Going Places
A candle whispers out, wick coughing up its last ashy remnants
which rise, single file formation, drifting east.
Fog finds cracks between peaks,
a slow-motion avalanche wiping entire valleys from view.
There are baby toys and a crib in the front yard
almost unused, still colorful, never loved.
An ocean of bricks rises up overnight to shelter those less fortunate
than millionaires, but more fortunate than community college kids
in that they get to pay more for their bricks, and their basketball teams
don't always suck.
A decrepit professor retires finally, walks out of the building;
loafers on the too-elaborate brick staircase one last time.
Class debates eschewed political correctness for content.
Clarity before courtesy - he doesn't look back.
Bushes burgeoning with robins fling squawks of spring
at fenced-in, sandboxed children waiting to be told they can resume
their studies and put down their shovels and empty their pants,
though the damage has been done. They won't sit comfortably
until they have a cure for cancer.
A low-pressure area over Nebraska dictates where air
I intended on breathing is going. I watch it depart
taking with it the smell of smoke
from the cigarette the weird bearded guy is smoking
as we wait for the east-bound bus.
Poem:
It's Friday, and I mentioned Dean Young's poetry yesterday, so here was a shot at imitating his style. It's a rather poor attempt. As far as I can tell, he relies on image impression as a way of conveying feeling to his reader, so I put most of my effort into images. I'm not sure if anyone not privy to my brain will think they're related at all.
Observation:
I found this during my extensive browsing of the internets and thought it was interesting enough to pass on:
If you want a more offensive, less to-the-point version, you can watch this (I think the only decent part is at the four minute mark):
Basically, it shows why all the people who by a Prius because they care about the environment should really do their research. The nickel that goes into the batteries is way worse than burning some extra gas.
Exercise:
You are in a waiting room (doctor's office, job interview, etc.). People are sitting more or less in a circle. Describe several of them -- focusing only on their feet! Type of shoes, cleanliness and condition of shoes, toes if they show, how they let their feet rest. Are they quiet or do the feet move? What can you tell about the person from the feet?
I'm not the sort of person to stare at other people. Nor am I the sort of person to feign interest in waiting room reading material. However, I am the curious sort. The combination of these three traits is what led to me with my eyes half-closed and pretending to ignore the people around me, all the while studiously regarding the bits of them I could see: their feet. Immediately across from me slender calves disappeared into faux-fur-lined, black suede boots, which of course looked like they had never been used to traverse anything deeper than the layer of dust on the floor. The laces were tied in a loopy bow, as though the wearer knew any detail of footwear could come under scrutiny at a moment's notice. To her (I felt safe assuming it was a her) left was her contrapositive. Hairy calves drooped into dirty white tennis shoes, their soles almost attached, and releasing water gradually into the carpet. Where he had managed to find a puddle capable of imparting that quantity of water was a bit of a mystery, so I could only assume he was the sort who couldn't be bothered to deviate from his course enough to avoid the snow's last watery remnants. And then there were the optimistic, leg-bouncing, open-toed heels. They gracefully wound their way around a solid ankle, not the sort of ankle to take no for an answer, but not pudgy either. The toenails were trimmed, but unpainted. All business.
Me:
Today was a pretty good day. I played handball at 11:00 in lieu of class (which was cancelled), and spent the rest of my free time on my iPad. I found larger versions of the apps I like on my phone, and was stunned by the amazing picture quality while watching video. After my afternoon class I ate a salad and a quesadilla before getting on my bike and heading into the wind. I went west, and the wind was from the southwest. By the time I was halfway to my destination it had shifted to a straight headwind, but I pressed on. I had the foolish idea I was going to do sixty miles. It turns out that that actually requires some amount of time. And it also turns out that if you leave in the late afternoon, the sun tends to not give you that amount of time. On a related note, it gets cold. So I made it about twenty miles before realizing it was getting dark and cooling off rapidly. I turned around, realized the tailwind was actually rather strong, and hightailed it home. It was thoroughly enjoyable. When I stopped for traffic, the street signs were rattling. The wind was whipping plant material into a frenzy, and I'm pretty sure I averaged over 28 mph on the way back. Upon my arrival, I manufactured some pasta for a post-ride binge (the best time to eat is within 20-30 minutes of concluding a workout), hauled myself upstairs, and passed out in front of the internet. I woke up some time later and had one of those instants where you don't know whether the clock means AM or PM. I think that feeling of complete temporal disorientation is fascinating. Like when you go into the movie theater in the broad daylight and come out to darkness. It's such a strange feeling. Awesome. So that's why this is getting posted at four in the morning. I've already slept a bunch, and I'm not really that tired. What a start to spring break.
