This is a response to Kay's improv. Here is the link :http://kaylowery.blogspot.com/2012/04/improv-week-10.html
Kay, In six words you sparked my interest and I'd really love to see what you do with this in a free writing entry. Those six words made me think about things like summer skirts, Nature, sports, and lots of music and alcohol (mind of a college student lol). But I do have some questions i think might help. Do you think that slut games blossom because of spring or because of the opportunity to spring ? Did you think about "slut games" as a thought all on its own?
Monday, April 2, 2012
Reading Response 1 Week 10
This weeks Reading response is from a short story from a collection of literary work from the savannah college of art and design. The title of the story is "Diresctions for the funeral of foxcroft Guildenbaum by foxcroft guildenbaum." Its a story about a man who has recently died and his son is reading over his will. The will that the dead man wrote is an exact replication about he wants his funeral to go and even acts as a set of instructions as to how it should be done. This story taught me some skills that would help if I were writing a fiction short story. The writer portrayed a story through the eyes of someone who is dead and those events were littered with imagery of the funeral . Things like the "unflattering gut of the average salarian woman" add imagery thats not usually used and that adds a level to the story's overall meaning. Grasping some better use of imagery could help in future works.
Calisthenics 1 Week 10
For this weeks calisthenics, I'm gonna revise my previous work and see where it gets me by being broad. Here is the previous link :http://djaxxs.blogspot.com/2012/03/calisthenics-1-week-9.html
Mines:
*Hey, Looking outside this window I see Oaks, Blue Jays, and marigolds mixing to create buildings.
*Sitting in the lapse of the sun's light, I'm drawing a collapsing reality.
*Thinking about Waterfords and water from fords. While realizing they each sustain something.
Mines:
*Hey, Looking outside this window I see Oaks, Blue Jays, and marigolds mixing to create buildings.
*Sitting in the lapse of the sun's light, I'm drawing a collapsing reality.
*Thinking about Waterfords and water from fords. While realizing they each sustain something.
Free Verse 1 Week 10
A real rough draft that I'm slowly trying to get a feel for where it should go, unfortunately it doesn't have an order to it.
I guess to be afraid would be nothing more than fear itself yet I find that im trembling at the thought of speaking up so I remain silent... But my words are voluminous and my voice is timid so I choose to let my pencil voice words for me... But it inscribes scratches across the page and they seem to bounce off walls into the pages of my memoir so no one can hear them... S my fear is driving images that I cant comprhend.. And im scared that I wont be able to hear myself .But if I choke that would be the worst part because that would mean I cant comprehend the full meaning of my words and that there dry because they lack substance...or because im writing with a pencil and the lead is nothing more than graphite thats spiteful because im using pens to draw pictures ...So I guess I know why I always trip up...because im drawing literary pictures with a pen and I find that I cant erase the mistakes I made so I deal with them by running away from that which is composed by my own hands.. Fear.. What should I be afraid of.. Physical manifestations or a pen that shatters when I touch paper..not being understood . Or accpeted..or finding out life has rejected you... I guess the worst thing to b afriad of is my own hands cause they keep cataylsts that shine brighter than any smile or star could show.. And my mind cause my thoughts could bring questions...bleh..Fear I guess I could quote lines and say dont be scared ..but tremble because of the thought of what u could hear
I guess to be afraid would be nothing more than fear itself yet I find that im trembling at the thought of speaking up so I remain silent... But my words are voluminous and my voice is timid so I choose to let my pencil voice words for me... But it inscribes scratches across the page and they seem to bounce off walls into the pages of my memoir so no one can hear them... S my fear is driving images that I cant comprhend.. And im scared that I wont be able to hear myself .But if I choke that would be the worst part because that would mean I cant comprehend the full meaning of my words and that there dry because they lack substance...or because im writing with a pencil and the lead is nothing more than graphite thats spiteful because im using pens to draw pictures ...So I guess I know why I always trip up...because im drawing literary pictures with a pen and I find that I cant erase the mistakes I made so I deal with them by running away from that which is composed by my own hands.. Fear.. What should I be afraid of.. Physical manifestations or a pen that shatters when I touch paper..not being understood . Or accpeted..or finding out life has rejected you... I guess the worst thing to b afriad of is my own hands cause they keep cataylsts that shine brighter than any smile or star could show.. And my mind cause my thoughts could bring questions...bleh..Fear I guess I could quote lines and say dont be scared ..but tremble because of the thought of what u could hear
Improv 1 Week 10
This weeks improv is my revision of the one from last week. Here is the link :http://djaxxs.blogspot.com/2012/03/improv-1-week-9.html
This weeks :
Are
those scars kissing muscles that
keep you at arms
length from my words. In hopes
that time will preserve them.
This weeks :
Are
those scars kissing muscles that
keep you at arms
length from my words. In hopes
that time will preserve them.
Junkard Quote 4 Week 10
“As I have pointed out before, characters are not born like people, of
woman; they are born of a situation, a sentence, a metaphor containing
in a nutshell a basic human possibility that the author thinks no one
else has discovered or said something essential about.
But isn't it true that an author can write only about himself?”
― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
But isn't it true that an author can write only about himself?”
― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Junkard Quote 3 Week 10
“Look at that," he said. "How the ink bleeds." He loved the way it
looked, to write on a thick pillow of the pad, the way the thicker width
of paper underneath was softer and allowed for a more cushiony
interface between pen and surface, which meant more time the two would
be in contact for any given point, allowing the fiber of the paper to
pull, through capillary action, more ink from the pen, more ink, which
meant more evenness of ink, a thicker, more even line, a line with
character, with solidity. The pad, all those ninety-nine sheets
underneath him, the hundred, the even number, ten to the second power,
the exponent, the clean block of planes, the space-time, really,
represented by that pad, all of the possible drawings, graphs, curves,
relationships, all of the answers, questions, mysteries, all of the
problems solvable in that space, in those sheets, in those squares.”
― Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe
― Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe
Junkytard Quote 2 Week 10
You’re a loner in body, mind, and soul. A writer who spends a day of
solitude in the office is plagued by a mind that travels with the body.
The work never stops.”
― Bruce Obee
― Bruce Obee
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.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
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.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
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
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
*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 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.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
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,
Friday, February 17, 2012
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.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
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."
"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."
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
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...
― 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.
― 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.
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