creative

creative / Uncategorized — No Comments
10
Jun 09

So I Was Walking Down the Street, Right?

Somone Walking Down the Sidewalk, by iirraa, from flickr

Somone Walking Down the Sidewalk, by iirraa, from flickr


And there was this woman in front of me. Sorta short and probably middle-aged. Suddenly she starts doing this little hobble thing to pick up speed. Anyone who knows me personally knows that I walk aggressively quickly, so I was probably trying to pass her at the time. She tries not to let on, but she’s kind of looking every time we pass a set of windows so she can see how close I am without looking over her shoulders. She’s obviously straining herself to put this awkward little hop in her step so that she can stay in front of me. It’s in a less-than-busy area, but nonetheless we’re passing a couple storefronts per block, and I notice one or two other pedestrians.

At first, I’m sad. I want to say, “relax, lady, I’m not going to hurt you.” But I worry that’ll just scare her more. Or she’ll whip out her pepper spray on me. Literally, I’m afraid that if I address her, she’ll either scream, sprint off, or start putting her free trial self-defense lesson to work.

Then I start getting annoyed. At this point, I’ve slowed my pace just a tiny bit, she’s still struggling, and every time i speed up she speeds up too. I try going further to either of the sidewalk, but she keeps nervously hobbling along and making sure to stay in front of me. I’m offended that she’s read me as a threat. How could I possibly have looked threatening, with my stonewash skinny jeans and bright purple american apparel hoodie (hood down, mind you). I’m incredibly skinny, and kind of pimpley. I was carrying a burger, eating as I walked. Perhaps it was my mohawk (well, more of a “dirty hawk”)? Or just my quick pace? Maybe she’s just had a bad experience, perhaps involving someone who looked something like me? Certainly the fact that I’m male had something to do with it.

Either way, I’m pissed off that this lady has obviously passed some sort of judgement on me, and I really don’t feel like slowing down (again, if you know me personally, you’ve probably noticed this). I still kind of feel bad that she’s scared, and she’s obviously having trouble keeping up the pace, but at the same time, part of me is saying “That’s what you get for accusing me of being a predator. Not my problem you’re being paranoid and judgmental.”

Eventually, she takes a sharp turn to go inside some little liquor store or something.

I’m still not sure what to make of this. I’m still kind of angry at her, but I also feel bad that I scared her. I make a point of not flaunting my masculinity and I try to subvert my male privilege, yet this still happened. Welcome to the city?

creative / poetry (ish) — No Comments
20
Jan 09

1/1/09

the spontaneity of the right-hand turn
the alertness not unrelated to a lack of sleep
the shoes left in the car
the cautious yet eager walk down the street and down the slippery ramp
the half-buttoned shirt with rolled-up sleeves

the way the wind was just subtle enough
the way the loose clumps of sand release their tension under my feet
the crispness of the air
the beautiful, clean, intimate fog

the middle-aged couple out taking their first walk of the year
the fisherman whose rod runs parallel to the horizon
the seagulls springing into the air as a young girl runs by

the purple of my hands
the cold metal of my camera
the chill of my damp hair
not numbing
beautifully penetrating and cleansing

the quiet and isolation
the introspection and reflection
the promises and the initiative
the beautiful, clean, intimate fog

creative / Prose — No Comments
5
Sep 07

Modernism

Mid-term Modernism Project from 11th grade english. I experimented with improvisational writing. I went to starbucks with my laptop and wrote. I eventually took an excerpt and polished it into a short story. I’ve attached the rest of my stream of consciousness.

Reflections
The man and the octopus sit at the table. The room is dark. Completely black. No windows. Cold. Not enough to shiver, but enough to want to. Clang. Metal on wood. Calm, silent movements by the octopus. Scratch, flicker, light! A single match. Illuminated face of the octopus shows no eyeballs. Just a round pale head with a slit of a mouth. White octopi are rare. The ends of 3 tentacles surround the tip of the candle as a fourth slowly but deliberately lowers the match, as the head remains erect and rigid, staring forward with no eyes. Only the outline of a small bunch of tentacle ends is seen as the match is allowed to excite the wick. All four tentacles are calmly brought back behind the the table, taking the still lit match with it, allowing the neck to be seen for just a second. A short, thin stub of a neck. The man ponders how it can hold up the head.
Ticking of a clock. The head is illuminated from below by the candle light, such that the top fades into darkness. The flickering light makes the form of the octopus’ head appear to jiggle. The man notices the shininess of the octopus’ mucus-coated exterior. Is it getting colder in here? Blink. Clang. The candle is knocked over. A lone tentacle is visible in the light, which dims, but then comes back. Larger. The table is ignited. Crackle of a more enthusiastic fire. The flickering light illuminates more of the octopus. The whole head is visible, sill in the same erect position with the unmoving slit. All eight tentacles can be seen in the violent flickering light. They emerge directly from the neck- no body. The man ponders an anatomical explanation for the octopus’ apparent lack of vital organs.
The fire is larger. A bucket of water emerges from beneath the table, held by two tentacles. The octopus slowly, calmly, turns the bucket above the table, releasing the liquid relief. Again, the head shows no motion. Completely erect. Eyeless forward stare. The fire climbs up the stream of water, igniting the bucket. The bucket is released and the tentacles, after an ever so slight jerk of apparent fear, are slowy lowered beneath the table. A minute shiver of the head. So minute it didn’t even happen. Completely still again now. Perhaps even more still, theres determination.
The fire leaps off of the table and engulfs the man. With the last few seconds of hist life, he turns and sees a window. Was that there before? The landscape is beautiful. A forever stretching flatland of dry dirt, fading into fog, with a sole tree off in the distance. A tear hits the floor as the last breath is released.
The octopus’s head nods forward some, and the slit relaxes into a hole as an enormous sigh is released. The top of the head sags forward, making a slight crease just above where the eyes might have been if they existed. The octopus remains at the table as the fire slowly burns out and the same initial silence is again achieved, only this time louder. Another sigh is released as the octpus slouches up to a “standing” position and moves away from the table, away from the carcass. The lowered head bobs up and down as the tentacles drag along the floor . A tentacle wraps around the handle. The door is opened. Light floods the room. The door handle reflects the light. The octopus’ mucus-covered exterior reflects the light. The walls are mirrors. The words are mirrors.

