Ah, nostalgia. That is the one word I would pick to describe club penguin. If you were born from 1999 and above you have probably played the game. It started in 2005 and ended in 2017. Although, a new version of it called club penguin rewritten came about in 2017. It was basically a carbon copy of the old one. Today, I want to review the well-beloved game! So I hope you enjoy!
So, what is club penguin? Club penguin is a massively multiplayer online game, involving a virtual world containing games and activities. That’s the technical term at least. But basically, it’s a game where you can create your own penguin and roam around the world that it lives in along with many other players.
The first thing that you have to do is make a penguin. You have to choose a color (don’t worry you can change it) and a unique name. I personally have created several penguins before. The one that I am using now goes by the name of MappleTree. I’ll put a picture of it right here:
You have to be really creative with these names because chances are, someone has already claimed it.
Now, once you’re in the game you have to select a server. They are titled many cute names like sleet, blizzard, and marshmallow. After you do that there is a big map of different spots that you can go to:
I would like to touch on some of my favorite places to go. Starting with the town. Here you can do many things such as go to a coffee shop, go to a night club, and go to a gift shop. At the gift shop you can buy different clothes, skin colors, backgrounds, etc. I personally love buying things from there. At the night club there is a dance floor and music. At the coffee shop are fun games and lounging areas. Here’s some pictures of the places:
Now, onto the next place: The plaza. Here you can go to the pet shop where you can buy a puffle. Then you can head on over to the theater to watch penguins reenact a scene, there you can buy costumes and put them on. Finally, there is the pizza parlor where you can play pizza games and get your order taken. Even though you won’t get actual food, it’s still fun to role-play with other penguins. Here are some pictures:
Next, I would like to tell you about the karate dojo. Yes, you heard me right the karate dojo. Is it really that weird for penguins to do karate, I mean kind of, but they have to pass time somehow. This place is very fun. It’s a card game where you pick a random elemental card to play on the other character and that penguin picks one for you. One card will overpower the other card, and after three rounds whoever has the most wins, well, wins! It is a pretty exciting game. As you go on you rank up in belts. Until, you get to the black belt and you face the sensei. Here are some pictures:
So those are some of my favorite places to go to club penguin rewritten. Overall, I give this game a 9/10. I feel like there can be some improvement, but overall the game is captivating. There are many other secrets that I didn’t talk about in the game. Like how there’s a whole secret agency, but you’ll just have to play for yourself and see how much fun it is. The game will definitely keep you there for hours. So go buy a puffle, make some pizza, and decorate your igloo!
About two months ago, I was on a hunt for a spiritual awakening! So, obviously I took to the social media to hunt for the best books that would teach me. I found a variety of books such as The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle, The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer. However, the book that caught my interest the most was The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success by Deepak Chopra.
This book is described as, “a practical guide to the fulfillment of your dreams.” I can tell you right now it is such more! Each chapter is a law that you need in order to live a life of success. However, to me they are more like golden keys that unlocks the door of growth. Even though the book only has seven chapters it is filled with so much knowledgeable information. So, instead of reviewing the entire book, every month I will review a new chapter and how I am applying it to my life.
The first chapter is titled, The law of pure potentiality. Chopra explains, very thoroughly I may add, how humans are pure consciousness meaning we basically have endless possibilities. He dives into the Self which is our own spirit and our own experience. This is a key I learned: Our Self is absent of ego. Ego is overall the bad side of you. You know the one that is obsessed with attention and other people’s approval. We will never reach success if our ego consumes our soul. Here are some quotes that I highlighted in this chapter:
“When you discover your essential nature and know who you really are, in that knowing itself is the ability to fulfill any dream you have, because you are the eternal possibility, the immeasurable potential of all that was, is, and will be.”
“In object-referral we are always influenced by objects outside the Self, which include situations, circumstances, people, and things. In object-referral we are constantly seeking the approval of others. Our thinking and our behaviour are always in anticipation of a response. It is therefore fear-based.”
This quote stuck with me deeply because I understood how pointless it is to be bothered by things that have nothing to do with me. Also, I realized I need to stop trying to control things. That is unnecessary stress upon my life. Control is just an illusion, it does not exist.
