December 2017 – Page 2 – Literary Arts Blogspace

the suburbs (pt. 8)

the summer before i came here, i had an accumulative two weeks to spare. my summer was filled with jobs and vacations and camps, leaving me with the occasional saturday and the last week of july.

on june 10th, i took the act. that night, i was at a friend’s farm on the other side of town, setting his chemistry notes on fire. there were six of us–five in chemistry together, and another who just wanted to tag along.

i’d never done anything like it before. i’ve never been to high school parties, never had the friends that would invite me to hang out after school. i haven’t been to a single sleepover in two years. my friends were always temporary fixes, and i still don’t know which of us was the one getting fixed.

half of us were leaving. two of us going to the mississippi school for math and science, and one–me–going to mississippi school of the arts.

this was our one last hurrah before three of us never set foot in the halls of hernando high school again.

we ordered pizza and listened to music and rode around in the back of a stick-shift truck around one kid’s farm. we set pizza boxes and old notes on fire and rolled down a hill inside a huge piece of tubing that was just laying around under an awning. i still have a quarter-sized dark spot on my left knee from one particular roll where we all toppled over ourselves, scraping knees and dirtying clothes.

i’d never felt like there was anything in this town that i would miss until i sat in the back of that truck, wind pulling my hair into my mouth and behind my glasses, watching the trees and tall grass blend into streaks of green. until i watched the orange flames crackle in blue darkness as my favorite songs echoed from the cabin behind us. until i felt the sting of new scars on my kneecaps. i took a lot of pictures that day, and every now and then i still find myself admiring that particular sunset with our wind-blown backs in the foreground.

another night, four of us went to another kid’s house and walked around the woods behind his family’s property. we tried to start another fire, but the freshly rained-on grass wouldn’t let sparks catch. so we decided to drive to the park and around town, the sky already that particular shade of navy where you can just slightly differentiate it from the black silhouettes of trees, one of my favorite bands blaring through the open windows of his car. i took two pictures that night, both fuzzy flashes of fuzzy memories, but they’re two of my favorite pictures i’ve ever taken.

after seven years of craving suburbia, i’d finally found it. i’d finally found the people who made home a place for my heart to live in, to feel warm in.

suburbia never came to me with people i used to tell everything to. it came to me with people i’d known since we were all nine years old but had hardly gotten to know until we all happened to have chemistry together. maybe the academic chemistry had more to do with it than the personal chemistry, but maybe it doesn’t matter.

those nights are still soundtracked by my favorite songs, whether the songs came from the cabin’s external speakers or a car’s internal ones. with my old friends, one of the biggest things we had in common was always music. now, i can’t even imagine what songs they may now call their favorites. maybe i’ve finally changed enough that they can’t imagine mine, either.

Timera Jasmin Gaston aka Timmy-T

She is the definition of contradictory.

( see the 6th urban dictionary definition)

You will find her wearing black at the alter.

You will play her a song composed of only Korean words she does not know.

She will turn down the volume so she can see the lyrics and smell the rhythm.

You will make her enchiladas but she’ll only eat them if you freeze them.

She will ask for ice cream just be sure to boil it before you serve her.

Drive her to Spanish Class on your shared unicycle.

This is where you both learned, “Ella estuvó un gato durante su vida pasada.”

She will speak fluent Spanish as a second language and stutter over simple English as a first language.

She will wear a bathing suit in the snow and a snow suit to the beach

Accept her strange to be the new normal

Everyday with her is Opposite Day and this year she wants to ride the Kid Friendly Bumper Cars

Tell her Maybe and she will do it anyways

There is no room for possibilities here.

There is always the Beeping of an alarm clock to wake up to tomorrow

So tonight she will ask for you to unplug it.

This is just a series on the the people in my class and the things about them I notice.

3/13

The King.

“I’m in love. I’m all shook up.”

Warning: This is a rant about my unconditional love for Elvis Presley.

