I Remember

I remember my parents always telling me what to do and how to do it.....and how much that pissed me off.
I also remembered the times they were there for me, to help me in my difficult times.
I remember when my sister and I had so much fun together, now everything is changing, i hardly even see her.

I remember my vacation in Guyana, in 2004, when i fell in love with my ex boyfriend .
I remember how perfect we were together, and how much we cared for each other.
I remember when he drove for 7 hours...just to see me for 2 hours....and how much we sacrificed for each other. Those were the days when LOVE was everything!!!!
I remember seeing him when we were no longer "US" but rather "U" and "I", and I couldnt stop the tear from flowing.

I remember going to my grandma's house and helping her in the kitchen.
I remember seeing my cousins after 5 years and how excited i was.
I remember my first day at college......i was terrified that no one would like me.
I remember missing my friends as i stepped into a new schoool/ environment with all new people.
I remember those day like they were yesterday!

Babelfish experiment

Babelfish experiment
English to french
Sans vous Je me trouve ici pensant à vous, Souhaitant j'étais là avec vous, Avec des mémoires clignotant avant mes yeux. Votre offre, adoucissent le contact, Est ce que mon corps implore tellement. Votre sourire et modèle, si simple et doux, comme si un jour orageux, le soleil a sorti pour jouer. Visions de vous, si dures pour vaguer. M'incite à se sentir comme mon esprit can' ; séjour de t. Mes mémoires de vous sont si vives, Je sais à mon coeur, cela que je veux vivre dans lui. Ce rêve du mien que j'espère apparu. Pour vous sont celui que je sais son vrai.


French to English
Without you
I am thinking of you here, Wishing j' stays there with you, memories flickering before my eyes. Your offer, soften the contact, Is what my body beseeches so much. Your smile and model, if simple and soft, like if one day stormy, the sun left to play. Visions of you, if hard to make waves. M' incite to feel like my can' spirit; ; stay of T. My memories of you are if sharp, I know in my heart, that I want to live in him. This dream of the mien that j' hope appeared. For you are that which I know his truth.

the original was a bit different from the outcome of it!

Without You
I lie here thinking of you,Wishing I was there with you,With memories flashing before my eyes.Your tender, gentle touch, Is what my body craves so much.Your smile and style, so simple and sweet, As if on a stormy day, the sun came out to play.Visions of you, so hard to stray.Makes me feel like my mind can't stay.My memories of you are so vivid,I know in my heart, that i want to live in it.This dream of mine i do hope come thru.For you are the one i know its true.
Ashmeena Divya Teakram

I Remember

I remember the cold nights in the woods sitting in front of the camp fire.
I remember the infamous bottle of Pepsi that was always in the fridge.
I remember the time my mother got my friend Susan and I matching outfits with big green and purple buttons down the front.
And the time when she bought my sister Allie and I MC Hammer looking ensembles with pants and matching vests, and how we used to dance to “Can’t Touch This” while wearing them.
I remember how sick I got from eating cheesecake on my fifth birthday while watching Fevile goes West at my aunt’s house in New Jersey, but needless to say I don’t remember the taste of cheesecake.
I remember my first boyfriend, how he asked me out, and how when we went to the movies and he tried to put his arm around me to kiss me he poked me in the eye instead.
I remember the sounds of my grandfather’s cough caused by smoking two packs of lucky strikes a day.
I remember digging a giant hole at the beach big enough for me and three of my friends and the umbrella to cover us inside of it.
I remember when I found out my mom was having another baby, and then finding out that she was handicap.
I remember holding my sister as a baby, helping to feed her because she had a tube to her stomach. The first time she drank a bottle herself, she was in my arms and I was wearing my care bear pajamas.
I remember the feeling I got right before during and after my boyfriend kissed me for the first time.
I also remember how he made me feel like I was on cloud nine.
I remember the feeling of being hung over for the first time, and that my grandpa thought I had food poisoning.
I remember leaving the club in a tank top in the dead of winter because my friend’s boyfriend totaled her car and she just had to leave and walk around, it was snowing and freezing.
I remember the day I slide into third and wore blood on my jersey for the rest of the game.
I remember the first time that the boyfriend told me he loved me, 8/29/06.
I remember the way I felt the last time I hugged my grandpa.
And how I felt the next day when I was told that he was gone.
I remember the way my heart melted when I went to get my dog, then the other dog and then my kittens, both of them.
I remember playing man hunt for hours.
I remember when roller bladeing down “dead man’s hill” was the coolest thing ever.
I remember my first day of school, every year.
I remember the first time I had gotten my heart broken.
I remember never leaving home without my Ragity Anne doll.
I remember making skinny snow men in the back yard.

The story which we all contributed to in class. (i forgot what the exercise is called)

"Everyday I imagine what it would be like to have palm trees in New York." Such an invasive species would quickly die off and leave nothing but an empty woody carcass. But that's why it's important to recognize when to lay low and when to attack. One wrong move and it could be the end of your life, you have to act smart and think things through. But one day one lady made the wrong move and met her demise. She thought she was making the right decision, unfortunately not. Unfortunately because her father had made the same mistake. This mistake was that she did not know who the father of her child was beccause she was so wanted by others. She had offered herself as a gift in return for their admiration. All the priests could do was stare at this girl in awe. You know how those catholics school girls can be, mighty, mighty, dirty birds when they want to be. They needed to be sent to boot camp, with lots of muddy obstacle courses and disgusting cafeteria food. Maybe that would teach them to flush the toilet next time they go and not day dream about palm trees in New York.

Thoughts of Death

Creative writing
Professor Frost
Jody- Ann Hall
October 26, 2008

Thoughts of Death
By Jody-Ann Hall

Death, being dead, umm these words alone loathes me. They themselves declare a BOLD and CLEAR statement; they illustrate their own meaning while sending a terrifying sensation throughout my body. A sentence is simply not necessary. If would be a unproductive task to find words to juxtapose with the death/ dead just to form grammatically correct sentence; or even to define what the words mean… it’s simply not necessary. The words death/ dead convey darkness, life less/ a sudden end to breathing and bodily movements, a state of numbness…. of unconsciousness…. of stillness, all of which comes to mind with the simple utterance of these words.

I have often wondered where it came from. It comes riding in like the headless in the movie “Sleepy Hollow”. It rides in on a stallion angrily snatching the lives of people at times unexpectedly and in gruesome fashions. It never ceases to amaze me how death has the authority to claims whomever or whatever it puts its filthy paws. Where did “IT” come from? Who gave “IT” such permission? I wonder.

To add to this death has taken it upon itself to delegate its duties of claiming lives to the likes of : sergeants disease, who as then delegated duties to other army of misfits, such as cancer, AIDS, freak accidents, drug over dose and the list goes on and on. There are so many ways in which death manifest itself to carry out the same dirty job: to kill/ snatch away life.

Many people consider death to be the “Great Equalizer,” this is an ideology proposed even by some religions. Due to the simple fact that everyone one will have to succumb to the king of darkness when they are summoned whether by force or willing. Everyone will be consumed by death at some point despite if they had lived a morally righteous life or an evil one. Whether it was a life of poverty or wealth as noted we all face the same fate in the end.

On a personal note:

“Death you disgust me! You have taken away so many loved ones and even innocent lives how dare YOU?! You should climb back underneath the rock you came from. Stop with this madness this instance.... You often leave us to wonder whom will you come after next, causing us to live our lives in fear. Why can’t you leave us be?? Stop snatching our breaths away sending our bodies in a state of unconsciousness. Because of you, our bodies are sealed away in a box, placed in a grave and left for decay, left to be eaten by maggots and other flesh-eating serpents. Death you are… you… you ugly, ugly thing you!! This is just what I think of you. Although you have instilled fear in me as well by, BOLDLY claiming lives all around me. I felt it was necessary to tell you how I feel about you. Now that I have done so I will continue to live MY LIFE until you come on your horse angrily in search for me.”