March 12, 2011
March 11, 2011
Fun Stuff
Cartwheels
We were never acrobats.
In particular, me
convinced a summersault constituted
an aerial feat
of stunning quality
as foes shied away
from my twice-broken
plastic sword.
It had been reforged
in the fires of superglue.
A leap onto the couch
scaled cliffs
which would have taken hours
for lesser men.
And you applauded,
fought along side me
when the script required
and switched seamlessly
to villainy when I got bored
of chopping air.
We threw in a cartwheel
every so often,
editing the scene
(the camera panned in
so you couldn't tell
other action had ceased
for focus on the stunt work).
In everyone's mind their cartwheels are perfect.
Nobody from that upside-down disorientation
knows their legs are off to one side
or that their back is bent.
Which is to say, that sometimes ignorance is bliss,
imagination taking over.
Poem:
Just a recollection of childhood. Not much to say about it other than that.
Observation:
Another interesting discussion in my philosophy class resulted in today's little insight. As everyone knows, liberals and conservatives tend not to get along very well. But the discussion we were having concerned the distinction between being liberal (or conservative) in a political sense and being the same in a judicial sense. Now, there are obviously some similarities and overlap between the two. Conservatives, by definition, favor the status quo, resistin change. In a judicial sense this means that they tend to side with precedent, and in general resist attempts to overturn old laws. Furthermore, conservatives believe in strict interpretation, meaning that the letter of the law is what should be used in passing judgments (as opposed to intent, or some new formulation or application). Now, if you're like me, you're thinking this sounds an awful lot like political conservatism as well. But as my professor pointed out, there are plenty of cases where political and judicial conservatism (and liberalism) come apart. The most obvious of these is Roe v Wade. If you ask a political conservative what the right thing to do regarding that decision is, if they abide by the party line they will tell you that the decision in favor of pro choice should be overturned. Obviously, this flies in the face of judicial conservatism, which says that once a precedent has been established, that is what should be used in the future. Deciding to overturn a decision that establishes legal precedent is a decidedly liberal thing to do as far as the judiciary is concerned. On the other side, it is obvious that liberals arguing to let the decision stand are not judicial liberals, since saying that something is right because it is precedent is a conservative idea.
Exercise:
You meet a man in a bar in a strange town. He has a cat on his lap, and he orders a cup of coffee, slowly spoons sugar into it. He strokes the cat's black fur and says, "This contact is illusory. The cat and I are separated as though by a pane of glass, because man lives in time, in successiveness, while the magical animal lives in the present, in the eternity of the instant." What do you say back to him? And he to you? What does the cat do? What happened to this man before he came into the bar?
"It seems odd to call the cat magical in that case," I reply. "Just living in the instant doesn't seem like an altogether magical thing."
"It is a power unknown to me, to us as humans, always planning, being taken over by the sequence of events, never starting the sequence ourselves." He seems half lost in his own crypticness. The cat twitches its ears, and with a brief glance at me, hops onto the bar, where it walks to the nearby corner and sits, an egyptian sculpture, serene and proud of its magical qualities.
I'm having trouble seeing how the fact we don't live in the moment separates us physically, but I'm willing to let it go. His overcoat has seen better days, and the rain outside seems to have found its way to every part of him. His long, dark hair shines black with water, and almost has an oily reflectivity in the dim bar lighting.
