I've had an online journal for a very long time. I was always up-to-date with it, but after a while, my ability to keep it timely faded into obscurity. I tried to keep a written journal for one year....every day there was an entry, hand written, with little mementos from the days....receipts, coupons, movie tickets, flower petals,, etc. I've always held onto mementos though...bottled drops of rain from my 18th birthday....y'know...simple things....I am trying to become more persistent with the online journal though. What I wanted to work on in this class with my writing was my ability to detail events and scenarios. With fiction, you can grab the reader quite easily with all the fake stuff you're allowed to write about. With non-fiction however, you’ll have to turn a sometimes mundane experience into something quite extraordinary. This was hard for me in the beginning of the class but after a while I was able to develop a craft for myself to grab the reader easier with a good use of adjectives.
I have no plans for participating in a writers group. I'm a loner at heart with basically everything. I don't do clubs or conferences or meetings. There is no "I" in team, but there is one in "equipo"....and that is Spanish for team. I do understand that if I were to write for movies and etc. I would have to work with others, but that would most likely be in sense of moderation.
I want to be involved in film as a producer, director and a screenplay writer. Writing is a must obviously for writing scripts, and being a good writer helps the actors who have to read your work and act it out. How you convey what you want on the screen in words affects the final product.
Things I want to write that won't benefit me are probably just personal essays and literary journalism about the world and people and life and such. On my website, www.thecshop.org, I am constantly writing entries regarding our exploits. That's life.
I don't really expect any of my writing to get published by big name companys like J.K Rowling. I don't think I'll sit there and try to enter a contest or anything like a publication to get my work on there. If it happens it just happens.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Blog 17 - What I Have So Far
When I thought about the subject matter for my personal essay, skateboarding was the first thing that came to mind. Skateboarding is a huge part of my life and affects a lot of the other facets of my personality. It affects the music I listen to, a bunch of other things as well as how I view the rest of the world. It also affects how the rest of the world views me. The essay was basically meant to be about the writer, and you can learn a lot about me based on my skating; especially when it is compared and contrasted with my past and present self. Skateboarding shaves off a little bit of the fear factor we’re all born with. As I grew through my skating, I grew as a person mentally and physically. I decided to use this as my focus. From my initial paragraph I decided what I would focus the whole essay on. I didn't want what I had to say to come out in a blunt fashion either, so I had to be careful and use metaphors and other literary devices.
I usually type in my room, on my bed. Sometime with the television on and something with no real substance playing…like a skate video. Either that or a movie I’ve seen a billion times already and know like the back of my hand. Whatever it is, I want something playing that I am not going to focus on entirely. My focus would be split between my typing and the action going on the screen in front of me. If I find that my focus is wavering against my writing, I turn off the television and focus completely on my writing. I let it pour from my fingertips and onto the page erratically. Every now and then I’ll get the red squiggly line of shame underneath misspelled words and hit F7 to correct them. More times then not, it was slang not featured in the Microsoft Word Dictionary.
As this essay came to fruition, I had to make sure I was using tense correctly due to the fact that the essay was in the past, but with one event taking place farther back in the past than the other. I also had to be careful with terminology that a large audience not familiar with skateboarding would be able to understand. The fact that the paper dealt with skateboarding meant I had to be careful where I tread and betray my use of terms I am very much familiar with. Words like “kickflip” and “360 Flip” were changed to “the board flipped over twice, returning to its original arrangement” and “the board rotated a full three hundred and sixty degrees” respectively. Most of my edits were in reference to this cryptic dialog. It was really hard trying to convey something I was so familiar with to and audience that didn’t share the same acquaintance to skateboarding that I had had for years.
I usually type in my room, on my bed. Sometime with the television on and something with no real substance playing…like a skate video. Either that or a movie I’ve seen a billion times already and know like the back of my hand. Whatever it is, I want something playing that I am not going to focus on entirely. My focus would be split between my typing and the action going on the screen in front of me. If I find that my focus is wavering against my writing, I turn off the television and focus completely on my writing. I let it pour from my fingertips and onto the page erratically. Every now and then I’ll get the red squiggly line of shame underneath misspelled words and hit F7 to correct them. More times then not, it was slang not featured in the Microsoft Word Dictionary.
As this essay came to fruition, I had to make sure I was using tense correctly due to the fact that the essay was in the past, but with one event taking place farther back in the past than the other. I also had to be careful with terminology that a large audience not familiar with skateboarding would be able to understand. The fact that the paper dealt with skateboarding meant I had to be careful where I tread and betray my use of terms I am very much familiar with. Words like “kickflip” and “360 Flip” were changed to “the board flipped over twice, returning to its original arrangement” and “the board rotated a full three hundred and sixty degrees” respectively. Most of my edits were in reference to this cryptic dialog. It was really hard trying to convey something I was so familiar with to and audience that didn’t share the same acquaintance to skateboarding that I had had for years.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Blog 16 - Reflective Essay Contemplation
- In this course, I learned that factual writing could be just as powerful as fictional writing depending on the writer’s execution and presentation.
- From writing my personal essay, I utilized segmentation. I have never done that before. From that point forward, I rather abused it for future literature I was designing. I also italicized specifics junctures in me pieces to highlight them from the rest.
- The hardest essay for me to write in this class was perhaps the Nature Essay. I had to actually do research before writing about geese. I have seen the ones I spoke of in the essay countless times but never knew what type of geese they were let alone their latin name.
- The essay that I felt pushed me the most as a writer was the personal essay. I had to write within certain limits. Especially in regards to the terminology I was using and presenting to the reader. It was the first essay we wrote actually, and I don't really write non-fiction. Fiction is so easy to grab the readers attention with. you can write about dragons and knights with huge swords and bright white teeth. Non-Fiction on the other hand lacks otherworldy things such as magical broomsticks and elves.
- I want my reflective essay to basically emphasize what I deal with when I write. Not so much as the where or the why, but the writer's block or the arranging of things in the sentences that make up the esssay as a whole.
- I don't want to talk about the memoir or the literary journal. The memoir I felt was kind of all over the place. I was pretty disappointed in it actually. The journal I feel is the exact same thing....I'm disappointed with it. I'm not sure if it was my lack of ability to focus on the peice as a whole or if it was due to the requirmenets, but I just did not like those two essays at all.
Blog 15 - Somes Questions Writing Process
My Personal Essay
how did I start?
I started out by just letting the words escape me without censorship or moderation. I'd edit it later.
when did I figure out my focus?
I figured out my focus before I sat down and wrote my paper. I usually don't have it until I've already started writing the paper.
what did I leave out? what did I change? what did I emphasize?
I didn't leave out anything so much as modify things. Like terminology everyone in the world wouldn't understand or grasp. I emphasised a lot on the internal battle of facing a very physical challenge.
where did I get stuck and how did I get unstuck?