Workshop for 10/29 pt. 1 (multiples)

Multiples

multiples focus you
on words of like syllables
but really who
understands if nobody is feeling you
silly fools
think they comprehend your thought process
but what happens they can't guess
which word arrives next
when the content
of the words are changed
they don't remain the same
because you changed the object
a way to maintain the progress,
when you're trying to make a lot
when you've been given a lot less

WORK SHOP FOR 10/29

This is a piece that I have posted before, but I've changed it a little bit.

I can see you sitting at the kitchen table, right in front of me. You are within my reach so I stretch my hand out to touch you one last time, but my arm is not long enough and my fingers just miss. I call your name, but you don’t answer, I don’t understand: are you ignoring me? What did I do to upset you? You get up and walk across the room to get a fresh cup of coffee. I tell you to relax and I will get it for you, but you pay me no attention. You go to the counter, pour your coffee into the same mug you use every day, two sugars, lots of milk, then stir-same as always. You return to your seat at the table, the only one you ever sat in to drink your coffee. You tap your fingers on the table and hum to yourself. You look up; scratch your head, and then you light up a cigarette. The smoke quickly fills the room. Suddenly, I am in my room. How did I get here? I run down the stairs and into the kitchen, but the coffee pot is gone, and the smells of cigarettes are far in the distance, just like you, Poppy.

Workshop for Wednesday Oct. 29th-Dewa

Sorry it was not up earlier. All critisism is welcome

G (R.I.P.)

Mother Nature and Father Time have come to conceive
An oblivious era, swallowing us entirely

Gone is the ability to accept inevitability
Wispy white hairs and facial folds
Once represented a certain stature
Wise, sunken eyes would silently advise,
Begin life with one innocence, end with another,
Remembering to age gracefully along the way.
Those same eyes, now shamelessly critiqued
For absurdities, dark circles
Crowe’s feet
Unappreciated blooms of knowledge
Amongst bushes of experience
Garden of anecdotes
Now all that can be seen is crabgrass and dandelions
Waste
Waiting to be pulled
Out from Society’s lawn
Tossed next to last week’s milk carton
Expired
Gone is grandpa and gone is Grace
Stabbed in the back by the syringe of youth
Introducing a new generation
Pliable Age, Permeable Character

Once existed a concept of Courtesy
Which eventually became extinct
Only one descendent remained
Known simply as Respect
A righteous believer he was
With a firm ethic code
Honor was his pride, value-his joy
Still, his demise came too soon
More ironically than not,
When his trusted neighbor was found coveting his wife
Inside the house that was their home
A heart attack was born, ending the good man
Taking dignity and shame with him as well
She spit on his grave with no regrets
Glad to end her old fashioned ways

Through daily filth we sift
To find a trace of what once was
The slightest bit of evidence
To prove decency is no myth
They say there was a leader
Who, through honesty gained support
Virtue and sincerity ranked high
Far above scandals and schemes
Grounded in principle, he created stability
Moral unity throughout
But society always boasts a rebel
Who wrongfully resists
Ill fates were unforeseen
An assassination, annihilation of Mr. Integrity
Making way for all things repulsive
Call Girls, and rigged elections alike
Ceaseless wars fighting for
Democratic dictatorship
Outlandish becomes ordinary
And everything else turns to dust

In an age of minute rice, and fax machines
Time was heroically saved by Technology
Quality Of Life disappeared along the way
And somewhere in between
Instant Gratification was appointed
Commander In Chief
Patience fled the country shortly afterwards
For fear of execution
Reassuring himself along the way
“It’s now or never…now or never”

A Moment of Surprise

* This is the assignment we did in class, modified a bit by me so it would make more sense.

He couldn’t believe the day had arrived. It was his wedding day. He had walked by her everyday and every night years ago. He had longed for a look or a glance as he saw her across the street. One night with a great surprise, she glanced back at him and walked over with a seductive smile. She let her hair down so that it fell in waves over her large brown eyes and it cascaded over her shoulders, she put her hand out to him and said, “There’s something I have to tell you”. “I’m not really a vegan you see” she said, tears slowly forming in her eyes. I think you can tell from my previous actions while being an intern that I definitely prefer meat. I prefer tender, sweet, very rare meat. I don’t know how people walk into a restaurant and order a steak well done! He looked at her with a seductive smile and knew she was meant to be his wife. The former White House intern was going to be a wonderful wife, even if she did not like salad. Red meat was too expensive, especially for him.

I remember childhood

I remember good times
I remember tears
I remember celebrations
I remember cheers
I remember sitting down
I remember eating
I remember misbehaving
I remember beatings
I remember being young, unrestricted and free
I remember the way, things used to be

I REMEMBER...

I remember when the Professor gave us this assignment to do, and I thought to myself, "didn't we do this on the first day of class?"

I remember when I was a little boy and my father told me there's a time to play around, and there's a time to work and get serious.

I remember when he always used to tell me as a child to always respect my grandmother.

I remember when my grandmother, who we all called (ma), used to walk with me across the street to school everyday.

I remember as I got older telling her, "I am old enough to walk across the street to school on my own now."

I remember after school going to ma's house and eating a huge meal everyday.

I remember my grandmother getting angry whenever I asked her for seconds and told her I was still hungry after the first plate.

I remember sitting in the living room with her and her friend Al, watching Judge Judy and Family Fued on television.

I remember her repeatingly asking me to play her three favorite songs on the piano, in which I would first refuse in shyness, and then eventually do so.

I remember at 5:15 leaving ma's house and saying "goodbye" and "see you tomorrow".

I remember when I went to the hospital and saw that my grandmother had passed.

I remember feeling the worst pain I ever felt in my life.

I remember redux

* I have a test at 8am tomorrow but I need to relax so I decided to write another "I remember".

I remember my first experience with alcohol. It was wine from communion when I was in the seventh grade. I didn't understand what the fuss was.

I remember my first crush. I was in the fourth grade and decided to tell him how I felt in the lunchroom. He laughed in my face. My mom ended up writing a note to the teacher yelling at him for upsetting me.

I remember my first experience playing video games. My brother has left Castlevania: Symphony of the Night paused. I ended up replaying the save level over and level. I'm listening a to a song from that game on my iPod right now.

I remember my first time driving. I was so excited I told the driver that I wanted to learn how to speed so I could be like my friends.

I remember my first day of high school. I thought the classroon was locked so I waited outside not realizing everyone was inside already.

I remember my first trip out of the country. I stepped out of the airport and saw a child selling candy (a very common occurance in underdeveloped countries). I realized that I was so far away from New York, in more ways than one.

I REMEMBER

I remember the first time I kissed a boy, I hit my head on the heater and my eyes were not even closed

I remember my high school prom. As I was driving home from getting my hair done, I saw somebody get hit by a bus.

I remember my cousin’s 23rd birthday. As he was called to receive his cake, he was throwing up in the bathroom and we never actually got to eat it.

I remember the first time I went karyoking, I lost my voice right afterwards

I remember my first day in AP History. My teacher came in slammed the door, and promised all of us that we were going to fail.

I remember the day my cousin got married, my parents made me wear a ridiculously ugly dress.

I remember the day that I met one of my very good friends. She came up to me and asked if I was Persian.

I remember my first boyfriend. I was told that he was a “player” but I did not believe anyone. Let me tell you I GOT PLAYED!

I remember the first test I cheated on. I learned the spelling and my friend learned the definitions. It was a team effort and together we got a hundred.

I remember the first movie I saw where there was a sex scene. My father made me close my eyes and then he turned the channel

I remember the day my friend fainted in junior high school. Right before they took her to the hospital, she kissed me on my forehead and begged me to keep her from going to the “loony house”.

I remember when school used to be so easy. Now they are practically offering suicide as the only way to succeed

I remember when I had time to do everything. These days, I feel like I don’t even have time to breath

I remember when I thought money was not the ultimate means for happiness rather it was health and love. Boy I was wrong!

Hey everybody.

I know I haven't been to class in forever, I had the LSATS one day then the Jewish holidays came in, I'm sure you all missed me. Anyway, I started writing a manuscript one day and I just kept going with it. I think it could work as a short novel. So far it is only a few chapters long but if you can give me some tips about what i should fix or anything you know like constructive criticism I would really appreciate it. Here it is.