"Take my very being here, for example," he begins again. "I have no interest in establishments such as these. Rife with rowdy, good for nothing squanderers of intellect. But my humanity, my dependence on being effected by what comes before, dictated I stop."
I'm guessing this translates to "I got wet, so I came in to dry off."
Me:
Another exercise from the newer source. These might take longer than five minutes. I cut this short.
I'm typing this blog entry on an iPad, and so far I'm enjoying the experience quite a lot. I might have to download a designated document editor, since the note-taking application I'm using, while awesome for class notes, keeps insisting I want to do something other than type on the keyboard. But I'm having no trouble with the keyboard, which was an issue I was slightly concerned about. And I have a way to sync documents between my phone and my iPad, which should allow for mobile uploading no matter where I am. Also, I have been using the iPad for almost an hour, and it still says I have 100% charge remaining. I can only assume this is one of the many magical qualities Steve Jobs was talking about when he went gaga over his own device. And with the new one coming out tomorrow, I got this one for about 200 dollars less than retail.
Also, I just got back from playing an hour and a half of ultimate frisbee, which was really fun. It turned out I wasn't even that out of shape. Or that everyone was out of shape. Either way, it felt good to run around for a while. Handball courts don't seem cramped until you play a sport on a field. All that open space was actually a bit disorienting.
We were never acrobats.
In particular, me
convinced a summersault constituted
an aerial feat
of stunning quality
as foes shied away
from my twice-broken
plastic sword.
It had been reforged
in the fires of superglue.
A leap onto the couch
scaled cliffs
which would have taken hours
for lesser men.
And you applauded,
fought along side me
when the script required
and switched seamlessly
to villainy when I got bored
of chopping air.
We threw in a cartwheel
every so often,
editing the scene
(the camera panned in
so you couldn't tell
other action had ceased
for focus on the stunt work).
In everyone's mind their cartwheels are perfect.
Nobody from that upside-down disorientation
knows their legs are off to one side
or that their back is bent.
Which is to say, that sometimes ignorance is bliss,
imagination taking over.
Poem:
Just a recollection of childhood. Not much to say about it other than that.
Observation:
Another interesting discussion in my philosophy class resulted in today's little insight. As everyone knows, liberals and conservatives tend not to get along very well. But the discussion we were having concerned the distinction between being liberal (or conservative) in a political sense and being the same in a judicial sense. Now, there are obviously some similarities and overlap between the two. Conservatives, by definition, favor the status quo, resistin change. In a judicial sense this means that they tend to side with precedent, and in general resist attempts to overturn old laws. Furthermore, conservatives believe in strict interpretation, meaning that the letter of the law is what should be used in passing judgments (as opposed to intent, or some new formulation or application). Now, if you're like me, you're thinking this sounds an awful lot like political conservatism as well. But as my professor pointed out, there are plenty of cases where political and judicial conservatism (and liberalism) come apart. The most obvious of these is Roe v Wade. If you ask a political conservative what the right thing to do regarding that decision is, if they abide by the party line they will tell you that the decision in favor of pro choice should be overturned. Obviously, this flies in the face of judicial conservatism, which says that once a precedent has been established, that is what should be used in the future. Deciding to overturn a decision that establishes legal precedent is a decidedly liberal thing to do as far as the judiciary is concerned. On the other side, it is obvious that liberals arguing to let the decision stand are not judicial liberals, since saying that something is right because it is precedent is a conservative idea.
Exercise:
You meet a man in a bar in a strange town. He has a cat on his lap, and he orders a cup of coffee, slowly spoons sugar into it. He strokes the cat's black fur and says, "This contact is illusory. The cat and I are separated as though by a pane of glass, because man lives in time, in successiveness, while the magical animal lives in the present, in the eternity of the instant." What do you say back to him? And he to you? What does the cat do? What happened to this man before he came into the bar?
"It seems odd to call the cat magical in that case," I reply. "Just living in the instant doesn't seem like an altogether magical thing."
