I am enjoying the story chain, and so instead of writing up a new topic for this week, I declare that we shall continue with last week's topic until next Sunday! Let's keep this chain going, see where we take it (or where it takes us!).
Have fun, kids.
Mod 1
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
13-06: Story Chain Part 6
"And even you," Reese continued, "must have figured out who 'they' are by now."
"Humor me," Vincent replied wearily.
The candy kid scoffed. "Really. Really, with all those picture comics and graphic story books I know you got lined up on your wall and under your bed, you don't have a clue." He pulled the potential prophet up from the moonlit ground. In the place where Vincent sat, the flowers hadn't flattened, but kept their uncrushed fullness, rebelling against the weight of his human body. Reese smirked, though not unkindly. "I bet you never read Gaiman. No wonder you're so confused." He clapped a fully informed hand on Vincent's uninformed back. "I'm not playing around. We've got to go. Now. Come on."
"Hey now, hold on man, you haven't told me a damn thing." Vincent pushed Reese's hand away. "Where are we going? Who are 'they'--these people you're talking about? For all I know this is some Dungeons and Dragons bull you're pulling."
Reese sighed, laughing a little. Despite all evidence to the contrary, from where he stood Vincent noted that the candy kid's breath smelled nothing like peanuts and chocolate. More like a curiously strong mint, an unnatural freshness.
"Don't be an idiot, kid." His hand clapped on again. "D&D is a table top game. This is live action, and I swear by the totally rockin' shirt on my back that it's real. If I didn't have to keep you out of trouble, I certainly wouldn't be wasting my time in this podunk one-store neighborhood." Pressing lightly with his palm, he began the walk from their spot on the flower grounds.
"It isn't so bad," Vincent muttered, swelling suddenly with small-town pride. He allowed the other boy to guide the way. "They've got everything you need, you know? Mr. Smiley's kept that store running since before I was born. He's an institution around here."
"Just because something's an institution, that's no automatic badge of honor. You gotta stay out of that store, now that they've organized. Smiley's no good. He's no good and he's up to no good." A sidelong glance. "Why do you think he's got the only store in town open all day, every day? Where's the competition? Not like our town couldn't use the economic boost. No, it's all about his backdoor operations. I shoulda taken the transfer to the Prez Rickard case. Easy job. Oh well." They stopped under a street lamp in an unfamiliar part of the neighborhood. It was a useless convenience in the moonlight. Vincent looked at Reese.
"What are you talking about you goddamn peanut butter cup."
"All I'm saying is that Smiley's on the other side, and you can bet your sweet bippy he's been messing with your head. I wouldn't buy anything from that store ever again, if I were you. Not that it matters. We're skipping town. Strengthening the prophecy antenna. Bringing your dreams to the dreaming place. Don't look so confused; I'll fill you in on the way." Reese grasped Vincent's hands and pulled him into the center of the lamplight.
"The way to where?"
"Where else, you moron? We're getting The Answers."
"Humor me," Vincent replied wearily.
The candy kid scoffed. "Really. Really, with all those picture comics and graphic story books I know you got lined up on your wall and under your bed, you don't have a clue." He pulled the potential prophet up from the moonlit ground. In the place where Vincent sat, the flowers hadn't flattened, but kept their uncrushed fullness, rebelling against the weight of his human body. Reese smirked, though not unkindly. "I bet you never read Gaiman. No wonder you're so confused." He clapped a fully informed hand on Vincent's uninformed back. "I'm not playing around. We've got to go. Now. Come on."
"Hey now, hold on man, you haven't told me a damn thing." Vincent pushed Reese's hand away. "Where are we going? Who are 'they'--these people you're talking about? For all I know this is some Dungeons and Dragons bull you're pulling."
Reese sighed, laughing a little. Despite all evidence to the contrary, from where he stood Vincent noted that the candy kid's breath smelled nothing like peanuts and chocolate. More like a curiously strong mint, an unnatural freshness.
"Don't be an idiot, kid." His hand clapped on again. "D&D is a table top game. This is live action, and I swear by the totally rockin' shirt on my back that it's real. If I didn't have to keep you out of trouble, I certainly wouldn't be wasting my time in this podunk one-store neighborhood." Pressing lightly with his palm, he began the walk from their spot on the flower grounds.
"It isn't so bad," Vincent muttered, swelling suddenly with small-town pride. He allowed the other boy to guide the way. "They've got everything you need, you know? Mr. Smiley's kept that store running since before I was born. He's an institution around here."
"Just because something's an institution, that's no automatic badge of honor. You gotta stay out of that store, now that they've organized. Smiley's no good. He's no good and he's up to no good." A sidelong glance. "Why do you think he's got the only store in town open all day, every day? Where's the competition? Not like our town couldn't use the economic boost. No, it's all about his backdoor operations. I shoulda taken the transfer to the Prez Rickard case. Easy job. Oh well." They stopped under a street lamp in an unfamiliar part of the neighborhood. It was a useless convenience in the moonlight. Vincent looked at Reese.
"What are you talking about you goddamn peanut butter cup."
"All I'm saying is that Smiley's on the other side, and you can bet your sweet bippy he's been messing with your head. I wouldn't buy anything from that store ever again, if I were you. Not that it matters. We're skipping town. Strengthening the prophecy antenna. Bringing your dreams to the dreaming place. Don't look so confused; I'll fill you in on the way." Reese grasped Vincent's hands and pulled him into the center of the lamplight.
"The way to where?"
"Where else, you moron? We're getting The Answers."
Sunday, June 7, 2009
13-05: Story Chain Part 5
In the bright moonlight, Vincent could see the ground was covered in flowers. Poppies? Sunflowers? Saffron? He never had been very good at plant identification.
A groan must have escaped Vincent's lips as he came to, for Reese came to a halt, laying him down on the ground with surprising tenderness.
"Are you all right?" he asked with an expression Vincent immediately mentally dubbed "moonie eyes," taking into account both the lighting and the size of his compatriot's peepers.
"I'm fine," Vincent replied, sitting up. "What the hell is going on here? I was heading over to Smiley's, and then you were there, and there all these cats..." He was painfully aware he sounded like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.