Untitled Manuscript
By Jacob Kutnicki


Chapter 1


“I hate the way your face moves. I don’t know why. What’s the point? You’re so inconsequential; a shit stain on the underwear of life. I sit here across from you and your fat, stupid, round fucking face and I want to hit you. I want to punch you in the face with all my strength. Just beat you till your face stops moving the way it does. Til’ your ugly mouth stops vomiting out your disgusting voice. I FUCKING HATE YOU!”
The group looked around at each other and they started clapping. They started to cheer like rabid sports fans.
“What a breakthrough for you Robert” Dr. Ronson said. “You are really taking a huge step to better your life as well as your relationships with your friends and family”
She gave me a big smile, then turned and looked at everyone so they could see her super bright fake teeth. I can’t even tell you how many times I wanted to kill Dr. Ronson. I hate her. I hate the Group. I hate people.
This was my fifth one hour group session. Five hours of my life lost listening to stories of road rage or baby shaking. I can barely get through the sessions, my leg shakes faster as the time drags on. Sometimes I just stare at my black Converse moving up and down, over and over, till they become a blur.
I sometimes feel it creeping its way up my spine. Its pierces my conscious like an ice pick to the brain. The rage, the blinding anger at people for being incompetent and useless. Everything irritates me.
After everyone finished their applause, I stood up from my chair and walked out of the gym, sprinted down the street, got in my car, checked if I had enough bullets, loaded my gun, and finally felt the air leave my lungs.

Chapter 2

“It’s the only thing that makes me happy. I am an independent contractor. I don’t have a boss; I don’t work for the mob or the fucking government. I charge different rates for different jobs. Want a witness wiped out? $5,000 cash. Cop? $10,000. A senator or congressman? $100,000 etc… I will shoot, stab, strangle, burn, poison, or bludgeon, whatever you prefer. I can make it look like an accident or I can make it look like it was a random act of violence. I can make them disappear forever or I can dump them without fingertips or teeth so I.D. will be more difficult. Personally, I favor a bullet to the back of the head. It is quick, easy, painless, and cheap (For me anyway. The cost of one bullet hardly puts a dent in my yearly profits). I make a very good living doing what I do. Just like drugs, the price of a hit never goes down. I have killed 67 people in 14 different countries since I began working in this business 5 years ago. My name is Robert Irving Poloski and I am a contract killer. I even have a business card”
That is what I had dreamt of saying, making myself seem like this personable, stylish hitman who sprinkles his conversation with bits of wit and dark humor. This would have been my ideal introduction to the group. The group…God I hate these fucking people.
It had never occurred to me before that I had anger issues. I had a very normal upbringing. Loving parents, a good education, even some stocks that my grandmother gave to me on my fourteenth birthday. Actually, the way my anger was brought to my attention is quite a humorous story, if I tell it accurately. There was a school chancellor in a small town who had hired me to kill one of the teachers in his district because the teacher was, to put it in Shakespearean terms, ‘making the beast with two backs’ with the chancellors wife. So, I have the teacher tied up to a chair, and I am beating the living shit out of him. The chancellor paid extra for me to beat him before I killed him. As I beat him, his face began to bleed everywhere. During a break between blows, the teacher looked up at me and said:
“Please… just kill me. Don’t fucking toy with me, just fucking kill me” His request had made me think of a cat playing with a mouse before he ate it.
“I was paid extra to beat you” I said.
“How much extra?”
“$1,000”
“$1,000? That’s it? How much to kill me?”
“$5,000”
“Five grand? Goddammit, I’m worth at least twenty. Fuck. Well your getting paid either way so just fucking kill me and tell whoever hired you that you also beat the shit out of me”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought of that”
“Killing for money I can respect, but beating a dead man is just wrong. Why would put so much extra energy into this job if you could just shoot me and get away with it?”
“I guess your right”
“Maybe it’s a psychological thing”
“Are you saying that I am crazy?”
“No… No I’m not saying that, I’m saying that maybe you have some issues. You seem a bit stressed”
“Well… it’s a stressful job. You have to pick the right moment to grab the target, and you have to find a place to take them that is far enough away so people don’t hear them scream. Then there is the clean up. I always hate the clean up”
“The killing isn’t the stressful part, it’s the clean-up huh.” I could tell he was enjoying this a bit too much.
“Fuck this” I took out my gun and screwed on the silencer. I pointed it at his head.
“Wait” he said as he strained to move his head as far away from the tip of my gun as possible. “Maybe you have some anger in you” It struck my as very strange that the last words this man might say would be about my mental state. It seemed incredibly un-selfish to me. He wasn’t crying for mommy as most of them do (as cliché as that may sound). Through the tears and snot and blood they are always whining for their fucking mother as if she could put her tit back in their mouth and cradle them to keep them safe and warm.
I lowered my gun and looked down at the floor. Maybe this fool had a point. I don’t enjoy inflicting pain. This is not the way I do business. I like to do it quick and painless. Why do I take money to inflict needless pain? I must have some deep seated issue. I noticed I was grinding my teeth.
I looked at the teacher. He slowly turned his face back to mine and stared at me through the blood. I leaned into him, I came in close till we were nearly nose to nose and I stared him straight in the eyes.
“Do not speak…Listen” I said. “I can kill you. I woke up today planning on killing you. I like to kill ignorant people, people who disrespect others for no reason, people who have bad ethics. You have bad ethics. But, you have really opened my eyes and helped me to see that I might have a problem. To thank you for this milestone in my psychological development, I will let you live.” I reached into my pocket and took out a key. “This is a key to a shoe locker at the bowling alley. It is the bowling alley that is closest to this location; I’m not quite sure what the exact address is. In the locker is a blue gym bag with $5,000 in it. You are going to take that money and leave this town. If you come back here and show my client that I had in fact not killed you and my reputation becomes tarnished as a result of that, I will track you down and cut out your eyes. Do you understand me?”
He shook his head yes.
“Good, in that case, I want to thank you for helping me see that I might have a problem. This little talk we had has truly been a revelation”
I untied him and told him that once he sees me walk out the door to count to five hundred. He nodded that he understood. I began walking toward the exit.
“Wait” he said. “I thought you got paid the extra $1,000 to beat me. How come there is only $5,000 in the bag”
I turned around and looked at him for moment.
“Like I said, thank you for helping me see that I have a problem”
With that, I turned and walked out the door. I went to my first meeting next week.








Unknown Chapter
Session six. The group was particularly boring today. Vicky, a 40-ish housewife, was talking about how she had cut up all the curtains in her house with a butcher knife because she said “I really hate magenta. The curtains were magenta”. The gun strapped to my ankle flashed through my mind but I did some breathing exercises and tried to control myself.
I had to get my mind off killing so I decided to scan the faces around the room and look for features I liked, a little game Dr. Ronson had recommended. I recognized face after face, but then I came to one that I did not recognize.
His head was enormous, it reminded of the statues on Easter Island. He was short, maybe 5’5 or 5’6, a stocky build with light brown hair and a wide nose that he would very conspicuously pick every once in a while. Currently, he was biting the nail of the pinky on his right hand while texting on his phone with his left. He laughed to himself, as if he was telling a joke only he could hear (upon which, I would place good money that this was indeed the case).
After Vicky finished it was Sam’s turn. Sam was an attorney who would deride his clients if they asked him stupid questions. He claims he almost stabbed one particularly poorly educated client with a letter opener when the client inquired if Sam was a “Lawyer or an Attorney”. I, like Sam, have zero patience for stupidity, so I identified with his dilemma.
Several people spoke after Sam the attorney and then group ended. Dr. Ronson flashed those nuclear white teeth and wished us all a happy weekend. I felt like having a cup of coffee so I wandered over to the snack table to fix myself some.
“You angry?” a voice said. I turned to my left and saw it was the new, enormous head from group.
“Not at the moment, but I am beginning to think that the potentiality for such an occurrence is increasing as the seconds tick by” I received nothing but a blank look.
“So you angry or not?” I sensed a little annoyance in his voice.
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“This is anger management”
“Is that what it was? Thanks for bringing that to my attention”
“I’m Dave” he put out his hand.
“Hi Dave” I took it and shook it. “Are you angry Dave?” it occurred to me that I hadn’t said my name. “Oh, my name is Robert”
“Hi Bobby, good to meet you. Ahh… no I’m not angry, I just got here early before my quit smoking group starts….”
“You mean smoking cessation?”
“Yeah whatever the fuck. Anyway I figured I would pop my head into another group, you know, see how the other half lives”
I shook my head.“That is not what that means”
“That’s not what what means” Dave said, obviously confused.
“How the other…” I realize that my correction was futile. “Nevermind Dave. Listen Dave, I need some fresh air, I’m just going to go out side”
“Oh great I’ll join you. Fresh air will do me good, I need a cigarette anyway”.
He kept talking the whole walk from the gym to the sidewalk, about what I couldn’t tell. I had tuned him out by that point.

