In this hour, I remember you.
Rest Peacefully.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
an exercise in writing
i'm bored and need something to get my mind off of it. "it" is many things at the moment and i just don't want to think about them. it's mostly reality or at least my perception of it and just for a while, i want to ignore it. so here we go...
the exercise starts out...
step 1: describe the person's hands. (it has to be someone you have strong feelings for)
this pair of hands happens to be the same size as my own. they are warm and soft, well maintained, but not overly so. they are kind of pudgy which is cute, but probably not to him. i'm not sure he would even want someone to refer to his hands as cute. i mean, i would be cool with it but this is not about me. they're white but not white like albino white. white like caucasion white, because he's caucasian. and caucasians have caucasian hands. or at least we try to. it would be weird to be caucasian and then look down and have african hands and asian feet. although, shoe shopping would be easier. so, he has caucasian hands. he has small fingernails like me, but no wrinkles and no burn marks. lucky. he also went to college and works in an office so that gives him a leg up, or hand up... whichever. the point is that he doesn't wash dishes for a living nor does he have to worry himself with nightly hand cream rituals. this is unfair. i'm a girl. he should have rough manly hands, not me. but he doesn't. i wonder if that means i'm a harder worker? or if i'm just retarded because i didn't want to do anything that required a college education. hm.
step two: describe something the person is doing with their hands...
i just received a text message from him so i would imagine that he is reading my response with his thumbs and then placing the phone back into his pocket. or he could be paying the cab driver and opening the door only to be hit with what is sure to be a cold blast of wind. or even better.... he could just be giving the cab the finger and walking off. although i'm not sure he would fare so well if that is the case. not that he's a bad fighter, it's just that cab drivers are insane. especially in the city. he could also be shaking hands with his brother by now or possibly lifting a cold beer to his lips. if that's the case then i'm jealous. (am now happily sipping on my favorite brew... blue moon.) blue moon smells like my grandma's bread when it's still in the yeast feeding stage. the first sip tastes like foamy yeast with a hint of citrus and as you drink more and more the after taste becomes reminiscent of that of an orange which is great but i'm drinking beer, not eating fruit. it can be deceiving. the morning after doesn't taste as sweet. so i hope he's drinking beer by now. he will then use his hands to pay for his bill and open doors to get home. which i hope will be before 2 am since i am going to visit. sleepy grumpy boyfriends are not fun people.
step 3: Use a metaphor to say something about some exotic place.
and off the beaten path we go. metaphors are fun. not when your blocked up like this. when your brain had too much cheese and refuses to expel anything but gibberish. so now i have to think exotic... which to me right now is not necessarily a warm fuzzy beach. exotic to me is change. anything different that results in a successful path for me. exotic in its true definition means strange or weird or from another place. metaphor has a definition all its own. its one thing but also many. so now my brain is in overdrive... exotic place: my next destination. chicago. we hope. my final destination, my retirement place, who knows. i hope somewhere warm and cozy but my life resembles "Who's on first?" and "where's waldo?" so who the fuck knows? metaphors to describe this place could be... "the feline travels onward to the maze of wind and light." (maze of wind and light being chicago, cats = landing on all four feet, curious, adventurous, a certain shape of eye, etc. friends compare me to a cat)
step 4: Ask this person a question somehow involving #2 & #3 above.
oh sure... now i see... the one step at a time process involves me making an ass out of myself. ok. i'm game. possible questions...
1) baby, if the feline wanders into the maze, will your hands still pay for the bill?
2) sweetie, get your hands off my feline?
3) the feline has arrived, where are your hands?
hm... next.
step 5: The person looks up, notices you there, and gives an answer that shows he or she only got part of what you were asking.
him: "did you just ask me to get my ass on an airline?"
me: "no, i asked you to get your hands off my cat."
him: "what cat?"
me: "the one you're petting?"
him: "babe."
me: "yes?"
him: (cocks head)
me: (blinks and slightly smiles)
him: (raises eyebrow)
me: (blinks and slightly smiles)
him: "this is not a cat."
me: "scientifically, no!"
him: (sighs)
me: "but your hand is on it..."
step 6: Now spend some time shaping your responses into a poem or short story. Or, if you prefer, use this as a jumping off point for a freewriting session.
i'm not sure if this could be turned into a poem. and for that matter, i'm not sure i could turn it into a short story. at least not without putting some sort of over 18 warning on my page. but the process was interesting. two steps that relate. one that doesn't. two more steps that relate. this is supposed to be the cure for writer's block. yeah, we'll see.