"It is a power unknown to me, to us as humans, always planning, being taken over by the sequence of events, never starting the sequence ourselves." He seems half lost in his own crypticness. The cat twitches its ears, and with a brief glance at me, hops onto the bar, where it walks to the nearby corner and sits, an egyptian sculpture, serene and proud of its magical qualities.
I'm having trouble seeing how the fact we don't live in the moment separates us physically, but I'm willing to let it go. His overcoat has seen better days, and the rain outside seems to have found its way to every part of him. His long, dark hair shines black with water, and almost has an oily reflectivity in the dim bar lighting.
"Take my very being here, for example," he begins again. "I have no interest in establishments such as these. Rife with rowdy, good for nothing squanderers of intellect. But my humanity, my dependence on being effected by what comes before, dictated I stop."
I'm guessing this translates to "I got wet, so I came in to dry off."
Me:
Another exercise from the newer source. These might take longer than five minutes. I cut this short.
I'm typing this blog entry on an iPad, and so far I'm enjoying the experience quite a lot. I might have to download a designated document editor, since the note-taking application I'm using, while awesome for class notes, keeps insisting I want to do something other than type on the keyboard. But I'm having no trouble with the keyboard, which was an issue I was slightly concerned about. And I have a way to sync documents between my phone and my iPad, which should allow for mobile uploading no matter where I am. Also, I have been using the iPad for almost an hour, and it still says I have 100% charge remaining. I can only assume this is one of the many magical qualities Steve Jobs was talking about when he went gaga over his own device. And with the new one coming out tomorrow, I got this one for about 200 dollars less than retail.
Also, I just got back from playing an hour and a half of ultimate frisbee, which was really fun. It turned out I wasn't even that out of shape. Or that everyone was out of shape. Either way, it felt good to run around for a while. Handball courts don't seem cramped until you play a sport on a field. All that open space was actually a bit disorienting.
March 10, 2011
Apologies Are in Order
Ode to Trash Can
Wastepaper basket looms
over scattered almost-made shots,
three-pointer, buzzer-beaters,
fallen short, banked too harshly off the wall,
or nowhere close.
It's filled with slam-dunks,
success stories
(as distinct from successful stories)
marked over, crossed out
crumpled.
Corresponding desktop icon
never flocked by errant wads,
"send to trash"
always accurate.
Worthy trash sinks
through layers of paper
the solid stuff of life
bound for bottom.
Clinking dully
upon contact
discarded reminders
of relationships
plummet through
to the stifled blackness
to rest with rancid apple cores,
too cold for flies.
Poem:
I recently read a lot of poems by Dean Young for class, and I liked the fact that he started a lot of them with images, and then tied the images together. I intended to do the same thing here, beginning with a simple image of a trash can and moving on to other things. And then I never stopped writing about the trash can, which made the whole plan backfire. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow with something else.
Observation:
In Arizona I kept looking at the cars going by and thinking "Oh, that Dodge Charger looks cool. Too bad it's an irresponsible car." And then I realized it's only irresponsible if you live in a place that gets snow and where handling is important. Because heavy, torque-filled, rear-wheel drives are ridiculous here in Iowa for a good chunk of the year. But in Arizona? Fun all year. I am beginning to appreciate other places more and more. Also, I kept having to remind myself that the fact I was seeing all sorts of nice cars didn't mean the people there were any better off than here. I just got passed by so many cars every minute that I was exposed to a greater number of them, and since I eagerly ignored the mundane ones, the fact I was seeing nice ones so frequently skewed my perception. It was fun, though. Which reminds me: A couple of weeks ago I was biking back to my apartment after a ride that ended at my parents' house and I saw a Porsche Carrera. Since the speed limit was pretty low, I accelerated, and now I can say I passed a Porsche on my bike. Which might only be amusing to me, now that I think about it. O
h well.
Exercise:
Describe what you see in this photo. Describe what you don't see-- the interior. Describe the person who comes out of the place. What does the person do?
Sunlight settled through the gaps in the wood, making its way to the cracked floorboards, its path unimpeded by furniture. A mattress in the corner showed brief signs of movement before the figure on top fell once again into sleep, though the orange behind his eyelids betrayed the fact it had been light out for quite some time. Hours passed before he rose.