Babel Fish oldie but goodie

Well you're the real tough cookie with the long history
Of breaking little hearts, like the one in me
That's O.K., lets see how you do it
Put up your dukes, lets get down to it!

Hit Me With Your Best Shot!
Why Don't You Hit Me With Your Best Shot!
Hit Me With Your Best Shot!
Fire Away!

You' bon ; au sujet du vrai biscuit dur avec la longue histoire de briser de petits coeurs, comme celui dans moi That' ; l'OK de s, laisse voir comment vous le faites Mis vers le haut vos ducs, laisse lui descendre ! Frappez-moi avec votre meilleur projectile ! Pourquoi Don' ; t vous m'avez frappé avec votre meilleur projectile ! Frappez-moi avec votre meilleur projectile ! Mettez le feu loin !

You' good; about true biscuit hard with the long story to break small hearts, like that in me That' ; l' OK of S, lets see how you done it Mis to the top your dukes, lets go down to him! Strike me with your best projectile! Why Don' ; T you m' struck with your best projectile! Strike me with your best projectile! Put fire far!

I'm Reading on Thursday

Another announcement: J.R. Carpenter, who will be visiting our class on Wednesday and whose online work I hope you've all had a chance to check out, is in town (from Montreal) because she is launching a new novel, called Words the Dog Knows. And on Thursday, she will be reading from the novel, and I will be reading from my most recent book, in public, along with two other New York writers. I'd like to invite you all to come.

It takes place in Manhattan, at KGB Bar in the East Village (85 East 4th Street), from 7:00 pm to 9:00 pm on Thursday, October 23, and it's free. I'd be very happy to see you there, and I promise the readings will be at least somewhat fun. If you have any questions let me know.

Corey

Coffee* with Corey

Hello. As I explained in class, I'd like to have a chance to talk to each of you, one on one, about your writing and the course. Mostly I'd like to get a better idea of what sort of writing you are interested in doing, so I can make more helpful suggestions. If you can, bring anything you have written that I haven't seen so I can peruse it, and also bring any questions you have, or suggestions. If you are curious about evaluation, we can also talk about how you're doing so far. Below is a schedule of meeting times. Please arrive on time, or you will end up delaying the person right after you. My office is Klapper 348. I'll keep the door open a bit but you should knock to let me know you're there, even if I'm talking to someone else. Thanks.

Monday, Oct. 27:
12:20 Arlene, 12:40 Anthony, 1:00 Patricia, 1:20 Dewa, 1:40 William, 4:20 Maria, 4:40 Ashmeena

Wednesday, Oct. 29:
12:00 Jacob, 12:20 Tyrike, 4:20 Justine

*It's strictly a bring-your-own-coffee affair, by the way. I don't drink coffee, but perhaps I can supply the cookies.

I remember

I remember kicking rocks on the streets of Ecuador as a form of entertainment when I had to walk to the plaza to buy milk. My grandma didn't drive a car.

I remember the smell of diesel in the air, lungs retracted, breath exhaled. Nausea.

I remember waiting for the 'A' train to get to Manhattan with my mom.

I remember the smell of urine and watching a family of rats cross from track to track.

I remember the feeling of gratitude and selfishness when I got my first bicycle. I didn't understand it.

I remember the sharp pain across my face when my mother smacked me across the face.

I remember the feeling of hate and love I felt at that moment for her. I didn't understand it.

I remember getting lost with my cousins trying to explore the forbidden in any setting we were placed in. It included childish games that were gritty enough to be deemed hazing, as well as an extreme sense of fear of the unknown.

I remember the closeness and unity we felt to know we were not alone.

I remember thinking I was better than someone, because someone else told me so.

I remember when I didn’t like being different, because I didn’t realize I was different. If I knew why, then perhaps junior high school would have gone smoother.

I remember lying to my mother, then to my friends, and then to myself. I still do.

I remember my grandfather. He wasn’t much of a memory a couple of months ago, when he was still with me.

I remember living in south ozone park. I remember when it was safe.

I remember staying up with my grandpa on Sundays to watch the X-files.

I remember being genuinely happy. When I didn’t have to put a show for others, and could express my feelings without being reduced to a drama queen.

I remember being taken seriously… at some point.

I don’t remember when things changed.

I don’t remember when Freedom was replaced by Pseudo-Freedom. I thought growing up meant I could be myself, not a contest for who has the best façade.

I don’t remember when the Simpson’s stopped being funny…..well maybe I do. I think it was a couple years ago.

Random Thoughts (By Jody-Ann Hall)

Creative writing
Professor Frost
Jody- Ann Hall
October 18, 2008

Random Thoughts
By Jody –Ann Hall

Oh my God its cold out today, I have so many things to do all the time, all the craziness in my life just never ends, I must get to my school work at once ...

I’m staring at the blank page and I’m thinking from which school of thought should I write. The tension begins to build in my head I cannot stand it; I so hate the pressure. Should I write a poem that will appeal to the senses of my undetermined audience? I have always considered myself more an orator than an author. Should I deliberate on the current state of the economy? How shocking it is; as the walls of the great American economy begins to crumble into a recession. People are now busy as a swarm of disturbed bees as they try to transfer and withdraw funds in an effort to protect the funds in their 401k’s, trust funds, stock investments and other savings.

I begin to play twister with my pen between my fingers, a time wasting activity I admit. However, I have tried to master it countless times in an attempt to get my brainpower going, or so I would like to believe…. Death/ dead, umm the words alone loathe me. They themselves declare a BOLD and CLEAR statement; they give a terrifying sensation. A sentence is simply not necessary. The words death/ dead convey darkness, lost of any signs of life (end to breathing/ movement).

It never ceases to amaze me how death has the authority to claims whomever or whatever it puts its filthy paws. Where did “IT” come from? Who gave “IT” such permission? To add to this death has taken it upon itself to delegate its duties of claiming lives to the likes of : sergeant disease, who as then delegated duties to other army of misfits, such as cancer, AIDS, freak accidents, drug over dose and the list goes on and on
Death you disgust me! You have taken away so many loved ones and even innocent lives how dare YOU?! You should climb back underneath the rock you came from. Stop this instance with your ruthless and intimidation tactics. You often leave us to wonder whom will you come after next, causing us to live our lives in fear. Why can’t you leave us be?? Stop snatching our breaths away sending our bodies in a state of unconsciousness. After which our bodies are sealed away in a box and soon after begin to decay. Death you are… you… you ugly, ugly thing you!!

This doesn't really have an ending, it just came from an exercise mentioned a while ago about narrating a story as if you were someone else.

I remember when I left Michigan- threw all my stuff in the back of dads old station wagon and went on my way. That was a long time ago. I’ve been back twice since then. Once to clear up an old disturbance summons I got when I was 16, the second for Susanna’s funeral... I grew up with Suzy, our houses were on diagonal corners of the street. When we were kids I'd let her play with my dog and she sneak me pound cake from her moms kitchen. When we got older we’d sneak Jack from my dad’s liquor cabinet and drink it on the back porch. The morning I left to New York Suzy stood next to my car and kissed me through the window. She told me to be safe. No tears. I think she figured I’d be back in a couple of months.