I got stuck when it came to changing things around to accomodate the average reader who does not skateboard. I also got stuck when trying to decide on what was more important and should be elaborated upon in certain scenes. Action, or the indivdual executing the action? Stuff like that...and even after that I would have to decide on specifics.
what were my major revisions?
I honestly believe that I made no MAJOR revisions.
how did my life (not on the page) affect my writing process?
I lived what I was writing. The affect of this truth allowed me to provide a more indepth, not only honest, but detailed account of the situation.
where and when did I write my best? what time?
I wrote at all times in my bedroom on my bed in the wee hours of the night. Not sure if I can say that is at my best though....
what writing rituals did I engage in?
The ritual of silence with a hint of procrastination.
how did I use thinking, talking and writing to develop my paper?
Very little talking. Once again, the focus of my paper was a battle of the mind facing a physical obstacle. Neither of which used much dialogue. It was mainly thinking that went on in my paper which forced me to write in such a way that I had to be very impacting with my ords and metaphors to grip the reader in a paper with little action.
how did I know when I was finished and how did I decide where to start?
how did I start?
I started out by just letting the words escape me without censorship or moderation. I'd edit it later.
when did I figure out my focus?
I figured out my focus before I sat down and wrote my paper. I usually don't have it until I've already started writing the paper.
what did I leave out? what did I change? what did I emphasize?
I didn't leave out anything so much as modify things. Like terminology everyone in the world wouldn't understand or grasp. I emphasised a lot on the internal battle of facing a very physical challenge.
where did I get stuck and how did I get unstuck?
I got stuck when it came to changing things around to accomodate the average reader who does not skateboard. I also got stuck when trying to decide on what was more important and should be elaborated upon in certain scenes. Action, or the indivdual executing the action? Stuff like that...and even after that I would have to decide on specifics.
what were my major revisions?
I honestly believe that I made no MAJOR revisions.
how did my life (not on the page) affect my writing process?
I lived what I was writing. The affect of this truth allowed me to provide a more indepth, not only honest, but detailed account of the situation.
where and when did I write my best? what time?
I wrote at all times in my bedroom on my bed in the wee hours of the night. Not sure if I can say that is at my best though....
what writing rituals did I engage in?
The ritual of silence with a hint of procrastination.
how did I use thinking, talking and writing to develop my paper?
Very little talking. Once again, the focus of my paper was a battle of the mind facing a physical obstacle. Neither of which used much dialogue. It was mainly thinking that went on in my paper which forced me to write in such a way that I had to be very impacting with my ords and metaphors to grip the reader in a paper with little action.
how did I know when I was finished and how did I decide where to start?
Saturday, November 24, 2007
BLOG 14 - Activites
Personal Essay
How did you choose your focus?
I chose skateboarding because of the affect it has had on my life and lifestyle. The essay was basically meant to be about the writer, and you can learn a lot about me based on my skating. Espeically when it is compared and contrasted with my past and present self.
How did you organize your essay?
I alternated between past and present representations of myself. Paragraph 1 would be myself in the past, the next would be the future, the next paragraph would be the past, etc.
Which parts of your composing process connected to experiences before the assignment?
I guess which events were more important, the past or the future ones...what note should I end on or start with, etc.
Did you use writing not specifically composed with this essay in mind?
No.
Did you use journal entries?
No.
How did you discover what you had to say?
From my initial paragraph I decided what I would focus the whole essay on. I didn't want what I had to say to come out in a blunt fashion either, so I had to be careful and use metaphors and other literary devices.Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Blog 12 - Rhetorical Analysis of Publication VEnues
Rhetorical Analysis of Publication Venues
1. Analysis of the editorial description of essays accepted
http://www.creativenonfiction.org/brevity/index.htm
Brevity features autobiographical, journalistic and lyrical works of creative non-fiction.
2. Description of several representative essays published in your venue
essays: Jean-Michele Gregory: Enormous
John Calderazzo: Lost on Colfax Avenue
Joel Peckham: Scream
subject matter:
The essays on this site go far beyond inconsistent and dissimilar. One is about a conversation, the other about slipping on ice and another one is about getting lost.
voice:
Clear, concise, vivid prose .
depth of discussion:
Subject can be viewed at from multiple perspectives and dissected into subtopics about simpler, but more meaningful things.
form:
Description, narration, dialog, script.
artistry:
Sustained metaphors, themes, recurring images or phrases, informal dialect, characterization, cynicism.
length:
750 words or less
3. Niche
audience:
Published/unpublished writers who are interested in nonfiction.
purpose:
Publish well-known and emerging writers working in the extremely brief (750 words or less) essay form.
4. Other
• 750 words or less, no exceptions.
• Nonfiction only.
• No more than two submissions per author per calendar year.
• Submit as a Microsoft Word attachment (no indent of paragraphs, single spaced, one extra space between each paragraph).
1. Analysis of the editorial description of essays accepted
http://www.creativenonfiction.org/brevity/index.htm
Brevity features autobiographical, journalistic and lyrical works of creative non-fiction.
2. Description of several representative essays published in your venue
essays: Jean-Michele Gregory: Enormous
John Calderazzo: Lost on Colfax Avenue
Joel Peckham: Scream
subject matter:
The essays on this site go far beyond inconsistent and dissimilar. One is about a conversation, the other about slipping on ice and another one is about getting lost.
voice:
Clear, concise, vivid prose .
depth of discussion:
Subject can be viewed at from multiple perspectives and dissected into subtopics about simpler, but more meaningful things.
form:
Description, narration, dialog, script.
artistry:
Sustained metaphors, themes, recurring images or phrases, informal dialect, characterization, cynicism.
length:
750 words or less
3. Niche
audience:
Published/unpublished writers who are interested in nonfiction.
purpose:
Publish well-known and emerging writers working in the extremely brief (750 words or less) essay form.
4. Other
• 750 words or less, no exceptions.
• Nonfiction only.
• No more than two submissions per author per calendar year.
• Submit as a Microsoft Word attachment (no indent of paragraphs, single spaced, one extra space between each paragraph).
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Blog 10 - Personal Essay
Beads of sweat slithered down my face as I tried to remember the steps to this convoluted waltz. I’ve danced this dance before…a million times actually. Almost everything in life resembles a dance when you think about it. Doing homework is like participating in ballet. Reading a magazine is kind of like tap-dancing. Surfing the internet is reminiscent of the rumba and paying your taxes can be compared to doing the salsa with a partner who constantly steps on your feet deliberately. Everything in life is a dance of some sort. For the millionth time in a week, I danced the dance of skateboarding. Furthermore, I was dancing with two left feet today.