“You touch my hand and I’m a king…That’s the wonder of you.”

Elvis Aaron Presley. I swear to God, I am naming my child after him. I have already named my horse after him when he was foaled. He is my hero.

“Take my hand. Take my whole life, too. For, I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Elvis will always have a place in my heart. He made memorable music for any occasion and inspired and captured the hearts of many others. Elvis is ranked among other great singers/songwriters such as Salinas, Whitney, and Garth.

“While I can dream, let it come true right now.”

As many people suspect, his songs aren’t about just love. They represent emotions and conditions of the human heart. For example, “In the Ghetto”. They are also healing and distraction of those same emotions.

“Is your heart filled with pain…Tell me dear are you lonesome tonight?”

Elvis had an energy that makes you want to dance no matter your mood or the mood of the song. Maybe this is why so many of his songs are featured in movies. They get you pumped, excited for whatever comes next. Or, they get you prepped and ready for all that’s coming.

“Well, he plays something evil.
Then, he plays something sweet.
No matter what he plays,
You got to get up on your feet.”

As you can tell, my love for Elvis is an endless pit. I can’t tell you many more artists that I know of that have captured me with every song they’ve ever produced.

“When I first saw you, with your smile so tender, my heart was captured. My soul surrendered.”

Elvis not only created musica with versatile moods, but his songs contained a new sense of genre and started a revolution in the industry. Songs such as, “Jailhouse Rock” strongly promoted this new genre.

“Let’s rock. Everybody let’s rock.”

Elvis knew his roots and never quite forgot them. This is such and admirable trait. He also tributed a song, “An American Trilogy” to soldiers of America.

“Oh, I wish I was in Dixie, away away, in Dixieland. I’ll take my stand to live and die in dixie, for Dixieland was where I was born..look away, look away Dixieland.”

I hope you can find love in your heart for such a devoted man.

Blotched

Watch me stand alone at night and listen to the voices in my head-hear me scream your name in my sleep and wonder if it’s because I love or hate you.

Tell me that you love me, and realize that my walls have been up this whole time. You don’t want them to come down- I would be a different person. You’re already in love with the sad me, I shouldn’t bother with anything else.

Let me know how you feel on bad days and good days and all the days in between- send the ‘I’m busy’ text when I get emotional.

Wrap your vine arms around me and feel me shake, hold me tighter. Tell yourself that I’m cold and it’s not the fact that your arms remind me of a cage I couldn’t escapef. You don’t even know the story. My teeth have shattered.

Listen to my silence and make it your melody. Count the beats until I crescendo into nothingness. Breathe through your nose. Keep your back straight.

Follow me into the dark, strike a match and watch me burn. Relish in my light- singe your eyebrows. Take a step back. Stare as my ashes are blown away in the wind. Leave.

Eat my heart. Feel my blood soak through your tongue, washing away your lies with my own. Devour my eyes- see what I keep hidden.

Don’t let me see your scars. Feel the ridges on my arms and squirm- I’ll start to hide mine too. Long sleeves and locked up words. Everyone is satisfied. My throat is burning.

Wait until I’m asleep, cast your shadows on top of my own. Choke the flame from my dreams-make it your own.

Want what we can’t have. Wish on a million stars, beg the gods, hold your breath. Our hands do not fit together.

Fear the future. Flee from the right now. Hold down your shaking hands. Drop your concerns on my doorstep- don’t leave a return address.

Smile at my middle name. Tell me it fits perfectly- beauty and callus bring the smells of spring and my exhaustion.

Wonder when I’ll come to my senses- try to run back. Daydream of untied shoelaces and slippery streets. Feel content with broken bones.

Imagine a day when our eyes will be able to meet without the world erupting. It’s impossible. You squint your eyes. The picture stays fuzzy.

The Eater

I wish I was built with the extraordinary capability to save everyone, but somehow everyone keeps slipping through my fingers, right into the Eater’s mouth.

