Alone in the Woods
A man can only wander so much in a camper.
The floor plan puts dinner one step away
from slumber, and worried pacing
takes him from bedroom to steering wheel
with no time for thinking before the next about-face.
Rain traps him with ambitions of contemplation,
no release of decision or destination
possibilities bouncing off a kettle-topped stove
and occasionally seeping out windows cracked for air
to echo out into the tree trunks.
The applause of rain on the roof a backdrop
to building tension, clouded sky yellowed
through foliage and tinging everything
with unhealthy anemia, white tile glancing
guiltily, and eyes broadcasting despair
with a glance through the wall at the life outside.
Poem:
I saw a video clip of a camper and was feeling a bit nostalgic regarding camping, and this is what resulted. Of course (as is probably obvious), I have a definite preference for tents. Something about a camper just makes things a bit less authentic.
Observation:
We are talking a lot about the justice system in my law classes. Imagine that. But today was particularly interesting because in one class we talked about what it takes for someone to be considered negligent, and in the other we talked about Miranda rights. The first topic was discussed in the context of situations where someone did something wrong, but the extent of the damage seemed out of proportion to the action. Like a person crashed their car, but it just so happened that hidden under the spot their car hit was a bomb and they blew up a house. It doesn't seem right to consider them responsible for the damage done to the house, even though it was their accident (probably negligent) that caused it. So we talked about the types of causation before getting around to the idea I liked, which is that you are responsible for any damages caused by you being in a position of privilege not shared by those you damage. So if anyone could have crashed their car there, it's not like it was your particular privileged state that made it happen, so it's not really your fault. But then I wondered about cases where someone is privileged, but not negligent. The case we discussed in class concerned a man docking his boat at another guy's dock because there was a bad storm coming, which boat then damaged the dock during the storm, and it was ruled that he should pay for the damages despite the fact that the decision he made was completely warranted. Now, I agree that he should pay for the dock he damaged, even though he had no other choice, since it was his own risk for being in a boat to begin with. But going back to the car example, imagine the bomb was only able to be triggered by a really nice sports car. So only someone in a position of privilege could set it off. Does that mean the guy who sets it off is really responsible for the whole outcome, simply because it occurred due to privilege? Our discussion was cut short. I plan to ask on Friday when we have class again. Miranda rights will have to wait for some other time, unless I have something more interesting to talk about by then. Let's just say I'm not sure they should be necessary, though I have no problem with them being there, and I'll elaborate if I have time at some other point.
Exercise:
One of the important things in good prose writing is to have more than one thing happening at once. In this exercise, describe a kiss, taking your time and trying to visualize the action clearly and precisely. However-- have something else going on at the same time. Maybe one person is thinking of a different boyfriend, or perhaps someone's leg is falling asleep, or maybe one person is worried about the garlic pizza he had for dinner.....
Their lips drew closer, their eyes fluttering tentatively closed, but Jordan still wasn't quite sure it was going to happen. It was only last month he had been told by his doctor he would never walk again. He sat on the pale leather couch and wondered what to do with his hands. The things he could still move, though at the moment any movement he felt could lead to an interruption. And he knew he didn't want that. So they remained by his side as he tried to focus on the present. On the feel of her breath on his cheek. On the fact that she had had the presence of mind to put her arms around his neck first before leaning in. On the fact that her hair was suspiciously odor-free after all the romantic scenes of men sensuously inhaling the perfect scent from their lady's tresses. He could feel all of these things, but he held off believing in it all until the very end, until the smoothness of her lips departed and the slight stick of her lip gloss meant she had pulled away. His eyes opened. Hers were open already. Had he been sitting there, eyes closed, for too long? Did she think him silly? But before he could think too hard, she leaned forward once more.
Me:
I have a time trial to ride tomorrow potentially. Although the weather looks terrible, and I'm always looking for an excuse to avoid a chance at embarrassment. But I am excited to put together the nicest computer I've had the pleasure of designing this weekend. It has four one-terabyte hard drives in RAID10, an SSD for the operating system, eight gigs of memory, and a pretty fast (and easily overclocked) quad-core processor. (Trust me, I did my research. More memory than that is overkill, and programs aren't designed to utilize six cored unless you're planning on doing some crazy multitasking.) And it has a pretty awesome blu-ray burner, a better-than-decent graphics card, and just great specifications in general. Maybe I'm strange for enjoying this process so much, but finding good deals has it's own appeal, and then putting it all together to form a working machine? Well that's pretty cool, even if it is easier than most people realize. And with this build I get to mess around with extra connector cards because I had a request for it to be firewire compatible, as well as ready for high speed wifi.
April 12, 2011
A post as scheduled. Excitement ensues.
A Windy Workout
The snake overlapped the white line
the hoop it formed not quite closed
a pinched-off U, head to tail
tongue out perpetually tasting
the smells of asphalt
and dried blood.