“When we experience the power of the Self, there is an absence of fear, there is no compulsion to control, and no struggle for approval or external power.”
“In self-referral, you experience your true being, which is unfearful of any challenge, has respect for all people, and feels beneath no one. Self-power is therefore true power.”
This is so important to learn and to study! Self-power is the true power and ego-power is temporary. Money, a high status, rewards, and fame is all temporary. Why do strive to have those things when they are all disposable?
“Wherever you go in the midst of movement and activity, carry your stillness within you. Then the chaotic movement around you will never overshadow your access to the reservoir of creativity, the field of pure potentiality.”
Carrying my stillness with me is something I have to practice to master. I often let my surroundings influence me when it becomes too much. But I feel like if I can carry my peace with me and let that influence me instead my life would be so much calmer.
Each chapter has steps you could do in life to apply the seven laws of success. For this chapter it’s meditating twice a day. Sit in silence and observe the nature of living. Lastly, practicing non-judgement. “I will begin my day with the statement, ‘Today, I shall judge nothing that occurs.'”
To be honest I try to meditate at least once a week. I believe if I made time to meditate twice a day I will have a more peaceful life. However, I get distracted easily because there is not a peaceful place I can meditate at on campus. There I go again making unnecessary excuses. You make time for what you want!
I may be slacking with meditation but I do sit in silence at least once a day. I recommend this to everyone. You experience things you would normal miss about nature. I do not have to always listen to music in fact I work better with no distractions. Mr. Chopra knew what he was writing when he suggested this step!
Stating I will not judge anyone in the morning is a reminder that I am not perfect and in no place to judge anyone. It is very humbling experience to check myself before others. My friends always joke when we catch ourselves talking too much mess we say, “You in her business… don’t do that?” To me that is the same thing as reminding myself not to judge lol.
This is a picture that I feel correlates the best to the law of pure potentiality. To me the woman in the bubble is in her own world which represents self-referral. The hand also represents self-power.
The next chapter is titled the law of giving. Tune in next month for an update!
On my quest to find a short story to read, I found the most interesting image of a man with two faces on his body. This picture immediately caught my attention and so did the title of the story, “Nettle.” Usually, I would try to read the entire piece of writing, but the story was too confusing two sentences in! This got me thinking…
How can I read something quick, understandable, but it will have me leaving with questions and questions?
Completely forgetting about flash fictions, I tried to continue my short story, but it didn’t work out, which is perfectly okay. Changing directions, I looked towards flash fictions to get my dose of reading from.
So, with that being said I have a really creepy review for you today.
Flash fictions are pieces of the moment, pieces that should be savored and enjoyed instead of rushed and long. So, after my short story search and fail, I found a website completely dedicated to flash fictions! The story that caught my eye is called, “ My First Day as a Stalker.” Yes, yes it does read as creepy as the title is. This particular flash fiction gave me “You” vibes.
If you know…you know.
The story opens with the narrator recounting his time watching his prey, Claire, a nice young woman. The narrator followed Claire throughout the day, telling the audience about what he saw her doing. He got so picky about what she was doing that he revealed everything she did; from the moment she got in the shower to the moment she got out. He watched her from afar and learned and observed her routine, so he could adapt to her and learn her ways.
Creepy right? It gets even crazier.
After a day’s worth of following Claire, the next day he went to the place she worked and said all the right things, inevitably getting Claire’s attention just from stalking her. Of course, he said all the right things…he took what she liked and desired and put it in his own mouth. In a non-creepy way, it was actually pretty smart of him in my opinion.
Now this story was not very long at all, probably no more than 500 words. It wasn’t the length of the story that got me, but rather the feeling I got after reading it. I even checked my windows and all places someone who could be hiding. To feel like someone is watching me just from reading a few paragraphs of a story is amazing. The story had a complete beginning, middle, and end and was very well rounded.
The content was there and on point. It interested me, hooked me in, and entertained me all at the same time. I wanted to read this story.