Reese sighed, like he knew what was coming and dreaded it, but was resigned to go ahead.
"Vincent, there's a lot I need to tell you, but we don't have time for much now," he said with a grave tone, all lunar aspects disappearing from his eyes. "Okay, first, we've been watching you for a while. Two, we're pretty sure your dreams are prophetic. And three--and this is the most important--they've organized."
"Let me stop you right there," Vincent said with a distinct tone of disbelief. "I amnot psychic. My dreams never even make any sense!"
"Oh, I know they're confusing. You probably haven't even noticed the connections yet. But for now, think of yourself as a low-budget Cassandra," Reese said, his eyes darting around for something that in his charge's opinion probably wasn't even there.
Vincent wasn't sure how exactly to feel about that last statement. "Who the hell are you? And who are they?"
"Me? I'm on security. Yours, at least. And even you," he continued, growing frustrated, "must have figured out who 'they' are by now."
"Humor me," Vincent replied wearily.
A groan must have escaped Vincent's lips as he came to, for Reese came to a halt, laying him down on the ground with surprising tenderness.
"Are you all right?" he asked with an expression Vincent immediately mentally dubbed "moonie eyes," taking into account both the lighting and the size of his compatriot's peepers.
"I'm fine," Vincent replied, sitting up. "What the hell is going on here? I was heading over to Smiley's, and then you were there, and there all these cats..." He was painfully aware he sounded like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.
Reese sighed, like he knew what was coming and dreaded it, but was resigned to go ahead.
"Vincent, there's a lot I need to tell you, but we don't have time for much now," he said with a grave tone, all lunar aspects disappearing from his eyes. "Okay, first, we've been watching you for a while. Two, we're pretty sure your dreams are prophetic. And three--and this is the most important--they've organized."
"Let me stop you right there," Vincent said with a distinct tone of disbelief. "I amnot psychic. My dreams never even make any sense!"
"Oh, I know they're confusing. You probably haven't even noticed the connections yet. But for now, think of yourself as a low-budget Cassandra," Reese said, his eyes darting around for something that in his charge's opinion probably wasn't even there.
Vincent wasn't sure how exactly to feel about that last statement. "Who the hell are you? And who are they?"
"Me? I'm on security. Yours, at least. And even you," he continued, growing frustrated, "must have figured out who 'they' are by now."
"Humor me," Vincent replied wearily.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
13-04: Story Chain Part 4
The world grew dark and Vincent was sitting at his computer. He was chained to the desk, each chain link the outline of a smiley face. He was switching between two windows, talking to his friend about Wal-Mart conspiracy theories in one and playing 3D Foosball 2009, using his wrist flick joystick (Just Like a Real Foosball Handle! (TM)) when waiting for a response. With each flick, a peanut butter cup appeared. After a couple minutes, they began multiplying with each flick. Another minute later, they began piling on the floor and multiplying by themselves, among the cats that had come to investigate. A minute later the piles were getting dangerously large and the cats were getting violent. They began biting at Vincent's Shoes and clawing and climbing the chocolate peanut-butter mounds. The cups were piling dangerously high and the cats were getting dangerously close to toppling them. A popping sound started in the distance, getting louder and closer as the piles became larger and increasingly covered in increasingly angry cats. One pile finally fell and began toppling the others, creating a chocolatey, growling, angry avalanche of horror. The cups and cats seemed to turn their gravitational attention toward Vincent, just when there was a deafening POP and Reese appeared right beside Vincent.
"We're getting you out of here!" he yelled, melting the chain with something from his pocket and pulling Vincent free. With another mighty POP, Reese and Vincent disappeared, leaving the falling, furry towers crashing in on the desk, crushing the computer and joystick under the tremendous weight of chocolate, peanut-butter, and angry felines.
Vincent groaned awake, the world jostling back in forth. After a minute the world came into focus and Vincent found himself slung over Reese's shoulder, being carried over distinctly unfamiliar ground....
"We're getting you out of here!" he yelled, melting the chain with something from his pocket and pulling Vincent free. With another mighty POP, Reese and Vincent disappeared, leaving the falling, furry towers crashing in on the desk, crushing the computer and joystick under the tremendous weight of chocolate, peanut-butter, and angry felines.
Vincent groaned awake, the world jostling back in forth. After a minute the world came into focus and Vincent found himself slung over Reese's shoulder, being carried over distinctly unfamiliar ground....
Friday, June 5, 2009
13-03: Story Chain Part 3
But before Vincent could make a decision, there was a distinctive POP sound that pulled his eyes away from Reese.
He had turned to the opposite end of the street where a small cat-like figure was rummaging through an open trash can. At least, cat-like in the sense that it was small, slender, and had what appeared to be a short tail that wagged about endlessly.
POP.
There was that sound again! Vincent quickly turned around, only this time, where Reese had originally been walking.
But where had Reese gone? He could still smell the stale chocolate and peanut butter in the air but couldn't make out Reese. In fact, it seemed like he was having trouble identifying his surroundings. It didn't feel like he was standing on a sidewalk, nor could he see Smiley Convenience's smiley face adorned store sign.
The pavement, the street, the parking lot, the chocolaty, peanut buttery smell; all of it was turning into a blur as Vincent found himself falling face first into the pavement...
He had turned to the opposite end of the street where a small cat-like figure was rummaging through an open trash can. At least, cat-like in the sense that it was small, slender, and had what appeared to be a short tail that wagged about endlessly.
POP.
There was that sound again! Vincent quickly turned around, only this time, where Reese had originally been walking.
But where had Reese gone? He could still smell the stale chocolate and peanut butter in the air but couldn't make out Reese. In fact, it seemed like he was having trouble identifying his surroundings. It didn't feel like he was standing on a sidewalk, nor could he see Smiley Convenience's smiley face adorned store sign.
The pavement, the street, the parking lot, the chocolaty, peanut buttery smell; all of it was turning into a blur as Vincent found himself falling face first into the pavement...
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
31-02: Story chain part 2
No, it was an odor. The unexpected, unlikely-yet-unmistakable smell of Reese. You know how there are people in your life that you constantly meet but never really know? They are the tangential members of your life. They are always around when you least expect them, always passing you in the hallway, thinking exactly the same thing you are: who is that guy and why is he everywhere? But neither of you ever stop to ask.
