How could the missus say those things about me? Not one day since the Man bought me have I spoke my mind out loud. Not one time have I made that bitch wait for her hot water, for her cold water, for her fire to warm the room. I carry that water, carry that firewood, clean that woodstove, chop that wood, pump that water, keep that slime from growing in my buckets, keep my chop axe sharp. Keep my suit clean so as not to embarrass her if her uppity fat ass friends catch site of me. I clean my shoes before I come in the house so as not to dirty her precious rugs. I use that lotion she gave me to keep my hands and fingers soft even though I still have to do hard labor. I trim my callouses and file my nails so as not to catch them on her fine silk undies. I brush my teeth with that funny smelling paste she gave me and always keep my little man clean so she can do that thing with her mouth like she likes to sometimes. I aint never told her her dirty place stank, ain't never told her she need to brush her stinky gin smellin mouth or wash out some of those creases and folds on her pasty body that get to stinkin on the hot days. I aint never tole her my tongue gets tired and it hurts my neck sometimes trying to make her moan. I aint never complain that I have to do all my regular chores and keep that bitch happy in that dirty way too. Oh you such a fine young buck she say, oh I aint never seen one that big she say, slip out the back stair so nobody see you leaving she say, and next time you better last a little longer she say.
I miss my sweet Sinay, I hope she bein treated better wherever she is than we be here on this white mans farm. I hope she remember me and know that its memories of her and her wet love is the only thing get me through those long afternoons in that pale bitches room.
And that bitch said that about me? I aint never show her no disrespect. I aint never tell her nothin but yes mam, oh you get me so hot mam oh you so pretty mam, that fat white bitch. I make her moan 4, 5 times a day sometimes, what more she want. Marcus say he never make her moan more than twice, that probably why she have him sent to field work. That poor boy, he get a taste of the Mans whip every other day, that poor boy big but he simple in the mind um-hm. What I worried bout him for I'm the one standing here on this barrel with this rope around my neck. How that bitch gonna say that about me? I guess she found somebody make her moan 10 times. Aint that about a bitch.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Wriring Prompt 1; Who Am I
Who am I? I don't know. I'm a 38 yr old college student, small business owner, father, son, friend when it serves my purpose. I'm a completely self absorbed, self seeking piece of shit most of the time. I do have my moments of goodness though, they generally involve the only thing that gives my life meaning, my beautiful 10yr old son, my golden child. Luckily he has a wonderful, stable, responsible, loving, kind, and generous mother because as fathers go "sorry about your luck kid". He loves me, he respects me, he even likes and enjoys my company. He really seems to be learning from my many mistakes which I share with him in an attempt to educate him in the only way I know how, learning from mistakes.
Who am I? I don't know. How do I describe myself without referencing other people and my relationship with them. What do I like, what are my hobbies, what are my goals? I don't know. Keep up the facade of functioning normalcy seems to be what I spend most of my time doing. Lying to others and trying to hide the misery, pain, anger and hopelessness that simmers behind my eyes most of my waking hours, can that be considered a hobby?
My goals, now those I can describe. Finding my place in this world, finding what makes me truly happy and at peace, discovering the true meaning to my life, that is my goal. Learning to ignore the bullshit that constantly bombards my senses from the commercialism and " great big festering neon distraction" that I live in. Stopping the constant turmoil inside my brain that comes from trying to conform to societies standards when these standards are in glaring direct conflict with my own personal standards. I don't care what brand of car I drive or how new it is, I care that it is reliable, comfortable, and that I got it for a fair price. But how will I ever get laid driving a 92 Ford when all the ladies seem to place so much importance on appearances and money. Who am I? " I'm a walking contradiction" that's who I am. I am the definition of ambivalence. I am a mind spinning out of control, chasing its tail until it collapses from exhaustion.
Who am I? I'm quick with a smile, a smart ass comment that is delivered with humor. I love natural beauty, animals, children laughing, and the humility of illegal immigrants. I will do anything to assist old people, stray dogs, single mothers and the handicapped. I'm honest and reliable, a valuable employee and teammate. I help coach a youth football team and attend parent teacher conferences. I tell my mother I love her and that life is grand. I give a friendly wave instead of the finger if you cut me off in traffic. Who am I? I'm a recovering drug addict, an arsonist, burglar, liar, pervert and thief. I'm that guy your parents warned you about. I'm a passive aggressive study in violence and revenge. I am hate and despair, I am "the chill that's in the air".
Who am I? I have no fucking idea?
Who am I? I don't know. How do I describe myself without referencing other people and my relationship with them. What do I like, what are my hobbies, what are my goals? I don't know. Keep up the facade of functioning normalcy seems to be what I spend most of my time doing. Lying to others and trying to hide the misery, pain, anger and hopelessness that simmers behind my eyes most of my waking hours, can that be considered a hobby?