Alex was getting used to homelessness. He wasn't sure how many people remembered this place existed, but until they kicked him out, he was taking advantage of the luxury even these thin walls could provide. But the privacy was the major selling point. Well, that and the price. It was hard to attribute selling points to a squatter's residence, but he wasn't quite adapted to considering himself apart from society. He imagined the real estate listing:
One-room shack
still standing
window, door,
good view, pleasant surroundings.
He couldn't complain. And after pulling the mattress out of the dumpster and hauling it the two miles out of town, he was nearly considering the place the lap of luxury.
Me:
I found a new site with exercises/prompts, so I tried the first one out. I liked writing about an image.
I dislocated another finger at handball on Tuesday, which makes two fingers in two weeks. It is my left pinky this time, so it's not something I notice as much as my ring finger on my dominant hand. I hope this pace doesn't continue. I also got two letters of rejection in the mail for grad schools. I guess I'm just hoping bad things come in pairs these days. I played video games for eight hours straight on Monday, which is the reason I owe my readers an apology. I thought I'd have more time, but then it turned out I am as irresponsible as ever. Other than that, life is going pretty well.
That doesn't seem like enough, so here's something random: I thought the phrase was "making end's meat" instead of "making ends meet" for a very long time. Like, into high school. I have no idea why that is. I think I'll blame the fact that my family is vegetarian (though I'm not now), and as a kid I was constantly having to explain this concept to my peers or whoever else I thought needed to know. So meat was on the brain. Or maybe the fact that I was vegetarian made me unaware that there's no such thing as "end's meat." Either way, I only realized when I read the phrase in a book. It was quite a revelation.
Wastepaper basket looms
over scattered almost-made shots,
three-pointer, buzzer-beaters,
fallen short, banked too harshly off the wall,
or nowhere close.
It's filled with slam-dunks,
success stories
(as distinct from successful stories)
marked over, crossed out
crumpled.
Corresponding desktop icon
never flocked by errant wads,
"send to trash"
always accurate.
Worthy trash sinks
through layers of paper
the solid stuff of life
bound for bottom.
Clinking dully
upon contact
discarded reminders
of relationships
plummet through
to the stifled blackness
to rest with rancid apple cores,
too cold for flies.
Poem:
I recently read a lot of poems by Dean Young for class, and I liked the fact that he started a lot of them with images, and then tied the images together. I intended to do the same thing here, beginning with a simple image of a trash can and moving on to other things. And then I never stopped writing about the trash can, which made the whole plan backfire. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow with something else.
Observation:
In Arizona I kept looking at the cars going by and thinking "Oh, that Dodge Charger looks cool. Too bad it's an irresponsible car." And then I realized it's only irresponsible if you live in a place that gets snow and where handling is important. Because heavy, torque-filled, rear-wheel drives are ridiculous here in Iowa for a good chunk of the year. But in Arizona? Fun all year. I am beginning to appreciate other places more and more. Also, I kept having to remind myself that the fact I was seeing all sorts of nice cars didn't mean the people there were any better off than here. I just got passed by so many cars every minute that I was exposed to a greater number of them, and since I eagerly ignored the mundane ones, the fact I was seeing nice ones so frequently skewed my perception. It was fun, though. Which reminds me: A couple of weeks ago I was biking back to my apartment after a ride that ended at my parents' house and I saw a Porsche Carrera. Since the speed limit was pretty low, I accelerated, and now I can say I passed a Porsche on my bike. Which might only be amusing to me, now that I think about it. O
h well.Exercise:
Describe what you see in this photo. Describe what you don't see-- the interior. Describe the person who comes out of the place. What does the person do?
Sunlight settled through the gaps in the wood, making its way to the cracked floorboards, its path unimpeded by furniture. A mattress in the corner showed brief signs of movement before the figure on top fell once again into sleep, though the orange behind his eyelids betrayed the fact it had been light out for quite some time. Hours passed before he rose.