A few years after that a guy who had too much to drink ran over two people with his truck. Suzy died and her older brother lost all the sense a 36 year old man should have. I saw his wife at the funeral, she told me he can say her name and some other words, but still needs help eating and bathing. She doesn’t think he remembers the kids, but he smiles when they’re around. I heard the guy who was driving the truck got out before his three year sentence was up. Good behavior.

When I came back to NY after the funeral I got drunk and cried until I passed out. I’m not saying the whole thing made me a completely different person, but looking back I can see the change. I liked people less. I was living on Avenue A around then. Dangerous sometimes, different then now. More homeless people and junkies then art students. Got mugged twice. After the second time I started walking straight out of the bar with my empty beer bottle and carried it in my fist all the way to my front door. Never used it though.

I wrote a lot over those years in the city. Wrote about New York more than anything else- the people, their passion, their sadness, their hopes, dreams, drugs and jobs. The sometimes exciting and sometimes exhausting energy of it all. Knowing that all throughout the building and neighborhood and island there were thousands of other people writing and singing and painting the same things into their work. It wasn’t a competition- we fed off each other.

I met a woman named Brenda at a coffee shop in Midtown. She had long red hair and sweet eyes and a perfect laugh. We fell in love pretty quickly, got married within a few months. The reception was at O’Neils Pub. I was 26, she was 29. We found an apartment on 27th street near my job. I was doing data entry at the time, just mindless office work to pay the bills. The money was good, and it left me time to write. We really were happy. She cooked dinner almost every night and wanted a family to fill up table.

But I guess some things are meant to be and others aren’t, and after Brenda’s miscarriage things seemed like they just weren’t meant to be. It affects the woman more, I think. It hit her hard. She cried for weeks... refused to talk to me after I told her we would just try again. Home was tense and things never got back to how they were. Looking back I’m ashamed of every time we fought, every time I yelled at her. Maybe we could have been okay if I had understood better. But I was young, dumb. A man can only see his wife in pain for so long before he starts to feel like theres something wrong with HIM for not being able to fix things. She stayed in the apartment and I moved back downtown, west side this time.

Riding in Cars

You’re in the car with a beautiful man and he doesn’t tell you he loves you. You know he does. He helped you make cupcakes this afternoon. He let you pick out the flavor (chocolate your favorite). He let you break the eggs, pour the water and oil. He even let you lick the bowl. “Rachel’s birthday slumber party will great.” He says. It’s your first night away from home. Things are starting to change.

You’re in a car with a beautiful man and he won’t tell you he loves you. You know he always has. He is only a few years older then you, and yet he acts like an old man. He’s driving you to the mall to meet your best friend that he can’t stand. He thinks she is bad influence. She has a bad attitude. He thinks she's hot. He doesn’t understand why you want things pierced and parts of your body permanently marked. He doesn’t like the way boys look at you now. "The changes of life" is what your P.E. teacher called it. No one likes these changes.

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy and he tells you he loves you. You think he does, at least you use to. Rachel said she saw him the other night leaving the bowling alley with Jackie looking really cozy. Everyone knows what that girl is about. This couldn’t be true. He told you he was out with his boys. Besides he said he understands that you’re not ready. He told you he respects your decision. He told you that it wasn’t that important to him. He tells you he loves you all of the time. When did things change?

You’re in a car with a beautiful man who loves you. Today he stood before your god, your friends and your family and announced it. You must acknowledge this testimony. You’ve searched for this beauty for so long. “Kissed a lot of frogs” they say. You want to start a life with this man. You will have all kinds of new experiences. Thing will be exciting and new. This changes how you felt about love before.

You’re driving in a car with a beautiful little man. He’s in the car seat playing with his favorite toy. You love this boy so much it. You can’t even believe how much you love him. You are so excited about everything about him. You mention him in every conversation. He is all over your desk at work. He’s in your wallet, on your cell, even around your neck. This little man has changed you in a way that all of the other men seem a bit envious.

Remembering

I remember trying a cigarette because of curiosity. I took a puff from a friend's and remember thinking that my throat smelled like death and decided never again. The girl smokes a pack a day so I guess her throat is a funeral parlor.

I remember my first iced coffee. It was Free Iced Coffee day and I decided to try it because it was free. I am now an addict, needing a cup a day. Is it me or does coffee leave a similar taste in the throat like cigarettes?

I remember my first day of work. I felt so confident but deep down I felt like
that I was unprepared. I could have used a coffee (Thank you job for fueling my coffee habit).

I remember my first day of college. The room looked like a suffocation chamber. It was in a basement, thus no windows and very little air. A psychology class being taught in a cold and sterile room.

I remember my 21st birthday. I shared a watered down Cosmo with all my friends. ...$9 dollars?!

I remember receiving this assignment. The Professor said to write this list based on Brainard's style. The book was yellow, so this list is trying to make a point about contrasts. I hope it works.

5 People You Meet At A Museum

1. The thick woman with dark hair (at times badly bleached blond hair), red lips, and a floral dress.

This is her basic uniform. She may accessorize this look in a variety of ways. She may wear anything from Doc Martin's and gothic jewelry, a vintage oversized ill fitting coat and sneakers, and even at times sandals and costume jewelry. The choice of accessories is primarily based on the time of year and type of museum setting.

2. The overwhelmingly lesbian couple.

You can easily spot these gal pals by there pride pins, stickers, a one crew hair cut.

3. The foreign couple.

Black, White, Asian or Hispanic they're smiling and ready for some culture. They all seem to have on some sort of I heart N.Y. gear and are well equipped with a map, dictionary and camera. They smile happily at everything they see and hear as if they don’t have one of these at home.

4. The tight pants crew

Way before the hipsters movement infiltrated our consciousness and migrated to Williamsburg you could spot them at the Met, Whitney, or MoMa on a Friday night. You can't miss this thugged out crew with there graphic dirty tee's and woman's size 2 pants.

5. The field trip
   

What do grade school administrators and Selfhelp Senior Centers coordinators have in common? They're always shoving a collection of their participants into a bus and bring them to a museum.

In all fairness I would also like to point out that most of the individuals I've mentioned may also fit into more then one category. For example: The overwhelmingly lesbian couple could be visiting from Germany, or a member of the tight pants crew is on a field trip of sorts and may decide to wear a floral dress, or any number of combinations. In my experience of frequenting many museums in different states and at different times of day and year, these select individuals are a constant. I don't know why.

Remember This

I remember Christmas Time in Hollis Queens

I remember "I’m Bart Simpson who the hell are you"

I remember calling someone a Gaylord was a total insult.

I remember Groove Theory.

I remember the Queen selling U-N-I-T-Y before Cover Girl and Jenny Craig.

I remember riding a Mongoose until dark.

I remember spraining my ankle at a roller rink trying to get some guys attention.

I remember 9 years of speech therapy.

I remember a boy making me a mix tape.

I remember nose bleeds.

I remember L.A. Gears

I remember Alexander's and Caldor.

I remember velour sweat suits

I remember every time I’ve been fired.

I remember Michael Jackson’s Remember the Time

I remember Book It

I remember my first super crush

I remember the first time I realized my second grade teacher was an alcoholic

I remember my aunt Victoria telling the best stories when she got drunk

I remember being a tattle tail.

I remember making my first pair of earrings.

I remember wanting to be one of the Misfits

txt message poem

a snny day = otside n play
a snny day = happy :)
a rny day = sty inside n sleep
a rny day = grmpy :(
whte snw on ground = coats&earmuffs
whte snw on ground = gloves&scarfs :(
a snny day = whte snw melts
a snny day = happy :)

txt message poems

I wrote my text message poems at 4am while laying in bed trying to fall asleep. I didn't want to text them because it of the time so I just wrote them down after playing with my phone, and didn't type them back into my phone. After I wrote the first one I just kept going.