My goals, now those I can describe. Finding my place in this world, finding what makes me truly happy and at peace, discovering the true meaning to my life, that is my goal. Learning to ignore the bullshit that constantly bombards my senses from the commercialism and " great big festering neon distraction" that I live in. Stopping the constant turmoil inside my brain that comes from trying to conform to societies standards when these standards are in glaring direct conflict with my own personal standards. I don't care what brand of car I drive or how new it is, I care that it is reliable, comfortable, and that I got it for a fair price. But how will I ever get laid driving a 92 Ford when all the ladies seem to place so much importance on appearances and money. Who am I? " I'm a walking contradiction" that's who I am. I am the definition of ambivalence. I am a mind spinning out of control, chasing its tail until it collapses from exhaustion.
Who am I? I'm quick with a smile, a smart ass comment that is delivered with humor. I love natural beauty, animals, children laughing, and the humility of illegal immigrants. I will do anything to assist old people, stray dogs, single mothers and the handicapped. I'm honest and reliable, a valuable employee and teammate. I help coach a youth football team and attend parent teacher conferences. I tell my mother I love her and that life is grand. I give a friendly wave instead of the finger if you cut me off in traffic. Who am I? I'm a recovering drug addict, an arsonist, burglar, liar, pervert and thief. I'm that guy your parents warned you about. I'm a passive aggressive study in violence and revenge. I am hate and despair, I am "the chill that's in the air".
Who am I? I have no fucking idea?
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Peer Reviews
Lindsay Fraser
Maybe I am just uneducated about writing styles and criticisizing others writing styles, though I have thoroughly read chapter 7 in the book, but I couldnt find anything to complain about or that needed further explination. Your description in Cold Grey-stoned benches really painted an excellent picture of what one might experience in that particular place and your use of humor and sarcasm in The Unexpected really conveyed the development of your relationship. Both pieces did an excellent job of conveying feeling and I think your writing is very effective and entertaining.
Jesus Corona
Ha Ha I love your use of humor and then the gut shot in your prompt #5 writing. Lifes second lesson as seen through the eyes of an infant we will all die alone has left me pondering at what age I figrued out that little truism.
And the oposing viewpoints and contradiction of your POV and his, translated from baby babbling of course, leads to deeper reflection into what in life is really truth and what is the truth distorted by our frame of reference. Your prompt#7 writing was a little harder to follow due to its broken, train of thought type format and during my first reading was a little hard to follow. When I reread it to be able to further explain my difficulties though it seemed to flow alot better because i was familiar with the story. So I cant really say why it didnt seem to flow so well the first time. My biggest complaint, they both made me sad at the end.
Miranda Colony
I enjoyed your terror child piece. It brought up a good picture of a childs feelings towards the "woman my Dad lives with" and the part about her touching the meat with her witch fingers and the porosity of the plastic was great. I felt the transitions between the paragraphs could use a little honing, i could definitely follow the story but it seems to my simple mind that it could flow just a little more smoothly with a small amount of revision. The line about Ms. Kathy kind of threw me a little also because I kept expecting to hear more about her. I wonder if that line needs to be included in the story even though it made me chuckle.
Alyssa Brown
I love the funny involved in your story of the boys trying to sell your room. The descriptions really transported me to and described the imposibility of the situation and gives insight into some of the torment you must have experienced from your brothers as a child. Nice job also of telling the story from your fathers POV and hinting at the end that you made them pay for all their stunts. The Kitchen story was a little more broken and the sentences seemed to be kind of chopped. I felt the story could flow a little better with a little revision.
Maybe I am just uneducated about writing styles and criticisizing others writing styles, though I have thoroughly read chapter 7 in the book, but I couldnt find anything to complain about or that needed further explination. Your description in Cold Grey-stoned benches really painted an excellent picture of what one might experience in that particular place and your use of humor and sarcasm in The Unexpected really conveyed the development of your relationship. Both pieces did an excellent job of conveying feeling and I think your writing is very effective and entertaining.
Jesus Corona
Ha Ha I love your use of humor and then the gut shot in your prompt #5 writing. Lifes second lesson as seen through the eyes of an infant we will all die alone has left me pondering at what age I figrued out that little truism.
And the oposing viewpoints and contradiction of your POV and his, translated from baby babbling of course, leads to deeper reflection into what in life is really truth and what is the truth distorted by our frame of reference. Your prompt#7 writing was a little harder to follow due to its broken, train of thought type format and during my first reading was a little hard to follow. When I reread it to be able to further explain my difficulties though it seemed to flow alot better because i was familiar with the story. So I cant really say why it didnt seem to flow so well the first time. My biggest complaint, they both made me sad at the end.
