slips out of your mind,
down your nose, plays with your
tongue and then leaves a taste that you want back. That diction I'm urging for, does that mean
I'm sick because my sound is off, Or sounding off because im sick
of vowels that dont listen...
To the consonants, the clashing cacophony that claps at the tempo.
When it should be blossoms that bloom blissfully under moonlight.
Something like euphony.
Reading Response 1 Week 8
This weeks reading response is from a book im reading called Artemis. It is a collection of literary works from the students of the savannah college of art and design. As i was reading through some of the stories, I got the sense that they practice some of the same techniques we use in class like: specificity , questioning, and even creative erasure because throughout the work i noticed the numerous drafts for each piece of work and how it transformed each time. Rather than say anything specific about the particular style of writing or any noticeable techniques that was in the journal, the things i want to emulate or even refined is just the ability to recreate and constantly refine what i write and to be able to assist in literary critique. Minding that, thats probably something that comes with time and hard work.
Improv 1 Week 8
For this weeks improv. I decided to go back to another piece i was working on and redo another improv, only with different skills. Last time:
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.
My update
Coughing spurts of ink sustaining me.
Parkers and Waterfords. Fallen trees covering these gashes
newly drained. Wondering, do writers pierce
their bodies when their ready. Spurting emotions
from these blood tipped pens.
Nature will reconstruct me. As the world already realizes.
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.
My update
Coughing spurts of ink sustaining me.
Parkers and Waterfords. Fallen trees covering these gashes
newly drained. Wondering, do writers pierce
their bodies when their ready. Spurting emotions
from these blood tipped pens.
Nature will reconstruct me. As the world already realizes.
Calisthenics 1 Week 8
I decided to do a throwback for this weeks Calisthenics, combining what i know now to practice what i wrote back then. Hers the original work:
* Uncle! the stars look like cereal, and the moon, a marshmallow
*The moon riding rivers, while the stars remain dominant over the blankets of time (sounds a tad clichish' but i'm wondering where).
*The moon's half past 12 , stars shining like limelight, forcing the corners of the room to move back... (I'm sure theres a better way to describe the sky, but I want to liken it to a massive room.)
*Uncle, the stars are crashing into each other, painting the sky with streams of milk while the moon is waiting to split the sky with the sun.
*The moon surfing the sky and the stars are cheering him on light years away.
*Dipping below the medium, stars are lime seeds, pushing the corners of the galaxy back.
* Uncle! the stars look like cereal, and the moon, a marshmallow
*The moon riding rivers, while the stars remain dominant over the blankets of time (sounds a tad clichish' but i'm wondering where).
*The moon's half past 12 , stars shining like limelight, forcing the corners of the room to move back... (I'm sure theres a better way to describe the sky, but I want to liken it to a massive room.)
*Uncle, the stars are crashing into each other, painting the sky with streams of milk while the moon is waiting to split the sky with the sun.
*The moon surfing the sky and the stars are cheering him on light years away.
*Dipping below the medium, stars are lime seeds, pushing the corners of the galaxy back.
Junkyard Quote 4 Week 8
"birds racing through the rain like kids playing recess" that's the thought that popped into my mind today when it was raining and a group of birds swarmed my window.
Junkyard Quote 3 Week 8
"white silk screen eyes" This is what people use to describe a projector and it caught my interest to picture a projector looking like that.
Junkyard Quote 2 Week 8
"I find it to be a great art film and it stars me. It's very Jean-Luc Godard, very luis Brunel, very Federico Fellini. Do I brag?" This quote made me laugh and well as interested me because all three of them were film directors. But the level of specificity that each person the character uses shows how people can be when they are passionate about something.