Well, Reese was that guy to the entire town. Somehow he is always at the fringe of everyone's life but not a single person actually knows a thing about him, save one. Inexplicably, impossibly, he carried with him a smell mixed from old, dry peanut butter and stale, dusty chocolate and wore the very same outfit sporting a vintage Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Tee. Thus the name.
The realization crept through Vincent as he figured out what the smell was. Vincent looked around him and spotted Reese making his slow way through the carpark. On their current paths, Reese would cross the street just before Vincent got there and Reese will, once again, run a tangent on a point of Vincent's life.
Vincent felt again the conflict between just letting Reese go his own way and running after him.
Well, Reese was that guy to the entire town. Somehow he is always at the fringe of everyone's life but not a single person actually knows a thing about him, save one. Inexplicably, impossibly, he carried with him a smell mixed from old, dry peanut butter and stale, dusty chocolate and wore the very same outfit sporting a vintage Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Tee. Thus the name.
The realization crept through Vincent as he figured out what the smell was. Vincent looked around him and spotted Reese making his slow way through the carpark. On their current paths, Reese would cross the street just before Vincent got there and Reese will, once again, run a tangent on a point of Vincent's life.
Vincent felt again the conflict between just letting Reese go his own way and running after him.
Monday, June 1, 2009
13-01: Story chain part 1
Vincent angrily held the power button, abruptly interrupting his friend's IM and shutting off his computer.
"Damn animated smiley faces," he thought to himself, the image of a giant yellow face flashing across the window still fresh in his mind. He shuddered involuntarily.
Finding himself unable to concentrate, he put his laptop aside and lifted himself to his feet. He decided the cool autumn air and the smell of newly decomposing leaves would make a good break from the intense discussion of advanced foosball techniques covering up the essay he had due tomorrow at 9 a.m., and set off down the road to the neighborhood's sole 24-hour joint, the regrettably named "Smiley Convenience," complete with creepy Wal-Mart knock-off logo.
Even thinking of the store brought that damn image back to the forefront of his mind, an image he couldn't shake. He was almost thankful when, kust a minute into his 1-mile journey, he became convinced someone was following him. It wasn't just the leaves rustling a little too long after he walked through them, he decided, nor was it the fact the flickering lights seemed to cast too many shadows.
No, it was an odor. The unexpected, unlikely-yet-unmistakable smell of...
"Damn animated smiley faces," he thought to himself, the image of a giant yellow face flashing across the window still fresh in his mind. He shuddered involuntarily.
Finding himself unable to concentrate, he put his laptop aside and lifted himself to his feet. He decided the cool autumn air and the smell of newly decomposing leaves would make a good break from the intense discussion of advanced foosball techniques covering up the essay he had due tomorrow at 9 a.m., and set off down the road to the neighborhood's sole 24-hour joint, the regrettably named "Smiley Convenience," complete with creepy Wal-Mart knock-off logo.
Even thinking of the store brought that damn image back to the forefront of his mind, an image he couldn't shake. He was almost thankful when, kust a minute into his 1-mile journey, he became convinced someone was following him. It wasn't just the leaves rustling a little too long after he walked through them, he decided, nor was it the fact the flickering lights seemed to cast too many shadows.
No, it was an odor. The unexpected, unlikely-yet-unmistakable smell of...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Session Thirteen: Topic for 6/1-6/7
We here at Using Our Words post our posts at a very distinct time of the week: the last two days. Whether this is through extensive revisions, editing, procrastination, business, or whatever, the fact remains that we almost always have five or six empty days of posting, leaving only the product of our writings shared at the end and no idea of each-others processes or timelines.
Therefore I propose that most entertaining of high-school writing assignments: a story chain.
The basic idea is for you, the writer, to read the story thus far this week, spend ten to twenty minutes composing the next paragraph/transition/section/sequence/whatever and post it. Make sure to continue on the part of the story posted just before you, and do whatever you would like. Embrace the story, add elements, kill off characters, turn a romance moment into a gunfight intro, have characters wake-up suddenly, realizing everything so far has been a dream, add a narrator, or whatever. Go with your gut instinct and get your thoughts down quickly—you don't want to spend an hour writing the next section only to find that someone else has written and posted while you were on your third revision—if you want to tighten a section, post it and edit to let others get the substance of the post so they can start composing the next. Finally, feel free to post as many times as you would like, the more the better. You can even add onto your own if you want.
Now, I'm not sure how well this format will work in the blog, but we will see. To keep things organized, start off your post with a number, denoting which post you are in the sequence of the story. Also, put both Session Thirteen and Story Chain in the tags so everyone can find everything as they like.
Since I am choosing the topic, who ever gets to it first gets to set the scene. Begin!
Therefore I propose that most entertaining of high-school writing assignments: a story chain.
The basic idea is for you, the writer, to read the story thus far this week, spend ten to twenty minutes composing the next paragraph/transition/section/sequence/whatever and post it. Make sure to continue on the part of the story posted just before you, and do whatever you would like. Embrace the story, add elements, kill off characters, turn a romance moment into a gunfight intro, have characters wake-up suddenly, realizing everything so far has been a dream, add a narrator, or whatever. Go with your gut instinct and get your thoughts down quickly—you don't want to spend an hour writing the next section only to find that someone else has written and posted while you were on your third revision—if you want to tighten a section, post it and edit to let others get the substance of the post so they can start composing the next. Finally, feel free to post as many times as you would like, the more the better. You can even add onto your own if you want.
Now, I'm not sure how well this format will work in the blog, but we will see. To keep things organized, start off your post with a number, denoting which post you are in the sequence of the story. Also, put both Session Thirteen and Story Chain in the tags so everyone can find everything as they like.
Since I am choosing the topic, who ever gets to it first gets to set the scene. Begin!
