Freestyle # 14
hmm... Christmas is around the corner... and I bought Joshua a guitar for christmas. I gave it to him already because I was too excited. I was tired of seeing him play that stupid old kids guitar that sounded like somebody covered the strings with crisco and decided that it needed a few dents before it would be properly played. it's
horrible. Josh wants to be a rock star. He cannot sing very well, and I'm trying to help him develop his vocal chords. what I'm worried about is that it's
all he wants. I hope in the future that things will go as we want them to, but I also don't want to forget family and home.
Freestyle # 13
Looking into the cool, silver surface of her reflection she can see nothing but hatred in her hazel green eyes. She hates her skin, never smooth and soft as she wants it to be, open pores which never seem to get clean and create that seamless complexion she sees on everyone she wants to be. Her hair is broken, damaged. She takes as best care of it as she can yet can never get it to be sleek and shiny, smooth and straight. It seems too thick to manage and unruly in its ways. It hasn’t been its natural colour since she was maybe 13 years old. The dull, grey-brown it was could never satisfy her taste. It wasn’t bright enough, not the vibrant red she always wanted. Her lips she thought, were not full like she wished they were, and her chin has a dimple, one which she could do well without. She didn't like how her face was so round, and how her hairline was not quite a widow's peak, or the mole she has on her chin. She didn't like
anything about herself... and yet, with all these flaws, she still has a boyfriend, no, a fiance, that likes her reflection, and helps teach her to like it as well.
Freestyle # 12
It's snowing outside. The white flurries pass across my vision and it's a warm snow, a silent snow. I feel like standing underneath these white clouds and claiming my redemption, my salvation. I feel like I've dissapointed someone, God? Sometimes I don't know what the hell I'll ever believe in. I can't say I believe in anything, because I believe in the
possibility of
everything. It torments Joshua, and it's something he hates. I don't know what to do this year at christmas time... I hate being split in two. I don't even feel like celebrating anything now, I just feel like dying. I betrayed myself. What is it? Why does religion have to be so important? I grew up in somewhat of a pagan background, and I believe in a lot of those things, but I don't close my mind to other things. I am open to believing anything, because I'll never know what is real. I haven't met any religion where I find it in my heart, that faith. There is nothing there. I'm scared sometimes that this my hurt my relationship with Joshua because he believes so strongly in his religion, and often times he judges me for what I can't feel. I don't exactly know where I stand. I wish organized religion didn't exist.
Freestyle # 11
I feel like a murderer. I killed something yesterday. A love, a smile, a hope. I murdered it brutally with a cold piece of stainless steel. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I feel this insufferable loss that I don't think I can ever explain, and it's overtaking me at this moment. I don't want to eat, I don't want to sleep, I don't want to live. Guilt for someone I've ruined. My mind said no and my heart said yes, but now everything feels regret and self-loathing. I'll have to wait, I said to myself, and I destroyed him. I;m running behind on love and it's getting hard to keep up sometimes, but I think this has made me want to try harder.
Freestyle # 10
I've come to notice a few things about my job. I like it. Not because I really like what I do, but because I like the interesting people I meet every day. There are cashiers who just complain and complain all the time, but I can't see why it's so stressful. I'm naturally a nice, caring person, and I'm interested in people's lives and how they are feeling and what their wishes are. I talk to my customers, and a lot of cashiers don't do that. They just bag the groceries, smile, and say"have a nice day", and off they are on to the next transaction. I interact with my customers, I bag their things properly, ask their opinions, make commentson how they look or what they are buying, and relate to them in some way or another. This strikes up conversation, which then leads to appreciation. I think it makes their day better to know that someone is interested in what they are doing. Someone can be in the worst mood ever, and If I can relate to that person and talk to them just a little, they leave with a smile. I've gotten a lot of compliments on my performance as person, not as a cashier.
Freestyle # 9
Customers hustle and bustle about, it's another boring day at work. Wal-mart isn't all that fun a place sometimes, but I meet a few interesting people at the registers, and some really nasty ones. Some smell very bad, like rotten old onions and moldy bread. Ther are people who blab on their cellphone while I'm scanning and bagging their groceries, which is rather annoying when I try to ask them a question about what they are buying, what bag I can put it in, whether or not they want to keep something out so they can eat it or use it or keep it in their purse. There's the occasion punk kid who tries to make wise-ass comments, and the flirty older gentlemen, who makes friendly gestures and comments about how nice I look. People make comments about my engagement ring, and ask about my college career, what I plan for my future. I hate it when mothers come in late at night with their children who should be sleeping, and buy craploads of food that isn't even nutritional. There are the young parents with WIC checks, buying eggs and milk and frozen juice concentrates, and there are those with the foodstamp card who separate their groceries on the belt, oh so very nicely for me. I am the observer, and working up front at the register is entertaining, although tiresome; but even though I get tired and sometimes a little stressed, It's always great to meet all sorts of people and help them in some way or another.