I will admit that a tiny bit of me wishes that the story could be extended, simply because I think even more detail about the narrator and what he saw while stalking Claire would enable the reader to get a greater sense of just how and why this man was stalking this woman.
In general, I wanted more. I wanted more time with Claire and her life without her knowing of her stalker. I wanted to know what made her so special. Alongside that, I wanted to know more about the narrator! I wanted to know why Claire was the one to him. What did she have that he didn’t not only want but need. I simply wanted more.
Considering it is flash fiction, I guess wanting more would cause a complete change of the nature of the story, which is what I don’t want to do.
The author of this flash fiction, A. M. Morrell, isn’t the most known author, but this story is truly captivating; I would love to see it as a movie or TV show!
Overall, I loved this flash fiction and will definitely be looking for some more on the website I found it on. This gave me the motivation to write the flash fiction I have been struggling with for a while now!
Inspiration truly does come from the most unexpected things!
Here’s the link to the flash fiction! I hope you enjoy it!
Note: I wrote this spontaneously during a bout of insomnia spurred by an overactive mind: the night before, I had finished a life-changing piece of fiction that liberated me from previous writing fears. It is abstract, messy, and different from my usual blogs, but it is relevant in its early morning authenticity. (:
I feel so much—more than I want, more than I understand. But I am nothing but alive. I feel the breath in my lungs, the black of the night, the reality of failure. I feel the light rain on my skin like a scintilla of some feeling; I feel everything.
Whenever the walls creep in too close for comfort, I escape into sky. I spend hours outside searching for sanctuary: I walk in endless circles until my ankles bleed, listening to lame music and mulling over deadlines; I spend hours lying in the grass, unbothered by curious insects; I drink my coffee in rocking chairs and think of nothing but the moment and the hushing of pain. I feel safe here, wrapped within the limitless depth of the ever-changing sky. I feel the soft blue reflected deep within me; I feel the clouds swallowing all of my apathy. I chase the sunset every evening, as I feel whole when the dying sun eats me alive with all of its desperate color. In those moments, I am. I exist, and that is enough. The light warms my skin, and I am revered, restored. This is plenty.
Life hurts. In so many ways, it does, and it hurts for everyone.
I attend one of the best high schools in Mississippi, and I love it. I have accomplished more than I ever dreamed of (and deserve), and so many more months remain. I near the precipice of my true beginning, of my own unapologetic existence in this vast, horrifying world, and I do not fear the strife that awaits me. In my dorm, I have two drawers overflowing with snacks, and I now have the ability to play “Jump” by Van Halen on random keyboards. I have dreams and aspirations, and I am balancing my stress with creativity. I am surrounded by people I care about, and I want so much. I want to succeed; I want to awake each morning; I want to be alive.
But my sleeping schedule lies in anarchic ruin. Every minor grade is directly connected to the state of my future. Radical changes manifest in every aspect of my life. I have no stability. I have no certainty. I know nothing but deadlines and stress and the need to escape. I want out of my skin; I want to rid myself of every worry, every doubt. An incessant river of chaos rushes within me, and I feel it bubbling towards the surface of my control. I feel so lonely or so crowded at times. And I long for my junior year: I never wanted it to end, and time felt so infinite as I indulged in every moment of this new adventure at MSA.
But I am alive.
There is something so powerful about resilience, about the will to adapt and overcome. And I feel this every time I submit an essay I panicked over, every time I close a hundred tabs. I feel this every time my head hits a pillow after midnight, every time someone smiles because of me. I am alive in this moment, and this is enough. The pain is necessary because it is a good pain—the kind that results from feeling too much and aching to accomplish more than humanly possible. It is trying.
Throughout the years, writing has served various purposes for me, but it has always existed as an escape. As I forget myself in my work, I feel the words escaping me, this year. I feel them growing more bold, more bare. Every piece is of desperation, for I am beginning to relinquish all that I have, all that I am, to the page. I am beginning to surrender to myself and my fear. I am escaping. I am no longer bound by the same insecurities. I am beyond myself and my fragile understanding; I am the words I speak. My fingers punch the keyboard, and I see myself for what I truly am: a living being. The stress evaporates, I slip into a comatose state, and I emerge hours later feeling not quite like before. This all sounds quite pretentious, but I am in love with slipping outside of my body and just being. I exist only as a writer in those moments (meanwhile, the piece is about tacos…HAH!).