Useful Little Item
Uses for a towel:
1. parachute
2. nutritional supplement (suck on infused part)
3. medicine (suck on infused part)
4. dry off
5. save hands from hot things from oven
6. save self and/or others saved from a fiery explosion
7. blanket
8. scarf
9. snap at weaker people in the locker room or shower
10. hat and sun neck-guard
11. toga
12. turban (disguise)
13. flag - jolly roger, surrender
14. choking a person
15. smothering a person
16. use as the cloak in a cloak/dagger weapon pair
17. strips torn off as business cards
18. wet to complete a circuit, trigger a door trip, electrocute someone
19. sharp bits as a file / cheese grater
20. sound dampener
21. protecting a smoke detector from detecting smoke
22. silly science fiction reference
23. paint brush
24. glue brush
25. makeup brush
26. strainer
27. to hold water as if a water skin
28. blindfold
29. blindfold for a horse or camel to steal it
30. lead for a molotov cocktail
31. muzzle for a dog
32. conceal one self while hiding from the boyfriend or husband
33. an excuse to go to the laundromat to goggle at crush
34. tent
35. pillow
36. keep bread fresh
37. ghost costume
38. keeping formalwear clean as a bib
39. warmed to create a feeling of fanciness on a flight
40. monogrammed to make a recipient feel important
41. continually cleaning a dirty glass as a barkeep
42. folding into towel origami
for official uses, see http://www.towel-manufacturers.com/towel-uses.html
The story (or at least, the very beginnings of one):
42 Uses for a Towel (eventually), with Arthur Dent starring as James Bond.
Falling from the airplane, James Bond plummeted to his apparent doom. His martini glass emptied its remaining contents into the atmosphere, leaving nothing but Bond's last words in it. The man had pulled a knife and opened the hatch, indicating it was time for Bond to make his exit. Bond said only "I'd say this glass is half empty" as the man roughly kicked him out.
Bond had just been ejected from an investigation of some weight. The flight was on the private jet of Ivanna Faulk II, a human trafficker with grander visions. She had been visiting her Middle Eastern operations and flying back with emissaries of highly regarded businessmen about their needs of her "human services." Bond had been posing as an interested party under a disguise as a british sikh working for the owners of a series of sweat shops in India.
"Thank you, Q." Bond removed his turban from his head, his turban which was actually a micro-fibered, silicon, kinetically formable super-towel. He took hold of the four corners and let it fill with air above his head, slowing his descent to a livable fall just as he reached the sand dunes below in an explosive cloud of sand.
After ten minutes of rest and recovery, Bond began to trek across the desert towards a nearby oasis, drinking water soaked into his towel for hydration, draping it over his head and neck to shield the blinding sun. To his delight and relief, the oasis had not only water to re-soak his towel, but also camels, which would certainly provide better transportation than his own legs. "It's not an Aston Martin, but then again he will need a name."
And as my theme goes, time runs out on me. Starting next week I will have more though. So stay tuned!
1. parachute
2. nutritional supplement (suck on infused part)
3. medicine (suck on infused part)
4. dry off
5. save hands from hot things from oven
6. save self and/or others saved from a fiery explosion
7. blanket
8. scarf
9. snap at weaker people in the locker room or shower
10. hat and sun neck-guard
11. toga
12. turban (disguise)
13. flag - jolly roger, surrender
14. choking a person
15. smothering a person
16. use as the cloak in a cloak/dagger weapon pair
17. strips torn off as business cards
18. wet to complete a circuit, trigger a door trip, electrocute someone
19. sharp bits as a file / cheese grater
20. sound dampener
21. protecting a smoke detector from detecting smoke
22. silly science fiction reference
23. paint brush
24. glue brush
25. makeup brush
26. strainer
27. to hold water as if a water skin
28. blindfold
29. blindfold for a horse or camel to steal it
30. lead for a molotov cocktail
31. muzzle for a dog
32. conceal one self while hiding from the boyfriend or husband
33. an excuse to go to the laundromat to goggle at crush
34. tent
35. pillow
36. keep bread fresh
37. ghost costume
38. keeping formalwear clean as a bib
39. warmed to create a feeling of fanciness on a flight
40. monogrammed to make a recipient feel important
41. continually cleaning a dirty glass as a barkeep
42. folding into towel origami
for official uses, see http://www.towel-manufacturers.com/towel-uses.html
The story (or at least, the very beginnings of one):
42 Uses for a Towel (eventually), with Arthur Dent starring as James Bond.
Falling from the airplane, James Bond plummeted to his apparent doom. His martini glass emptied its remaining contents into the atmosphere, leaving nothing but Bond's last words in it. The man had pulled a knife and opened the hatch, indicating it was time for Bond to make his exit. Bond said only "I'd say this glass is half empty" as the man roughly kicked him out.
Bond had just been ejected from an investigation of some weight. The flight was on the private jet of Ivanna Faulk II, a human trafficker with grander visions. She had been visiting her Middle Eastern operations and flying back with emissaries of highly regarded businessmen about their needs of her "human services." Bond had been posing as an interested party under a disguise as a british sikh working for the owners of a series of sweat shops in India.
"Thank you, Q." Bond removed his turban from his head, his turban which was actually a micro-fibered, silicon, kinetically formable super-towel. He took hold of the four corners and let it fill with air above his head, slowing his descent to a livable fall just as he reached the sand dunes below in an explosive cloud of sand.
After ten minutes of rest and recovery, Bond began to trek across the desert towards a nearby oasis, drinking water soaked into his towel for hydration, draping it over his head and neck to shield the blinding sun. To his delight and relief, the oasis had not only water to re-soak his towel, but also camels, which would certainly provide better transportation than his own legs. "It's not an Aston Martin, but then again he will need a name."
And as my theme goes, time runs out on me. Starting next week I will have more though. So stay tuned!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Towels?
Upon opening the refrigerator for the 3rd time this evening, I finally decided on a treat. The juiciest, sweetest, reddest, largest thing in there, Watermelon! The biggest dilemma surrounding the summertime fruit was extracting its contents. A knife large enough to cut half-way through it would be a bit of a beast to find but also intensely rewarding. Watermelon on the red cutting board, serrated knife in my hand, I began with a stab to the center. The corresponding noise in my head was a sort of squeal with glee. Around the axis, I cut. Slowly. The end fell off, rocked a few times, then stalled with an inviting glisten. Flip. Slice. Remove succulent fruit. Transfer to bowl. Devour. But what was that wetness streaming off my chin or dripping from my fingers or sloshing in the bowl? The consequence of juicy fruit is messiness, a small price. How, now, do I remedy this issue? Licking my fingers only helps so much. The pants are pinstripe and to wear out, not to be used as a napkin. The paper in front of me was lacking in absorbency. Ah ha! I ran to the bathroom and washed my hands. Brilliant! They were dripping still but not sticky. Shake. Turn. Dry. Oh, yellow hand towel in a bathroom sea of many colors, how I adore you. I think I actually sang that one aloud. Then everything was right again. Perhaps next time I'll share...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
^-^
It may not be entirely true to the topic but it's about a towel. That counts doesn't it?