1.I look out the window n c a star it sparkles in the moonlight its beautiful n bright n a million miles away i wonder if ur looking at the star thinking of me 2

2.The sun is setting in the distance..red orange n blue, perfect like a painting i stop n let myself get lost in this beauty, i could stair forever at the world

3.The beach clear blu sky n warm weather is y I luv the summer. The days r longer the nights r shorter but nothing is better than laughter in the sunshine.

4.Autumn. Leaves change color than fall to the ground, a meaningless future. Its sad but an undeniable truth. Why?

5.Newly fallen snow is lik heaven. Soft white and perfect. Untouched by any1. I wonder how long this fantasy will last.

6.The ocean breeze on my face is calming the sand beneath my toes soothing the sunshine on my body protecting there no place id rather be.

7.I lay motionless on the soft grass n look up at the skyim lost in the clouds that r soft n white lik a cotton blanketI want 2 wrap myself in this perfection

8.The birds r singing the sun is shining through my window kissing my face, its morningoutside the world is jus passing by as I lay in bed

writing on a page

My page is white, soft like freshly fallen snow. It is perfect and untouched by my doubts. Before I begin to write, I run my hand down this small piece of heaven just because I know it will never be the same again. I breathe in, taking with me the smell of nothing. I look hard at my pen, it is as innocent as a small child, and it is unaware of the journey that lies before it. The journey it will go on, through my mind expressing my thoughts on this piece of pure, flawless, unblemished paper. The innocence’s of this sheet is just waiting patiently for the voyage. I begin to write, my pen glides across the paper like skates on ice and it leaves its imprints behind as evidence that is has once been there. The ink of my pen is blue; it doesn’t matter what shade, but it’s just got to be blue. This in particular pen has ink that is blue like the sky on a warm summer day, or like the ocean off the shore of a deserted island. I look down at the page to notice that my letters are connected. Some look as though I had just scribbled them. The room is empty and quiet, except for my pen that scratches across the page like the needle playing a record, back and forth, over and over. I notice that as soon as I become more involved with my writing, my hand begins to speed up and my fingers start to cramp. I stop, and crack my knuckles. The sound is loud and uneasy. I begin to write again: this time slow and much more passionate, paying close attention to the end of this journey. I look down to discover that I have used the entire page and it is no longer pure and innocent. By writing this it is as if my pen has used its ink to unleash my soul. I look down at the paper and see that my ink has been bleeding on to my fingertips; a little piece of my soul rests on the side of my hands. I always wondered what my soul would look like, and now I know; it’s blue.

dream

Hey everyone. I was having problems with my computer, so I haven't been able to post anything so im putting them up now. Any feed back would be great. Thanks again. This is my dream piece

I can see you sitting at the kitchen table, right in front of me. You are within my reach so I stretch my hand out to touch you one last time, but my arm is not long enough and my fingers just miss. I call your name, but you don’t answer, I don’t understand: are you ignoring me? What did I do to upset you? You get up and walk across the room to get a fresh cup of coffee. I tell you to relax and I will get it for you, but you pay me no attention. You go to the counter, pour your coffee into the same mug you used every day, two sugars, lots of milk, then stir-same as always. You return to your seat at the table. The only one you ever sat in to drink your coffee and then you light up a cigarette. The smoke quickly filled the room. Suddenly, I am in my room. How did I get here? I run down the stairs and into the kitchen, but the smells of cigarettes are far in the distance, just like you, Poppy.

Translation for "Amor Eterno"

The sun will be able to become cloudy
eternally;
The sea will be able to be dried at a
moment;
The Earth axis will be able to be broken Like
a weak crystal.
Everything will happen!
The death will be able
to cover to me with its funeral crespón;
but never in me the flame of your love will
be able to go out

Gustavo Adolfo Becquer

Columbus Day update

Hey writers. Thanks, Angie, Shane, and William. I'm genuinely excited about discussing your work on Wednesday; all three of you have posted some original and challenging stuff. I have to wag my finger at you too, however: you can't leave it so long to post, because not everyone has the luxury of time on weekday evenings for reading and responding. Now that the work is up, though, I'd like to see the rest of you weigh in.

Thanks, too, to those of you who sent me text message poems this week. I enjoyed hearing my phone jingle now and then to signal the arrival of a new poem. So I decided to reward you with the same electronic thrill: I'm forwarding poems to those who sent them to me. If you want to get a poem but you didn't text me, just email me your number.

In the meantime, here are just a few of the messages I got. I'm leaving the line breaks as they appeared on my phone (except the 2nd one, which had line breaks indicated).


1.

Trees are somethin
else

We receive paper
from them

Seasons change
their looks

In spring leaves are
green

In summer leaves
are orange

Winter leaves
are gone


2.

Blind 2 the i, can not c
wat it iz that lies in 4nt of me
we live lives full ov uncertainty
but 2 truly live, that's how it shuld b


3.

C.I.T.Y. Da Dirty
streets n high
concrete. Birds no
longer sing tunes as
sweet. Da foggy city
whose lost its bloom.
Nature's death has
come too soon.

Inflections (from Shane for October 15th)

Inflection (to be graffiti)

“I fear the toll of a quiet man”

-Dose One

I look around my borough and see:

Restoration and Innovation,

Songs and Tricycles,

One night wild shouting passion improvisational energy!

The next, a respect, for meditative solitude.

Love is real. I’ve felt it.

If not, it would have been innovated by now.

Restore it lovelyicans, restore it.

The American Standard,

Here I question you.

Have we forgotten how to be ourselves?

When’s the last time you saw a man cry?

And he ain’t gettin’ any younger.

And you ain’t gettin’ any younger.

Put some poetry in your enterprise

Put some gypsy in your hooker

Put some endless in your end.

Place yourself under construction.

Let the lawyer be a lawyer,

And a construction worker do construction,

Since when do we know all and all?

He knows more about law than you

Cause the other can build a better garage than you.

We must respect each others education and study in special fields,

Myself inside of an Ourself.

The power of a community is a mass compound of individual powers.

Recognize in another man,

your likeness or opposite fate,

Respect both.

An Ivy League educated civil servant would make a better politician than you

Face it,

The Mirror.

Tocquen Tyranny of the majority.

Everywhere the murderous shame of ignorance.

Humble masses, not daring to nurse in their mind-souls

Dreams or inclinations.

Stuck

as they stick to

Some beaten comfortable path

leading to empty gourd graveyard

parking lot.

Step out of the sandbox!

not into a Hollow car.

Six million ways to take that step, to take any step, choose from the lot.

Throw some mandolin in your music.

Mix blue in your gray

And gray in your blue

Don’t you feel that big thing inside you?

It prefers the poor reader’s paradise to Synonym factory.

My Generation,

bought and sold.

(Adidas Armani Calvin Klein Christian Dior Diesel Dolce & Gabbana Ecko Hugo Boss Kenneth Cole Lacoste Levi’s Marc Jacobs Fucking Nike Perry Ellis Prada Puma Ralph Lauren Rocawear Sean John Swatch Tommy Hilfiger Versace)

That cha-ching sounds more like a chain gang.

If you throw those things in the fire,

And then yourselves,

You’ll see the difference.

If this is what beauty has come to, a new word is needed.

Uniquity is beauty.

Those clothes reach no deeper than your thin skin,

Cut off your arm,

Perhaps it will make you more grateful for the rest of you.

Perhaps blood will drip into the Big Pearl.

You raindrop of a man

Your more blade of grass than woman, slice your tongue out!

You’re an insult to it.

Why? What? How? When?

“Love does not consist of gazing at each other,

But in looking together in the same direction.”

-Antoine De Saint-Exupery

WORKSHOP OCT 15th

I posted this before but i changed it a little bit by adding some thoughts from people around me. I'm not sure how else to change it.

