Thursday, February 12, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2009
On Being Single
Some define single as meaning an individual who is not married. Even if two people have been a couple for 20 years, it the relationship is not legally binding, then the two individuals are still single. But lets embark on the more traditional and universal definition of single, which means an individual who is not apart of a intimate relationship. Lets not even use the word intimate. It’s possible for two people to be in a relationship and suffer with not being intimate with one another. It’s very hard to see how people can do it, but it’s possible. Lets say a “dating relationship”.
It’s a double standing for the different sexes when it comes to the perception of someone being single. When a male is single. not married and lives on his own, he is referred to as a bachelor and resides in a bachelor pad. When a female is single and not married and lives on her own, she is believed to have a problem and her house is considered a lonely. A few years back, the R&B group Destiny’s Child had a smash hit called Independent Woman, which praised women who are single and who are taking care of themselves without depending on men. That song inspired society to look to single and unmarried woman as strong and independent. But that songs inspiration died out and society still saw single and unmarried women, especially 30 years and over, as lonely, sexually deprived, and something was wrong with them.
Lets break the standards even more from how single men are received. The aforementioned ’bachelor’ term has a more positive outlook. Contrary to women, men are not look at as having something wrong with them if there unmarried or single. A single man can go out on casual dates with many different women and nothing is seen as wrong with that. Two take it even further, a single man can sleep with many different women and nothing is seen to be wrong with that either. The saying used when men engage in these actions is, “Well that’s just a man being a man”. Words used for these men are players. This term doesn’t have a negative connotation. But on the other hand, if a woman were to sleep around with many different guys, she’s considered a whore, hoe, slide, and a slut. All of these words have very negative connotations. Even if a single women sleeps with one guy who is not her boyfriend, she is characterized as one of these negative terms. Ironically, most of these terms are used by women to other women. Single men are not concerned with the name-calling of other men. This must mean that single women must not engage sexually with another man unless there in a dating relationship. But even if that happens, women are still judgmental and will creatively come up with something else to criticize. To use a page out of their book, that’s a woman just being a woman.
It is to believe that every woman would ultimately want to get married. Whenever a wedding occurs, the bride is the one who walks down the aisle with the instrumentals of “Here Comes The Bride”. The famous saying goes that a wedding is the most important day for the woman; not the most important day for the man. Contrary to women, the average men prefers to be single. Men like to have options and varieties There are times when a man’s objective is to follow stereotypes and just “be a man”. But that plan can backfire when a girl follows the stereotype of a man. Pride can definitely shatter due to embarrassment. From that day on, the views in this essay are no longer mine.
It’s a double standing for the different sexes when it comes to the perception of someone being single. When a male is single. not married and lives on his own, he is referred to as a bachelor and resides in a bachelor pad. When a female is single and not married and lives on her own, she is believed to have a problem and her house is considered a lonely. A few years back, the R&B group Destiny’s Child had a smash hit called Independent Woman, which praised women who are single and who are taking care of themselves without depending on men. That song inspired society to look to single and unmarried woman as strong and independent. But that songs inspiration died out and society still saw single and unmarried women, especially 30 years and over, as lonely, sexually deprived, and something was wrong with them.
Lets break the standards even more from how single men are received. The aforementioned ’bachelor’ term has a more positive outlook. Contrary to women, men are not look at as having something wrong with them if there unmarried or single. A single man can go out on casual dates with many different women and nothing is seen as wrong with that. Two take it even further, a single man can sleep with many different women and nothing is seen to be wrong with that either. The saying used when men engage in these actions is, “Well that’s just a man being a man”. Words used for these men are players. This term doesn’t have a negative connotation. But on the other hand, if a woman were to sleep around with many different guys, she’s considered a whore, hoe, slide, and a slut. All of these words have very negative connotations. Even if a single women sleeps with one guy who is not her boyfriend, she is characterized as one of these negative terms. Ironically, most of these terms are used by women to other women. Single men are not concerned with the name-calling of other men. This must mean that single women must not engage sexually with another man unless there in a dating relationship. But even if that happens, women are still judgmental and will creatively come up with something else to criticize. To use a page out of their book, that’s a woman just being a woman.
It is to believe that every woman would ultimately want to get married. Whenever a wedding occurs, the bride is the one who walks down the aisle with the instrumentals of “Here Comes The Bride”. The famous saying goes that a wedding is the most important day for the woman; not the most important day for the man. Contrary to women, the average men prefers to be single. Men like to have options and varieties There are times when a man’s objective is to follow stereotypes and just “be a man”. But that plan can backfire when a girl follows the stereotype of a man. Pride can definitely shatter due to embarrassment. From that day on, the views in this essay are no longer mine.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
the alphabet shuffle
Hello again, everyone.
I hope your holiday has been relaxing and/or exciting so far. I have finished reading all of your portfolios. It was an interesting exercise to re-read the stories and poems you submitted this semester, in their revised forms, and among those I had not already seen were plenty of surprising and entertaining bits. I will be emailing you individually with full comments on your work in the next couple of weeks (if you don't hear from me by the time the new semester begins, please contact me).
The part of evaluation I like the least is assigning grades, but I've done it anyway. You can see your own grade, broken down by participation, presentation, commenting, and portfolio, on Blackboard. Just go to www.qc.cuny.edu, click on Blackboard, and log in.
Overall, I was impressed by your creativity and by the quality of much of the writing I've seen this semester. In most cases, if you didn't get a mark in the A range, it's because your effort/participation in the course was somewhat lacking, either in class or online. Thomas Edison supposedly said that genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. The same applies in this course, as in most courses. You're welcome to email me if you have any questions or qualms.
Happy 2009 and best of luck in the next semester.
Corey
I hope your holiday has been relaxing and/or exciting so far. I have finished reading all of your portfolios. It was an interesting exercise to re-read the stories and poems you submitted this semester, in their revised forms, and among those I had not already seen were plenty of surprising and entertaining bits. I will be emailing you individually with full comments on your work in the next couple of weeks (if you don't hear from me by the time the new semester begins, please contact me).
The part of evaluation I like the least is assigning grades, but I've done it anyway. You can see your own grade, broken down by participation, presentation, commenting, and portfolio, on Blackboard. Just go to www.qc.cuny.edu, click on Blackboard, and log in.
Overall, I was impressed by your creativity and by the quality of much of the writing I've seen this semester. In most cases, if you didn't get a mark in the A range, it's because your effort/participation in the course was somewhat lacking, either in class or online. Thomas Edison supposedly said that genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. The same applies in this course, as in most courses. You're welcome to email me if you have any questions or qualms.