A bit of a fuss to dry us
After a hot
Steamy
Cleansing
Bath.
Blue in its hue,
Comforting shade of Cotton
No wonder Arthur took you to the stars.
Everywhere and no where,
Intimately close,
Wipe the sweat off my brow,
Shame
You're the only one to see me now.
Oh,
Towel
Can you whisk me away to Mars?
*Edit* Blogger doesn't seem to let me format the text how I want it. So let it be known that this doesn't match my original creative intent. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
A bit of a fuss to dry us
After a hot
Steamy
Cleansing
Bath.
Blue in its hue,
Comforting shade of Cotton
No wonder Arthur took you to the stars.
Everywhere and no where,
Intimately close,
Wipe the sweat off my brow,
Shame
You're the only one to see me now.
Oh,
Towel
Can you whisk me away to Mars?
*Edit* Blogger doesn't seem to let me format the text how I want it. So let it be known that this doesn't match my original creative intent. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Discrimination Issue
I'm actually going to ignore my topic for the week and share this with you instead. It's something I wrote on my personal blog about the California High Court's decision to uphold Prop 8.
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"love is love is love," acrylic stenciled on my guitar, retouched using Corel.
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**In light of some helpful commentary, I have edited slightly for clarification. I maintain that while the High Court did what it was supposed to do, and while we must now do our part and mobilize voters for the next ballot that holds the measure, I'm not any less disappointed by the continual slogging, on an emotional level. I know this is how it works, I'm just (like many of my friends) eager to be done with it already. Exasperation is allowed, folks, though more so for my friends than for me. They're they ones who just want to get married already. Also, if anyone can provide me with a copy of the official court document that ISN'T read as corrupted by my computer and all of it's programs, I would love to have it.
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For those not in the know (seriously kids?), yesterday the California High Court ruled to uphold Proposition 8, but also ruled that the 18,000 marriages that took place before Prop 8 passed still stand. While the latter decision is certainly a victory for the gay rights movement and for those lucky couples, the former continues to be a source of irritation. Let's start with the opinion of the court, courtesy of the NY Times article I linked above:
I will start by saying that I am not aiming to critique the court's decision here--maybe I will after I've read the primary document, but right now that is not my intention. Right now what I want to focus on is why I think that the sole option of the civil union is not enough. A civil union in California does provide the benefits (excepting those reserved at the federal level) of a California marriage to the couple who chooses the one over the other. Clearly, however, the two differ inasmuch as a heterosexual couple in California will choose one over the other, for whatever reasons they may have.
Let's do a twin study with a horrifying sample size of two people, but instead of twins, we'll use two of me. LA1 and LA2 are identical in every way with the exception sexuality. LA1 is Straight Me and LA2 is Gay Me. All other variables are controlled--same morals, same opinions, childhoods, educations, experiences, but LA1's experiences are with men, and LA2's are with women. Inexplicably, we both fall in love, and our partners propose. LA2 accepts, and in California, she can only have a civil union. LA1 accepts, and not only can she have benefits at a federally-recognized level, but she also have the choice of either a marriage or a civil union. The preference is hers.
The difference may not seem huge, but it is. Because I happened to be born with an attraction to the opposite sex, I have the right to choose how I unite with my partner. We are denying gay couples the right to a choice that I have been given by default for being straight. All other things being equal, we have created an inequality, and though one may wish to argue that we're only concerning ourselves with labels, we have to face the fact that the matter is not "just semantics" if it is encouraging and propagating inequality. Gay couples may have access to the state-based benefits of a California marriage, but they have been denied a choice that is unfairly reserved for heterosexuals.
Homosexuality is not a disorder. It is not a fetish. It is not a kink. Most importantly, it is not a choice. You can choose your faith; you cannot choose your sexuality (though you can choose whether or not to express your preference--closet cases around the world unite!). You cannot compare the relationship between two same-sex individuals to pedophilia, to bestiality, or to fetishism (which isn't even a problem if no one gets hurt, but I'm not here to talk about fetishism, so that's another story for another day), or anything else the paranoid may pull from their slippery slopes. There is nothing to fear here. Why are we practicing discrimination against these consenting human adults? Because you know, the only thing keeping up from granting them their basic human right (not just the right to marriage, but a right to choose) is their sexuality, and I'm pretty sure that is a discriminatory practice.
Religious readers, don't email me. I don't want to hear it. This is a secular issue, and as I've made very clear before, I am extremely dedicated to keeping church and state separate. If your religion says a gay couple cannot be married in your church/temple/whatever, then those are the rules, and you can deny marriage within the religion to as many couples as you want. It may not gel with what I believe, but I have no right to impose my beliefs over your beliefs. Conversely, you have no right to impose your beliefs over mine, or anyone else's. (I don't mean to target religious people in such a callous way, but I want to be clear that this is not an invitation for you to write to me about what you've been taught God thinks about homosexuals.)
Now, Prop 8 doesn't just facilitate the denial of rights to a minority group, identifying them as second-class citizens. It has also allowed the citizens of California to set a precedent: now the majority vote of a population has been used to strip a minority group of a basic right. I'm not referring specifically to the right to marry, but to the right to choose between a marriage and a civil union, the right to be on equal footing with heterosexual couples. This is not just a disappointing case of legal discrimination, but it's also a wake-up call to the fact that we need to reform the way we run our state government (I'm leaving this statement in, but it's pending my full reading of the court document; at the moment though, with what I know, it is legitimately something I am concerned about). If one group can be stripped of its rights simply because the majority has some sort of bias against them, we have no reason to believe that other minority groups (or even the same minority group) won't be targeted. As fervently as I've been discussing the Right to Choose, the thing that really worries me the most is this dangerous precedent. This should not have been allowed.