Graf # 18
My writing throughout this semester has fluctuated. I'm like a hazel eye decidsing wheter or not to be green or blue. I really liked my writing, and there were times I hated it, but overall I'm proud of what I've done this semester, good or bad. I appreciate the things that were thrown back at me because they needed to be.
Graf # 17
I really enjoyed this course. I love to write and I think that writing in a strict non-fiction manner has helped me more to put myself into literal terms. I am a person who uses metaphor after metaphor, and I'ver learned to really express myself without hiding behing things. As goldfine puts it, I write with naked hands. I've really felt strongly about what I write, and I've gotten the greatest compliments of all, and those were the ones where he couldn't say anything at all. I'm going on to that creative nonfiction class next year, because this semester can't hold it, but I really look forward to another class held by Goldfine.
Graf # 16
I also enjoyed writing this essay. What I didn't like is how many times it was handed back to me and rewritten. I'm stubborn and I do not like to be told to rewrite things that I feel are completed. Well, actually, I just wanted to get the damn thing out of my hair, because I had a shitload of things to finish and I didn't want to have to look at it again, as with all of the work I accomplish on the last minute. I work a lot and so it's hard for me sometimes to balance between school, work, and my high maintenance relationship with my fiance.
Graf # 15
I liked writing the classification essay. The fanbase is something I know a lot about, because I had been a part of the Hanson fanbase... which.. is... inSANE... I've been right there in the middle of all of those fan-stages. Hanson is one of those bands that you either love, or you hate, and I am a hanson lover.
Prompt Reaction # 14
Sex, drugs, rock and roll!The hall is empty. There is not a single person in sight as I carry my sticks up the stairs and with me behind the set. There is no tune, no melody, only me and my rhythm, and the echoes on the walls. I twirl the smooth wood between my fingers, like I twirled his flaxen curls, and adjust the cymbals and snare to my tastes. Looking around for any sign of humanity, I get ready to create the scene. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, relax my muscles, and crack my knuckles. My rings come off, and my shoes tied tight. With few counted measures, I let my body do the work, creating a jungle-like rhythm that verberates across the empty space of the auditorium. I close my eyes and see myself at a piano, playing a melody guided by the beat of my drums, and an acoustic guitar weaving it's way into the song. A harmonica hums at the bridge and there, in the midst of it all, comes the waves of the bass guitar, syncronized with both the drums and guitar. In my mind I see a crowd appear. First a few, than many, young and old, short and tall, skinny and fat, and of all races and colours. I think "This is my unity", as I create the sounds for everyone to hear. As they wave there hands in the air, A voice coos into the microphone silken like his whispers, and then another like his cries, and another like his laughter, and a three part harmony escapes into the soundwaves, wrapping its way in and around the tune. The harmonica fades into a whisper and dies down, as the bass and guitar way their final plucks and strums. The piano keys make thier last blinding impression and they sit quietly, as the last words in the voice are out. All that's left is the standing beat of the drums, and the colours racing behind my eyelids. I make one final tap-tap-tap on the snare drum and open my eyes. The hall is empty. There is not a single person in sight. There is no tune, no melody, only me and my rhythm, and the echoes on the walls. This is my unity. This is you.
Prompt Reaction # 13
"We are gathered here today to remember....."One day of loss has surmounted to levels of pain unimaginable to the young and to the old. We are gathered here today to remember a smile. Not just any ordinary smile, but one framed in kindness and love; Memories of laughter and joy, of innocence and purity, of appreciation and respect. We’re here to remember a loving embrace, and a comforting pat on the back. A memory of sprinklers and finger paints and play-doh mashed to bits. Pig tails and butterflies, and dandelions blowing in the wind; Walks through the mossy trees, looking for sparkles of fairy light, and water balloons falling on your head. We’re here to remember the starry nights on the trampoline, and green dolls made of yarn at a Girl Scout meeting. Here to remember the rat-tat-tat on a snare drum and the tinkle on piano keys, heart and soul dancing to and fro. We are here to remember The Neverending Story and Chuckie the mouse, smashing lipstick in the rat’s wire screen cage cover, Osirus buried in the vegetable Garden. To remember days in the backyard- tag football, Aaron and Omar, with the purple marker, a ring, and jealousy between sisters. We are here to remember Jessica and her sugar free candies, and a phone call to the police over pixie stix. Big bean bag chairs, and an Interview with a Vampire, ghostbusters at 2am and the last goodbye on a Saturday morning. Here, the memories of Gary the giant, and A little mermaid and a genie. Mickey and Minnie, Dolls and puppy dogs, Patch and Lyla and Sparky the fish, and Baloo, the big orange bear cat. There’s one more thing we can’t forget, and that’s Fleetwood Mac, and Stevie Nicks for Gene, the flaming homosexual who lived in our livingroom. We are here today to remember the very first day it all dissappeared, the day I grew up.
