Wednesday, December 12, 2007

And Some More Options~ Revision, Prompt #30

A photo of a person, what do you see?

I see a newspaper clipping with the image of my father smiling back at me. A furry unkempt beard on a stern face, aged with labor and stress. You can tell by his bright eyes that he is an honest, kind man with a lot of strength. “He’s still wearing that hat,” the tattered, green, John Deere hat my brother and I bought him for Christmas 5 years ago, he just never took it off.

My mind wanders off… I remember I was eleven that year and Cade was probably 8. We worried about what to get him as usual, I don’t know why because he always liked everything, or pretended to anyway. Cade found the hat at some store in the mall and really thought he would like it. Little did we know that soon we would despise that hat more than even eating vegetables.

My dad is a landscaper so he’s always outside working hard with his hands; in the earth, on the tractor, just getting the job done. So, naturally he’s going to get dirty and reeking. As well as wearing that hat everyday, it was only a matter of time before it took on the appearance of our working dad. Sure, it was washed and tried to be made, to at least appear new again but it just seemed permanently dirty and tattered. But dad still loved it and continued to wear it despite its dog-eared appearance.

In the morning it was on his head, at work it was on his head, at home, at the dinner table it was on his head. Even out shopping or at the movies, we were focused on this eye sore of a hat which we quickly began to resent. At times, we begged him just to leave it at home, on family nights we compromised that it would be ok for him to wear; picking us up from a friend’s house definitely not and anywhere out in public was generally a big no also. A couple of times my step mom would take Dad off to the side when we were going to a BBQ at her friends house or going to her mother’s for dinner. Sometimes she said “I know you like it but it’s not appropriate for tonight.” Dad would mostly agree and reluctantly leave it on the coat rack as we walked out the door. He always said it was a part of him, that he felt naked without it, an old familiar comfort.

Whenever he was asked to leave behind his hat it was like we were asking him to abandon his dog or one of us kids, well maybe not that severe, but still you could clearly tell it bothered him and he wasn’t himself without it. Always reaching for his head to adjust a cap that wasn’t there, he just wasn’t as content and we noticed that. In some repressed way Cade and I had maybe grown a little use to the old thing and even if we hadn’t, we realized how petty and selfish we were being. We gave dad a gift that he truly enjoyed and then we took it away from him because we were worried about how it made us look. The hat was apart of dad, built into his personality, you didn’t see him without it ever, unless one of us begged him to leave it off, “just for tonight.” From then on we never complained again, we embraced it, at least to his face.

Week 16 ~ Options, Options, Options

Journal Entries:
December 5th
I walk in from the cold and tiring day, with heavy footsteps I reach my bedroom door. But something is amiss. The paddle lock has been forced off. Rage and confusion bubbles underneath the surface, I try to swallow it back down but it tastes like hot bile, I’m sure I could breath fire right now if I tried.
I step inside but everything looks the same, though, knowing nothing will ever be the same. How does one accumulate so much stuff in a bedroom not much bigger than some closets? It’s going to be a pain moving out.

December 7th
I walk in from the cold and tiring day, with light footsteps I climb the first set of stairs and then the next, up to the attic. The room unfolds in front of me, much bigger than the last. The floors are wooden and dull; the walls are slanted towards the outer edges. At first glance it doesn’t look like much, but to me my mouth is salivating at the potential. I should have been an interior decorator. I close my eyes and picture what it will look like. A lush burgundy throw rug covers the floor of the sitting room, couch, coffee table, entertainment center. The walls are painted white, the flames from the candles dance on them creating tricks of light. You pass through the high archway into the bedroom, the safe and cozy bed centers the room. A small wooden desk is off to one corner looking out the window. White Christmas lights borders the room, creating a warm glow. I come down from my cloud laying my eyes once more on the empty spaces. It’s great moving in, like a blank canvas, a clean slate.

December 10th
Carrying an arm load of boxes I make my way to my former bedroom door, not knowing what to expect. I drop the empty boxes on the floor only to be confronted with another enraging occasion. Everything misplaced, someone touching my things. Clothes piled high inside a box much like my own, trinkets, pictures, candles, memories, possessions scattered about the small confines of the room. Just the thought of someone going through my belongings without my knowing is enough to make me vomit, I feel violated and violent. I am a very personal and private being, there is no reason for someone to overstep their boundaries and intrude my space. THIS IS WAR!