Happy 2009 and best of luck in the next semester.
Corey
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
A Man
A Man
What does a man look for in a woman/girlfriend?
This is a question that roams the minds of women today and everyday.
Is it being; a model, having the brains, beauty, talent, being religious, being a clean freak, knowing your way around the kitchen or just a woman who can take care of herself and is independent? Who knows? I don’t even think men know what they are looking for? The second question is , how many men realize the importance of their wives or their girlfriends when they do have one. Men today try to be the best during their times of courtship and after it all, they become a totally different person, transforming everything that the women loved about them, making the women ask ; Was it all just fake? Was he pretending just to get me in bed? Was it just a phase to get a woman? What was it? Why can’t we all just be ourselves from the beginning and save ourselves the heartache and pain that comes along with it in the end of a messy relationship…..
What does a man look for in a woman/girlfriend?
This is a question that roams the minds of women today and everyday.
Is it being; a model, having the brains, beauty, talent, being religious, being a clean freak, knowing your way around the kitchen or just a woman who can take care of herself and is independent? Who knows? I don’t even think men know what they are looking for? The second question is , how many men realize the importance of their wives or their girlfriends when they do have one. Men today try to be the best during their times of courtship and after it all, they become a totally different person, transforming everything that the women loved about them, making the women ask ; Was it all just fake? Was he pretending just to get me in bed? Was it just a phase to get a woman? What was it? Why can’t we all just be ourselves from the beginning and save ourselves the heartache and pain that comes along with it in the end of a messy relationship…..
frustrated
Frustrated
Hated by all, loved by none. A cliché it seems, but how true it is no one realizes. Being blamed for everything that goes wrong might seem impossible for an outsider to understand, however for me it happens so very often. How can one person be so wrong? And is it ever possible to do anything right? Or is it just the other party, who blames all their mistakes on me in every way possible? Why does this happen to me and will it every change? Will this hurtful feeling ever leave or will it always be there upon times of recalling these specific memories. I just wish it can stop and one day I can speak up for myself and be a stronger individual who fights for the truth and what I believe in.
Hated by all, loved by none. A cliché it seems, but how true it is no one realizes. Being blamed for everything that goes wrong might seem impossible for an outsider to understand, however for me it happens so very often. How can one person be so wrong? And is it ever possible to do anything right? Or is it just the other party, who blames all their mistakes on me in every way possible? Why does this happen to me and will it every change? Will this hurtful feeling ever leave or will it always be there upon times of recalling these specific memories. I just wish it can stop and one day I can speak up for myself and be a stronger individual who fights for the truth and what I believe in.
Narrative poem......The Game
Waking down this grainy road,
The yellow eyed cat makes it way,
Makes his way into my mind,
Slowly collecting the black marbles,
So he can play a game with the mice,
I know he cheats in his game,
He’s always the winner and the mice are his victims to consequence.
Around me I see no leaves on any tree,
Except one, One holds as the breath of the wind attempts to loosen his grip.
It fights and wishes to hold onto it’s tree,
The wind laughs and slashes the leaf,
The cat laughs as well and calls him a fool,
The battle had been won by the wind,
As the corpse fell to the ground with its brothers and sisters.
I reach the willow tree I’ve been searching for.
Yellow it is as the cat’s eyes.
A little boy races around my mind,
Smiles and I watch how his eyes shine as he sees his new toy truck.
I watch him play on the road.
I hear the roaring of the machine,
His eyes shined against the crimson road,
I’m sorry
The cat gnaws at me and asks for his final marble.
I didn’t forget, what I told him as I place the dark stern of a deathly flower in where
my words have escaped.
I’m sorry,
I pull and release.
Thinking of that little boy.
The cat collects his marble and smiles, “I’ve won once
again”.
The yellow eyed cat makes it way,
Makes his way into my mind,
Slowly collecting the black marbles,
So he can play a game with the mice,
I know he cheats in his game,
He’s always the winner and the mice are his victims to consequence.
Around me I see no leaves on any tree,
Except one, One holds as the breath of the wind attempts to loosen his grip.
It fights and wishes to hold onto it’s tree,
The wind laughs and slashes the leaf,
The cat laughs as well and calls him a fool,
The battle had been won by the wind,
As the corpse fell to the ground with its brothers and sisters.
I reach the willow tree I’ve been searching for.
Yellow it is as the cat’s eyes.
A little boy races around my mind,
Smiles and I watch how his eyes shine as he sees his new toy truck.
I watch him play on the road.
I hear the roaring of the machine,
His eyes shined against the crimson road,
I’m sorry
The cat gnaws at me and asks for his final marble.
I didn’t forget, what I told him as I place the dark stern of a deathly flower in where
my words have escaped.
I’m sorry,
I pull and release.
Thinking of that little boy.
The cat collects his marble and smiles, “I’ve won once
again”.
ghazals
Ghazals
As entwined as the lovers Radha and Krishna,
I long for that which is simply everlasting.
The sound of happiness has been taken away,
Not a smile but a tear instead is here.
Red roses lying across the bed,
Realizing that one day I would also be dead.
I want to remember you, even if it’s the last thing I do,
I want to reunite with you, I know that is true.
As entwined as the lovers Radha and Krishna,
I long for that which is simply everlasting.
The sound of happiness has been taken away,
Not a smile but a tear instead is here.
Red roses lying across the bed,
Realizing that one day I would also be dead.
I want to remember you, even if it’s the last thing I do,
I want to reunite with you, I know that is true.
A woman
The Woman
If my eyes have gone blind from this news,
Of pantyhose, motel trips and latex switched,
It would be of no surprise.
A harlot’s promise can not be kept.
If I knew the twisted vines that rested in your head,
I would have never taken that step.
Marriage is only a fool’s request,
A harlot’s promise cannot be kept.
Of pantyhose, motel trips and latex switched.
And my blood rushed to skin you alive,
And make you hang like a doll n your back.
A harlot’s a witch in disguise of
Pantyhose, motel trips and latex switched.
My blood would rush,
Break through gates that have been open.
This goddess harlot of pantyhose, motel trips and latex switched.
Choose many and me.
If my eyes have gone blind from this news,
Of pantyhose, motel trips and latex switched,
It would be of no surprise.
A harlot’s promise can not be kept.
If I knew the twisted vines that rested in your head,
I would have never taken that step.
Marriage is only a fool’s request,
A harlot’s promise cannot be kept.
