Saturday, October 27, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
New Project
I found some inspiration today. While looking through a thrifted JFK book of mine, I noticed a small, folded piece of paper stuck between the pages. Upon unfolding it, I discovered an anonymous fictional letter written by JFK post partem.
This got me thinking. I want to lend voices to fictional characters beyond their graves, or texts. What if Gatsby wrote a letter to Daisy after the car crash? What if George wrote Lenny a letter explaining his choice to put a bullet into his skull?
I'm going to start writing a series of such letters. I will share a few of them via Pretty Girls; however, maybe this could finally be something I stick to in terms of getting published. We shall see where this goes. The sparks are going.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Let the Wrong One In.
I said, "I'm tired of this city and the people inside it" as I fell to the ground and he was trying to hide it. Shaking and crying and embarrassing myself, wishing there was something that could help me in these shelves.
Moved to the big city, the 416. Everyone was pretty, and the boys were hip. Found a firecracker and lit him in my hand, exploded in my face but I don't give a damn. Locked him up and swallowed the key, he's happier now, forgeting about me.
Found some faces, from different places. Sent them less than three's and slept in their spaces.
GO tickets and texts, hoping for something better next. Man, I haven't meant those three words yet. But they don't seem to mind all that much.
Let the wrong one in, then board up the doors. I don't drink much but wonder if I should pour more. Buying wine to pass the time, letting the wrong ones get inside. Yeah, you're inside.
Expensive taste, contacts to erase. I swear there is something in the water here.
I died a little bit, and left you a little hint. Yeah, you know what I'm looking for. More, more, more, more.
Moved to the big city, the 416. Everyone was pretty, and the boys were hip. Found a firecracker and lit him in my hand, exploded in my face but I don't give a damn. Locked him up and swallowed the key, he's happier now, forgeting about me.
Found some faces, from different places. Sent them less than three's and slept in their spaces.
GO tickets and texts, hoping for something better next. Man, I haven't meant those three words yet. But they don't seem to mind all that much.
Let the wrong one in, then board up the doors. I don't drink much but wonder if I should pour more. Buying wine to pass the time, letting the wrong ones get inside. Yeah, you're inside.
Expensive taste, contacts to erase. I swear there is something in the water here.
I died a little bit, and left you a little hint. Yeah, you know what I'm looking for. More, more, more, more.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Character Sketch
Below is an excerpt of the last paragraph from a character sketch I did after reading Andrea Levy's novel, Small Island. I chose to write about the secondary character, Bernard Bligh. I recommend this novel to any reader.
What makes Bernard such a prolific character is that he is an embodiment of a post-colonial Britain, still reeling from the brutalization of bombing and deprivation. Just as England does not live up to its image of a mother land due to its loss of colonial power, Bernard does not live up to the conventions of what a man is supposed to be. There is an overwhelming sense of disillusionment in the novel, that the demoralized Bernard experiences. Just as he feels no attachment with himself, he no longer feels an attachment to his country or his family, which have transformed by the time of his return. To conclude, Levy does a fantastic job in showing this theme of disillusionment through every character, but with Bernard it is so engrained in his character that it even pertains to the writing style of his passages. Bernard’s chapters are not only exceptionally short, but they also come off as very mechanical with the use of short, stacattoed sentences. These passages demonstrate the lack of a human quality and reflect the fragments of what is left of Bernard. Bernard proves that all human beings are affected by the trauma they have experienced—some just have a more convincing façade than others.
What makes Bernard such a prolific character is that he is an embodiment of a post-colonial Britain, still reeling from the brutalization of bombing and deprivation. Just as England does not live up to its image of a mother land due to its loss of colonial power, Bernard does not live up to the conventions of what a man is supposed to be. There is an overwhelming sense of disillusionment in the novel, that the demoralized Bernard experiences. Just as he feels no attachment with himself, he no longer feels an attachment to his country or his family, which have transformed by the time of his return. To conclude, Levy does a fantastic job in showing this theme of disillusionment through every character, but with Bernard it is so engrained in his character that it even pertains to the writing style of his passages. Bernard’s chapters are not only exceptionally short, but they also come off as very mechanical with the use of short, stacattoed sentences. These passages demonstrate the lack of a human quality and reflect the fragments of what is left of Bernard. Bernard proves that all human beings are affected by the trauma they have experienced—some just have a more convincing façade than others.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Prime Real Estate
The homes I have abandoned have been bought at an all time low. Fixer-uppers with an appreciation value I couldnt see. They've settled in, decorated, and are paying off a mortgage that I started years ago.
What did I expect? That these structures would be foreclosed? Boarded up with the window smashed? No trespassing signs for curious children passing by? Yellowing grass and rusting metals?
It's a buyer's market and I don't want to die a renter.
What did I expect? That these structures would be foreclosed? Boarded up with the window smashed? No trespassing signs for curious children passing by? Yellowing grass and rusting metals?
It's a buyer's market and I don't want to die a renter.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Untitled.
And as the tide washes in and my feet sink in the sand, I realize it's only a matter of time before I will feel the world stand still. That's something worth waiting for. Tell me we are going to live forever. I no longer want to think that's more frightening than dying.
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