So i wrote this story about a boy who goes to a field when he feels upset and he talks to the sky. The story is told from the point of view of the earth, who the boy never talks/listens to. If there's a message it's that the boy needs to be able to move on from the follies of his adolescent life.
When Prof. Nwakamna read it, he thought that it was a really strong story of a gay couple raising a boy because one of the character's names was Sky. Freud anyone? I like that idea too. He suggested strengthening the relationship between the boy and the person telling the story (the earth in my mind) and remove that abstract concept of the sky and earth personified. I dont want to do that because the initial idea came from the boy talking to the sky and ignoring the love from the earth. It's tragic right? So i need to figure out how to make a compromise. I can strengthen the relationship to the speaker, and ride the line to two vastly different interpretations, or find whats working in each of those terrestrial/gay concepts and meet in the middle. Regardless, this is going to be a challenge that i look forward to.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 7:52 PM UTC
Imagine what they would say
Mutilating myself
Two broken people
My broken mind,
My spirit
Not words.
Shade.
Spectral speculation
Vicious, cruel, malicious.
Projections so sharp.
Of gamma rays
Radoactive
Impersonal decay
Left with nausea and fatigue
Hoping.
It can go away.
Jun 23, 2010
Jun 23, 2010 at 9:20 PM UTC
As a sprightly rapscallion I shan't say
That I have time enough to seize each day
And gain ten hours of sleep again by eight
To grind my daily bread and romp too late.
Some days, the likes of which most fond and free,
Bountiful inertia grabs hold of me
By way of teeming thoughts so compelling
That notions of sleep are worth dispelling.
These are the days when dreams forget the time,
And soak the brain without reason or rhyme.
I've possessed genius far beyond my years,
A plan uniting fire within my peers:
The hope to alter all that's in our way
And get better rest the following day.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 12:27 AM UTC
I had the flu
When I was eight
Twenty seven
Blankets on top
Couldn't stop
My shivering
At five o'clock
In the eaveing
I got a hand
free from the pile
And saw the inch
Between the tips
Of my fingers
In every vein
was the same inch
Lump in my throat
One inch in size
Sinuses too
Everything = One
Then it would change
Fingers double apart
Throat double filled
Everything = Two
Then
Tilting my head
Twenty Seven
Degrees eastward
Focusing out
Bedroom window
A megazord
In my backyard
In every vein
My sinuses
And down my throat
I had the flu
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 7:44 PM UTC