At the same time, I do want the people of California to be the ones tossing out Prop 8 and reinstating gay marriage. When the issue goes back on the ballot, I want the people, properly informed, to choose tolerance and civil rights, to show that this is not a fluke vote, but a public mandate. I'm disappointed, but I know this is far from over.
This time around we need better mobilization and more effective means of educating the public. If you are able to do so, I strongly encourage making a donation to Equality California, or to the Courage Campaign, or whatever else you may know of that will help. Donate your money, donate your time, donate both if you can. 18,000 isn't nearly enough.
And for what it's worth, I agree with my anonymous commenter: the courts aren't the problem. The proponents and their funds and their misdirection and their methods, these are the things to focus on conquering.
But I'm still impatiently waiting for the good day to come.
-----
For those not in the know (seriously kids?), yesterday the California High Court ruled to uphold Proposition 8, but also ruled that the 18,000 marriages that took place before Prop 8 passed still stand. While the latter decision is certainly a victory for the gay rights movement and for those lucky couples, the former continues to be a source of irritation. Let's start with the opinion of the court, courtesy of the NY Times article I linked above:
The court’s opinion, written by Chief Justice Ronald M. George for a 6-to-1 majority, noted that same-sex couples still had a right to civil unions. Such unions, the opinion said, gives those couples the ability to “choose one’s life partner and enter with that person into a committed, officially recognized and protected family relationship that enjoys all of the constitutionally based incidents of marriage.”
I will start by saying that I am not aiming to critique the court's decision here--maybe I will after I've read the primary document, but right now that is not my intention. Right now what I want to focus on is why I think that the sole option of the civil union is not enough. A civil union in California does provide the benefits (excepting those reserved at the federal level) of a California marriage to the couple who chooses the one over the other. Clearly, however, the two differ inasmuch as a heterosexual couple in California will choose one over the other, for whatever reasons they may have.
Let's do a twin study with a horrifying sample size of two people, but instead of twins, we'll use two of me. LA1 and LA2 are identical in every way with the exception sexuality. LA1 is Straight Me and LA2 is Gay Me. All other variables are controlled--same morals, same opinions, childhoods, educations, experiences, but LA1's experiences are with men, and LA2's are with women. Inexplicably, we both fall in love, and our partners propose. LA2 accepts, and in California, she can only have a civil union. LA1 accepts, and not only can she have benefits at a federally-recognized level, but she also have the choice of either a marriage or a civil union. The preference is hers.
The difference may not seem huge, but it is. Because I happened to be born with an attraction to the opposite sex, I have the right to choose how I unite with my partner. We are denying gay couples the right to a choice that I have been given by default for being straight. All other things being equal, we have created an inequality, and though one may wish to argue that we're only concerning ourselves with labels, we have to face the fact that the matter is not "just semantics" if it is encouraging and propagating inequality. Gay couples may have access to the state-based benefits of a California marriage, but they have been denied a choice that is unfairly reserved for heterosexuals.
Homosexuality is not a disorder. It is not a fetish. It is not a kink. Most importantly, it is not a choice. You can choose your faith; you cannot choose your sexuality (though you can choose whether or not to express your preference--closet cases around the world unite!). You cannot compare the relationship between two same-sex individuals to pedophilia, to bestiality, or to fetishism (which isn't even a problem if no one gets hurt, but I'm not here to talk about fetishism, so that's another story for another day), or anything else the paranoid may pull from their slippery slopes. There is nothing to fear here. Why are we practicing discrimination against these consenting human adults? Because you know, the only thing keeping up from granting them their basic human right (not just the right to marriage, but a right to choose) is their sexuality, and I'm pretty sure that is a discriminatory practice.
Religious readers, don't email me. I don't want to hear it. This is a secular issue, and as I've made very clear before, I am extremely dedicated to keeping church and state separate. If your religion says a gay couple cannot be married in your church/temple/whatever, then those are the rules, and you can deny marriage within the religion to as many couples as you want. It may not gel with what I believe, but I have no right to impose my beliefs over your beliefs. Conversely, you have no right to impose your beliefs over mine, or anyone else's. (I don't mean to target religious people in such a callous way, but I want to be clear that this is not an invitation for you to write to me about what you've been taught God thinks about homosexuals.)
Now, Prop 8 doesn't just facilitate the denial of rights to a minority group, identifying them as second-class citizens. It has also allowed the citizens of California to set a precedent: now the majority vote of a population has been used to strip a minority group of a basic right. I'm not referring specifically to the right to marry, but to the right to choose between a marriage and a civil union, the right to be on equal footing with heterosexual couples. This is not just a disappointing case of legal discrimination, but it's also a wake-up call to the fact that we need to reform the way we run our state government (I'm leaving this statement in, but it's pending my full reading of the court document; at the moment though, with what I know, it is legitimately something I am concerned about). If one group can be stripped of its rights simply because the majority has some sort of bias against them, we have no reason to believe that other minority groups (or even the same minority group) won't be targeted. As fervently as I've been discussing the Right to Choose, the thing that really worries me the most is this dangerous precedent. This should not have been allowed.
At the same time, I do want the people of California to be the ones tossing out Prop 8 and reinstating gay marriage. When the issue goes back on the ballot, I want the people, properly informed, to choose tolerance and civil rights, to show that this is not a fluke vote, but a public mandate. I'm disappointed, but I know this is far from over.
This time around we need better mobilization and more effective means of educating the public. If you are able to do so, I strongly encourage making a donation to Equality California, or to the Courage Campaign, or whatever else you may know of that will help. Donate your money, donate your time, donate both if you can. 18,000 isn't nearly enough.
And for what it's worth, I agree with my anonymous commenter: the courts aren't the problem. The proponents and their funds and their misdirection and their methods, these are the things to focus on conquering.
But I'm still impatiently waiting for the good day to come.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Session #12 (+30): Topic for 05/25-05/31
Today is Towel Day, a day that honors Douglas Adams and his Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy book series. Through him, we remember that an everyday item as ordinary as a towel is really all you need, short of cunning, imagination, knowledge, and above all the eternal reminder that no matter what, DON'T PANIC!