Week 15~ Juxtapose

1.)
Smooth and rhythmical.
Hunting like little bloodhounds as I tried retracing my steps
The things you've seen, done, thought, and felt.
We've evolved to be hunters
Proceed cautiously
Series of reversals, challenges needing to be overcome.
Characters left standing.
Tales, anecdotes, yarns,
The world will beat a path to your door.
It is not the king, it is the courtier.
A deeper understanding, a different focus
Everything seemed so right. I didn't jump in. I took my time
Details, examples, stories from your first-hand experience.
Because, to see what is in front of one's nose requires a constant struggle.
Accepting shadows and imitations.
You can't do that.
Look at the story, see the details
Pushed to the limit and right under your nose,
If only you will open your eyes,
Face the whole nasty confusing, messy, itchy, stinky thing
Improve your prose, look at it,
See your problems, change your stuff
You're reading, first, for clumsy constructions, silly-sounding sentences, Unintended repetition, confusion.
You'll hear those things when you may not see them
It is meant to be heard,
To have breath pushing the words out into the universe and giving them rhythm and melody.
Living off the page, as well as on.
Your writing is your material--will IT fail YOU?
A transference of energy from performer to audience and back again.”
The words are you, you are them.
Giving tongue to your prose: turning yourself into your words and turning your words into you.
Too easily satisfied!
The individual?
Write right up to your elbows.
Write something alive.
Black and white
Throw in a little fancy stuff
Let it off its leash
Know thyself
Listen, talk
You passing through the larger world, you embedded in bigger things
The is tire spinning, you're wading in.
Beautiful and bold, the other is scaredy-cat and not-pretty.
Get rid of the rubber, let go of the diving board.
2.)
It is autumn and I can feel the air changing
The cool wind that rushes upon my face and up my spine
The smell of the crisp air is intoxicating
I love this time of year
Most of the summer blooms have gone by
Dead foliage is at hand
A gust of wind comes up from behind me, rousing the sleeping leaves on the road. A twister of colors; red, orange, yellow, and brown dance around me,
Green fabric stretched out across the shy earth and the shock of baby blue sky
Indigo lake dancing with the light from the sun
Mountains looming tall in the backdrop
Trees with fleeting leaves, changing in their brilliance
A quilt of many colors spread wide over the treetops
Remembering the hill side in the peak of summer covered with lupins. Their pink, purple and blue hues illuminating the fields of grass as a flawless sky
sets the scene
Just a memory
Drink in the landscape of the earth.
My ears turn to wind
Roots take over my veins
Lying on my back in the tall grass, spotting animals in the clouds
I’d sit on logs like pulpits and listen to the sermon of sparrows,
Hearing the song of a finch singing from a nearby tree
Belting out the last few chords of his masterpiece, watching as he flies off towards the sky
Finding god in simplicity there among the dandelion and thorns
I look up once more towards the trees; they’re bare now, hollow skeletons shaking in the wind
It’s late; the moon is bright and full, guiding along side me
The ground is dirtier but the same old memories still exist,
Inspired
I want to capture it because I might never see it again.
At times it seems like, in a moment a year can pass before your eyes or a single minute can feel like forever
Don’t get caught up in the moment but let the moment catch up to you.
It’s peaceful and full of wonder…

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Theme Wk 14 ~ Depicting the Terror & Powerlessness of a Girl

Although you cannot feel me
I am always there
With you, in you, on you,
For your beauty is so fair
I watch you from behind the trees
As you walk home
My arms long to feel you
Possess you as my own
The night is drawing nearer now
The light is dwindling fast
You better hope that your good luck
Will forever last
Because once I get a hold of you
Press your porcelain face to mine
You will become one with me
I am the creator, the divine
Although, your eyes delude me
I can see it in your walk
You want me to take you
Keep you with key and lock
So come with me, already mine
The night is hurrying on now
I leap out behind the trees
And grasp my startled pawn
You start to fight and begin to cry
You twist and turn your face
But you don’t know you stupid bitch
That you belong to me?
With one hand over your mouth
I pull you into the shadows
Here’s one more for the tally
Your screams are drowned out by my tongue
Your limbs held down by mine
You know so much you want this
Why else dress so fine?
You are all mine now
Every move you make
I can tell by your screams of pain
It’s your virginity that I take
I leave you in the shadows
Your clothes all torn to shreds
Your panties thought I will keep

So my ego will be fed
You know you wanted to fuck me
Why deny it for so long?
Walking home the same old route
I knew it wasn’t wrong.
All along you sent me signals
You’re young and pretty and sweet
Its women like you
Who make me itch
Why do you call it rape?
You know you wanted it bitch.