Alex was getting used to homelessness. He wasn't sure how many people remembered this place existed, but until they kicked him out, he was taking advantage of the luxury even these thin walls could provide. But the privacy was the major selling point. Well, that and the price. It was hard to attribute selling points to a squatter's residence, but he wasn't quite adapted to considering himself apart from society. He imagined the real estate listing:
One-room shack
still standing
window, door,
good view, pleasant surroundings.
He couldn't complain. And after pulling the mattress out of the dumpster and hauling it the two miles out of town, he was nearly considering the place the lap of luxury.
Me:
I found a new site with exercises/prompts, so I tried the first one out. I liked writing about an image.
I dislocated another finger at handball on Tuesday, which makes two fingers in two weeks. It is my left pinky this time, so it's not something I notice as much as my ring finger on my dominant hand. I hope this pace doesn't continue. I also got two letters of rejection in the mail for grad schools. I guess I'm just hoping bad things come in pairs these days. I played video games for eight hours straight on Monday, which is the reason I owe my readers an apology. I thought I'd have more time, but then it turned out I am as irresponsible as ever. Other than that, life is going pretty well.
That doesn't seem like enough, so here's something random: I thought the phrase was "making end's meat" instead of "making ends meet" for a very long time. Like, into high school. I have no idea why that is. I think I'll blame the fact that my family is vegetarian (though I'm not now), and as a kid I was constantly having to explain this concept to my peers or whoever else I thought needed to know. So meat was on the brain. Or maybe the fact that I was vegetarian made me unaware that there's no such thing as "end's meat." Either way, I only realized when I read the phrase in a book. It was quite a revelation.
March 8, 2011
And Just Like That, I'm Back to Inconsistency
Me:
Amazing how that works, isn't it? I'm really sorry, but it's too late for me to write today, and I am disappointed with myself, but that's the way it is. I'll get something up tomorrow, promise.
Amazing how that works, isn't it? I'm really sorry, but it's too late for me to write today, and I am disappointed with myself, but that's the way it is. I'll get something up tomorrow, promise.
March 6, 2011
They Begin Again: The First of Many
Solitaire
He sat in a courtroom playing solitaire
as verdicts sent people off to unpleasant company,
relishing the fact that he was no longer packed
between bars. Between people who smelled like urine
and those who reeked of cruelty,
fists constantly clenched, bodies bunched,
bruises appearing mysteriously as soon as backs were turned.
He sucked at solitaire.
The old lady sitting next to him wept as her son was convicted,
her wrinkled face capturing some tears for later
and her classical lavender perfume
reaching out in one last attempt
to convince the judge “He was a nice boy, really.”
She stood to leave, a little more hunched
than when she entered. He remained,
remembering the empty courtroom which had bid him farewell
and lost another game of solitaire unable to think far enough ahead
to remember which cards were coming
and which ones he needed to move
to get at the aces
so he started over.
Poem:
There's nothing quite like necessity to serve as inspiration. I got back from my trip on Monday, slept through most of that day, got caught up on stuff Tuesday, and then Wednesday realized I needed a poem for class. I was just laying in bed playing solitaire, and I was trying to think of something interesting to write about. Then I just thought "what if I took what I was doing and changed the setting?" I thought a courtroom would be a pretty strange location, and briefly debated having it be one of the attorneys playing, but decided to go with this idea instead (obviously). So I created the characters as I went along, and I kind of like how it turned out. I guess it's kind of depressing in points, but I thought it concluded with a bit of an uplifting note, like the guy, despite being alone and sort of at a loss regarding what to do, at least has a chance to start over and do something decent with his life.