Up the road a distance
of thirty pedal strokes
or so, a robin's crushed breast
lay accompanied by its wings
in contrast to the dead, grey grass.
I passed by the first time
thinking the yellow-striped
dark green scales
and flattened tongue
belonged to an extension cord
cast out a window
to fend for itself.
The next five times I knew what to look for.
compressed form ahead
not raised and dry
like the other snake
an overlapping knot
folded back on itself
as it arched from the ground
and twisted like a loosening shoelace
gradually working itself free.
I slowly labored past again
struggling into the wind
distracting myself with death
as it slid by in still frame
looped until my legs drained
and limply spun their circles
in ineffective retreat.
Poem:
I did a repetition-based workout on my bike, and the dead wildlife on the side of the road was depressing to bike past every time I was getting ready for another rep. It got so I was looking up the road to pick out the carcasses approaching. And I thought it was interesting that the snake's tongue was sticking out, forked and almost touching the tail. The first dead snake I've seen this year. I guess its a good sign that winter is over. I should work that symbolism into my poem! Especially because it's usually the robin who i s associated with the coming of spring. Interesting. I'll have to play around with that.
Observation:
Oh goodness it was windy today. We did 1-kilometer and 2-kilometer repeats today, and it was fun going with the wind, but the trek back to the starting point was more taxing than a recovery should be. And the fact that we did them to the south of town meant that we had to bike back into the headwind. Which wouldn't have been a problem had I been able to convince my legs to do anything more than just stomp downward. But I got back eventually. And the only good thing about the wind was that I got to bike a good part of the way with the smell of pasta in my nose, since this time the wind was so strong the Barilla pasta plant miles away was making itself known. So I guess the only real observation I made today was that it was too windy for any practical purposes. Unless you consider being able to smell pasta a practical purpose. I don't know.
Exercise:
Happy endings can sometimes be, well...boring. No zing. So predictable. So...happy. Write your ending to the Cinderella story -- but this time, make it so that the shoe fit one of the icky sisters. What does Prince Charming do? How does Cinderella cope with it? And what about the Fairy Godmother? Start your story here.
Prince Charming beamed up at the girl he was sure was the love of his life. "Drizella, my darling, it's you after all. I'm so glad I've found you."
From the basement came a muffled squeak, followed by a thump. Drizella's mother glanced around before smiling thinly. "I'm afraid our maid is a bit clumsy, always falling off things or down stairs. I'll go see what she's done this time." She swept out of the room, her crimson dress whisking behind her. The prince noted that the maid must not be so bad. An exit like that would have been accompanied by a small cloud of dust even at the castle. Then he noticed a mouse bidding a hasty retreat around the corner and reevaluated. The mother entered again, an expression of concern pulling her eyebrows together.
"So you've decided then? You're to marry Drizella? This is wonderful news. I'll start packing our things immediately. There is room at the castle for all of us, yes? I mean, it's such a big place."
He honestly hadn't ever thought about this contingency. His parents had always told him he'd find a girl from a neighboring kingdom, and no other king and queen would have cause to leave their castle to move to his place of residence with their daughter. But it was only natural that Drizella's mother would wish to accompany her daughter. There were so many arrangements to be made. He sighed. Who would have known that finding his true love was only the beginning of the work?
Me:
I found a blue steak knife on the road the other day coming back from a bike ride. That's not really all that relevant; it's just something that happened. Oh, and my thoughtful girlfriend bought lactose free milk yesterday so that I could enjoy cookies more thoroughly/less uncomfortably. I think it's important to state that people who criticize this stuff are probably justified. If you expect it to taste just like milk, you may be disappointed. It's not too far off, but milk is a pretty well-known substance, and small differences stand out. But it doesn't taste bad to me. It's not quite milk, but it's not bad either. And it goes with the same things milk does. And most importantly, my stomach hasn't attempted to expel my entire interior as a result of my drinking it. So it's all good.
The snake overlapped the white line
the hoop it formed not quite closed
a pinched-off U, head to tail
tongue out perpetually tasting
the smells of asphalt
and dried blood.
Up the road a distance
of thirty pedal strokes
or so, a robin's crushed breast
lay accompanied by its wings
in contrast to the dead, grey grass.
I passed by the first time
thinking the yellow-striped
dark green scales
and flattened tongue
belonged to an extension cord
cast out a window
to fend for itself.
The next five times I knew what to look for.
compressed form ahead
not raised and dry
like the other snake
an overlapping knot
folded back on itself
as it arched from the ground
and twisted like a loosening shoelace
gradually working itself free.
I slowly labored past again
struggling into the wind
distracting myself with death
as it slid by in still frame
looped until my legs drained
and limply spun their circles
in ineffective retreat.