Write a piece wherein a towel plays some part of the story at hand. This can be a real-life anecdote; the towel can be important or it can be an important MacGuffin. It can contain a story, it can receive frequent mentions. Whatever you like.
Let's go!
Write a piece wherein a towel plays some part of the story at hand. This can be a real-life anecdote; the towel can be important or it can be an important MacGuffin. It can contain a story, it can receive frequent mentions. Whatever you like.
Let's go!
Classic Scenario
I tucked my dreams away
because I had to go on living,
but promised that someday
there would be freedom from the box.
I always had tomorrow after every today
though every today seemed to put off every tomorrow,
until I've worked my life away
and have no time for living,
no time left but to end some day
tucked tightly in a box.
because I had to go on living,
but promised that someday
there would be freedom from the box.
I always had tomorrow after every today
though every today seemed to put off every tomorrow,
until I've worked my life away
and have no time for living,
no time left but to end some day
tucked tightly in a box.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Posted on time?
Sleep. Wake up. Shower. Eat. Huffington Post/Associated Press. Rachel Maddow. The Daily Show. Random television episode and/or movie of the day. Warcraft 3. Random book. Exercise. Run. Rinse. Repeat.
I want to do it all (and more) but can't. I usually try to maintain a small routine but even that is subject to change as I may sleep in or go for an early run. Choosing what we do with our time can be a huge issue and would be made much easier if we lived on a planet with...56 hours of daylight. Maybe 60. I figure that'd be enough time to do all we want.
Of course, if we're looking to determine what makes us individually decide what we spend our time on I'm sure it boils down to tastes and moods. Sometimes I'm in the mood for enlightenment; so I'll watch a preachy episode of South Park to get the gears going. Other times I want to argue with someone so I'll yell at my computer while listening to the sheer lunacy that is Glenn Beck. I can't really put into words how or why I choose to do the things I do; I suppose it just comes to me whenever it does.
Of course, life is like that. It's just a matter of the choices we make that determine how the small time we have in this universe is played out. While I have a world of goals I aim to achieve (like learning to kick ass on the Harmonica), that can all change on a whim.
Kind of like how I just stopped typing for about half an hour to read a book on my bed.
Time is what you make of it. Just like Fate. Do with it what you will.
I want to do it all (and more) but can't. I usually try to maintain a small routine but even that is subject to change as I may sleep in or go for an early run. Choosing what we do with our time can be a huge issue and would be made much easier if we lived on a planet with...56 hours of daylight. Maybe 60. I figure that'd be enough time to do all we want.
Of course, if we're looking to determine what makes us individually decide what we spend our time on I'm sure it boils down to tastes and moods. Sometimes I'm in the mood for enlightenment; so I'll watch a preachy episode of South Park to get the gears going. Other times I want to argue with someone so I'll yell at my computer while listening to the sheer lunacy that is Glenn Beck. I can't really put into words how or why I choose to do the things I do; I suppose it just comes to me whenever it does.
Of course, life is like that. It's just a matter of the choices we make that determine how the small time we have in this universe is played out. While I have a world of goals I aim to achieve (like learning to kick ass on the Harmonica), that can all change on a whim.
Kind of like how I just stopped typing for about half an hour to read a book on my bed.
Time is what you make of it. Just like Fate. Do with it what you will.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
The Hero's Journey
There was once an ordinary boy with extraordinary potential.
He was not exceptionally good at any one thing or another, though if Fate had taken his life by the reigns he could have been made to do great things.
He missed the hour of need one hundred and sixty eight times a week.
Adventure misdialed.
Chance didn't give him another, or any.
His days were mediocre and meted with obscurity, and when they ended, history forgot him.
He was not exceptionally good at any one thing or another, though if Fate had taken his life by the reigns he could have been made to do great things.
He missed the hour of need one hundred and sixty eight times a week.
Adventure misdialed.
Chance didn't give him another, or any.
His days were mediocre and meted with obscurity, and when they ended, history forgot him.
Session Eleven: Topic for 05/18/09 - 05/24/09
Hello world! This is Orvis, your brand-spanking new Mod #3!
Last week's topic, the idea of the story with a single-character focus, is right up my alley. I'm a story-teller and that is what I love to do. I was so excited to be able to really sink my teeth into the topic. However, as is evident by my lack of a post, time got away from me. Little things got in the way in my massive, ridiculous schedule (still in classes, studying abroad in Australia), pushing back when I was going to write, further and further away from plausibility. In the end, I completely ran out of time and I did not finish what I really wanted to do, instead favoring that which I didn't really have the same passion for in what time I had.
Why did I do this? Is something wrong with me or is this the human condition?
Time is finite yet always replenishing. Each day one makes choices in how to spend it. This choice is the theme. How do you choose? What happens to corrupt your choices? Why do you want to do something specific in your time on earth?
By the way, I punched this in a bit early because I'm 14 hours ahead of the east coast. Finish up what you've got or just keep working on last week's topic or just make up something. Remember, these topics are meant as helpful suggestions.
Now get writing!
Last week's topic, the idea of the story with a single-character focus, is right up my alley. I'm a story-teller and that is what I love to do. I was so excited to be able to really sink my teeth into the topic. However, as is evident by my lack of a post, time got away from me. Little things got in the way in my massive, ridiculous schedule (still in classes, studying abroad in Australia), pushing back when I was going to write, further and further away from plausibility. In the end, I completely ran out of time and I did not finish what I really wanted to do, instead favoring that which I didn't really have the same passion for in what time I had.
Why did I do this? Is something wrong with me or is this the human condition?
Time is finite yet always replenishing. Each day one makes choices in how to spend it. This choice is the theme. How do you choose? What happens to corrupt your choices? Why do you want to do something specific in your time on earth?
By the way, I punched this in a bit early because I'm 14 hours ahead of the east coast. Finish up what you've got or just keep working on last week's topic or just make up something. Remember, these topics are meant as helpful suggestions.
Now get writing!