Change

"All the thousands of cold friends and family are waiting anxiously wrapped in their warm coats and hats under the night sky waiting for 2007. It's amazing the amount of people that gather and unite together to watch the minute change from 11:59pm to 12:00am. I don't know maybe it's just me? The ball is waiting anxiously as well to finally drop. A new year. Does that mean a new beginning? I think to myself and wonder if that means I'll have to make changes. I hate change. I’m excited with 10 of my friends and we’re all yelling and screaming for the ball to finally drop. What if the ball doesn't drop? Can it stay 2006? I’m not ready for a new year. “Aren’t you excited?”my friend turns to me with excitement. I reply with my hands in the air “Of course! I’ve been waiting for this since January 1st , 2006!” No I haven't. I've been dreading this since January 1st, 2006, another year, more changes. The months, the hours, the minutes, and the seconds that we all wait for to start a new year in the biggest city, New York City. Wow, it’s 2007 I can’t wait to start fresh and go on to college and meet new people. I don’t want to meet new people I have my friends right here. I look around the crowded streets of New York and I see a happy couple with their "2007" hats on and smiles on their faces. My New Years resolution for 2007, I'm single and no longer stay with this creep. Now it’s 11:59 and 50 seconds, time to countdown to change. Right next to me are a group of guy friends with their beers in the air chanting like boys do. Wow, that girl in the green is hot; I can't wait to go skiing next week; I don't even like beer; New friends in college, can't wait to leave. 10, my ten best friends. 9, the months left to start a new school year. 8, the hours I used to spend in High School these past four years. 7, how old I was when I these friends. 6 seconds closer to change. 5 seconds closer to change. 4 seconds closer to change. 3 seconds closer to change. 2 seconds closer to change. 1 second closer to starting a brand new year of the same thing over and over. It’s 12:00 midnight and we’re all hugging and kissing each other just like we’ll be doing in 2008, happy waiting for change."

WORKSHOP OCT 15

Reciprocal
Always and Never
Never and Always
Two words Always said
Two words that Never should be said

For Wed Oct 15th

As the title suggest, this is for the workshop.


Na for K

What does it feel like to be lost within a narration? It's easy, just mumble out a lot of sensible words while bypassing the register of meaning so that, although it seems that something is guiding you somewhere, it's really going nowhere. It should work, at least, as proposed. Let's try it.

Axioms:

Axiom 1: Axioms are to be followed as stated, and consistent with the preposition above.

Axiom 2: Axioms are not maxims, they're postulates!

Axiom 3: Axioms are only to be introduced so long as it is relevant to the subject matter.

Axiom 4: There is to be a line of flow within the text, so that transmission is accomplished without interfering with the whole--use waves.

Axiom 6: The end is to accomplish the outlined, otherwise the system fails and proves inconsistent.

Derivation(s):

It is odd to bring to the stage elements of uncertainty and later neatly deposit them in the trash, while at the same time gather up a round of applause--that's performance.

While guided by strict rulings one is to flex its edges as to bypass it and so accomplish the unaccomplished; the trick is to prove itself consistent and within bounds: the legalization of illegality.

Axiom 5: Having broad bounds allows for narrower domains, thus expanding the meaningful area without going overboard the stated limits.

The purpose is not to intimidate, although overtly expressed continuous words, with particular extended implications coherently expressed within the system, following a legal contract format, do tend to accomplish this with mere mention and usually without intention. The format then, so continues only employing its primitive tools in search of advancement: the scientist of sticks and curves.

It's odd enough to add an element of speculation that provides its own foundation a priori, but nevertheless be an object of uncertainty within the discussion; a conflicting resolution between independent domains that are to reach a point by avoiding it, that is, by not doing what they're meant to be doing but nevertheless doing it (without really doing it). Even its own description is conflicting (if not contradictory) and yet it isn't! Paradoxes are common as they're a direct consequence of it.

But a task is set with human limits, so results are to be obtained like profit--all or out. And so far, according to measures, seems to be doing just so. The third person perspective encrypts the idea, but the trick is to sweep away the thin layer of synthetic dust purposely thrown on top of it. A maiden, shall you say, is what is to be performed here, although its natural tasks (the maiden's) seem awfully overblown or brought upon inconsistently--a fallacy. But none has been said here in that manner!

Axiom 7: Invalid by axioms 1 and 3, so it is an axiom after all.

So we see, justice is being served in a clay platter as the medium does not matter but only the abstract it carries. If a column is set to erect in a particular way, it will do so for that's how it was outlined: rules are abstracted and unbiased when acting as agents of their own right. At times it can be proved difficult, particularly when a set of codes are transmitted by smoke signals in a windy day--at least the sender saw the smoke on its trail--but the receiver is left to wonder, which creates a lag and often a miscommunication.

Weather is ruled by complex forces and for the most part, it's better off seen than predicted. It carries away its tasks without blame (this moral tyrant of impunity), unless, of course, the weather has been predicted, its rules outlined, and the functioning of the whole presented, so blame can then be assigned to that faint cry of discontent from the receiver--this is the trick, and that's where this ends: why wait for that smoke signal in the first place? It was windy, you knew that.

Here are some links that might help inspire you in writing a text message poem. The first is an article about writing poetry via text. The second is about an entire novel written in text messages, and the third is about a novel that you can receive via text messages (in China, that is).

nu txt msg wrtng xperiment

Hi everyone. Thanks for all your Babelfish poems and other stuff; if we have time next week we'll look at some of them in class. If you are among the few who have not posted anything, please don't keep us in suspense. For this week, as I mentioned in class, here's your informal assignment: try writing a poem in text message form. Your poem should be a description of something in nature, not unlike a haiku. It should be whatever length your phone will allow, but no longer than 160 characters (which is what my phone will allow), and you should feel free to use abbreviations and symbols as much as you like, in order to squeeze more words into the space. You can even make up a few abbreviations if you want. Be inventive. Send you poem to me at 917*353*2769 and/or you can post it on the blog.

WORKSHOP FOR OCTOBER 15th

It's all getting dimmer and darker,
The sounds aren't loud.
The clouds look like silk.
The sun is hot, you're in a sauna.
The leaves on the trees are falling slowly,
as if running away from their trunks.
Ring, ring, your alarm clock sounds, and now you're awake.

This is the original poem (written by me for my high school yearbook)

Stand with me as the waves churn wildly beneath us.
The sky is ablaze with color, casting fire on the water,
Revealing to us the breadth of true infinity
As it lies in the wide-open world.
What, fear? But to turn back now would be to fail.
We have explored this completely, left no stone unturned,
Taken all we can,
And learned all that we have in this place
To take on the unknown that is just beyond our grasp.
But keep in mind, friend - the ocean does wonders.
The foam may blind us, the stones may bruise us,
The darkness may confuse us, the current may separate us,
And yet the waters will bring us
To lands that escape the realms of thought
To worlds that will never be dreamt of.
And so, let us prepare to dive, for the sun is setting.
(Is it rising?
Well, Time is a talker - all will be told tomorrow.)
Hesitation and regret, may you be our only foes
As we make our way to places that we shall one day call our own.

And after being translated into Russian and back to English:

The stand with me as waves turns дико below us.
The sky flares from color, throwing fire in water,
Disclosing to us breadth of true infinity
As it is in widely open world.
What, fear? But to come back now would mean to suffer failure.
We investigated it completely before what have not stopped,
Taken all we can,
And studied everything, that we have in this place
To take unknown which is only outside of ours схватывания.
But keep in mind, the friend - ocean does miracles.
Foam can ослепить us, stones can ушибить us,
Darkness can confuse us, the stream can separate us,
And still waters will bring to us
To the countries which avoid empires of an idea
To the worlds which will never be dreamed about.
And so, allow us to be going to dive, as the sun establishes.
(It raises?
Well, Time - speaking - to all will speak tomorrow.)
Fluctuation and regret, can be you our unique opponents
As we make the way to places, that we once shall name our own.

Translator Experiment

My poem "Blue Eyes" in English

I sing your name in my heart,
I feel you within me.
I ask you for forgiveness,
and you look at me with joy.
The more i ask for you,
the more your eyes light up.
To see you glow, makes my heart
dance in a fountain of love.