The Eater is a rather misunderstood creature. He eats memories and feelings, but most importantly he eats away at people. Whenever people are gone or whoever they used to be are gone or you forget something, it’s the Eater who has eaten the Gone People.

He’s this force that is constantly chasing behind you, begging at your feet like a large dog underneath the dinner table. Eventually, he will eat something, even if he has to knock off a few plates. Sometimes, he’ll even break the table.

I have seen him eat person after person, as they fall into his mouth like a stale french fry. And then the person who I was grasping onto to keep from falling is gone, they’re a Gone Person, and there’s nothing underneath be to keep me from the falling, falling, and falling…

You can’t come back from the Eater. You can become a different person and still be alive, but the person you were before is gone. That’s a Gone Person.

He’s always there, waiting to Eat you. Sometimes, it can be a good thing. If you don’t like who you are, you can fall back into him like a cocoon, except with teeth and stomach acid.

The truth is that he’s lonely, and he’s misunderstood. The Gone People keep him company. I have many versions of myself doing so.

You can save people from him, but sometimes you aren’t Enough. And I wish I was Enough, I wish I was bursting with such Enoughness as others do. Trying to save people hurts. I am hurt. I wonder why I am not Enough.

Why am I not brimmed with it so that it topples over when I walk? I want people to come licking up behind me, thirsty for the taste. They’ve never seen such Enoughness before! Amazing!

Why am I so empty, so see-through and paper-thin without the Enoughness, that people slip right through my fingertips?

Sometimes I hate the Eater. I hate him for hurting me like this, but it’s not him. It’s them who led themselves down this path, all the while holding my hand just so I can watch them dangle. It’s a slippery slope down the chair legs, right into the waiting dog’s mouth.

It doesn’t matter. I am still hurt. They are still Gone People.

Who is the Gone Person you speak of, Zoe? People may ask.

Why, I say. It’s me and you and it’s everyone. The Gone is this virus that we breath and we spit and we kiss, it’s in the cracks of your lip and the juice of eye.

We’re all Gone People.

But I forgive you, Eater.

Everything Works out in the End

Anytime I find myself in a state of frustration or continued sadness, I turn to uplifting written pieces or music to cure my rambled thoughts. Lately, life has been a rollercoaster that I’ve fallen off plenty of times. We all tend to find ourselves in a constant cycle of misfortunes or misplacement. We finish one thing and turn around to fifty more. It’s just life and the many mishaps that come along with it. But why are obstacles repetitive in our lives? Can we prevent them? Is it our actions that create a ripple? Apparently, it all comes down to one word, entropy. According to the dictionary definition, entropy is a lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder. When I think of probability, the first thing that comes to mind is word problems and proportions. The saying we use math every day in our lives is absolutely true, even if it’s subconsciously.

I came across an article titled “Entropy: Why Life Always Seems to Get More Complicated”. It immediately caught my attention because of the straightforward and relatable question in the title. So, I decided to give it a read. This article explores the different levels of entropy and questions associated with the terms. It includes several scientific and mathematical references. However, it isn’t a boring read about equations. Instead, it uses the references as brief support to the theory of why things go wrong in our lives. The article’s main scientific reasoning is Murphy’s law “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong”. This quote opens the article then transitions into the question ‘why’. The article almost becomes depressing because I begin to think there’s nothing I can do about this inevitable force, and obstacles will always find their way in my path. However, the writer goes on to say entropy is the reason we exert energy into situations. It’s the reason we keep fighting and trying new things, hoping to prevent new curves. It is in our nature to want some sort of order and stability.

One of my favorite ideas discussed in this article is the requirement of energy and the increasing odds against us. The article says there are countless numbers of ways something can go wrong, but one way it can go right. “There is only one possible state where every piece is in order, but there are a nearly infinite number of states where the pieces are in disorder”. The writer is referring to the completion of a puzzle and its probabilities.