Poem:
I did a repetition-based workout on my bike, and the dead wildlife on the side of the road was depressing to bike past every time I was getting ready for another rep. It got so I was looking up the road to pick out the carcasses approaching. And I thought it was interesting that the snake's tongue was sticking out, forked and almost touching the tail. The first dead snake I've seen this year. I guess its a good sign that winter is over. I should work that symbolism into my poem! Especially because it's usually the robin who i s associated with the coming of spring. Interesting. I'll have to play around with that.
Observation:
Oh goodness it was windy today. We did 1-kilometer and 2-kilometer repeats today, and it was fun going with the wind, but the trek back to the starting point was more taxing than a recovery should be. And the fact that we did them to the south of town meant that we had to bike back into the headwind. Which wouldn't have been a problem had I been able to convince my legs to do anything more than just stomp downward. But I got back eventually. And the only good thing about the wind was that I got to bike a good part of the way with the smell of pasta in my nose, since this time the wind was so strong the Barilla pasta plant miles away was making itself known. So I guess the only real observation I made today was that it was too windy for any practical purposes. Unless you consider being able to smell pasta a practical purpose. I don't know.
Exercise:
Happy endings can sometimes be, well...boring. No zing. So predictable. So...happy. Write your ending to the Cinderella story -- but this time, make it so that the shoe fit one of the icky sisters. What does Prince Charming do? How does Cinderella cope with it? And what about the Fairy Godmother? Start your story here.
Prince Charming beamed up at the girl he was sure was the love of his life. "Drizella, my darling, it's you after all. I'm so glad I've found you."
From the basement came a muffled squeak, followed by a thump. Drizella's mother glanced around before smiling thinly. "I'm afraid our maid is a bit clumsy, always falling off things or down stairs. I'll go see what she's done this time." She swept out of the room, her crimson dress whisking behind her. The prince noted that the maid must not be so bad. An exit like that would have been accompanied by a small cloud of dust even at the castle. Then he noticed a mouse bidding a hasty retreat around the corner and reevaluated. The mother entered again, an expression of concern pulling her eyebrows together.
"So you've decided then? You're to marry Drizella? This is wonderful news. I'll start packing our things immediately. There is room at the castle for all of us, yes? I mean, it's such a big place."
He honestly hadn't ever thought about this contingency. His parents had always told him he'd find a girl from a neighboring kingdom, and no other king and queen would have cause to leave their castle to move to his place of residence with their daughter. But it was only natural that Drizella's mother would wish to accompany her daughter. There were so many arrangements to be made. He sighed. Who would have known that finding his true love was only the beginning of the work?
Me:
I found a blue steak knife on the road the other day coming back from a bike ride. That's not really all that relevant; it's just something that happened. Oh, and my thoughtful girlfriend bought lactose free milk yesterday so that I could enjoy cookies more thoroughly/less uncomfortably. I think it's important to state that people who criticize this stuff are probably justified. If you expect it to taste just like milk, you may be disappointed. It's not too far off, but milk is a pretty well-known substance, and small differences stand out. But it doesn't taste bad to me. It's not quite milk, but it's not bad either. And it goes with the same things milk does. And most importantly, my stomach hasn't attempted to expel my entire interior as a result of my drinking it. So it's all good.
April 10, 2011
Brief, but I might not have time tomorrow, so I need to get this posted.
The Disappearance of a Knife
My breath came in blood
and blood came out
and redness was everywhere
As the sky blurred into shadow
A face appeared.
The tan skin and scars
and squinted eyes
made me flinch
Face in profile
and then eyes again
growing closer
until the sky was his eyes
My leg moved
instead of my entire body
the thrash I had planned
manifested in a twitching
of quadricep, and a curled big toe
A flicker in the eyes
diverted attention
a tug at my belt
and the eyes rose away
faded to red
Poem:
I had a note written that I wanted to write a poem about a dying war victim having his knife taken by someone who didn't even care enough to kill him as he lay on the battlefield. This is a poor attempt. I can do better. I like the bit about the attempted violent thrashing only resulting in a toe curling. But I want to get a bit more character into it. I don't really think it has anything going for it as far as emotion is concerned.
Observation:
There's something that's been bothering me since I moved in to this apartment two years ago. It's my light fixture. The one in my bedroom. It's not unattractive, actually. It's just a sort of section of a sphere. I guess the term is a sconce. It's a sconce. A round wall sconce. And it sucks. It's a sucky round wall sconce. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't OPAQUE. I don't know who's idea this was, but someone should have told them that opaque things are bad at letting light into the room. Or maybe it's the fact that they put it less than eight inches from the ceiling. Here's a picture:
So all of the light appears on my ceiling, which is really not the place I want it. I can't see well enough to even find things on the floor in my room. I need a flashlight to locate the clothes I want in my closet. It's ridiculous. None of the other rooms are lit this poorly. I guess I'm just confused as much as anything.