Miranda Colony
I enjoyed your terror child piece. It brought up a good picture of a childs feelings towards the "woman my Dad lives with" and the part about her touching the meat with her witch fingers and the porosity of the plastic was great. I felt the transitions between the paragraphs could use a little honing, i could definitely follow the story but it seems to my simple mind that it could flow just a little more smoothly with a small amount of revision. The line about Ms. Kathy kind of threw me a little also because I kept expecting to hear more about her. I wonder if that line needs to be included in the story even though it made me chuckle.
Alyssa Brown
I love the funny involved in your story of the boys trying to sell your room. The descriptions really transported me to and described the imposibility of the situation and gives insight into some of the torment you must have experienced from your brothers as a child. Nice job also of telling the story from your fathers POV and hinting at the end that you made them pay for all their stunts. The Kitchen story was a little more broken and the sentences seemed to be kind of chopped. I felt the story could flow a little better with a little revision.
Writing prompt 7 Kitchen
My apologies in advance if my crude language offends anyone, I felt it was necessary to convey the story
Not country ham again, how will I ever chew it? Why does mom have to fix me breakfast every day, why can’t I eat pop tarts like all my friends? That fucker Grady. Sucker punch me right in the jaw. I thought it was broken for sure. Luckily I think he knocked me out for a minute because he must have been kicking me for awhile, looking at all the bruises on my back this morning. Oh no moms looking at me weird must chew and act like nothing’s wrong. Hurts so bad, I wonder if it is broken.
Not country ham again, how will I ever chew it? Why does mom have to fix me breakfast every day, why can’t I eat pop tarts like all my friends? That fucker Grady. Sucker punch me right in the jaw. I thought it was broken for sure. Luckily I think he knocked me out for a minute because he must have been kicking me for awhile, looking at all the bruises on my back this morning. Oh no moms looking at me weird must chew and act like nothing’s wrong. Hurts so bad, I wonder if it is broken.
What mom? Oh my jaw, yea me and Matt were play wrestling yesterday and he got me in a good headlock. Yea it feels a little swollen. No it doesn’t hurt much. Yea the ham and eggs are good just not to hungry this morning.
Oh ugh the hangover doesn’t help. So thirsty, will she suspect if I ask for more OJ, damn ham is so salty. What time is it, oh plenty of time, no excuse to get out of here. That bastard. 24 years old and has to sucker punch a 15 year old. I’ll get that prick, already got his girl, oh yea that explains the sucker punch.
What’s that mom? No we didn’t do much last night, just crusin town. Yea Hope and I are still dating. No I was home by 10. No I’ve been good. Yea should be all A’s and B’s this quarter.
Ouch, it hurts so bad to chew. Yea I was home by 10 but I snuck back out by 10:30 ha ha. You have no idea what I really do. Hope and I are doing a lot more than dating. Just ask Grady, evidently he heard all about it. Who could have told him, was it Hope? Is she still seeing him too? I’m gonna get that asshole, burn his fuckin house down. So thirsty. Oh it hurts to chew.
Thanks for breakfast mom, it was delicious as usual. Are you losing weight, you look younger every day. I love you too, have a good day.
Burn his fuckin house down, that’s what I’ll do.
Writing prompt #5 Fathers POV
Where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently? Why can’t we communicate? Did I not love him enough? Did I love him too much? Should I have punished more? Or less? Should I have worked less hours, I was just trying to provide for him and the rest of the family. Should I have shared my experiences and mistakes instead of trying to hide them and fool him into thinking I never made any? Did he think he was the only one with problems? Does he think I hate him or even worse am indifferent to him? Where did I go wrong? Why does he look at me with that burning hate in his eyes? Will I ever see him again? Where did I go wrong? Should I go back on my word and my principles and beg him to stay, can I apologize for doing what I feel is right? Why did my father die so young, why is he not here to advise me and help me? Where did I go wrong? What have I done? How can I make him stay? He is so young and so skinny. Is the world going to eat him alive? Does my boy stand a chance? Where did I go wrong? What could I have done? Doesn’t he see that I only want the best for him? Can’t he see the terrible mistake he is making? Will I ever see him again? How can I tell his mother that he is gone? Where will he sleep? What will he eat? What drugs is he on? Why does he hate me so? How can he survive he only makes $6 an hour? Don’t leave me son, don’t go. Where did he get that car? Is he high right now? What have I done? How will he survive, he has no idea what really goes on in this cold world. What is he thinking? Is he really leaving? Why did he leave his bed, it was his bed, I gave it to him. Why does he hate me so much? Should I have said goodbye? Should I have told him I love him? Will I ever see him again? Where did my son go? Where did I go wrong? The house feels so empty. Is he cold right now, is he hungry? Where did my boy go, my beautiful boy? Will I ever see him again? Where did I go wrong?
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