I can feel the beads of sweat from nearly half a decade ago trying to break free from the scenery of my skin and race down the sides of my cheeks towards my chin. They’re trying to break free not because of how much effort I have been putting into my skating or because of how long I’ve been skating, but because of the fact that it was just really, really hot outside. We got to the skate spot, Roselle Park High School, and sat down for a bit. This is before driver’s licenses and Roselle Park wasn’t exactly right around the corner from where we lived. I got off my board and walked to the top of the five stairs that composed the staircase that led to entrance of the building. I rolled around for a moment in the wide corridor that one had to walk through to get to the front doors of the school. The ground was nice and smooth; the nicest and the smoothest I had ever ridden on; at that point in my skate career anyway. I stopped playing around, looked out towards the street, and watched as a few cars drove by. Then, my eyes slowly tiptoed towards the stairs.
There are cases where you look back at a set of stairs you just climbed and you can’t actually see the stairs. It’s like looking over the edge of a cliff and all you see is the ground below and a few yards away from the final step touching the floor. All I saw was a tree that seemed to be setting like half of the sun dipping below the horizon line. I thought to myself as Brett and Manny skated around the driveway of the school. I was thinking about all the wrong things. I thought about what might happen if I didn’t land the trick correctly or what might happen if I tried to flee from my board while I was airborne. I visualized the end of a Thanksgiving meal where you and a family member or friend grabbed the opposite legs of a wishbone, tore it in half, and saw who got the bigger piece. However, instead of a wishbone being torn in two, it was my legs going in opposite directions if one foot decided to stay on the board and the back foot decided not to tag along. Suddenly, my mind went blank. I stopped pacing around in my head and on the smooth concrete with my board. I looked out over the horizon and went for the trick.
I stopped being so pessimistic about the situation and thought about how flying off of a two stair wouldn’t kill me. Secondly, I had a right foot and a left foot… not two left feet. I’ve danced this dance a million times. I got on my board and advanced towards the stairs. Brett and Jon watched as I approached the two foot drop and stopped what they had been doing. My feet shuffled on the grip tape of my board in preparation of executing an ollie; the most basic trick in skateboarding. My back foot slammed on the back of my board while the front foot lingered forward to even things out. My eyes crept ahead of my position and all I could see was the hood of and SUV.
I ejected in midair as the SUV drove past me and stopped at the drive-thru ATM machine of Unity Bank. I landed on my feet in less than a millisecond from the time of evacuation. My board had flown to the right and landed on the lawn beside the stairs. The impact of a two set, well, this two set, is really insignificant. I say this two set because of the fact that there are staircases with two steps somewhere out in the world in which one of the steps is six feet tall. That means doing a trick off of something twelve feet tall. Any trick, be it an ollie (which is basically you “jumping” in the air with the board still “stuck” to your feet) or a three sixty flip in which the skateboard rotates a full three hundred and sixty degrees before you land back on it, is difficult. Not only is the object twelve feet tall, but you not only have to deal with the height of the steps, but the distance of them as well.
But enough of the boring stuff. When you do the math, doing an ollie off of a two step shouldn’t have been such a big problem. But I guess we all have to start somewhere, right?
I landed perfectly on the board and rolled away without a problem. I looked over my shoulder at the five stair of Roselle Park High and laughed at it. Not aloud, mind you…because that would have just been really weird. I got off my board and ran back up the stairs to try them again. Manny decided to take pictures with my camera and Brett decided to sit on the stairs while I tried them. This was only semi-distracting. There was a handrail that divided the stairs in two; a left side of the rail, and a right side. I was trying the right side and Brett was pretty much leaning against the rail; on the right side. He didn’t occupy anymore than ten percent of the right side with his sitting there so I went for the trick anyway and landed it again.
On my way back to the top of the stairs, Brett grabbed a newspaper from a stack of tied up Sunday Star Ledger’s that had been sitting on the steps. He flipped it open and decided to move closer to the center of where I had been soaring over on my skateboard for the last thirty minutes. He kept saying how cool it would look if I did the set while he was reading the paper.
We all have to start somewhere. My thing was this: there are tons of things you can skate and be good at. Whether it’s grinding handrails, flying over gaps and huge chasms, grinding ledges, skating skate parks, doing what Tony Hawk does, and so on and so forth. Why did I need to be good at skating staircases? Brett varial flipped the two-stepped staircase right after Jon had kickflipped it. A varial flip involves the board spinning one hundred and eighty degrees underneath you while a kickflip is where the board does somewhat of a barrel roll beneath you. I was sort of in awe at all the stuff they could do on it compared to what I could; nothing at all. I ran back up the stairs in about a millisecond and thought about the mathematics and arithmetic behind it. There wasn’t much to it. Pop and land. That’s all there was to it. I rolled up towards the stairs and tried again. I ended up throwing it away and not committing to it. All I thought about was how I could die on it or break something like my wrist or my face if something went wrong. I thought about dancing with two left feet.
Nothing went wrong. While I was soaring over Brett and his Sunday paper, I managed to catch a glimpse of the Family Circus before impact; that’s one of the funniest comic strips in the universe. I rolled into the semi-circled driveway of Roselle Park High and thought about how school the next day was going to suck. Not because I didn’t like school, I did, but because I would probably spend the whole day doodling skateboards and drawing staircases with a million steps on them and me flying down them in my notebook. A million stairs is a lot of stairs so I would probably end up using two notebooks, maybe even three. I looked back at the set of stairs and wondered if there were any good coupons in the Star Ledger.
I could tell that Jon and Brett thought I sucked at this thing. Then again, they also knew that they had put more man hours into skateboarding than I did. I was a geek who never missed a day of school at that point and loved computers, martial arts and drawing. I was not cut out for sports. I also wasn’t cut out for sitting behind a computer screen all day while the world outside passed me by.
I got back to the top of the stairs and thought about how many other things I could be perfecting with my skating other than staircases. I could be practicing grinds or rolling around in pools right now. But there were no empty swimming pools to use as concrete waves and tear asunder. Right now, at that moment, there was a flight of stairs a toddler could hop up backwards with out a problem laughing. I thought about how my failure stemmed from lack of commitment and not some sort of allergic reaction to stairs at Unity Banks across the state of New Jersey, because, at the end of the day, allergies is the only excuse not to be able to do something. And even then I would be able to find a two stair somewhere else. I put my board on the ground and rolled towards the horizon.
I did my ollie and thought only about the ollie. Not about gashes in foreheads or missing kneecaps, but about the now. I thought about how in forty years I could say to myself that I actually stuck to it and didn’t abandon ship in midair. I thought about how my shoes were untied and looked kind of like thin strands of spaghetti being thrown at a food fight in a school lunch room. I thought about how I landed all four wheels on the ground as I rolled away from the two stairs.
Brett and Jon applauded my accomplishment. To some, it would have seemed like a minor accomplishment at best, but to those who know what it’s like to start at the bottom and work your way up it was like a breath of fresh air. I picked up my board and did the staircase with two steps again and again and again and again. After about thirty minutes of back-to-back ollies down it, I got tired of dancing. I understood the choreography and was committed to executing it confidently. I looked back at the stairs and took off my dance shoes.