Of pantyhose, motel trips and latex switched.
And my blood rushed to skin you alive,
And make you hang like a doll n your back.
A harlot’s a witch in disguise of
Pantyhose, motel trips and latex switched.
My blood would rush,
Break through gates that have been open.
This goddess harlot of pantyhose, motel trips and latex switched.
Choose many and me.
deep image poem
Mirror
Looking into the mirror for a reflection of my life.
A scarred image makes a place in my head.
Everything so perfect, yet so misplaced.
I looked in the mirror for the perfect image,
Only to know that it was only a dream.
Looking into the mirror for a reflection of my life.
A scarred image makes a place in my head.
Everything so perfect, yet so misplaced.
I looked in the mirror for the perfect image,
Only to know that it was only a dream.
The Eye
The Eye
Two smaller version golf balls, lodged in my head.
A perfectly black circle painted on each.
Observing the movements, they sit quietly,
Adding moisture with its tiny crack within the edge.
It closes the shutters once in a while.
And every two seconds its brittle brushes sweep the area,
Ridding it of anything harmful.
In a deep trance it orbits rapidly, under its blanket.
This is my two smaller version golf balls, lodged in my head.
Two smaller version golf balls, lodged in my head.
A perfectly black circle painted on each.
Observing the movements, they sit quietly,
Adding moisture with its tiny crack within the edge.
It closes the shutters once in a while.
And every two seconds its brittle brushes sweep the area,
Ridding it of anything harmful.
In a deep trance it orbits rapidly, under its blanket.
This is my two smaller version golf balls, lodged in my head.
A body poem
My fingers, My children.
They scratch the piano's hands ,
They laugh in high pitch notes,
Cry in low notes
My children run fast,
Across the piano's face,
The piano just laughs.
My children become older everyday,
There have small wrinkles on their face.
And that luster in their eyes that starts to fade away into a dark grey.
Even the piano falls out of tune,
B sounds like a screechy old man,
D sounds like a dying cat,
Screaming in its last second in its life.
So children, you are my world,
You are how I feel alive,
Without you,
I’d be separated surely,
from the world and from expressing my self.
They scratch the piano's hands ,
They laugh in high pitch notes,
Cry in low notes
My children run fast,
Across the piano's face,
The piano just laughs.
My children become older everyday,
There have small wrinkles on their face.
And that luster in their eyes that starts to fade away into a dark grey.
Even the piano falls out of tune,
B sounds like a screechy old man,
D sounds like a dying cat,
Screaming in its last second in its life.
So children, you are my world,
You are how I feel alive,
Without you,
I’d be separated surely,
from the world and from expressing my self.
An interesting conversation between a boy and a girl
Boy : Come on ……listen
Girl: What is it?
Boy: Listen carefully then tell me what u think?
Why are women so arrogant, vain and stuck up?
We’re just being nice to you, so why the attitude?
Girl : You listen to me…
Boy: What would you like to say?
Girl : We’re not like that, but even if we were….so what?
Why shouldn’t we be proud or even arrogant?
When we have the world at our feet and our beauty drives you crazy.
Even when we break your hearts, you must admit we do it with a certain charm.
………we hope you got the answer you were looking for
Boy : Listen to me.
Let me tell you the secret of your beauty and your charm.
It is we who behold the magic in your mundane acts and honor your silly tantrums
with attention. It is we who call your smallest virtues sublime…..and
make your ordinary look legendary.
Your beauty remains unmatched only in the eyes of the beholder…..without us, where
would you be?
Girl : If u think that we owe our looks to you then it’s clear that your
beauty has you so intoxicated that you cannot think straight, otherwise why would you
talk such rubbish?
Boy : Obviously you missed the point….. forget it….
If you want to be vain that’s fine but don’t forget….
That the glow on your face only reflects the fire of our passions for the world to see.
Girl : It’s not surprising we’ve cast a spell on you, with our petal-soft
skin, lips like buds and hair so dark and fragrant like the night.
Boy : But we’re the ones who compared your lips to buds and your
skin to blossoms. It is we who respond to your glance as if it’s magical and your words as
if they’re poetry….and it’s we who see the mystery of the night in your hair.
If we were not to look at it, to love it and to worship it…..who would call an idol made of
stone……A GOD
Girl : Please listen to me.
Boy : What is left to say?
I know exactly what you’ll say.
Girl : But at least listen to what I have to say…..
Boy : Maybe later ( checks his time )…. If I get the time..
Girl : But….
Girl: What is it?
Boy: Listen carefully then tell me what u think?
Why are women so arrogant, vain and stuck up?
We’re just being nice to you, so why the attitude?
Girl : You listen to me…
Boy: What would you like to say?
Girl : We’re not like that, but even if we were….so what?
Why shouldn’t we be proud or even arrogant?
When we have the world at our feet and our beauty drives you crazy.
Even when we break your hearts, you must admit we do it with a certain charm.
………we hope you got the answer you were looking for
Boy : Listen to me.
Let me tell you the secret of your beauty and your charm.
It is we who behold the magic in your mundane acts and honor your silly tantrums
with attention. It is we who call your smallest virtues sublime…..and
make your ordinary look legendary.
Your beauty remains unmatched only in the eyes of the beholder…..without us, where
would you be?
Girl : If u think that we owe our looks to you then it’s clear that your
beauty has you so intoxicated that you cannot think straight, otherwise why would you
talk such rubbish?
Boy : Obviously you missed the point….. forget it….
If you want to be vain that’s fine but don’t forget….
That the glow on your face only reflects the fire of our passions for the world to see.
Girl : It’s not surprising we’ve cast a spell on you, with our petal-soft
skin, lips like buds and hair so dark and fragrant like the night.
Boy : But we’re the ones who compared your lips to buds and your
skin to blossoms. It is we who respond to your glance as if it’s magical and your words as
if they’re poetry….and it’s we who see the mystery of the night in your hair.
If we were not to look at it, to love it and to worship it…..who would call an idol made of
stone……A GOD
Girl : Please listen to me.
Boy : What is left to say?
I know exactly what you’ll say.
Girl : But at least listen to what I have to say…..
Boy : Maybe later ( checks his time )…. If I get the time..
Girl : But….
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Cinderella Snowball
Cinderella.
She wept!
Because of stepmother.
She yelled at her.
She made her do chores.
Then she went to a ball.
She fell in love with a prince.
When the clock stroked midnight she headed home.
The prince then realized Cinderella left her glass slipper.