We can’t necessarily stop bad things from happening to us. We can attempt ways to alleviate the impact, but it’s bound to happen. It’s our choice to learn from it and put in the effort to make it better. “You can fight back against the pull of entropy”. The only thing it requires is energy and effort. My favorite quote from the many the author uses is “The hardest thing in the world is to simplify your life because everything is pulling you to be more and more complex.”

The road gets bumpy and we graze the sides sometimes, but it’s not the end yet. We still have time to come back and try again. Although it’s a relentless and tiring cycle, at least it’s something. Life is what you make it. Nothing’s perfect. So, close your eyes, breathe in and out. Prepare yourself for tomorrow.

If you would like to give the article a read, click here.

Phantom (The Novel of His Life) – Susan Kay

Image result for phantom susan kay

The Overview:

Susan Kay’s 1990 dramatic novel, Phantom, is served as a prequel to Gaston Leroux’s gothic fiction The Phantom of the Opera published eighty years earlier. It is not entirely faithful, however, as it also heavily draws influence from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Broadway hit, The Phantom of the Opera. Phantom stars The Phantom, here going by his birth name, Eric, before he became the Opera Ghost. The book covers the entirety of his life and takes the readers through the horrendous events that made him the deranged man seen in Leroux’s original work.

Phantom’s Style:

Phantom is authored by one person, but like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, it has multiple narrators. It is first narrated by Eric’s mother, Madeline, which makes sense, since Eric himself isn’t old enough to think complexly enough to do the story justice. Eric takes over after her though, followed by Giovanni, an old man who takes him in. After Giovanni comes Nadir, otherwise known as The Persian from Leroux’s work. Eric narrates again, then he and Christian Daae shared a section. The last “chapter” is given to Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. After being in Eric’s head for so long, the reader might find it off-putting to transfer to a completely new character (I did at first), but the story picks up as soon as Eric is mentioned, which usually doesn’t take that long.

A Potential Turn-off:

I do try my best to be unbiased when reviewing books, and for Phantom, this was especially hard. There are so many wonderful components about the book that I hate to admit that were any flaws in it. I stand by that, however I will say that Phantom is disturbing. There are seriously explicit and/ or possibly triggering elements. Excessive child abuse, addictive drug use, racism, slavery, pedophilia, attempted rape, toxic relationships, and murder are all in this book. If any of the above deeply bother you, this book is probably not for you.

A Dementedly Appealing Factor:

This book is unique in its likability. I have a masochistic sort of fondness for it; it’s so brutally realistic, this is what makes it enjoyable. All of the The reason why it is so good is because the main character, Eric, is treated so terribly that the reader can help but feel sympathy for him. When an especially horrid thing was about to happen to him, I remember screaming at the offending character… four o’clock in the morning. I wept for Eric when he did not cry for himself, things of that nature. Also, I presume everyone reading Phantom has already read Leroux’s Phantom, seen Webber’s, or has had some prior knowledge of the basic plot. So, the reader would get a special sort of satisfaction in seeing all of the mysteriously unexplained factors come together.

My Rating:

This is by far the best book I have ever read, and just to show how much I enjoyed it, let it be known that I now own it. Without a doubt, Phantom receives a eleven star rating out of ten. I can’t wait to read it again!

“What I Pledge Allegiance To” by Kiese Laymon

“I am a black Mississippian. I am a black American. I pledge to never be passive, patriotic, or grateful in the face of American abuse. I pledge to always thoughtfully bite the self-righteous American hand that thinks it’s feeding us. I pledge to perpetually reckon with the possibility that there will never be any liberty, peace, and justice for all unless we accept that America, like Mississippi, is not clean. Nor is it great. Nor is it innocent.” (Laymon)

Within the essay “What I Pledge Allegiance To” by Kiese Laymon, I found many aspects of myself within the work itself. Mr. Laymon tells of his thoughts on the ragged American flag he has hung outside his home in Oxford, Mississippi. The essay follows the timeline of Mr. Laymon being a resident in upstate New York, and a resident in Jackson, Mississippi. The ways in which he describes living in New York as a black American and how he differentiates, and in a way, minimizes, the classification of living in Mississippi as simply a black Mississippian is not only interesting but also in many aspects relatable to many other black Mississippians. Mr. Laymon also speaks on the completely different worries of black Mississippians as appose to other black Americans. These few highlights, however, do not nearly scratch the surface of the amount of material that Mr. Laymon discusses with his essay, but these are points that stuck out to me greatly as a reader from Jackson, Mississippi.