I can feel the beads of sweat from nearly half a decade ago trying to break free from the scenery of my skin and race down the sides of my cheeks towards my chin. They’re trying to break free not because of how much effort I have been putting into my skating or because of how long I’ve been skating, but because of the fact that it was just really, really hot outside. We got to the skate spot, Roselle Park High School, and sat down for a bit. This is before driver’s licenses and Roselle Park wasn’t exactly right around the corner from where we lived. I got off my board and walked to the top of the five stairs that composed the staircase that led to entrance of the building. I rolled around for a moment in the wide corridor that one had to walk through to get to the front doors of the school. The ground was nice and smooth; the nicest and the smoothest I had ever ridden on; at that point in my skate career anyway. I stopped playing around, looked out towards the street, and watched as a few cars drove by. Then, my eyes slowly tiptoed towards the stairs.
There are cases where you look back at a set of stairs you just climbed and you can’t actually see the stairs. It’s like looking over the edge of a cliff and all you see is the ground below and a few yards away from the final step touching the floor. All I saw was a tree that seemed to be setting like half of the sun dipping below the horizon line. I thought to myself as Brett and Manny skated around the driveway of the school. I was thinking about all the wrong things. I thought about what might happen if I didn’t land the trick correctly or what might happen if I tried to flee from my board while I was airborne. I visualized the end of a Thanksgiving meal where you and a family member or friend grabbed the opposite legs of a wishbone, tore it in half, and saw who got the bigger piece. However, instead of a wishbone being torn in two, it was my legs going in opposite directions if one foot decided to stay on the board and the back foot decided not to tag along. Suddenly, my mind went blank. I stopped pacing around in my head and on the smooth concrete with my board. I looked out over the horizon and went for the trick.
I stopped being so pessimistic about the situation and thought about how flying off of a two stair wouldn’t kill me. Secondly, I had a right foot and a left foot… not two left feet. I’ve danced this dance a million times. I got on my board and advanced towards the stairs. Brett and Jon watched as I approached the two foot drop and stopped what they had been doing. My feet shuffled on the grip tape of my board in preparation of executing an ollie; the most basic trick in skateboarding. My back foot slammed on the back of my board while the front foot lingered forward to even things out. My eyes crept ahead of my position and all I could see was the hood of and SUV.
I ejected in midair as the SUV drove past me and stopped at the drive-thru ATM machine of Unity Bank. I landed on my feet in less than a millisecond from the time of evacuation. My board had flown to the right and landed on the lawn beside the stairs. The impact of a two set, well, this two set, is really insignificant. I say this two set because of the fact that there are staircases with two steps somewhere out in the world in which one of the steps is six feet tall. That means doing a trick off of something twelve feet tall. Any trick, be it an ollie (which is basically you “jumping” in the air with the board still “stuck” to your feet) or a three sixty flip in which the skateboard rotates a full three hundred and sixty degrees before you land back on it, is difficult. Not only is the object twelve feet tall, but you not only have to deal with the height of the steps, but the distance of them as well.
But enough of the boring stuff. When you do the math, doing an ollie off of a two step shouldn’t have been such a big problem. But I guess we all have to start somewhere, right?
I landed perfectly on the board and rolled away without a problem. I looked over my shoulder at the five stair of Roselle Park High and laughed at it. Not aloud, mind you…because that would have just been really weird. I got off my board and ran back up the stairs to try them again. Manny decided to take pictures with my camera and Brett decided to sit on the stairs while I tried them. This was only semi-distracting. There was a handrail that divided the stairs in two; a left side of the rail, and a right side. I was trying the right side and Brett was pretty much leaning against the rail; on the right side. He didn’t occupy anymore than ten percent of the right side with his sitting there so I went for the trick anyway and landed it again.
On my way back to the top of the stairs, Brett grabbed a newspaper from a stack of tied up Sunday Star Ledger’s that had been sitting on the steps. He flipped it open and decided to move closer to the center of where I had been soaring over on my skateboard for the last thirty minutes. He kept saying how cool it would look if I did the set while he was reading the paper.
We all have to start somewhere. My thing was this: there are tons of things you can skate and be good at. Whether it’s grinding handrails, flying over gaps and huge chasms, grinding ledges, skating skate parks, doing what Tony Hawk does, and so on and so forth. Why did I need to be good at skating staircases? Brett varial flipped the two-stepped staircase right after Jon had kickflipped it. A varial flip involves the board spinning one hundred and eighty degrees underneath you while a kickflip is where the board does somewhat of a barrel roll beneath you. I was sort of in awe at all the stuff they could do on it compared to what I could; nothing at all. I ran back up the stairs in about a millisecond and thought about the mathematics and arithmetic behind it. There wasn’t much to it. Pop and land. That’s all there was to it. I rolled up towards the stairs and tried again. I ended up throwing it away and not committing to it. All I thought about was how I could die on it or break something like my wrist or my face if something went wrong. I thought about dancing with two left feet.
Nothing went wrong. While I was soaring over Brett and his Sunday paper, I managed to catch a glimpse of the Family Circus before impact; that’s one of the funniest comic strips in the universe. I rolled into the semi-circled driveway of Roselle Park High and thought about how school the next day was going to suck. Not because I didn’t like school, I did, but because I would probably spend the whole day doodling skateboards and drawing staircases with a million steps on them and me flying down them in my notebook. A million stairs is a lot of stairs so I would probably end up using two notebooks, maybe even three. I looked back at the set of stairs and wondered if there were any good coupons in the Star Ledger.
I could tell that Jon and Brett thought I sucked at this thing. Then again, they also knew that they had put more man hours into skateboarding than I did. I was a geek who never missed a day of school at that point and loved computers, martial arts and drawing. I was not cut out for sports. I also wasn’t cut out for sitting behind a computer screen all day while the world outside passed me by.
I got back to the top of the stairs and thought about how many other things I could be perfecting with my skating other than staircases. I could be practicing grinds or rolling around in pools right now. But there were no empty swimming pools to use as concrete waves and tear asunder. Right now, at that moment, there was a flight of stairs a toddler could hop up backwards with out a problem laughing. I thought about how my failure stemmed from lack of commitment and not some sort of allergic reaction to stairs at Unity Banks across the state of New Jersey, because, at the end of the day, allergies is the only excuse not to be able to do something. And even then I would be able to find a two stair somewhere else. I put my board on the ground and rolled towards the horizon.
I did my ollie and thought only about the ollie. Not about gashes in foreheads or missing kneecaps, but about the now. I thought about how in forty years I could say to myself that I actually stuck to it and didn’t abandon ship in midair. I thought about how my shoes were untied and looked kind of like thin strands of spaghetti being thrown at a food fight in a school lunch room. I thought about how I landed all four wheels on the ground as I rolled away from the two stairs.