You are more than your pain, your past. You are everything and more. You are indomitable. You are your own artist, your own home, your own breath. Fall in love with the little things, and you will feel full. Discover your own meaning, your own truth. Surrender. Trust in the strength of vulnerability. Learn to let your heart die, sometimes. Learn from everything that surrounds you, and you will understand. You will feel full.
I am writing this as our first week after hybrid comes to an end. To say this week was stressful is an understatement, and I don’t think I realized, until this week, how many hats I actually wear: student body president, RISE editor-in-chief, writer, student, daughter, sister, friend, cat mom. I do sometimes get overwhelmed and feel myself being spread thin. I know that I cannot give my all in everything and that it’s okay to say no and to give up control, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still struggle with it. This week, my writing suffered. Sure, I had some very successful SGA meetings, launched a digital newspaper, planned some school events, did my school work, applied to college, hung with friends, and still managed to sleep, but at what cost?
I submitted a short story last week that was quite possibly the worst thing I have ever written. I have never been more ashamed of anything I’ve turned in. My friends tried to encourage me, but I know that it wasn’t my best work, and I feel like I let, not only, myself but my writing community down, and that is my biggest disappointment.
This week, we were challenged to just be poets and writers and create poetry, but I have to admit, it was one of the hardest assignments for me. We were simply told to write poetry, and I had to force myself to produce content. Writing has never been this hard for me, and I can’t deal. I feel like I am losing apart of my identity.
And if I’m not a writer, who am I?
During quarantine, I didn’t write. I wrote a single poem during the entire 6-month break. I blamed it on lack of inspiration, but with what’s going on in the world, there’s no way it was that. I think I just didn’t want to admit to myself that writing had stopped being fun. The thing that I used to love most had become a chore. I stared at blank document after blank document, watching the bar blink at me. It’s all I could do.
But, here I am, stuck in this funk, wondering when it will end. When will the joy return? When will the words stop being something I loathe?
When will the writer in me start writing again?
This was pretty candid and personal, and I normally write things like this in my journal, but I felt the need to share in case any others seem to have lost their writer’s voices too.
It is an understatement to say The Handmaid’s Tale, a dystopian novel written by Margaret Atwood, left an impacting mark on me after I finished reading it. The novel is embedded with parallels, symbolism, and a dire underlying message to the readers.
Margaret Atwood
When I finished reading The Handmaid’s Tale, I connected symbolism and parallels to racism. First, the execution of defiant ones in The Handmaid’s Tale and The Wall is a parallel to the lynching that African Americans had to endure during times of inequality. In the novel, it is legal to execute anyone who rebels. Afterwards, the lifeless bodies are hung and put on display at The Wall, to serve as a reminder to the citizens of the repercussions of disobedience.
“…that we should remember to do what we are told and not get in trouble, because if we do, we will be rightfully punished.”
(Atwood, 284)
This is parallel to times when African Americans were lynched for fighting for their rights and/or freedom. Similar to the novel’s The Wall, the murdered bodies of African Americans were often left exposed to the public. Mainly because white supremacists had no respect for African Americans and wanted to instill fear into anyone who desired freedom and justice.
In addition to this parallel, racism was a large factor that led the theocratic Republic of Gilead to succeed. Before Gilead was overthrown, the rate of Caucasian births was rapidly decreasing whereas other races’ birthrates increased. The cause for the decrease of births was because of the escalating rates of pollution and sexually transmitted diseases, which I may add is another parallel to the modern world. Caucasian’s fear of becoming extinct leads many to follow and believe the policies of Gilead.
“Its racist policies, for instance, were firmly rooted in the pre-Gilead period, and racist fears provided some of the emotional fuel that allowed the Gilead takeover to succeed as well as it did.”
(Atwood, 305)
This proves that racism and prejudice are apparent in the Republic of Gilead, however, the parallels do not end there.