Junkyard Quote 1 Week 8
"revealing the unflattering gut of the average salvadorian woman." This is another quote from my SCAD novel that I received as a gift. The quote in itself is part of a larger story about a father directing a funeral in his will.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Reading Response #1 Week 7
My reading response for this week is from David Bottoms book of poetry We Almost Disappear. When I first started reading this book of poetry, I started out by doing some research on Mr. Bottoms before even initially reading the book to get a sense of his background and thus the focus of his poetry. Upon reading the first set of poems in his book, i immediately started taking numerous notes on the things i saw and the techniques he was using. When looking at some of the examples to use, poems like : We take my Grandpa fishing where bottoms uses imagery to describe the the places around him. His southern roots are evident in his poems and I think that's a technique I want to be able to use in my writing: life experiences and my surroundings to come out naturally in my writing.
Improv #1 Week 7
The piece that im inmproving off of this week is the piece In The British Library Repository by Katie Chaple. I'm going to riff the second stanza which goes like:
The other man holds the letters
to his nose, inhaling deeply.
One letter after another, he lifts and smells,
making two piles. He doesn't read or even unfold them,
and my eyes water just to watch.
He is tracing the plague through England
by smell-stricken households sprinkled correspondence
attempting to prevent the spread of the disease.
my part goes like:
I was holding Mary's letters
caressing them with my hands.
Flipping between the smells of memories
my eyes glisten.
Wrapping them with seals of Elizabeth the iv
I let the disease claim me as so many others before me
While Kleenexes continue to have their way.
The other man holds the letters
to his nose, inhaling deeply.
One letter after another, he lifts and smells,
making two piles. He doesn't read or even unfold them,
and my eyes water just to watch.
He is tracing the plague through England
by smell-stricken households sprinkled correspondence
attempting to prevent the spread of the disease.
my part goes like:
I was holding Mary's letters
caressing them with my hands.
Flipping between the smells of memories
my eyes glisten.
Wrapping them with seals of Elizabeth the iv
I let the disease claim me as so many others before me
While Kleenexes continue to have their way.
Calisthenics # 1 Week 7
For this weeks calisthenics, I decided to reuse the information that we gained from Taylor's questioning exercise last week
Everyone knew Etown, friends of elgin,
frantically chasing hated slinkies out of the house where children scream
"I cant do it"... "I cant do it" placing light bright pegs in descending order
towards The Village where everyone knew your name.
The corner owned by the bailey family upgraded their stock.
Selling Chocolate, Cocoa and Winnie's honey they've got me entranced
While Chaz, Colton, and Kaiten reminesce over etown and they wish they could go back
Everyone knew Etown, friends of elgin,
frantically chasing hated slinkies out of the house where children scream
"I cant do it"... "I cant do it" placing light bright pegs in descending order
towards The Village where everyone knew your name.
The corner owned by the bailey family upgraded their stock.
Selling Chocolate, Cocoa and Winnie's honey they've got me entranced
While Chaz, Colton, and Kaiten reminesce over etown and they wish they could go back
Free Verse #1 Week 7
I decided to shorten my free entry from last week and took out somethings i thought were useless...any help would be appreciated
I’m biting my upper lip drawing mentos and Nyquil from my lungs Biting the upper
arc of my skin hoping to shed off the inadequacies of Mr. Jackson.
But they got caught in the 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 gut and
I digress though cause the words trickled down my knees appeasing the cardiac
only to be received by years of experience defecting the verbs to move faster so the sentence scatters to my higher abdomen
propelling many 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 fell victim to the missed disk in my spinal cord so they tripped, missing my thorax hitting the lining the lining o
f 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.
I’m biting my upper lip drawing mentos and Nyquil from my lungs Biting the upper
arc of my skin hoping to shed off the inadequacies of Mr. Jackson.
But they got caught in the 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 gut and
I digress though cause the words trickled down my knees appeasing the cardiac
only to be received by years of experience defecting the verbs to move faster so the sentence scatters to my higher abdomen
propelling many 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 fell victim to the missed disk in my spinal cord so they tripped, missing my thorax hitting the lining the lining o
f 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.
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