Brett and Jon applauded my accomplishment. To some, it would have seemed like a minor accomplishment at best, but to those who know what it’s like to start at the bottom and work your way up it was like a breath of fresh air. I picked up my board and did the staircase with two steps again and again and again and again. After about thirty minutes of back-to-back ollies down it, I got tired of dancing. I understood the choreography and was committed to executing it confidently. I looked back at the stairs and took off my dance shoes.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Blog 9 - 3 Ideas
Idea #1:
A few blocks away from my house is a park like any other. However, there is one thing about this park that causes it to stand out from the rest. Within this park is a smaller park, a skate park where daredevils and risk takers fly around and soar through the air on bikes and skateboards.
This park within a park lasted for about four months before being shutdown. A huge red shine hangs on the fence with talk about relocation.
Now the work of thousands of tax dollars sits deserted, an empty shell.
With this environment, I could talk about a world within a world that is one day alive, and is invisible the next. How something so massive can go untouched and unnoticed and slowly die out like a candle in the wind.
Idea #2:
Only on the days that I assume I am about to be late for class do the geese of Warinaco park decide to use the cross walk and stop me from reaching my goal. They line up and actually use the crosswalk together.
I'll stop and the people behind me on this two lane road decide to get out from behind me and speed down the one way road only to find that I haven't been sitting there like a moron for no reason.
The geese are so orderly and follow one another in a very humane fashion. This makes it ironic to see humans with road rage act like animals in front of them. I can be walking through the park or skating it and see someone in my shoes on their way to work, or school, or home being passed by impatient people who are inevitably stopped by this wall of geese.
Humans acting like animals and animals acting humanely...ironic.
Idea #3:
Crickets.
A few blocks away from my house is a park like any other. However, there is one thing about this park that causes it to stand out from the rest. Within this park is a smaller park, a skate park where daredevils and risk takers fly around and soar through the air on bikes and skateboards.
This park within a park lasted for about four months before being shutdown. A huge red shine hangs on the fence with talk about relocation.
Now the work of thousands of tax dollars sits deserted, an empty shell.
With this environment, I could talk about a world within a world that is one day alive, and is invisible the next. How something so massive can go untouched and unnoticed and slowly die out like a candle in the wind.
Idea #2:
Only on the days that I assume I am about to be late for class do the geese of Warinaco park decide to use the cross walk and stop me from reaching my goal. They line up and actually use the crosswalk together.
I'll stop and the people behind me on this two lane road decide to get out from behind me and speed down the one way road only to find that I haven't been sitting there like a moron for no reason.
The geese are so orderly and follow one another in a very humane fashion. This makes it ironic to see humans with road rage act like animals in front of them. I can be walking through the park or skating it and see someone in my shoes on their way to work, or school, or home being passed by impatient people who are inevitably stopped by this wall of geese.
Humans acting like animals and animals acting humanely...ironic.
Idea #3:
Crickets.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Blog 8 - Nature Essay
I think my nature essay will be about the “impossible”. To clarify, it will be about my two friends’ attempt at catching a rabbit. The rabbit in particular will be the Eastern Cottontail which can gain up to 15 mph. I’ve seen it in action a lot of times and it is really quick.
Don't let it's fluffy fur fool you...it's a vicious animal, just waiting to attack.
And they're spreading...
Volkswagen has a car called the Rabbit that's pretty quick:
But yeah....my essay is about the eastern cottontail rabbit and the things deemed "impossible" by the majority of humanity.
Hopefully it'll work out.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Blog 7
• What is your story about? Are the details you selected true to that focus?
My story is about how short life can be as opposed to how long it actually is for individuals. The details I chose for the focus relate to near death experiences, so yes they are true to it.
• Are there any "facts" which you are uncertain of which you have set forward as true?
Any details I relish on in my story aren’t so in-depth as to make me doubt the reality and honesty of them.
• Have you made changes in setting, time, or sequence which are unacknowledged?
No.
• Have you fabricated dialog which you cannot remember (without acknowledging that you do not remember exact words)?
Of the very little dialogue, I had…no.
• Have you written your experience - or does your story cast you in terms of a "type" (like Frey)?
No types here.
• Are there relevant details which you deliberately left out? Why did you leave them out? Anything you are trying to avoid?
Any details that I left out weren’t done so intentionally nor do they take away from the story and what it is I am trying to focus on.
• Do you suspect any resort to psychological defense - representations which may help you to deny or evade feelings/beliefs/ representations/ actions you may not be proud of?
No. In fact, the story begins with an embarrassing account.
• Can you detect any hedges, evasions, revisions which represent the self as more sophisticated, experienced, thoughtful, etc than the self at the time of the writing?
No. Once again, the beginning of the story is quite discreditable if I do say so myself. Although I was just a kid. I don’t make myself Superman however.
• What is suggested by what you selected to represent, and what you chose to leave out? Have you selected details to make your story more dramatic, more persuasive, or more "profound" than it merits? Does it need to be balanced by the addition of other selections in order to make it "true"?
Nothing needs to be added to make it “true”. The story is true as is and is a blend of drama and philosophical matter.
• Does the tone of your essay reveal anything about your relationship to your material? Why do you think you chose the tone you take in your essay (humorous, ironic, serious, self-righteous, respectful, lyrical . . . .)
The tone of the essay makes me seem untroubled and relaxed in regards to the material. The tone I took with my essay was serious with a slight bit of humor. I did this because I want it to be enjoyable yet thought provoking.
• Have you demonized or idealized any of the people in your story? If so, what was your motive? Why do you think you wrote to that particular need?
I didn’t defame any individual in my story profusely.
• If there are some pieces of the truth that you intend to hold back, can you tell this story "truthfully" despite those missing pieces? What might you need to add to make sure you do not misrepresent what your story is about?
Lying and leaving things out are two different things. Telling the truth does not always mean going into every little detail.
My story is about how short life can be as opposed to how long it actually is for individuals. The details I chose for the focus relate to near death experiences, so yes they are true to it.
• Are there any "facts" which you are uncertain of which you have set forward as true?
Any details I relish on in my story aren’t so in-depth as to make me doubt the reality and honesty of them.
• Have you made changes in setting, time, or sequence which are unacknowledged?
No.
• Have you fabricated dialog which you cannot remember (without acknowledging that you do not remember exact words)?
Of the very little dialogue, I had…no.
• Have you written your experience - or does your story cast you in terms of a "type" (like Frey)?
No types here.
• Are there relevant details which you deliberately left out? Why did you leave them out? Anything you are trying to avoid?
Any details that I left out weren’t done so intentionally nor do they take away from the story and what it is I am trying to focus on.
• Do you suspect any resort to psychological defense - representations which may help you to deny or evade feelings/beliefs/ representations/ actions you may not be proud of?
No. In fact, the story begins with an embarrassing account.
• Can you detect any hedges, evasions, revisions which represent the self as more sophisticated, experienced, thoughtful, etc than the self at the time of the writing?