Observation:
I guess there's no real way for me to avoid procrastinating. I have a lot of little notes jotted down to write about in the upcoming entries, and I've had this particular entry plotted out in my head for a couple of days now. You'd think that would make it easy to get started. But somehow, knowing what I want to write meant that, since it was going to be easy, I could do it in a small amount of time, which meant I kept saying to myself "Nah, I already know what I want to say, so I can just do it before I go to sleep. Just a few more video games (or iPhone dalliances, or minutes of doing nothing particular at all)." And what resulted was this waiting to be published for quite a while. So this has encouraged me to renew my resolve, make time for writing again, and actually churn out some more entries. I might try blaming my procrastination on my tournament, saying something like "I was out of town and busy, and then it took a while to get back into the swing of things" but really, I just used the tournament as an excuse to not update. Which is sad, since it's not like this is some obligation I have to a huge fan base or my living or something. This is what I want to be doing. So I'll try to remember that in the future.
Exercise:
I recently received the following message, so I decided to use it: I was walking to class and overheard this snippet between two people. I wanted to hear what the rest of their conversation was about but also kind of not, because I'm afraid it's much less exciting than what I imagine. Anyway, it reminded me of your 5-min writing exercises. Here it is:
1: "I'm not trying to scare you-
2: "No, no, no!"
1: "but I think they get their...
"I'm not trying to scare you-"
"No, no, no!"
"but I think they get their ingredients from the same places other stores do," Colin finished.
"But their an exotic french restaurant! Don't ruin this for me!" Elizabeth seemed on the verge of tears. Evidently, she quite enjoyed her french food.
"Their a restaurant in Iowa. It's not like their clientele are going to know the difference between French cuisine and potash anyway." Colin felt he was being quite reasonable. Plus, his dish had looked remarkably similar to the frozen food he occasionally purchased at Sam's Club in bulk.
Elizabeth was desperate. "But you can't KNOW! Sure, it's not likely, but you can't know it's not flown in or something. I've been going there and shelling out money like every month for this stuff!"
Realizing this might be something more serious than he thought, Colin backed off. Some people's twilight-zone-style-revelations were a little less extreme. "No, of course I can't know. I'm sorry. It just looked familiar." And they kept walking, Elizabeth's shaking subsiding gradually as she began to rationalize her way back into her fantasy. They probably have a secret tunnel.
Me:
Ah, where to begin? I participated in the National Collegiate Handball Tournament last week. I took my iPhone, but realized it wasn't ideal for updating this. I could have used one of my dad's laptops, so I'm just making excuses, but it was certainly interesting to note there's no good way to write anything of length on it. It was awesome to have, though. It entertained me, kept me informed with email, news, etc, and, best of all, I used it to skype to people in Ames. So some people actually got to watch my games live, which was pretty cool. It was heartening to know I had an audience, even if they weren't there or audible. As for the tournament itself, things went pretty well in general. Sure, I dislocated a finger and was in a lot of pain for a while, but I still won the Intermediate division title, and the whole experience was great. (For those who want a bit more on the whole "dislocated my finger story, I dove for a ball, slid into a wall, and came up with my finger bent backward, the tip pointing at me.) My finger is recovering well, and I'm happy with the trophy. Also, my philosophy professor told me I could rework and expand my paper and maybe submit it for publication, which would be pretty cool. Then I would have a national championship, a patent, and a journal publication. Quite a good school year. Now if I could just get into a grad school, things would be ideal.
He sat in a courtroom playing solitaire
as verdicts sent people off to unpleasant company,
relishing the fact that he was no longer packed
between bars. Between people who smelled like urine
and those who reeked of cruelty,
fists constantly clenched, bodies bunched,
bruises appearing mysteriously as soon as backs were turned.
He sucked at solitaire.
The old lady sitting next to him wept as her son was convicted,
her wrinkled face capturing some tears for later
and her classical lavender perfume
reaching out in one last attempt
to convince the judge “He was a nice boy, really.”
She stood to leave, a little more hunched
than when she entered. He remained,
remembering the empty courtroom which had bid him farewell
and lost another game of solitaire unable to think far enough ahead
to remember which cards were coming
and which ones he needed to move
to get at the aces
so he started over.