Women in The Handmaid’s Tale have no rights and are being forced to do activities against their will. In this society, rebellion is bound to transpire, and so came about Mayday. Mayday is the code name given the underground resistance network. Offred, the narrator, mentions Mayday frequently in the story as an escape route. Mayday is a parallel to the infamous underground railroad. The underground railroad was a network of protected routes and safe houses that slaves used to achieve freedom. The Underground Railroad was assistance by abolitionists and those who disagreed with slavery. Likewise, to The Handmaid’s tale, people disagree with the Republic of Gilead’s laws, and they help function Mayday. For instance, Nick is a part of Mayday and helps Offred escape.
“…I open my mouth to say it, but he [Nick] comes over, close to me, whispers. ‘It’s all right. It’s Mayday. Go with them.’’
(Atwood, 293)
After I finished reading The Handmaid’s Tale and the historical notes, I figured all my questions would have been answered. On the contrary, I was left curious and filled with queries more than ever before. I ponder on what happened to the narrator Offred? Was she sent to the Colonies, or did Nick rescue her? Did Offred and her family ever reunite? Finally, the question that haunted me the most: what was Margaret Atwood’s purpose for writing this novel? How did she want the readers to feel after they finished reading it? What was her message to the American society? However, I came upon the realization that my state of uncertainty was Margaret Atwood’s purpose when she wrote The Handmaid’s Tale.
Margaret Atwood wants the reader to be left with uncertainty because she wrote The Handmaid’s Tale to serve as a warning. A warning to the American society about how history repeats itself if change does not take place. All the laws and policies that the Republic Gilead had were all once created and enforced by a real country.
In the historical notes the speaker, Professor Peixoto, says, “As I have said elsewhere, there was little that was truly original with or indigenous to Gilead; its genius was synthesis.”
(Atwood, 307)
The Republic of Gilead’s government is simply a combination of past, nevertheless, real policies from governments around the world. This supports my claim that Atwood wrote The Handmaid’s Tale to serve as a warning because in the novel history repeats itself. The evidence is shown with symbolism and parallels in The Handmaid’s Tale. For instance, the apparent symbolism to racism and the parallels to the Underground Railroad and increasing levels of pollution.
It is translucent that Atwood wrote The Handmaid’s Tale with an embedded underlying message. However, as a reader and a citizen of twenty-first-century America, I hope that we take her warning effectively by making a change in the world.
As this is my first blog as a senior, I think that it’s only fair that I dedicate it to one of my favorite lyrical artists of all time: Tupac Amru Shakur. He is a world renowned rapper, having recorded twelve albums, nine of which went platinum or gold. Also being a talented actor, he landed roles in Poetic Justice, Bullet, Gridlock’d, and more. Not many knew, however, of his poetry writing. After his untimely death in 1996, his mother, Afeni Shakur Davis, and his manager, Leila Steinberg, gathered his poems and got them published. That is how The Rose That Grew From Concrete came to be.
Now, the first piece that I want to talk about is one of my absolute favorites: The Mutual Heartache.
I am a sucker for love poems, so this one automatically caught my eye. With lines like, “U Talk as I Do But yet you don’t/ understand when I mumble/ u c as I Do but your vision is/ blurred by naivity”. When I tell you I GASPED!! Like, this piece is so beautiful and melodious. The reader can genuinely empathize with Tupac here. I also like this piece because it truly captures the stark difference between his rapping style and his writing style. His songs, for the most part, are fast-paced and quick fire. But his poems are much more vulnerable, and you can see his mind while he explores his emotions and I think that that duality is *chef’s kiss* top notch.
The next poem I want to show you guys is Life Through My Eyes.
Now, I not only wanted to show this poem because I like it, but I feel as if it’s very important to shed light the struggles of black people in impoverished areas. In this poem, when he says a square, I’m pretty sure we can all agree that he isn’t talking about a literal, 2 dimensional square. He’s talking about people that haven’t had to deal with the things he’s seen, heard, or experienced. Personally, the best/most powerful lines in this poems are the last few, “But mock my word when I say/ My heart will not not exist/unless my destiny comes through/ and puts and end 2 all of this”. He was so dead set on getting himself out of this tricky situation that he built up an entire empire.