the exercise starts out...
step 1: describe the person's hands. (it has to be someone you have strong feelings for)
this pair of hands happens to be the same size as my own. they are warm and soft, well maintained, but not overly so. they are kind of pudgy which is cute, but probably not to him. i'm not sure he would even want someone to refer to his hands as cute. i mean, i would be cool with it but this is not about me. they're white but not white like albino white. white like caucasion white, because he's caucasian. and caucasians have caucasian hands. or at least we try to. it would be weird to be caucasian and then look down and have african hands and asian feet. although, shoe shopping would be easier. so, he has caucasian hands. he has small fingernails like me, but no wrinkles and no burn marks. lucky. he also went to college and works in an office so that gives him a leg up, or hand up... whichever. the point is that he doesn't wash dishes for a living nor does he have to worry himself with nightly hand cream rituals. this is unfair. i'm a girl. he should have rough manly hands, not me. but he doesn't. i wonder if that means i'm a harder worker? or if i'm just retarded because i didn't want to do anything that required a college education. hm.
step two: describe something the person is doing with their hands...
i just received a text message from him so i would imagine that he is reading my response with his thumbs and then placing the phone back into his pocket. or he could be paying the cab driver and opening the door only to be hit with what is sure to be a cold blast of wind. or even better.... he could just be giving the cab the finger and walking off. although i'm not sure he would fare so well if that is the case. not that he's a bad fighter, it's just that cab drivers are insane. especially in the city. he could also be shaking hands with his brother by now or possibly lifting a cold beer to his lips. if that's the case then i'm jealous. (am now happily sipping on my favorite brew... blue moon.) blue moon smells like my grandma's bread when it's still in the yeast feeding stage. the first sip tastes like foamy yeast with a hint of citrus and as you drink more and more the after taste becomes reminiscent of that of an orange which is great but i'm drinking beer, not eating fruit. it can be deceiving. the morning after doesn't taste as sweet. so i hope he's drinking beer by now. he will then use his hands to pay for his bill and open doors to get home. which i hope will be before 2 am since i am going to visit. sleepy grumpy boyfriends are not fun people.
step 3: Use a metaphor to say something about some exotic place.
and off the beaten path we go. metaphors are fun. not when your blocked up like this. when your brain had too much cheese and refuses to expel anything but gibberish. so now i have to think exotic... which to me right now is not necessarily a warm fuzzy beach. exotic to me is change. anything different that results in a successful path for me. exotic in its true definition means strange or weird or from another place. metaphor has a definition all its own. its one thing but also many. so now my brain is in overdrive... exotic place: my next destination. chicago. we hope. my final destination, my retirement place, who knows. i hope somewhere warm and cozy but my life resembles "Who's on first?" and "where's waldo?" so who the fuck knows? metaphors to describe this place could be... "the feline travels onward to the maze of wind and light." (maze of wind and light being chicago, cats = landing on all four feet, curious, adventurous, a certain shape of eye, etc. friends compare me to a cat)
step 4: Ask this person a question somehow involving #2 & #3 above.
oh sure... now i see... the one step at a time process involves me making an ass out of myself. ok. i'm game. possible questions...
1) baby, if the feline wanders into the maze, will your hands still pay for the bill?
2) sweetie, get your hands off my feline?
3) the feline has arrived, where are your hands?
hm... next.
step 5: The person looks up, notices you there, and gives an answer that shows he or she only got part of what you were asking.
him: "did you just ask me to get my ass on an airline?"
me: "no, i asked you to get your hands off my cat."
him: "what cat?"
me: "the one you're petting?"
him: "babe."
me: "yes?"
him: (cocks head)
me: (blinks and slightly smiles)
him: (raises eyebrow)
me: (blinks and slightly smiles)
him: "this is not a cat."
me: "scientifically, no!"
him: (sighs)
me: "but your hand is on it..."
step 6: Now spend some time shaping your responses into a poem or short story. Or, if you prefer, use this as a jumping off point for a freewriting session.
i'm not sure if this could be turned into a poem. and for that matter, i'm not sure i could turn it into a short story. at least not without putting some sort of over 18 warning on my page. but the process was interesting. two steps that relate. one that doesn't. two more steps that relate. this is supposed to be the cure for writer's block. yeah, we'll see.
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