No. Once again, the beginning of the story is quite discreditable if I do say so myself. Although I was just a kid. I don’t make myself Superman however.
• What is suggested by what you selected to represent, and what you chose to leave out? Have you selected details to make your story more dramatic, more persuasive, or more "profound" than it merits? Does it need to be balanced by the addition of other selections in order to make it "true"?
Nothing needs to be added to make it “true”. The story is true as is and is a blend of drama and philosophical matter.
• Does the tone of your essay reveal anything about your relationship to your material? Why do you think you chose the tone you take in your essay (humorous, ironic, serious, self-righteous, respectful, lyrical . . . .)
The tone of the essay makes me seem untroubled and relaxed in regards to the material. The tone I took with my essay was serious with a slight bit of humor. I did this because I want it to be enjoyable yet thought provoking.
• Have you demonized or idealized any of the people in your story? If so, what was your motive? Why do you think you wrote to that particular need?
I didn’t defame any individual in my story profusely.
• If there are some pieces of the truth that you intend to hold back, can you tell this story "truthfully" despite those missing pieces? What might you need to add to make sure you do not misrepresent what your story is about?
Lying and leaving things out are two different things. Telling the truth does not always mean going into every little detail.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Blog 6.5
An authors' responsibility to its readers is to first of all be consistent with the intent of their work. Whether that intent is to inform or entertain, the author must be consistent with his or her method of accomplishing this task. What I mean by this is, if your work is a work of fiction, it can defy the rules of the human world. If its non-fiction, make sure it stays that way and doesn't go over the boundaries of the truth. The truth is just that, the antagonist of lying. Lying is something one would like to avoid when conveying the truth to a massive audience or just a single individual. Depending on the point of view this "truth" is relayed from, the "truth" may differ and perspectives of events and scenarios may conflict. Not only because of differing point of views, but because of the inability to recall events as well as other's. The inability to recall events does not excuse one from lying however and filling in blanks or holes with fictitious items. You can't create events from scratch or brand new characters who have never existed other than in your head and not the real world. You can change names, but it would be best to inform the reader of this. You can't change genders or shave off a decade off of a characters' age. Changes that are obviously quite drastic should be avoided.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Blog 6 - Memoir
One more page and I would be free to go outside and do as I pleased. One more page about pigs and socialism and the world outside my door would soon become my playground. Just one more page until I was finished with chapter five of Animal Farm and the remainder of my day would be liberated from academic responsibility. I hurried through the last three words of the chapter, tossed the book in my backpack and zippered it up to a close. I would revisit that last sentence sometime later in the evening (hopefully). I ran to my window and peered out of it in awe to make sure nothing had changed; the weather was perfect. I rushed to my closet, grabbed my jacket and ran out the door and into a watery wonderland. Yes, that’s right: it was pouring outside.
I don’t know how long I have been underwater for, but I do know one thing---I cannot swim. Its not that I cannot swim, it’s just that I cannot do it for fun. This is my excuse as to why I am sinking twelve feet below the water. I can swim however when it involves saving a life or something of the sort (hopefully). I leapt into the pool with no intention of saving anyone from anything. This is why I’ve become a fish out of water. The birthday music starts to fade from my ears and the kids running around soaking each other with water guns start to become a blur. I can feel the bottom of the pool approaching my back as I descend into darkness. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. That’s true. As my vitals began to fade from a lack of oxygen, my life began flashing before my eyes. A movie began playing in my head and it was nothing but a black screen. It didn’t take me long to figure out why the life flashing before my eyes was emptiness…simply put, I was too young to die.
Every year I do this. I go outside exactly a year later and a year ago from this specific date and take a walk in the rain. It always rains on this day. A massive amount of tears descend from the heavens and all that other good stuff and I decide to go out and absorb what I can of it. I love the rain. I scoff at the people I pass with their umbrellas and robust craving to find shelter from the drops of water falling upon their head and shoulders. I want to stop them in their tracks and ask them why they’re so scared of a little water. They would probably look at me as though I am crazy however, so I keep my comments and questions to myself. For a moment, I consider jogging though this waterlogged city I call home and put that consideration to the side almost immediately. When you walk, you observe more than when sprinting. You can’t catch the little details when you’re driving in a car or running.
I sat in my mom’s lap drenched in pool water and covered in a towel. The pool party was still underway but I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. The lifeguard must have doubled as a birthday clown because he kept making jokes. His main intention was probably just to cheer me up. However, I was not amused. He obtained a measuring cup from God knows where and repeatedly kept dipping it in the pool and pouring the water on the ground around me. He did this while laughing and trying to console me. I was not amused. I looked over at the birthday girl and back at the pool and then back at my mom. I don’t know what she was thinking about but she probably wanted me to give the pool thing another go. I didn’t and stayed with her until the next phase of the pool party. All I thought about was how I hated water.
The rain seemed to calm down a little and became a drizzle. I was a little disappointed but it was better than nothing. I was done with walking through the quiet little neighborhoods of Linden and was now on the main street that ran through the whole entire town. The streets were dead and yet alive at the same time. 7-Eleven had two or three cars in the parking lot while Dunkin Donuts had around one. I made my way down the street just looking for details and thinking. I loved to think. Especially about random stuff. Every time I went on one of these walks, I thought about my life and watched it flash before my eyes on a watery movie screen. Most of the moments were of me escaping death in a very narrow fashion. I stopped at a light that was in my favor and watched as a car ran it. If I had went I would have became one with the pavement. That didn’t seem like a decent birthday present. Not a decent one at all.
Ever since we left Jersey City, I think I made it a ritual to camp out in my mom’s room and watch everything TGIF had to offer. After school I would say to myself, “Thank God its Friday” and imagine what hilarious anecdotes Steven Q. Urkel and Corey Matthews would get themselves into this time. Eight in the evening came and my mom, for the hundredth time, told me not to fall asleep on the floor and go to bed when TGIF show line-up was over. Two hours later the end credits rolled for the final show and I collected my pillows, sheets and bedspread and waddled to my bedroom. I stood in the doorway staring at my bed in the corner for about a minute and went back to my mothers’ bedroom floor. I figured if I woke up before she did, I could sneak back into my bed and she would have never known a thing.
I stared at the brake lights of the car that had run the red light. I guess he was the title-holder of “Slowest Reaction Time Ever” or something. Years later, I would get a job at CVS and realize that Linden was filled with every kind of person you could imagine. A yawn escaped my lips and danced around the cool brisk air. I hadn’t slept in ages after declaring it a waste of time. This hypothesis was conjured up after late nights of doing things I would not have to bother with during the day and constant meditation that did what sleeping did for people in a quarter of the time. My bed was now home to folded clothes and piled of books. I hadn’t used my bed or any bed for that matter in a while.