Next is So I Say Goodbye.
A beautiful farewell letter, I can’t help but hurt for Tupac. There’s always pros and cons to moving on to bigger things, and I think this poem perfectly captures that one con. The genuine sadness that comes with growing up and having to leave all of the things you loved behind is so strong that I know exactly how he feels, even though I’ve never been in his situation.
Lastly, I present to you Tears From A Star.
As stated above, I am an absolute SUCKER for romantic poems, so the second I read the first line, I was done for. “My tears they fall w/ passion/ like tears conceived from stars…./tonight these tears are full of pain but also I can feel/relief from my heart”. So beautiful, so heartfelt. It’s a true lament but it ends with positive ending (depending on your point of view), “So I cannot bear to let this be/ So I must be pure/ 2 only Her for eternity”. Ahhhh!! He really redefined the term “star-crossed lover”.
Overall, I highly recommend this book! It’s beautiful and poetic and is extremely diverse in topic. I didn’t get into any deep conversations out of respect for other political beliefs, but I genuinely urge you to read this book and witness the eye-opening experience that comes with really paying attention to the words.
Hello everyone! It’s so good to be back posting blogs monthly! For my first review I wanted to share a favorite band of mine: Florence and the Machine. Specifically one song from them that I fancy. I have been listening to them for quite a while now, so hopefully this review may get you interested in them. The song I would like to review is Dog Days Are Over. Alright, with that being said, let’s begin!
DOG DAYS ARE OVER by Florence and the Machine:
Happiness, hit her like a train on a track
Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with a drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming so you better run
Run fast for your mother run fast for your father
Run for your children for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your longing behind you
Can’t carry it with you if you want to survive
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can’t you hear the horses
‘Cause here they come
And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had
And what was left after that too, oh.
Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back
Struck from a great height
By someone who should know better than that
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses
‘Cause here they come
Run fast for your mother and fast for your father
Run for your children for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your love and your loving behind you
Can’t carry it with you if you want to survive
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses
‘Cause here they come
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses
‘Cause here they come
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming
So you better run
One of my favorite parts of this song is the chorus:
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can’t you hear the horses
‘Cause here they come
One of the interpretations was that she was singing about getting away from alcohol and drugs. Which is understandable when you look at the lyrics: the dog days are over, the dog days are done. It interprets to her getting away from those days where she would do drugs.
Another was that she was singing about being scared of love: Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back, Struck from a great height, By someone who should know better than that. This is like she is being shocked by love. It is foreign to her, but now she has been hit with it. It shows her being wary of love.
Overall, the song is very catchy and interpretive. I’m sure anyone could find different meanings in this song! From the chorus to the beat of it, this song is truly amazing and close to my heart. In fact, all of her songs make me feel great inside! Florence and the Machine is definitely one of my favorite bands, and will continue to be.
I would definitely recommend listening to their songs! Also, take a look at the music videos! They are very fun and interesting!
“Beautiful and brutally honest, Mary Lambert’s poetry is a beacon to anyone who’s ever been knocked down–and picked themselves up again. In verse that deals with sexual assault, mental illness, and body acceptance, Ms. Lambert’s Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across emerges as an important new voice in poetry, providing strength and resilience even in the darkest of times” (Goodreads.com).
Tips for reading:
Purchase the book
I recommend purchasing the physical book AND the audiobook. The audiobook is narrated by Lambert herself and accompanied by her classically-trained pianism, so the emotion and feeling exude from it. I also suggest purchasing a physical copy or the ebook, so you can follow along with the words as Lambert reads through it.
Tissues
Lambert is a self-proclaimed cryer and a crying advocate. She has often stated that her brand is crying, so it’s no surprise that her book is a real tear-jerker— it’s meant to be.
Sticky notes/bookmarks
Personally, I don’t like to mark in books, so I use sticky notes to flag important pages and jot down any thoughts. There are some pretty heavy themes in this book, so writing notes is highly suggested.