Cinderella wanted to get it but her stepmother prevented her.
She wept!
Because of stepmother.
She yelled at her.
She made her do chores.
Then she went to a ball.
She fell in love with a prince.
When the clock stroked midnight she headed home.
The prince then realized Cinderella left her glass slipper.
Cinderella wanted to get it but her stepmother prevented her.
Workshop Dec. 15
I will have copies tomorrow since it is up late. Somethings are harder to convey than others, and in the process you sometimes lose your focus. Feel free to let me know if i lost mine somewhere within this piece. I would love to know what it means to you. Comments, criticisms, and corrections will be much appreciated. Thanks.
Untitled
“Fuck your mudda, fuck your fadda, and shit the pippy”
I walk over to Josephine to give her a warm Friday evening greeting. The woman stands about four foot, six inches tall with thick, shoulder length, pearly white hair. She has warm blue eyes and a half-toothless smile that is so genuine and sweet. I can’t help but reach out for a hug every time I see her. And every time she kindly welcomes me.
“Get off me you crazy bastard or I’ll break your ass!”
I embrace her regardless and laugh as she starts to cry and whine, begging for God to save her. She may be obnoxiously oblivious but as far as I know, nothing is funnier than seeing a short, plump, 85 year old woman ask for Jesus’ mercy, then proceed to curse him and his “mudda” out.
I pulled her down to sit in a chair in front of me. She’s vulgar, but never malicious, never puts up a fight, and always loves some attention. I begin to comb out her hair and braid it, as she sits whistling You Are My Sunshine, swinging her feet, that don’t even touch the floor, back and forth, back and forth.
Josie is probably the cutest woman in the entire facility. Unlike many, she gets family visitors, so it is important for her to always look nice, be groomed and clean. They like to see her taken care of and receiving that extra bit of love, she needs it. Personally, her explicit outbreaks instantly become 100 times more amusing when she has French pigtails on each side and a “World’s Best Grandma” sweater on.
Hands busy, I look around to see if anyone is getting ready to fall or eating inedibles. A room full of wheelchairs, a sea of sadness, everyone lost in their own thoughts. How many memories must be floating amongst us, and how many regrets creeping around? I can’t help but constantly put myself in their shoes and fear the ambiguous paths life takes.
When thinking about security, we automatically thought of money. Every problem imaginable was handcuffed with a dollar sign. Society’s members constantly clash. Ignorance is negated by education, but diplomas aren’t free. Children grow up neglected, engaging in transgression. We should have been home more, and cherished their company, but time is money. Many are slowly dying with rare cases of everything, things uncommon and unknown. Relationships are torn by heartbreak and healthcare, but still, the best doctor means the big bucks. Divorce has painted our world in all colors alike. If only she could have wanted less. If only he could have offered more. If only they weren’t so blind. Monetary love exists. Even our Creator has been robbed of our loyalty. God gives and forgives, man gets and forgets. Only when he makes it big, and is asked how, will he reply “by the will of God.” Fiscal faith is ubiquitous. Those who say money isn’t everything never had enough to realize its power. Those who have it wouldn’t give it up for the world. That was certain.
Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon resonates through the room. I try to line up everyone’s wheelchairs in front of the 52” flat screen that was recently installed. The ones with glasses and cataracts go in the front row, and the hard of hearing right behind them. The almost deaf and blind are in the middle and the relentless in the back. They’re the ones that push and crash their chairs like bumper cars into other’s, crushing already fragile fingers between the wheels. I can’t afford injuries on my watch, so I set them aside.
Movie night begins as all eyes are glued to Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady. I grab a seat next to Eulalia Torres. She always sits in the back and just observes. She spends her time learning about everyone and her surroundings, yet there is so little we know about her. She is from
She looked me up and down about four or five times, staring at my eyes and then my hands. Reaching over she grabbed my right hand while muttering under her breath.
“You play numbers? The lottery?”
I nodded no, as her black beady eyes studied my face. She ran her fingers along my palm, then closed my fist, opened my palm again, tracing the lines. Her wide toothless grin emerged as her eyes reduced to slits, and she laughed
“1,0,9,4,”
There is no security in life. Not with your belongings, not with your loved ones, not even with your sanity. Everything is up for grabs at some point. You never can truly appreciate the simplicities life has to offer until you see what humans turn into when they become deprived. No kind of money can save you. No check can guarantee a strong, loyal family, and no Visa can acquire quality of life. Money can ease troubles and provide comfort to a degree, but will that money always do us good? Will it preserve our dignity as humans, and save us from constantly being at the mercy of others? Will it save an elite spot for us every step along the way? It will do no such thing. At the end, we stand and crumble all the same. This is certain.
How fortunate would I have been to heed the advice given to me? 1,0,9,4 were drawn the following night in the Win4 combination game. Yet I had no regrets because I know money loses its value when you really think about the heinous things people will do for it. I know it can transform compassion and love into greed, just like I know Ms. Torres speaks volumes with her silence. A woman cheated by her own son. Deceived and falsely persuaded to sign all assets and property over to him while ill, in hopes that he would nurse her back to health and look after her belongings. Everything was sold, and poor Eulalia was tossed into a home, with no ties to a family, and not even a greeting card on Christmas. Neither is little Miss Pippy an exception to the wrath of greed. She’s an angry little woman, but what fuels her rage? Josephine inherited much of her parent’s wealth, and now her husband wants a share. State laws being complicated, and inheritance not being considered marital property, he needs to prove he is a devoted and loyal husband to help his case. So devoted he is, as to not even miss a day to come by, and sometimes brings along a woman friend whom he calls his niece. And so loyal of a man, that he pecks Josie’s check, but kisses the neck and lips of this niece. Her mindless condition is to his advantage, and he’s milking it for all it is worth. All she does is smile and cry, and smile again and tells him to go kill himself, “you lousy son of a bitch.”
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Your portfolio
Just a final reminder of what should be included in your portfolio.
From the syllabus:
At the end of the semester, you will submit to me a portfolio of 15-30 pages of your best work, which may include poetry, fiction, non-fiction, drama, shopping lists, or anything that you feel is good writing, including your emails or posts for the class. It must include revised versions of the material you workshopped in the class, and a 2-3 page note explaining what work you’ve done with the material in the context of the course. The portfolio is worth 50%.