I awoke the next day at about seven in the morning and checked on my mom. She was fast asleep. I gathered up my things and waltzed tiredly to my bedroom with the bedspread over my head. When I had a feeling I was in front of my room I took the cover off of my head and my mouth dropped. And apparently so had the roof. A part of the ceiling was now in my bed and some of it was still crumbling down upon it. I sighed and walked back to my moms room, placed the sheets and pillows on her bedroom floor and went back to sleep with thoughts of Family Matters and Boy Meets World running through my head. For about a week, I would need to find somewhere else to sleep while men with hammers and saws put my roof back together again. I knew just the place.
An hour had gone by and I was nearing my block. I thought about next year and the year after that. I thought about rain and the summer. I thought about Animal Farm and communism. I thought random stuff. Really, random stuff. I got to my porch and fumbled with my house keys in an involuntary attempt to prolong my stay outside in the rain.
I don’t know how long I have been underwater for, but I do know one thing---I cannot swim. Its not that I cannot swim, it’s just that I cannot do it for fun. This is my excuse as to why I am sinking twelve feet below the water. I can swim however when it involves saving a life or something of the sort (hopefully). I leapt into the pool with no intention of saving anyone from anything. This is why I’ve become a fish out of water. The birthday music starts to fade from my ears and the kids running around soaking each other with water guns start to become a blur. I can feel the bottom of the pool approaching my back as I descend into darkness. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. That’s true. As my vitals began to fade from a lack of oxygen, my life began flashing before my eyes. A movie began playing in my head and it was nothing but a black screen. It didn’t take me long to figure out why the life flashing before my eyes was emptiness…simply put, I was too young to die.
Every year I do this. I go outside exactly a year later and a year ago from this specific date and take a walk in the rain. It always rains on this day. A massive amount of tears descend from the heavens and all that other good stuff and I decide to go out and absorb what I can of it. I love the rain. I scoff at the people I pass with their umbrellas and robust craving to find shelter from the drops of water falling upon their head and shoulders. I want to stop them in their tracks and ask them why they’re so scared of a little water. They would probably look at me as though I am crazy however, so I keep my comments and questions to myself. For a moment, I consider jogging though this waterlogged city I call home and put that consideration to the side almost immediately. When you walk, you observe more than when sprinting. You can’t catch the little details when you’re driving in a car or running.
I sat in my mom’s lap drenched in pool water and covered in a towel. The pool party was still underway but I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. The lifeguard must have doubled as a birthday clown because he kept making jokes. His main intention was probably just to cheer me up. However, I was not amused. He obtained a measuring cup from God knows where and repeatedly kept dipping it in the pool and pouring the water on the ground around me. He did this while laughing and trying to console me. I was not amused. I looked over at the birthday girl and back at the pool and then back at my mom. I don’t know what she was thinking about but she probably wanted me to give the pool thing another go. I didn’t and stayed with her until the next phase of the pool party. All I thought about was how I hated water.
The rain seemed to calm down a little and became a drizzle. I was a little disappointed but it was better than nothing. I was done with walking through the quiet little neighborhoods of Linden and was now on the main street that ran through the whole entire town. The streets were dead and yet alive at the same time. 7-Eleven had two or three cars in the parking lot while Dunkin Donuts had around one. I made my way down the street just looking for details and thinking. I loved to think. Especially about random stuff. Every time I went on one of these walks, I thought about my life and watched it flash before my eyes on a watery movie screen. Most of the moments were of me escaping death in a very narrow fashion. I stopped at a light that was in my favor and watched as a car ran it. If I had went I would have became one with the pavement. That didn’t seem like a decent birthday present. Not a decent one at all.
Ever since we left Jersey City, I think I made it a ritual to camp out in my mom’s room and watch everything TGIF had to offer. After school I would say to myself, “Thank God its Friday” and imagine what hilarious anecdotes Steven Q. Urkel and Corey Matthews would get themselves into this time. Eight in the evening came and my mom, for the hundredth time, told me not to fall asleep on the floor and go to bed when TGIF show line-up was over. Two hours later the end credits rolled for the final show and I collected my pillows, sheets and bedspread and waddled to my bedroom. I stood in the doorway staring at my bed in the corner for about a minute and went back to my mothers’ bedroom floor. I figured if I woke up before she did, I could sneak back into my bed and she would have never known a thing.
I stared at the brake lights of the car that had run the red light. I guess he was the title-holder of “Slowest Reaction Time Ever” or something. Years later, I would get a job at CVS and realize that Linden was filled with every kind of person you could imagine. A yawn escaped my lips and danced around the cool brisk air. I hadn’t slept in ages after declaring it a waste of time. This hypothesis was conjured up after late nights of doing things I would not have to bother with during the day and constant meditation that did what sleeping did for people in a quarter of the time. My bed was now home to folded clothes and piled of books. I hadn’t used my bed or any bed for that matter in a while.
I awoke the next day at about seven in the morning and checked on my mom. She was fast asleep. I gathered up my things and waltzed tiredly to my bedroom with the bedspread over my head. When I had a feeling I was in front of my room I took the cover off of my head and my mouth dropped. And apparently so had the roof. A part of the ceiling was now in my bed and some of it was still crumbling down upon it. I sighed and walked back to my moms room, placed the sheets and pillows on her bedroom floor and went back to sleep with thoughts of Family Matters and Boy Meets World running through my head. For about a week, I would need to find somewhere else to sleep while men with hammers and saws put my roof back together again. I knew just the place.
An hour had gone by and I was nearing my block. I thought about next year and the year after that. I thought about rain and the summer. I thought about Animal Farm and communism. I thought random stuff. Really, random stuff. I got to my porch and fumbled with my house keys in an involuntary attempt to prolong my stay outside in the rain.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Blog 5: Personal Essay Analysis
My essay is about perseverance and being intrepid. It’s also about the fact that I believe everyone should live life or die trying and that you only get one shot to do the things you want to do them. Sure, what you don’t do today can be held off for tomorrow but who knows if they’re going to be here tomorrow? No one. For this reason, and this reason alone you should carpe diem and seize the day. You should free your mind of all supposed self-boundaries and extinguish all borders and limitations. Instead, free yourself from imprisonment and let go. Later on down the road you’ll be able to build on the things you acquired (mental or physical) that only needed you to have faith in yourself.
To display this to my audience of young adults I compared and contrasted to different times in my life in which I faced a similar obstacle that varied in magnitude respectively: a set of stairs. The essay is segmented in such a way that past and present are separated. In the past, a juvenile me is faced with tricking down a two set while in the future, a more evolved me is faced with tricking down a five set. The younger me finds it difficult, but eventually builds up the confidence to do what he sought after. The older me has no problem with the more advanced scenario and tricks down the five stair repeatedly effortlessly.
This wouldn’t have been possible if I didn’t face my inner demon against that two set years ago.
By segmenting the essay the way I did, I allowed the reader to understand my purpose more. I also compared skateboarding to dancing along with every other thing in life to captivate the reader even further.