In addition to poetry, Lambert is a singer-songwriter. Grief Creature is her most recent album; it was released one year after her poetry collection. Originally, it was set to have the same title, as it was intended to accompany the book, but Lambert later decided otherwise. However, the album and the book portray many of the same themes; in fact, a few of the songs on her album are lyrical adaptations of her poems. Therefore, to get the full experience, I strongly suggest listening to the album.
Review:
I have probably read this book 20 times since I purchased it in the spring of 2019. With selections like, “I Wish Powerful Men Would Stop Being F*ing Terrible,” “Tips for Fat Girls,” “Rape Poem,” “The Art of Shame,” and “I Know Girls,” Lambert has crafted this work of art that is moving, evocative, and empathetic. It is a mirror, a diary, a poetic reflection of women who are queer, fat, neurodiverse, and are, not only, survivors but lovers, as well as the radical notion that you can be both.
It is a book about healing, but it is also a book about feeling. Lambert, very beautifully, tells women that it is okay to feel shame, to feel sad, to feel broken, to feel numb, to feel any and everything, but to feel something.
The book is comprised of 5 chapters, but the first one is my favorite.
O N E
my body is terrifying,
idaho is a giant sh*thole,
and other wholesome stories.
This chapter includes selections about body acceptance, sexual assault, trauma, and vulnerability. The collection begins with a piece entitled:
How I Learned to Love
When I was fifteen, I hated everything except for Weezer and maybe like two people. And cereal. One time a boy grabbed me in the music room and kissed my neck in front of everybody. I did not want to be kissed, but I thought I was supposed to want to be kissed. I did not know what to do. And so I laughed. I knew you were supposed to laugh after things like that The world had taught me to dress up my trauma in short skirts and secret bathroom crying, to protect the fragility of boys at all costs
When I was five, my father molested me you become a strange human that way You cannot whip yourself awake as a child I should have been born a bird
When I turned six, I stopped talking.
When I was twenty-five and my name was on the radio, I asked people to write poems and send them to me Maybe because I was starved of honest humanity Half of the poems were about slit wrists
I do not want to know any more about this brand of humanity. All I know of love is hunger.
When I met you, I planted my heart into the heavy earth. I was scared, But you smiled back. Thank God I was not born a bird.
*my favorite lines are bolded
I remember the first time, I heard this poem. I had never heard anything like it, and it was absurd, but also, so beautiful. I didn’t know what to think or how to feel, but I remember the feeling of awe at how simplistic, yet raw this poem was written. I could feel the vulnerability seep from Lambert’s words— it enticed me, and I wanted to read more and more. I flipped through the pages hungrily, eating all of the words being fed to me, like they were my last meal. Lambert has this way of making you appreciate the morbidity and the authenticity of life. I shuddered at her words because I knew what they meant. It was like she could see inside my soul, and oh, what power writers and literary artists have to bestow this gift.
My second selection from this chapter is entitled:
The Art of Shame
My mother found a rabid dog And wanted to hug it Wanted to give it all her glorious honeylove Wanted to bathe her children in a two-parent household But, the dog didn’t want kids The dog would scream it in the hallway at four A.M Reminding us as often as possible The sheer art of it How the monster could panic into my body Sometimes I still hear it in the chambers of my heart The way some glorious paintings stay with you
I am a museum I must be a museum
When I was seven, the dog told me I was going to be a slut No one came over to our house to play The dog made me write, “I will flush the bathroom toilet” seventy-five times I would’ve remembered to flush the toilet But, I started blacking out around then Forgetting basic things Started praying that Oprah would save us all I took snapshots with my memory camera Hoping there would be justice for this kind of psycho warfare The teachers at the daycare offered apology eyes and extra sequins For the art project The day after, the dog chased me around each room Because I forgot where my other shoe was
When you are a child And your mind is panicked like a fire alarm at all times You lose the ability to remember simple things I haven’t lost a personal item in months Do not laugh when I say, ‘This is a victory’ Shame is an ocean I swim across Sometimes, I call it drowning Sometimes, I call it Moses Sometimes, I say, “Good morning!” and sway to its murky durge Sometimes, I win and cut off its crest with a pink machete Sometimes, I want to f*ck it and Marry it and kill it all at the same time Sometimes, I spend my whole day apologizing on shame’s behalf Sometimes, I think it must be an art form to feel this bad Sometimes, I outrun all of its psycho history Other times, I repeat the language from my childmouth While beating my head against a wall But all the time, I am forgiven
*my favorite lines are bolded
This is one of those poems that Lambert also included on her album. On the album, it is entitled “Me, Museum“. I strongly recommend listening to the spoken word version to fully experience its glory. This poem is one of my absolute favorite pieces by Lambert, next to “Tips for Fat Girls” and “Margaritas”. It is so powerful and beautifully written. It amazes me how Lambert told this entire story in such a poetic form. Many of her works do this, and it is one of my favorite aspects of her writing. It almost feels like prose, but somehow, still feels exactly like poetry, and I think that’s a unique style of writing.