For the "note" mentioned above, here are further specifics: it should be in two parts. First, a 1-2 page statement about your writing process with regards to the portfolio: which pieces you thought worked best, anything you learned about your own writing during the course, and generally any comments you have about your own work. Second, I also want you to write a 1-2 page appreciation of another writer's work: choose your favorite story, poem, novel, essay, play, script, or whatever by a writer you like and explain why you like that particular piece. You can use George Saunders' essay about "The School" as a model. These notes are not included in the 15-30 page count, by the way.
Your portfolio can be submitted on paper, stapled or bound, in a folder, in a chapbook, or electronically as a pdf or MS Word file. It's up to you, but please do put some effort into presentation.
Corey
From the syllabus:
At the end of the semester, you will submit to me a portfolio of 15-30 pages of your best work, which may include poetry, fiction, non-fiction, drama, shopping lists, or anything that you feel is good writing, including your emails or posts for the class. It must include revised versions of the material you workshopped in the class, and a 2-3 page note explaining what work you’ve done with the material in the context of the course. The portfolio is worth 50%.
For the "note" mentioned above, here are further specifics: it should be in two parts. First, a 1-2 page statement about your writing process with regards to the portfolio: which pieces you thought worked best, anything you learned about your own writing during the course, and generally any comments you have about your own work. Second, I also want you to write a 1-2 page appreciation of another writer's work: choose your favorite story, poem, novel, essay, play, script, or whatever by a writer you like and explain why you like that particular piece. You can use George Saunders' essay about "The School" as a model. These notes are not included in the 15-30 page count, by the way.
Your portfolio can be submitted on paper, stapled or bound, in a folder, in a chapbook, or electronically as a pdf or MS Word file. It's up to you, but please do put some effort into presentation.
Corey
Friday, December 12, 2008
Not for Workshop-just a random piece
12/12/2008
Dear Baby,
There are some things that should be mentioned to you on the way to your self discovery. I’m writing this not to scare you or deprive you of any moment that is ending one minute at a time. I want you to be happy but happiness only goes so far. Life, baby, is a sea of great expectations. The way you handle the boat’s oars is the path in which you will travel. You have to push through the currents and the uneasiness of the winds. The trip is bound to hurt you, but it is up to you to achieve your own moral salvage.
Life is not all about sexual maladjustments and erotic desires, baby. Don’t believe all of what Freud says. Remember, be trustworthy but never trust. There would be a lot of fools with lines to preach-be skeptical baby. They are selfish human beings who seek self-gratification at your expense. You have to build a forth wall once you find your significant other. Remember they are your audience and you are the performer. Act but don’t be a Hollywood entertainer. If you allow them to break this wall, learn to attach but do not combine. If worse comes to worse let him break your heart, but not shatter into millions of pieces for you can bind what’s in two but you can’t mend the shattered mirror of self.
In a way baby, Holden is right-life is full of phonies. But don’t ever become one. When asked, these goddam frauds don’t care about how your day is or how you are. Trust me they have much more crap on their plate than to worry about your problems. Remember, nobody genuinely cares about you baby. It’s a troubling concept but it must be dealt with. Those who you think are your friends are only people with secret identities who claim to be your friends. Their true colors are exposed at the end of the rainbow, baby, whose ending is far from a pot of gold.
Money, baby, is the derivation of all immorality. Own, but do not get owned. Possess, but do not become possessed. In the words of Tyler Durden; you are not the money that you will be earning. You are not the car that you will be driving. You are not your house and you are definitely not your job. These “things” are put forth in front of your optical to act as obstacles and deprive you of your true identity. Your name is just a word. But, you baby, is the only one who can set forth its meaning.
The truth is baby, life is a bitch. You give a dog meat, and it satisfied. You give individuals the road to success and they become successful. It’s a Pavlonian experiment in which everything works in patterns. Your task is to break such patterns and live YOUR life. Experience every opportunity, inspire your imagination, and feed your conscience with pleasure. But be sure, baby, to stay within the lines as you glide against the fresh canvas.
Love,
Your mommy
P.S.
Good Luck :)
Dear Baby,
There are some things that should be mentioned to you on the way to your self discovery. I’m writing this not to scare you or deprive you of any moment that is ending one minute at a time. I want you to be happy but happiness only goes so far. Life, baby, is a sea of great expectations. The way you handle the boat’s oars is the path in which you will travel. You have to push through the currents and the uneasiness of the winds. The trip is bound to hurt you, but it is up to you to achieve your own moral salvage.
Life is not all about sexual maladjustments and erotic desires, baby. Don’t believe all of what Freud says. Remember, be trustworthy but never trust. There would be a lot of fools with lines to preach-be skeptical baby. They are selfish human beings who seek self-gratification at your expense. You have to build a forth wall once you find your significant other. Remember they are your audience and you are the performer. Act but don’t be a Hollywood entertainer. If you allow them to break this wall, learn to attach but do not combine. If worse comes to worse let him break your heart, but not shatter into millions of pieces for you can bind what’s in two but you can’t mend the shattered mirror of self.
In a way baby, Holden is right-life is full of phonies. But don’t ever become one. When asked, these goddam frauds don’t care about how your day is or how you are. Trust me they have much more crap on their plate than to worry about your problems. Remember, nobody genuinely cares about you baby. It’s a troubling concept but it must be dealt with. Those who you think are your friends are only people with secret identities who claim to be your friends. Their true colors are exposed at the end of the rainbow, baby, whose ending is far from a pot of gold.
Money, baby, is the derivation of all immorality. Own, but do not get owned. Possess, but do not become possessed. In the words of Tyler Durden; you are not the money that you will be earning. You are not the car that you will be driving. You are not your house and you are definitely not your job. These “things” are put forth in front of your optical to act as obstacles and deprive you of your true identity. Your name is just a word. But, you baby, is the only one who can set forth its meaning.
The truth is baby, life is a bitch. You give a dog meat, and it satisfied. You give individuals the road to success and they become successful. It’s a Pavlonian experiment in which everything works in patterns. Your task is to break such patterns and live YOUR life. Experience every opportunity, inspire your imagination, and feed your conscience with pleasure. But be sure, baby, to stay within the lines as you glide against the fresh canvas.
Love,
Your mommy
P.S.
Good Luck :)
Thursday, December 11, 2008
For Dec 15
As the title suggests, this is for the workshop. Feel free to criticize, comment, ask, correct,..., and discuss whatever you consider important. Be a judge, not a counselor, so feel free to point out what needs to be addressed if need be--this is the only way to make some progress.