Division Essay
Perfect Music
I’ve often spent hours laying in bed listening to music, letting my body absorb the powerful waves of bass, the tangy, sweet chords of an acoustic guitar, and the gentle tinkering of a grand piano. I’ve been taken over by the jungle-like drums and swept high and low with the hum of a violin. I’ve been blasted away by distorted notes and pulled to pieces by harmonized voices, and I’ve almost never come close to hearing perfect music. Some say perfection doesn’t exist, but exist it does, and in very real places. It’s in the heart, in the mind’s eye, in that very deep secret you never wanted to keep. Perfect music makes my soul come alive. It makes me cry, makes me laugh, and enrages me all at the same time. Perfect music invokes my deepest emotions. You can’t have perfect music, without good lyrics. When music is perfect, the lyrics flow as smoothly as the notes themselves, and they always come from within. Perfect music isn’t in any particular genre; no specific group, like rap, or rock, or country, or pop. Perfect music is unique in classification. Perfection is created through the imperfect, and those are the ground rules.
I’ve listened to all sorts of songs, upbeat, and downers, and all sorts of in-betweens. Some of the best music I’ve heard combines all three. At my grandfather’s funeral, they played music that brought forth memories and love. Now every time I hear those songs, I get emotional and I have to turn them off. That isn’t perfect music, but it does invoke emotion. Perfect music has the ups and the downs that can send your heart rate up through the roof, and down through the cold caverns of pain. When I listen to Silverchair’s “Emotion Sickness”, the deep echoes of the acoustic piano throw my heart into a whirlwind, and the dangerous cries of Daniel Johns bring me to tears. When I hear “Blank Page” by Smashing Pumpkins, I think about the man I love and things that we have gone through together. The simplicity of the music is ironic because it crates such a beautiful sound, with only three instruments behind it. The delicate chords on piano keys overlap one another, and ride through tidal waves of bass guitar. Gentle, calming words from Billy Corgan dance atop these mountains of sound and bring me smiles and tears. Perfect music can be complex or simple, but it always helps me to remember what it is like to feel.
The easiest way to ruin a perfect song is to have terrible lyrics. When music is to be perfect, it must have perfect lyrics or no lyrics at all. If you have a perfect, powerful melody, with the right amount of harmony, and that music withdraws innumerable emotions, you cannot have lyrics about screwing hoes and smoking dope, or pumping iron and poppin’ caps in people’s asses. The lyrics need to go with the melody, but they also need to go with the energy of the song. I hate it when I’m listening to the radio, and a song starts to come on where the music is incredible, but then the vocalists start to sing and I hear something completely unexpected and violating to the sounds underlying. A song with perfect lyrics is “I Alone” by Live. The music alternates from soft to hard and takes the lyrics with it, and brings memories back to the surface of my mind. It’s about love and fear. My favourite part of the whole song are these lyrics: “I'll read to you here, save your eyes, you'll need them, your boat is at sea, your anchor is up, you've been swept away, and the greatest of teachers won't hesitate to leave you there by yourself chained to fate”.
Perfect music is not discriminative and does not hold any cultural boundaries. It has elements of different cultures, and incorporates all sorts of things into one. Two of my favourite bands that do this are Tool and A Perfect Circle. Almost all of their songs have a tribal feel to them. A Perfect Circle is slower, and a lot less edgy than Tool, but both bands have the same singer and songwriter. They are similar in that they both use the drums as key instruments, throwing in rhythmic, animal like beats in the background of the rest of the music, and also use a lot of western cultural instruments like sitars and pan flutes. When I listen to them, I am once again overcome with emotion, and almost feel as though I’m being taken into the jungle with the drums, and throwing my distorted thoughts out at the American government.
In my eyes, or ears, a song cannot be perfect without these three key elements. I don’t even like anything that doesn’t evoke emotion, and when I hear terrible lyrics, I’m revolted and I have to shut off the radio. I don’t listen to any real genre of music that doesn’t involve some cultural aspect to it, be it the American culture, the government in particular, or historical. I love listening to music, and I like it even better if it’s perfect.