As much as I’d like to include all of my favorites from this collection, I simply cannot, but I do encourage you to purchase this book and experience the greatness yourself. I will, however, include some other examples of Lambert’s work below:
This was my very first literary review, so be gentle. How’d I do? Tell me your thoughts! Also, if you choose to read/listen to this selection, please let me know, I would love to hear your thoughts on it.
The search for a short story that would entrance me in its world was harder than I thought. I’ve now realized that if the first two sentences of a short story don’t peak my interest, I probably will not read it. In my search, I skipped over an estimate of 5 short stories before I landed on the one I wanted to read. It might have been 6 or 7 stories, but it was during a midnight surge of energy that I looked at these stories, and I honestly don’t remember exactly how many I looked at.
The short story I am reviewing today caught my attention simply because of its title. Karen Russell, an American novelist, created this short story ‘Haunting Olivia’ in 2005. The story, in short, revolves around the journey of two brothers who search the ocean to find the body of their dead sister, Olivia, with a pair of goggles that allows you to see the ghost of things in the ocean.
The story was…odd. I have never read a story like it before. The two brothers, who are still just children, hold different emotions regarding the death of their little sister who died after being swept away by the ocean’s tide. Though her death is sad and tragic, the death of any child is, it wasn’t what made the story sad, in my opinion. The actions and emotions of the brothers is what made the story so heart-wrenching for me. The oldest brother, Wallow, described as being the tougher counterpart of the duo, expressed feelings of guilt and regret and had the need of telling his sister he was sorry for what happened to her. This alone got me. I can’t imagine losing a sibling and my only need, the only thing that would give me closure, was to say that I am sorry; I felt for Wallow. His brother Timothy, the narrator, didn’t understand Wallow. I feel this is mostly due to the fact Timothy was dealing with his own feelings towards Olivia’s death. Timothy was more on the side of letting Olivia be at rest. He wanted to stop the search and let Olivia be with the dead. He didn’t want to be reminded anymore of how his baby sister was dead. This was the man conflict between Timothy and Wallow. Wallow wanted so badly to find Olivia that he never considered how it must have been for Timothy; he was inadvertently torturing his brother with Olivia’s death. For Wallow, finding Olivia was the only solution to achieving his need of apologizing to Olivia.
Going past the content of the story, the structure of the short story was well executed. The struggle I face often with short stories is giving a complete story in such a limited amount of time and space. Russell did this well. She layered on parts of the story like Olivia’s death, how it happened, how the parents felt, and other significant issues that went along with Timothy and Wallow’s journey, but she didn’t make them to where they overpowered the overall story of the brothers. In this, she still managed to have a beginning, middle, and end to this story. Her writing style was very clear and kind of bizarre. The plot alone was very absurd and held an eerie feel to it. It almost made me uncomfortable to read considering I, too, am the youngest daughter of two older siblings, and though I am clearly not dead, I often put the faces of my older sister and brother to Timothy and Wallow as I was reading. It was my way of personalizing the story.
Overall, this story was amazing, entertaining, very well- written, and did everything a short story should do for its reader. I would highly recommend take 30-45 minutes out of your day to read this short story and be entranced in the mind of Timothy and the world that surrounds him.
I’ll post the link to the story here: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2005/06/13/haunting-olivia