Phase Union
In a one-dimensional world, the seemingly black cold Ex stood undisrupted of its daily activities, well, during its "time" as defined by its existence. It isn’t alone though: it lives with all its other peers, acting together in a society where appropriate associations and macro-unions lead to rich atmospheres and link to many possible dimensions as ruled and described by the very same associations.
Ex's job is to denote a certain type action that triggers sound, but often accompanied by some of its peers as to act in unison to make it powerful and lasting, or at least communicative. Ex is also skillful at standing still, waiting for orders of costumes or movements to replace its cold façade into a more amiable one. It is a raw material for mass production so to speak, where it constitutes an essential but often minor role when there’s demand for its service. And yet, with such a rich experience Ex’s application seems limited, or at least hindered in some ways. It would argue “I’m composed of the same bulk as all the others. I can create and compose any an all tasks if applied properly, but I’m still enclosed tight in the same dimension as you stick-pigs!”—Its peers would gag.
Ex’s rebellious attitude isn’t new, nor is precipitate, but simply delayed. Delayed because Ex of itself is always rarely used, and of the honorable mentions of its world, as contained in the Powerful Text of Peer Cooperation (a book where the most used combination of the society of peers is listed and described), Ex is barely mentioned and only has a small section. Of the many other tribes in Ex’s one-dimensional world where different combination of peers can compose one thing but be completely nonsensical in another, Ex is also rarely used, and some don’t even use it at all except when it’s an exotic export from some of the other tribes! It’s this resentment for being ignored, underrepresented and used for a device of mystery that has led for Ex to resign its world and its peers, to leave and never return unless to strike back.
Ex opted for a radical decision for change, a decision that no one in the society takes for the possible chain effects and annihilation of the whole. But Ex and its crossed mind had neither remorse nor concern for a society where cooperation and connections are essential for a meaningful existence; it didn’t care for its peers and transposed unto a parallel phase, alone.
The transposition itself borrows from an exotic but common system of parallels between two seemingly unrelated dimensions. One maps the other although not uniquely, which may takes away the uniqueness of the transformation, but can nevertheless be used to link each of the dimensions. All there really needs to be done is for such mapping to exist is for an element from one dimension to morph into the other willingly, as Ex’s case. Given the simplicity of the task and the determination of the figure, transposition is easily done.
But what effect can such disregarded cross hearted figure actions have on its peers? E9’s seemingl9 unessential and minute task surel9 can’t affect the 9hole bulk of another 25 linking peers, can it? That’s wh9 it left in the first place.
Local legend has it that transposing unto the parallel phase leaves a specificit9 hole 9here those related to that 9hich crossed it are sucked along 9ith it, creating unintended casualties for the 9hole s9stem. But the collapse onl9 comes afterwards, 9here the hole itself collapses unto its constituent holes and these in part into their holes, thus starting a self-annihilating chain effect.
The societ9 of peers fear this, and kno9 that it’s said it takes t9ice the amount of the denoting hole (its identit9 “figure”) for the hole to collapse unto its other holes, and its denoting constituent holes four times that and so on. There is ho93v3r, no going back9ar3s—if such 3v3nt w3r3 to occur the p33rs ar3 po93rl3ss and 9ill go 3own th3 33struction path such that th3 s9st3m 3ith3r hol3s or 3alls tog3th3r but n3v3r 39ists in parts; th3r3’s no such thing as homog3nous phas3 transition.
But just ho9 long can it tak3 for this 3v3nt to compl3t3 its3l3? Th3 truth is that th3 33noting hol3s r3lat3 to one anoth3r to c3rtain 3xt3n3s, but no one o3 its o9n can summon all th3 oth3rs. 93ll, th3r3 is a linking hol3, but it its3l3 3o3sn’t 3o an9thing e9cept spontan3ousl9 spurt all th3 oth3r harm3ul hol3s. 9h3n this stat3 is r3ach33 it 9ill ran3oml9 3ispla9 its3l3; at that mom3nt, utt3r chaos wi55 53a3 on. It’s on59 a matt3r o3 unit-counting-tim3 be3or3 3v3r9thing it’s rap33 a9a9 of its imm33iat3 m3aning 53aving its para55e5 but sti55 ambiguous stat3 to int3rpr3t, 33scrib3 an3 un33rstan3.
T44s on3 34m3ns4ona5 9or53 9455 soon 3nou44 prov3 r3b3554ous an3 53a3 on a batt53 o3 s353-33ca9 94th 4ncr3as4ng59 comp539 patt3rns 3m3r44n4 an3 on59 a 339 93apons to avo43 t43 4ol3s a55 tog3th3r. But 4n t44s soc43t9, a55 so t444t59 boun3, 3v3r so coop3rat4v3, 4t’s s4mp59 not poss4b53 an3 9455 4o on. 4ts un4t9, 4ts p445osop49 br4n4s 4t 3o9n 9or3 b9 9or3. 4t’s an 3p4d3m4c o3 9433-r3ac44n4 proport4ons o3 p3rp3tuat4n4 33m4s3; a s353-br33 pat4o43n o3 p53asurab53 transm4ss4on, br4n44n4 t44s 34m3ns4on 4nto a 33tac433 stat3 o3 3343n3rac9.
39 2n3 4ts m25424ousn3ss 42s un532s433 t44s 3ur9, t44s s353-33gr232t4on 255 3or 4ts pr334spos4t4on to 2ssum4 4ts rol3. 2 t4n9 2r253 o33 2n3 t43 94o53 2o552ps3s. 4s t44s t43 3n3, 43 4n34v43u25 t44n4s 2r3 234n4 m2pp33 4nto 2 24443r sp223 so t42t 332o34n4 3o3s not 94353 t44s un4qu3n3ss? 22n it 3v3r 23 s243 t42t t43 r3st o3 t44s m4s3ortun2t3 22t4on 9455 23 33s2r4233, 332o333 2n3 222ur2t359 un33rstoo3? 2po2259ps3 no9 3or t44s on3 34m3ns4on onto t43 nu55, onto t43 not44n4—4t’s 4n3v4t2253, t43 3o552ps3s, t43 4mp5os4on—332t4.