As I read this work, I felt the wording from Mr. Laymon on his thoughts and emotions was done with great eloquence. Although his speech within the article itself is informal, the message was a very sensitive topic to write on, and could have very well come off to readers as more of an attack at Americans as appose to Mr. Laymon’s personal beliefs, but Mr. Laymon did a very impressive job at avoiding wording that would seem offensive or brash. I believe that I and Mr. Laymon have very common viewpoints on the Pledge of Allegiance when it comes to the topic of if we support it or not. I commend the altercations and inclusion of Mr. Laymon’s own personal “allegiance” to himself that he ended his essay with, which I included at the beginning of this review. I personally believe this essay had a lot of great detailing and imagery; however, I do believe there were a few missed opportunities in the writing.

In a section of the writing, Mr. Laymon speaks on why he will not remove the flag from his yard out of fear, but I believe that moment would have been a great opportunity to include a hypothetical scenario regarding him and his neighbors, or the actions that may follow if he took the flag down; however, the ambiguous text of not telling what may happen leaves it up to the imagination of the readers. Overall, I highly recommend this essay as a good read for many Americans, especially African American Mississippians. If you would like to read this essay, please click here.

Too Far by Rich Shapero

Image result for too far by rich shapero

Too Far follows six-year-old Robbie, a child with a lot of imagination and nowhere to put it, living in the Alaskan countryside. Robbie’s parents are in a failing marriage—his father encouraging his curiosity, his mother determined to keep him confined to the house. One day, on a whim, Robbie travels out into the forest and meets a girl named Fristeen. Fristeen is colorful, chipper, and utterly wild. Fristeen is under the care of her easygoing but spacey mother, Grace. Fristeen and Robbie form a tight bond, and the two travel into Too Far, their make-believe wonderland. In Too Far, there is a red lake, a tree named He Knows, a forest of Bendies, and the benevolent but mysterious Dream Man and Dawn. Although Too Far becomes the children’s escape to joy, they soon realize that they can never escape reality, as it soon creeps into Too Far.

Too Far is a book that is told in two parts: Too Far and the real world. The real world is easy enough to understand, albeit told through children’s eyes. Robbie and Fristeen’s parents are presented the way a child would, through very opinionated eyes. To Robbie, his mother is controlling and boring, not wanting him to travel out into the woods, but to readers, we understand where her maternal fear comes from. Robbie sees his father as fun-loving and supportive, though we may think him to be too loose with his child. Robbie looks up to Fristeen’s mother Grace as a wise, mystic woman who is as easy-going as it gets. We, however, see that Grace is often drugged out of her mind, and though she loves her daughter, she also pays no mind to her safety. Framing these characters through Robbie’s and Fristeen’s eyes works both ways: we see them as the flawed humans they are, while we also see how tragically idealistic the children are.

The second part of the book, Too Far, is told in a very mystical, fairy-tale way. There’s a tree named He Knows that talks, a ‘bouncy lake’, etc. Although we as readers know that these are simply fragments of the children’s imaginations, they are treated as fact. The characters of Dawn and Dream Man may seem confusing at first, but as the book continues, it becomes clearer that they represent the children’s parents: they love them, but they don’t always make sense, they do bad things and don’t apologize, and they bounce between caring for and pulling away from the kids. It also becomes increasingly clearer throughout the story that Too Far is more dangerous than the children realize. Playing out in the woods is all fun and games before the reader realizes, “Oh, yeah, these are two children completely unsupervised in a place where they could die.”