ANALYSIS
it’s important to note that this was done after writing the story. Some of these ideas emerged during writing, some during revision, few possibly subconsciously before writing.

mirrors
climax of story and overall message:
you just read all that story
i wrote it
but i didn’t TELL you anything
i didn’t make you BELIEVE anything
you just found interpretations inside yourself
almost demotes the entire story
THESIS: our class discussions have shown that in some modernist writing, we are forced to reflect on ourselves and find our own values, rather being spoonfed ideas by the author
ie: imposition of our own values onto interpretations of Prufrock

possible subconscious reasons for other elements:

initial cold
idea of finding purpose (prufrock, wasteland)

the narrator occasionally uses the man’s “voice”

octopus
very concerned with how the man sees him
cannot show weakness
straining to keep head erect and mouth in slit shape
eyes
show too many emotions
lack of eyes and candle is like kurtz’s painting in heart of darkness
represents imperialism (heart of darkness)
apparent good intentions (candle)
vast, destructive, expansion of ideas (burning table)
lack of sympathy for people (man)
presents self as superior, strong (erect head)
thin neck, big head
all bark, no bite
no body- no emotions, no sympathy, no heart

man
onlooker, uninvolved (prufrock, araby, heart of darkness)
killed before much is known about him
shows artist’s lack of sympathy for audience (killing roach in metamorphosis)
shows violence and uncaring of octopus

stream of consciousness

activism / creative / Essays / proposal / satire — No Comments
23
Jan 07

A Modest Proposal for the Complete Abolition of Art at Chadwick School

Chadwick School is nearly perfect. We have hard-working staff, a beautiful campus, and most importantly, hard-working and dedicated students. I know that all Chadwick students value their education, and it deeply pains me to see when my peers are distracted from their work. I believe that there is one key problem at this school, and it is art. I propose that this distraction is removed and banned from Chadwick School.

Art is a pointless exercise of mass-producing images of items that are far better viewed in person. Perhaps a photo may be of use to one who cannot physically see something in person or who wishes to remember a certain event. Some may argue that photography is an art, but I assure you that the unusual close-ups and blurry images that I have heard called “art” are nothing more than the play of a child who does not know how to properly use a camera. The same goes for the many “abstract” drawings or sculptures that I have seen. If I fell asleep with a pen in my hand and woke to find my mattress covered with random spots, would that be considered “art”? This kind of work is nonsensical and should have been early outgrown. Children call it play, us adults call it a mess.

Granted, not all art is of this random abstract nature, some is realistic, such as a bust or painting of a human. The creation of such things is of course a waste of time, as with the use of a camera one can capture an image immediately. Such things as bowls created with clay are inefficient, as machines could be made to do the repetitive work that humans are not meant to. I wish only to keep the students focused on their work, as I know they value their education above all. Instead of performing the repetitive tasks behind art, students should spend their time working math problems.

I have heard such words as “self-expression” and “emotion” when describing art. This makes very little sense, as I cannot see how the random placement of stains on a piece of paper can possibly express emotion. If one would like to express an emotion, I welcome the writing of a formal essay or letter to one who can help to eliminate this, as all emotions are simply distractions that must be overcome to maintain an efficient work schedule. A peer once said to me that the use of art for “expression” can help some students to stay healthy and deal with their emotions. What a misunderstanding! Said person must have obviously wasted far too much of their time on art and not had a chance to learn of the true order of things. It simply makes no sense that spending time dirtying perfectly good paper will help a person to deal with emotions. Obviously if a person is too distracted by their emotions they are not fit to attend our prestigious school. I recommend the complete extermination of such emotions. We all know that to ignore is to destroy, which is why the communication of such things is only contributing to the problem and is also the reason why we should never ignore our studies. If such “expressiveness” is discouraged early in a child’s education, it can be eliminated and no longer pose a threat to the studies of our bright students.

There is of course the theatre, which is another of these arts. Students spend time memorizing lines and movements to perform them all in order flawlessly in front of spectators. This is inefficient, as with the use of a video camera, the set, words and actions could be shot one by one, with segments containing errors simply re-done or edited with the use of a computer. By this method the students would only need to perform their parts once and not necessarily in the correct order, and the film could be assembled and watched an infinite number of times thereafter.

Most of all, I cannot express enough my fear for the safety of the students around art. If it is indeed true that these students are being expressive and emotional and even communicating new ideas to people with art, the civil order of our school could be at risk. Expression of new ideas yields opinions, which create disagreements and divisions. Divisions create disputes which can erupt into attacks to power, resulting in the upheaval of order. The students will begin to question the authority, and attempt to change their position or the truths enforced by their superiors. It is for this reason that our one true system must be understood by all students.

If all students can understand this system, we can work constantly on math problems. The need for motion would disintegrate as we developed machines to feed us. Language would become obsolete, as all people would communicate with math via computers. Eventually our programs would become so sophisticated that we wouldn’t even need to think and we ourselves would become obsolete, creating a golden age of computerized rule and ultimate efficiency. I see no place for art on the path to this golden age.