T4r33 mor3 4o53s 2n3 t44s 4s 3nou44 to 5no9, 2on33mn 2n3 2urs3 39. T44s p42s3 tr2ns4t4on o3 a p2r25535 34m3ns4on to t44s 53tt3r 34m3ns4on, 255 22us33 29 44m 3or 4ts 3go23ntr424t9, 42s 3rou44t not44n4 mor3 t42n 2on3us4on 2n3 2 223 22s3 63 s353-r333r36232b454t9. 4s6’t 4t 2532r t42t t6 9r4t3 2 t39t t43t 22ts 66 4ts353 9455 5323 t6 34s2st3r 43 t43 t39t 3355s 36rt4 4ts 696 su42433? 2 2633 s6 t4425 669 t42t’s 2566st 362r9pt33—4’55 532v3 t44s 34636s466 669, t66 r6tt36 t6 t9p3, t66 r6tt36 t6 r323. T44s 666t4, 3323623r, 42s 62r533 t43 363 63 t44s 463rt 34636s466, 6659 533t t6 394st t4r6u44 5433-supp6rt 63 666-sp324342 s3ts 63 6u623rs 5323464 632r 4u63r33s 63 34333r3nt 2662462t466s 36r 2 s46453 96r3. T43 63ss243 4s 2532r: 48’7 843 363 63 39, 843 363 63 8447 27834 247422384225 98753 263 843 363 63 8447 9675.
Phase Union
In a one-dimensional world, the seemingly black cold Ex stood undisrupted of its daily activities, well, during its "time" as defined by its existence. It isn’t alone though: it lives with all its other peers, acting together in a society where appropriate associations and macro-unions lead to rich atmospheres and link to many possible dimensions as ruled and described by the very same associations.
Ex's job is to denote a certain type action that triggers sound, but often accompanied by some of its peers as to act in unison to make it powerful and lasting, or at least communicative. Ex is also skillful at standing still, waiting for orders of costumes or movements to replace its cold façade into a more amiable one. It is a raw material for mass production so to speak, where it constitutes an essential but often minor role when there’s demand for its service. And yet, with such a rich experience Ex’s application seems limited, or at least hindered in some ways. It would argue “I’m composed of the same bulk as all the others. I can create and compose any an all tasks if applied properly, but I’m still enclosed tight in the same dimension as you stick-pigs!”—Its peers would gag.
Ex’s rebellious attitude isn’t new, nor is precipitate, but simply delayed. Delayed because Ex of itself is always rarely used, and of the honorable mentions of its world, as contained in the Powerful Text of Peer Cooperation (a book where the most used combination of the society of peers is listed and described), Ex is barely mentioned and only has a small section. Of the many other tribes in Ex’s one-dimensional world where different combination of peers can compose one thing but be completely nonsensical in another, Ex is also rarely used, and some don’t even use it at all except when it’s an exotic export from some of the other tribes! It’s this resentment for being ignored, underrepresented and used for a device of mystery that has led for Ex to resign its world and its peers, to leave and never return unless to strike back.
Ex opted for a radical decision for change, a decision that no one in the society takes for the possible chain effects and annihilation of the whole. But Ex and its crossed mind had neither remorse nor concern for a society where cooperation and connections are essential for a meaningful existence; it didn’t care for its peers and transposed unto a parallel phase, alone.
The transposition itself borrows from an exotic but common system of parallels between two seemingly unrelated dimensions. One maps the other although not uniquely, which may takes away the uniqueness of the transformation, but can nevertheless be used to link each of the dimensions. All there really needs to be done is for such mapping to exist is for an element from one dimension to morph into the other willingly, as Ex’s case. Given the simplicity of the task and the determination of the figure, transposition is easily done.
But what effect can such disregarded cross hearted figure actions have on its peers? E9’s seemingl9 unessential and minute task surel9 can’t affect the 9hole bulk of another 25 linking peers, can it? That’s wh9 it left in the first place.
Local legend has it that transposing unto the parallel phase leaves a specificit9 hole 9here those related to that 9hich crossed it are sucked along 9ith it, creating unintended casualties for the 9hole s9stem. But the collapse onl9 comes afterwards, 9here the hole itself collapses unto its constituent holes and these in part into their holes, thus starting a self-annihilating chain effect.
The societ9 of peers fear this, and kno9 that it’s said it takes t9ice the amount of the denoting hole (its identit9 “figure”) for the hole to collapse unto its other holes, and its denoting constituent holes four times that and so on. There is ho93v3r, no going back9ar3s—if such 3v3nt w3r3 to occur the p33rs ar3 po93rl3ss and 9ill go 3own th3 33struction path such that th3 s9st3m 3ith3r hol3s or 3alls tog3th3r but n3v3r 39ists in parts; th3r3’s no such thing as homog3nous phas3 transition.
But just ho9 long can it tak3 for this 3v3nt to compl3t3 its3l3? Th3 truth is that th3 33noting hol3s r3lat3 to one anoth3r to c3rtain 3xt3n3s, but no one o3 its o9n can summon all th3 oth3rs. 93ll, th3r3 is a linking hol3, but it its3l3 3o3sn’t 3o an9thing e9cept spontan3ousl9 spurt all th3 oth3r harm3ul hol3s. 9h3n this stat3 is r3ach33 it 9ill ran3oml9 3ispla9 its3l3; at that mom3nt, utt3r chaos wi55 53a3 on. It’s on59 a matt3r o3 unit-counting-tim3 be3or3 3v3r9thing it’s rap33 a9a9 of its imm33iat3 m3aning 53aving its para55e5 but sti55 ambiguous stat3 to int3rpr3t, 33scrib3 an3 un33rstan3.
T44s on3 34m3ns4ona5 9or53 9455 soon 3nou44 prov3 r3b3554ous an3 53a3 on a batt53 o3 s353-33ca9 94th 4ncr3as4ng59 comp539 patt3rns 3m3r44n4 an3 on59 a 339 93apons to avo43 t43 4ol3s a55 tog3th3r. But 4n t44s soc43t9, a55 so t444t59 boun3, 3v3r so coop3rat4v3, 4t’s s4mp59 not poss4b53 an3 9455 4o on. 4ts un4t9, 4ts p445osop49 br4n4s 4t 3o9n 9or3 b9 9or3. 4t’s an 3p4d3m4c o3 9433-r3ac44n4 proport4ons o3 p3rp3tuat4n4 33m4s3; a s353-br33 pat4o43n o3 p53asurab53 transm4ss4on, br4n44n4 t44s 34m3ns4on 4nto a 33tac433 stat3 o3 3343n3rac9.