Exercise:
Write a dialog in which two people are discussing something very ordinary--what movie to see, who is going to win the championship-- but underlying the quotidian discussion is some serious conflict between them. Show what is going on under the surface.
"So what do you want to eat, then?" he asked, sticking to the plan they had formulated earlier that day.
"What?" She paused on the stairs, looking down at him, confused. "You want to make food still?"
"Well, I need to eat before I leave, so I was wondering what you wanted." He rounded the corner into the kitchen, and sure enough, he could hear her feet on the stairs as she followed hesitantly. "Mexican food okay?"
"You don't want to talk?" She stood just outside the kitchen, not wanting to crowd him while he was busy.
"I don't have time right now. I need to get going again." He looked outside at the twilight, a bit of purple still bouncing off the clouds. He checked the clock. "I have forty-five minutes. Do you feel like Mexican food or not?"
"Yeah, that's fine."
"We can talk later if you still want. What would you like for vegetables today? I think we still have some mushrooms and peppers left." He opened the fridge a bit too suddenly and looked a bit too intently at its contents. The attention he devoted to the milk carton would have gone unnoticed to anyone else.
"I don't care, really. Whatever you're making will be fine." She hesitated. "Do you want me to leave?"
"You can do whatever you want. Obviously, you can do whatever you want." He started the oven. No eye contact. He heard her breath start to catch, but he just didn't have time right now.
Me:
My legs are tired. I'm struggling with how to interpret this. It could be that I'm training hard, or it could be that I'm just out of shape. I wish I could just train by biking across the country again. That was fun. And surprisingly effective. But I think a major component of its effectiveness was the fact that there are mountains, so going out around here for an equivalent amount of time wouldn't be an adequate substitute. And apparently mountains are far away from Ames, Iowa.
My breath came in blood
and blood came out
and redness was everywhere
As the sky blurred into shadow
A face appeared.
The tan skin and scars
and squinted eyes
made me flinch
Face in profile
and then eyes again
growing closer
until the sky was his eyes
My leg moved
instead of my entire body
the thrash I had planned
manifested in a twitching
of quadricep, and a curled big toe
A flicker in the eyes
diverted attention
a tug at my belt
and the eyes rose away
faded to red
Poem:
I had a note written that I wanted to write a poem about a dying war victim having his knife taken by someone who didn't even care enough to kill him as he lay on the battlefield. This is a poor attempt. I can do better. I like the bit about the attempted violent thrashing only resulting in a toe curling. But I want to get a bit more character into it. I don't really think it has anything going for it as far as emotion is concerned.
Observation:
There's something that's been bothering me since I moved in to this apartment two years ago. It's my light fixture. The one in my bedroom. It's not unattractive, actually. It's just a sort of section of a sphere. I guess the term is a sconce. It's a sconce. A round wall sconce. And it sucks. It's a sucky round wall sconce. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't OPAQUE. I don't know who's idea this was, but someone should have told them that opaque things are bad at letting light into the room. Or maybe it's the fact that they put it less than eight inches from the ceiling. Here's a picture:
Exercise:
Write a dialog in which two people are discussing something very ordinary--what movie to see, who is going to win the championship-- but underlying the quotidian discussion is some serious conflict between them. Show what is going on under the surface.
"So what do you want to eat, then?" he asked, sticking to the plan they had formulated earlier that day.
"What?" She paused on the stairs, looking down at him, confused. "You want to make food still?"
"Well, I need to eat before I leave, so I was wondering what you wanted." He rounded the corner into the kitchen, and sure enough, he could hear her feet on the stairs as she followed hesitantly. "Mexican food okay?"
"You don't want to talk?" She stood just outside the kitchen, not wanting to crowd him while he was busy.
"I don't have time right now. I need to get going again." He looked outside at the twilight, a bit of purple still bouncing off the clouds. He checked the clock. "I have forty-five minutes. Do you feel like Mexican food or not?"
"Yeah, that's fine."
"We can talk later if you still want. What would you like for vegetables today? I think we still have some mushrooms and peppers left." He opened the fridge a bit too suddenly and looked a bit too intently at its contents. The attention he devoted to the milk carton would have gone unnoticed to anyone else.
"I don't care, really. Whatever you're making will be fine." She hesitated. "Do you want me to leave?"
"You can do whatever you want. Obviously, you can do whatever you want." He started the oven. No eye contact. He heard her breath start to catch, but he just didn't have time right now.
Me:
My legs are tired. I'm struggling with how to interpret this. It could be that I'm training hard, or it could be that I'm just out of shape. I wish I could just train by biking across the country again. That was fun. And surprisingly effective. But I think a major component of its effectiveness was the fact that there are mountains, so going out around here for an equivalent amount of time wouldn't be an adequate substitute. And apparently mountains are far away from Ames, Iowa.
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