The poem after being translated to Italian


Song your name in my heart,
I me l' I think. I ask the forgiveness,
and the examined ones with the joy.
More that I ask you,
the more your eyes
are illuminated in on.
In order to see
to emit it light,
ago my heart
to dance in love Fontana.

The Last Moment

Defenseless and powerless,
I was lost in a trance
My body shuddered with pain
As It penetrated into my system
Each tiny hair shivered in its response
As time ceased to exist,
Reality slowly ebbed away
Into an unknown world
Where I was left in a blind utterance
With my eyes shut,
I welcomed in the pain as well as the pleasure
I was no longer shocked,
Nor bemused.
I had accepted my fate
The truths behind my experience
Unraveled in this very darkness
It happened.
There was no turning back,
Nowhere to go.
As I slowly opened my eyes
A spur of light overwhelmed the darkness
painted in my head
His smile fumed with no conscience
His deceiving eyes
Glistened with rage.
They drifted in unison with mine
To the spot
I had saw
Witnessed it red handedly
The thick red blood
The stains on my flesh
Pain no longer was the effect of my troubles
For by body felt numb
It was the unbearable heat
And then the sudden rush of chills
That captivated my body
As he deepened it in even more
My screams traveled with no ones’ remorse
For No one was present
No witnesses at the scene
His task was completed
He accomplished his goals
As he backed away,
He dropped the bloody knife to the floor
Satisfaction of death
Aroused his smile ever so wide
Droop after droop,
My eyes witnessed no more,
For death captured my body
And rid of my soul.

OMG by Joanne for Workshop Oct. 6

yo

whatup

where u @

aint goin 2 class

y?

im chillin wit j

j? wtf I herd he was fuckin wit sum nex bitch

dat skank bitch jus sain dat cuz he fucked that sloppy ass 1x. not ma fault peopleb catchin feelins

nah yo I seen dem last night @ da spot

dat fuckin hoe waz just probly suckin dick in da back cuz dats all dat bitch is good 4. Bitch do 2 everybody. N e wayz what was u doin @ da spot?

lmfao don’t flip shit we talking about u greezin up dat pussy 4 j

i aint flipin shit u wanna talk les talk

well I went 4 a show das it

i know u aint still fuckim wit o’boy

he mad cool

u said muthafucka was a 3 stroke creep

we do otha stuff

nah yo das a waist of a good dick if ya ask me. I like a dude dat put his back in the shit fuck all that otha bull shit

OMG Lmfao ur wild. The otha shit is good shit nothing like some great head to get u thru da day fuck starbucks

lol I herd dat toss dat shit like a salad

i lettem know only way u seen me is if u eatin me

lmao U talk about me bitch.

im bout to go class is ova

adam don’t forget 2 sign da attendance sheet 4 me

I got u steve.

Wrapped and Twisted

This is the original version of Wrapped and Twisted:

Harsh words & violent blows
Hidden secrets nobody knows
Eyes are open,
hands are fisted
Deep inside I'm warped & twisted
So many tricks & so many lies
Too many whens & too many whys
Nobody's special, nobody's gifted
I'm just me,
warped & twisted
Sleeping awake & choking on a dream
Listening loudly to a silent scream
Call my mind,
the number's unlisted
Lost in someone so warped & twisted
On my knees,
alive but dead
Look at the invisible blood I've bled
I'm not gone,
my mind has drifted
Don't expect much,
I'm warped & twisted
Burnt out, wasted, empty,
& hollow Today's
just yesterday's tomorrow
The sun died out,
the ashes sifted
I'm still here, warped & twisted

This is the Babel fish version of Wrapped and Twisted:

Of hard words;
blows rape the hidden secrets nobody know
the eyes are opened,
hands fisted In deep inside;
deformed & twisted
& of many it makes up;
many lies,
too much the whens;
too many whys
Nobody' special,
nobody' s equipped .
as me im deformed & twisted
wide awake of sleep;
suffocating on a dream
Listening fortemente a silent outcry
It calls my mind,
the number's listed
Lost in someone
thus it has not deformed & twisted
On mine ginocchia,
it lives but out of order
It examines in invisibile spirit
not gone, my mind has gone to drift;
it previews a lot,
deformed & twisted
burnt outside, wasted, empty,
& Today' cavity;
hardly yesterday' s tomorrow
the sun is died outside, the sifted ashes,
I' m still here,
deformed & twisted

Poem #2- Option 1

Original Version:

I know we're still young
But how can something mean so much?
I don't unerstand how people get into it and get out of it so quick.
How can boys be such jerks?

Then there's the three out of ten that'd do anything for you.
There's the sweet ones, the jocks, the slackers.
How do you know which to pick?
There's one I know I'll never let go of,
but how did he let go of me?

He was one special guy;
It's weird how he can just say goodbye.
He's a great guy deep down,
I'll tell you that much.
Oh boy, do I care about him a bunch.

Translated Version:

I know we' re young immovable But how can something to mean so much?
I don' unerstand of t how people obtain in him and leave him so fast.
How can the boys be such pulls?
Then there' s the three outside ten that' d makes any thing for you.
There' s the candies, the athletes, slackers.
How you know which to choose?
There' s one I know I' ll never left goes of,
but how did he lets to go of me?
It was a special individual;
It' strange s how he can as soon as to say goodbye.
He' great individual of the S.A. deeply down,
I' ll says much to him that.
Oh the boy, makes care of I exceeds he a handful.

Option 1

Original Version:

It gets darker and colder,
we're all getting older.
The walls are getting closer,
it's slowly the end.

Translated Version:

one cools off darker and,
we' by referring everything to obtain older,
the walls is obtaining more close,
it' s slowly the end.

Opt. 1

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked.
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

To


Peter Piper selected a Peck in vinegar inserted pepper. A Peck in vinegar inserted pepper Peter Piper selected. If Peter Piper selected a Peck in vinegar inserted pepper, Where' s, which the Peck in vinegar inserted pepper Peter Piper selected?

Translator

Here's a translation of Robert Frost's Fire and Ice:

Oh Professor, I added the poem's link for my previous post.

Original:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

My revision after editing the translated verison:
He says that the world will finish in fire
Others say in ice
Of what he tried to desire
that I carried out with which they favored the fire.
But it had to pass away twice,
For that I know of hatred
To say that for ice destruction is enough
He is also great
And it would be sufficient.

5 experiments

Hi Everyone. First of all, I'm sorry this wasn't posted earlier. I thought I had put it up before I left town, and didn't look at the blog again until I got back yesterday. If you have already started your experiment (and I see that some of you have already posted), don't worry if it doesn't exactly match what I'm suggesting here. These are just guidelines/possibilities.

These five experiments are inspired by Borges' story "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote," and are designed to make you think about what an author is and what an author's relationship to a text is.

1. The Babelfish Experiment. Take a text (preferably one that you wrote), either a poem or prose, and translate it into another language using a computer translation service such as Babelfish. Then, using the same translator, translate it back into English. Edit the results as you see fit to create a new text.

2. The Homophonic Translation Experiment. Find a poem or prose passage written in a language you don't know, but which you can pronounce. (Here's a famous poem in French that you can try, "Le bateau ivre" by Rimbaud.) Then translate the poem into English words by sound. For example, "le bateau ivre" might become "lib a toe ever."

3. The Memory Experiment. Attempt something similar to what Pierre Menard attempted with Don Quixote: rewrite a poem or story you like, aiming to reproduce it as accurately as possible, but without copying it. It other words, sit down and write someone else's poem or story from memory.

4. The Copying Experiment. This may not seem very creative, but it can be surprisingly thought-provoking. Choose a poem or prose passage that you like and copy it out, word for word. Proofread for accuracy. As you write, think about why the author chose each word. As a variation, allow yourself to alter one word in each sentence.

5. The Remake Experiment. This exercise is a both more ambitious and more open-ended. Choose a poem or story you like and "remake" it with a different setting, point-of-view, or form. For example, rewrite Lorrie Moore's story from the point of view of the nurse, or rewrite a Shakespearean play for the 21st Century, or turn the plot of your favourite movie into a poem.