Poem:
There's nothing quite like necessity to serve as inspiration. I got back from my trip on Monday, slept through most of that day, got caught up on stuff Tuesday, and then Wednesday realized I needed a poem for class. I was just laying in bed playing solitaire, and I was trying to think of something interesting to write about. Then I just thought "what if I took what I was doing and changed the setting?" I thought a courtroom would be a pretty strange location, and briefly debated having it be one of the attorneys playing, but decided to go with this idea instead (obviously). So I created the characters as I went along, and I kind of like how it turned out. I guess it's kind of depressing in points, but I thought it concluded with a bit of an uplifting note, like the guy, despite being alone and sort of at a loss regarding what to do, at least has a chance to start over and do something decent with his life.
Observation:
I guess there's no real way for me to avoid procrastinating. I have a lot of little notes jotted down to write about in the upcoming entries, and I've had this particular entry plotted out in my head for a couple of days now. You'd think that would make it easy to get started. But somehow, knowing what I want to write meant that, since it was going to be easy, I could do it in a small amount of time, which meant I kept saying to myself "Nah, I already know what I want to say, so I can just do it before I go to sleep. Just a few more video games (or iPhone dalliances, or minutes of doing nothing particular at all)." And what resulted was this waiting to be published for quite a while. So this has encouraged me to renew my resolve, make time for writing again, and actually churn out some more entries. I might try blaming my procrastination on my tournament, saying something like "I was out of town and busy, and then it took a while to get back into the swing of things" but really, I just used the tournament as an excuse to not update. Which is sad, since it's not like this is some obligation I have to a huge fan base or my living or something. This is what I want to be doing. So I'll try to remember that in the future.
Exercise:
I recently received the following message, so I decided to use it: I was walking to class and overheard this snippet between two people. I wanted to hear what the rest of their conversation was about but also kind of not, because I'm afraid it's much less exciting than what I imagine. Anyway, it reminded me of your 5-min writing exercises. Here it is:
1: "I'm not trying to scare you-
2: "No, no, no!"
1: "but I think they get their...
"I'm not trying to scare you-"
"No, no, no!"
"but I think they get their ingredients from the same places other stores do," Colin finished.
"But their an exotic french restaurant! Don't ruin this for me!" Elizabeth seemed on the verge of tears. Evidently, she quite enjoyed her french food.
"Their a restaurant in Iowa. It's not like their clientele are going to know the difference between French cuisine and potash anyway." Colin felt he was being quite reasonable. Plus, his dish had looked remarkably similar to the frozen food he occasionally purchased at Sam's Club in bulk.
Elizabeth was desperate. "But you can't KNOW! Sure, it's not likely, but you can't know it's not flown in or something. I've been going there and shelling out money like every month for this stuff!"
Realizing this might be something more serious than he thought, Colin backed off. Some people's twilight-zone-style-revelations were a little less extreme. "No, of course I can't know. I'm sorry. It just looked familiar." And they kept walking, Elizabeth's shaking subsiding gradually as she began to rationalize her way back into her fantasy. They probably have a secret tunnel.
Me:
Ah, where to begin? I participated in the National Collegiate Handball Tournament last week. I took my iPhone, but realized it wasn't ideal for updating this. I could have used one of my dad's laptops, so I'm just making excuses, but it was certainly interesting to note there's no good way to write anything of length on it. It was awesome to have, though. It entertained me, kept me informed with email, news, etc, and, best of all, I used it to skype to people in Ames. So some people actually got to watch my games live, which was pretty cool. It was heartening to know I had an audience, even if they weren't there or audible. As for the tournament itself, things went pretty well in general. Sure, I dislocated a finger and was in a lot of pain for a while, but I still won the Intermediate division title, and the whole experience was great. (For those who want a bit more on the whole "dislocated my finger story, I dove for a ball, slid into a wall, and came up with my finger bent backward, the tip pointing at me.) My finger is recovering well, and I'm happy with the trophy. Also, my philosophy professor told me I could rework and expand my paper and maybe submit it for publication, which would be pretty cool. Then I would have a national championship, a patent, and a journal publication. Quite a good school year. Now if I could just get into a grad school, things would be ideal.
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