39 2n3 4ts m25424ousn3ss 42s un532s433 t44s 3ur9, t44s s353-33gr232t4on 255 3or 4ts pr334spos4t4on to 2ssum4 4ts rol3. 2 t4n9 2r253 o33 2n3 t43 94o53 2o552ps3s. 4s t44s t43 3n3, 43 4n34v43u25 t44n4s 2r3 234n4 m2pp33 4nto 2 24443r sp223 so t42t 332o34n4 3o3s not 94353 t44s un4qu3n3ss? 22n it 3v3r 23 s243 t42t t43 r3st o3 t44s m4s3ortun2t3 22t4on 9455 23 33s2r4233, 332o333 2n3 222ur2t359 un33rstoo3? 2po2259ps3 no9 3or t44s on3 34m3ns4on onto t43 nu55, onto t43 not44n4—4t’s 4n3v4t2253, t43 3o552ps3s, t43 4mp5os4on—332t4.
T4r33 mor3 4o53s 2n3 t44s 4s 3nou44 to 5no9, 2on33mn 2n3 2urs3 39. T44s p42s3 tr2ns4t4on o3 a p2r25535 34m3ns4on to t44s 53tt3r 34m3ns4on, 255 22us33 29 44m 3or 4ts 3go23ntr424t9, 42s 3rou44t not44n4 mor3 t42n 2on3us4on 2n3 2 223 22s3 63 s353-r333r36232b454t9. 4s6’t 4t 2532r t42t t6 9r4t3 2 t39t t43t 22ts 66 4ts353 9455 5323 t6 34s2st3r 43 t43 t39t 3355s 36rt4 4ts 696 su42433? 2 2633 s6 t4425 669 t42t’s 2566st 362r9pt33—4’55 532v3 t44s 34636s466 669, t66 r6tt36 t6 t9p3, t66 r6tt36 t6 r323. T44s 666t4, 3323623r, 42s 62r533 t43 363 63 t44s 463rt 34636s466, 6659 533t t6 394st t4r6u44 5433-supp6rt 63 666-sp324342 s3ts 63 6u623rs 5323464 632r 4u63r33s 63 34333r3nt 2662462t466s 36r 2 s46453 96r3. T43 63ss243 4s 2532r: 48’7 843 363 63 39, 843 363 63 8447 27834 247422384225 98753 263 843 363 63 8447 9675.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
3rd piece for 12/10 workshop
Ok folks, this is a record for me but I'm making up for lost time. This is my third and final workshop post for tomorrow's class, sorry it's so last minute.
Three Words
He sees her at the bus stop.
Without thinking he makes his way over
to kill time while waiting.
Normally he would've stood in the same spot
and waited for the bus
not saying a word.
Today was different for some reason.
He stops right in front of her.
He knows his window of opportunity will close soon
so he figures he has enough time for three words.
He can't decide on which three words.
Now he wishes he had rehearsed before he started walking.
There are so many possibilities and combinations.
Which one is the right one?
He looks her up and down to get an idea.
Now only one three letter word seems to come to mind.
"Hi, I'm (name here)"? "Naw, too cliche" he thinks to himself.
"Let's go out!" "Too straightforward....and a bit creepy" he thinks.
"What's your sign?" "What is this the 80s?" he asks himself.
He finally regains his composure and focus.
He ultimately decides on his three words.
He opens his mouth...."Nice to meet you", she says
He breathes a sigh of relief.
He would not suffer the fate of the cheesy opening line.
His window shut, but an even better one opened
because he is no longer limited to three words.
He is amazed what can happen in 2.5 seconds,
but quickly disregards the thought and carries on the conversation.
Three Words
He sees her at the bus stop.
Without thinking he makes his way over
to kill time while waiting.
Normally he would've stood in the same spot
and waited for the bus
not saying a word.
Today was different for some reason.
He stops right in front of her.
He knows his window of opportunity will close soon
so he figures he has enough time for three words.
He can't decide on which three words.
Now he wishes he had rehearsed before he started walking.
There are so many possibilities and combinations.
Which one is the right one?
He looks her up and down to get an idea.
Now only one three letter word seems to come to mind.
"Hi, I'm (name here)"? "Naw, too cliche" he thinks to himself.
"Let's go out!" "Too straightforward....and a bit creepy" he thinks.
"What's your sign?" "What is this the 80s?" he asks himself.
He finally regains his composure and focus.
He ultimately decides on his three words.
He opens his mouth...."Nice to meet you", she says
He breathes a sigh of relief.
He would not suffer the fate of the cheesy opening line.
His window shut, but an even better one opened
because he is no longer limited to three words.
He is amazed what can happen in 2.5 seconds,
but quickly disregards the thought and carries on the conversation.
2nd piece for the workshop
Solace
despite his deep complexity
he finds solace in the simplicity of the beat
it is the only thing that understands him at times
despite his deep complexity
he finds solace in the simplicity of the beat
it is the only thing that understands him at times
December 10th workshop
60 + 1 (keys)
Sixty plus one, that's the magic number.
Those two numerals create something so complex
with so many keys and functions
as it lays there, waiting to be touched.
Each touch differs depending on where my hand is placed;
sometimes it yells, sometimes it's a soft sound due to my touch.
It differs with each key.
I don't know where to start, the top or the bottom
but it all looks the same to me.
Everything is the same two shades, black keys white keys.
Sixty plus one, those numbers mattered to the likes of Micky Mantle and Roger Maris,
to me also, but in a different way 61 equates to my challenge.
Why am I so afraid?
I put forth so much effort, this is my chance.
I shouldn't be afraid should I?
After all it's laying right there,
right in front of me waiting.
That sleek, exquisite frame.
Those keys, those buttons.
How could I resist?
I must be crazy to hesitate.
I read all those books and studied religiously,
I can do this.
If I don't, nobody's going to do it for me.
I guess we'll find out if it all paid off.
By adding 60 to 1
by pressing those keys.
Sixty plus one, that's the magic number.
Those two numerals create something so complex
with so many keys and functions
as it lays there, waiting to be touched.
Each touch differs depending on where my hand is placed;
sometimes it yells, sometimes it's a soft sound due to my touch.
It differs with each key.
I don't know where to start, the top or the bottom
but it all looks the same to me.
Everything is the same two shades, black keys white keys.
Sixty plus one, those numbers mattered to the likes of Micky Mantle and Roger Maris,
to me also, but in a different way 61 equates to my challenge.
Why am I so afraid?
I put forth so much effort, this is my chance.
I shouldn't be afraid should I?
After all it's laying right there,
right in front of me waiting.
That sleek, exquisite frame.
Those keys, those buttons.
How could I resist?
I must be crazy to hesitate.
I read all those books and studied religiously,
I can do this.
If I don't, nobody's going to do it for me.
I guess we'll find out if it all paid off.
By adding 60 to 1
by pressing those keys.
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