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
a spring poem
Shoes in grass
In the tall tall order of all things unsaid, unsung
A yellowness in a purple tongue,
Licking the blades of green, green, green
As a pitcher pouring years of hydrating pickles into the mouths of spring-red robins
On the tails of mid-morning foxes
Smiles guile the snails along their salty paths
When in the event of a pollen explosion
(a new feat for dandelion war generals)
Pollinating pistols dive into the stream
With any luck the tadpoles will find out
A guilty rabbit
Chopping carrots in the back of his Peter trailer
With the daily farmer report playing tunes of his bunnyhood
In a haze of lettuce leaves and sugar beets,
His reason knocks his feet off edge and into a pool of yogurt
The green bugs of envy avalanche their vision
A true buzzing picker of noses can’t laugh without a pitcher of red nectar at her feet
See the beach gulls
Trying out their new sunglasses
On the waves
A crab in the sand
A scuttle towards a beer bottle
When a throttle thrust overtopples the crab’s peace
A freedom in the art of believing
Freedom to believe in the soul of wanting
Along a mudskipper’s spine
Endeared by my kitchen shears
All for a new patch of sorrel and mint
Children gather
A truck of mindless tasty things barricades the entrance to the park
Leading in no direction but down the esophageal path
Somewhere I have never travelled
A coquille st-jacques awaits in shallots and butter
The whiteness
A table
Champagne bubbles singing their aria in ¾ time
Fluttering by, the waiter brings seconds
Slow sights
Pretty pictures
A backyard fight
Tossed t-shirts of Tuesday night
What a face
Linking noses
Sprouting arguments in prose
Climaxing in ripped pantyhose
In the tall tall order of all things unsaid, unsung
A yellowness in a purple tongue,
Licking the blades of green, green, green
As a pitcher pouring years of hydrating pickles into the mouths of spring-red robins
On the tails of mid-morning foxes
Smiles guile the snails along their salty paths
When in the event of a pollen explosion
(a new feat for dandelion war generals)
Pollinating pistols dive into the stream
With any luck the tadpoles will find out
A guilty rabbit
Chopping carrots in the back of his Peter trailer
With the daily farmer report playing tunes of his bunnyhood
In a haze of lettuce leaves and sugar beets,
His reason knocks his feet off edge and into a pool of yogurt
The green bugs of envy avalanche their vision
A true buzzing picker of noses can’t laugh without a pitcher of red nectar at her feet
See the beach gulls
Trying out their new sunglasses
On the waves
A crab in the sand
A scuttle towards a beer bottle
When a throttle thrust overtopples the crab’s peace
A freedom in the art of believing
Freedom to believe in the soul of wanting
Along a mudskipper’s spine
Endeared by my kitchen shears
All for a new patch of sorrel and mint
Children gather
A truck of mindless tasty things barricades the entrance to the park
Leading in no direction but down the esophageal path
Somewhere I have never travelled
A coquille st-jacques awaits in shallots and butter
The whiteness
A table
Champagne bubbles singing their aria in ¾ time
Fluttering by, the waiter brings seconds
Slow sights
Pretty pictures
A backyard fight
Tossed t-shirts of Tuesday night
What a face
Linking noses
Sprouting arguments in prose
Climaxing in ripped pantyhose
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Session #10: 05/12/09 - 05/17/09
Okay, Mod 1 (that's me) dropped the ball in terms of planning, so this week's optional topic is a little late. We all write last-minute though, so that's hardly a problem!
I, like many of you, have been lucky enough to see JJ Abrams' take on the Star Trek franchise. (For the unlucky, don't worry, I'm not mentioning any spoilers on the blog. However, the NEXT LINK I am providing DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS, so don't click it if you don't want me to ruin Star Trek for you.) Eric Burns recently posted a wonderful essay detailing the manner in which Star Trek successfully constitutes the classic storytelling structure of the Hero's Journey. His essay, which SPOILS THE ENTIRE MOVIE, is over at his blog, Websnark. Don't click if you don't want the magic ruined.
That was just my intro. Reading Burns' essay got me thinking about the monomyth (its common implementation in storytelling, ESPECIALLY in movies). Structurally, it's true that while billions of stories have been told and made, the vast majority of these will tend to follow traditional storytelling patterns, structurally or thematically or all of the above. Even so, that doesn't make the stories any less enjoyable, as long as they vary enough in the details to keep the audience from losing interest.
I know I'm writing a lot right here, and we're all short on time, but try your best: this week, post a piece that includes a Hero's Journey (I will link you to the basic structure). It doesn't have to be long and drawn out--a condensed Hero's Journey might be an entertaining read. Portions of the monomyth structure are also allowed, if you want to write something longer but lack the time/energy for a full-on HJ. (No gutterminds.) Just be sure to let us know which arc-areas your piece covers.
Here is your structure, Thank you Wikipedia.
Good luck, kids. Live long and prosper!
I, like many of you, have been lucky enough to see JJ Abrams' take on the Star Trek franchise. (For the unlucky, don't worry, I'm not mentioning any spoilers on the blog. However, the NEXT LINK I am providing DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS, so don't click it if you don't want me to ruin Star Trek for you.) Eric Burns recently posted a wonderful essay detailing the manner in which Star Trek successfully constitutes the classic storytelling structure of the Hero's Journey. His essay, which SPOILS THE ENTIRE MOVIE, is over at his blog, Websnark. Don't click if you don't want the magic ruined.
That was just my intro. Reading Burns' essay got me thinking about the monomyth (its common implementation in storytelling, ESPECIALLY in movies). Structurally, it's true that while billions of stories have been told and made, the vast majority of these will tend to follow traditional storytelling patterns, structurally or thematically or all of the above. Even so, that doesn't make the stories any less enjoyable, as long as they vary enough in the details to keep the audience from losing interest.
I know I'm writing a lot right here, and we're all short on time, but try your best: this week, post a piece that includes a Hero's Journey (I will link you to the basic structure). It doesn't have to be long and drawn out--a condensed Hero's Journey might be an entertaining read. Portions of the monomyth structure are also allowed, if you want to write something longer but lack the time/energy for a full-on HJ. (No gutterminds.) Just be sure to let us know which arc-areas your piece covers.
Here is your structure, Thank you Wikipedia.
Good luck, kids. Live long and prosper!
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