Without giving away spoilers, the book does end on a very somber note, albeit not one that doesn’t make sense. In fact, as readers, we may consider the ending to be bittersweet, though it’s a tragic one for Robbie and Fristeen. I think the book overall captures the imagination and innocence of children, while also capturing the adult fear of “These children have no idea about what a bad situation they’re in.” Also of interesting note—the book has a soundtrack! Dawn Remembers is an album by Rich Shapero and Maria Taylor made with the book in mind. Cool.

On a more negative note, there are some slow parts in the book, wherein Robbie and Fristeen are just moseying around Too Far. Now, arguably, this is because they’re two bored kids with nothing to do, but it still makes it a tedious read. Especially noticeable in that the kids follow a sort of pattern every time they go into Too Far. Some scenes with Dawn and Dream Man can be a bit hard to decipher, as they are two unreal things being treated as real—in other words, though they are in the children’s imaginations, they seem to have real-world effect.

And of course, the most controversial part of the book—two kids in a sexual relationship! Robbie and Fristeen never actually have sex…or, if they did, it was too ambiguous to tell…but there are parts where the six-year-olds become…acquainted with each other. Kids learning about sexuality is a really tricky thing to write on. It happens, we’ve all been through it, but it’s very uncomfortable when done wrong, and it can very easily be done wrong. And Too Far’s depiction of the situation is…fine. No, I did not enjoy reading about two children getting naked together, but it could have been way worse.

All in all, though it can be difficult to understand and slow to process, Too Far does give a very interesting take through a child’s view. It is imaginative, worrying, and hopeful at the same time. I understand that it is a very divisive book, though, so I’d day look at a sample and see if it interests you.

The Human Fly by T.C. Boyle

My personal copy of this story was apart of a book of T.C. Boyle’s short stories called The Human Fly and Other Stories.

The story began with a quote by Franz Kafka in A Hunger Artist, “Just try to explain to anyone the art of fasting.”

The Human Fly by T.C. Boyle is a quick read that spires readers into the world of a talent agent set as a less successful counterpart in a large entertainment business. One day he is approached by a man who refers to himself as la Mosca Humana, or the human fly. This man is portrayed to carry a certain estranged sadness within his cape and bathing cap. The character becomes known as Zoltan, but his full name is Zoltan Mindszenty. Zoltan has one object in mind throughout the story, and that is that he wants to be famous. This is made apparent from the very beginning of the story, a goal is set and the two have a reason to need one another. I won’t spoil anything and tell everything that happens, but i will say there are some absolutely sky high stunts portrayed scarily detailed by T.C. Boyle.

The tone of the book is the tone of the narrator for the most part, and that is Zoltan’s manager. The name of this character is never revealed, but I believe this adds to the story. The agent himself is much more caring and human than others in the business and this is portrayed by the worry the reader truly feels in all of the situations, for Zoltan. Money could be made off of Zoltan whether not he lives or dies at one point in the story, and that shows the human and relatable part to the narrator. Now, the narrator was not always this way. In the beginning he was in it for the money and spotlight, but you see the shift of character throughout the story. It is a un-pointed out, very important, change in voice and context he categorizes his emotions in.

I would recommend this story as a quick read with a lot of flesh and layers. The imagery is beautiful, a real sense in all of the story. There is an array of emotions to be taken away and given to this story, from sadness to hope and disbelief to anger. If you are looking to be given another universe in your mind for a minute, this is the story for you.

My favorite part of the story is the narrator describing Zoltan in this quote,

“A fine band of skin as blanched and waxen as the cap of a mushroom outlined his ears, his hairline, and the back of his neck, dead white against the sun-burnished oval of his face. His eyes were pale watery blue and the hair beneath the cap was as wispy and colorless as the strands of his mustache. His name was Zoltan Mindszenty, and he’d come to Los Angeles to live with his uncle when the Russian tanks rolled through Budapest in 1956.”