To display this to my audience of young adults I compared and contrasted to different times in my life in which I faced a similar obstacle that varied in magnitude respectively: a set of stairs. The essay is segmented in such a way that past and present are separated. In the past, a juvenile me is faced with tricking down a two set while in the future, a more evolved me is faced with tricking down a five set. The younger me finds it difficult, but eventually builds up the confidence to do what he sought after. The older me has no problem with the more advanced scenario and tricks down the five stair repeatedly effortlessly.
This wouldn’t have been possible if I didn’t face my inner demon against that two set years ago.
By segmenting the essay the way I did, I allowed the reader to understand my purpose more. I also compared skateboarding to dancing along with every other thing in life to captivate the reader even further.
Blog 3: Pre-Writing for Memoir
Earliest Memories
Boxing in the park with my brothers and father
Going to rent a movie with my mom and brothers
Hockey in gym, 2nd grade
Moving from Jersey City to Linden at the end of 2nd grade
Liberty State park in the fog
Trying to keep up with my dad at the track
1st and 2nd Grade field trips
Important People
Mom – Really, really, really cares about me.
Pedro – My equivalent of a best friend
Darian and Julian – Provide me with insight into things I may be too busy to deal with. Provide a good laugh.
Dad –When I was kid he was the “All Work and No play makes jack a dull boy” parent.
Joe – Helps out around the house.
Jovia – Little sister. Innate need to look after her.
Nikkee and Frank and Steven: I’ve known them since I moved to Linden
-Mr. Bastedo – Made high school fun
The Candy Shop – Makes life all the more fun.
Anger
My bike got stolen.
Important Places
Jersey City. Where I was born. I go there a lot more nowadays. My room, no matter what home it was in. My bedroom has always been a sanctuary for me and acts as the museum of my life. The Bank is where most of my skate days were spent when I first started. All of us use to skate there until 3 AM. NYC isn’t more important than Jersey City, but it’s on the list of place I can go to just to forget about the rest of the universe. Linden High School…four the most entertaining and interesting years of my life were spent there especially in the second to last year there of my school career. Soehl Middle School, I went here right after leaving the Jersey City school system. I met some interesting characters here, most of which I see on a regular basis even today.
Family Story About Me
Mom says I use to be able to dance really, really well. She also says I keep a lot crap in my room. I honestly don’t think of the stuff in my room as crap.
Best thing to happen to me in my life
I wouldn’t mind leaving my mark on the world before I die. I wouldn’t mind walking into a room and people knowing who I am. More importantly, knowing what I’ve done. Whether its produce a movie, write a script, direct a movie star in a movie or publish a book. I want to stimulate the masses and create more open minded audiences.
Boxing in the park with my brothers and father
Going to rent a movie with my mom and brothers
Hockey in gym, 2nd grade
Moving from Jersey City to Linden at the end of 2nd grade
Liberty State park in the fog
Trying to keep up with my dad at the track
1st and 2nd Grade field trips
Important People
Mom – Really, really, really cares about me.
Pedro – My equivalent of a best friend
Darian and Julian – Provide me with insight into things I may be too busy to deal with. Provide a good laugh.
Dad –When I was kid he was the “All Work and No play makes jack a dull boy” parent.
Joe – Helps out around the house.
Jovia – Little sister. Innate need to look after her.
Nikkee and Frank and Steven: I’ve known them since I moved to Linden
-Mr. Bastedo – Made high school fun
The Candy Shop – Makes life all the more fun.
Anger
My bike got stolen.
Important Places
Jersey City. Where I was born. I go there a lot more nowadays. My room, no matter what home it was in. My bedroom has always been a sanctuary for me and acts as the museum of my life. The Bank is where most of my skate days were spent when I first started. All of us use to skate there until 3 AM. NYC isn’t more important than Jersey City, but it’s on the list of place I can go to just to forget about the rest of the universe. Linden High School…four the most entertaining and interesting years of my life were spent there especially in the second to last year there of my school career. Soehl Middle School, I went here right after leaving the Jersey City school system. I met some interesting characters here, most of which I see on a regular basis even today.
Family Story About Me
Mom says I use to be able to dance really, really well. She also says I keep a lot crap in my room. I honestly don’t think of the stuff in my room as crap.
Best thing to happen to me in my life
I wouldn’t mind leaving my mark on the world before I die. I wouldn’t mind walking into a room and people knowing who I am. More importantly, knowing what I’ve done. Whether its produce a movie, write a script, direct a movie star in a movie or publish a book. I want to stimulate the masses and create more open minded audiences.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Blog 2: Six Segments of Schwartz
Section 1:
The author sums up the relationship between her and her father and gives us some inkling as to why he is the way he is.
Section 2:
The reader takes us to the time where her father took her and the rest of the family to where he grew up. The narrator is not impressed by her father’s motherland and compares his living to that of a hick somewhat.
Section 3:
As the tour of her fathers’ birthplace continues, Schwartz starts to become insightful in regards to this foreign world she has been exposed to. She asks her father questions and becomes curious.
Section 4:
They come across her father’s school and she compares t to that of her own in America. She continues to ask more question and continues to compare it to her schooling system in America. Her parents inform her of how they met and she becomes even more intuitive. Exactly the opposite of the girl we are introduced to in the beginning.
Section 5:
They visit a cemetery and any suspicion of melancholy being held within the heart of the father is made apparent. The family pays their respects to the dead and Schwartz seems to mature as a person and gain more of an understanding about her family and her roots. Her father on the other begins to reminisce about the past it seems and becomes disheartened.
Section 6:
Schwartz makes it clear that the trip she took to her father’s hometown was certainly not the last. That first trip she took as a child was enough to change her mindset about the town her father constantly boasted about. However, her father has leapt on the other side of the fence and is now an extreme admirer of the American culture.
The author sums up the relationship between her and her father and gives us some inkling as to why he is the way he is.
Section 2:
The reader takes us to the time where her father took her and the rest of the family to where he grew up. The narrator is not impressed by her father’s motherland and compares his living to that of a hick somewhat.
Section 3:
As the tour of her fathers’ birthplace continues, Schwartz starts to become insightful in regards to this foreign world she has been exposed to. She asks her father questions and becomes curious.
Section 4:
They come across her father’s school and she compares t to that of her own in America. She continues to ask more question and continues to compare it to her schooling system in America. Her parents inform her of how they met and she becomes even more intuitive. Exactly the opposite of the girl we are introduced to in the beginning.
Section 5:
They visit a cemetery and any suspicion of melancholy being held within the heart of the father is made apparent. The family pays their respects to the dead and Schwartz seems to mature as a person and gain more of an understanding about her family and her roots. Her father on the other begins to reminisce about the past it seems and becomes disheartened.
Section 6:
Schwartz makes it clear that the trip she took to her father’s hometown was certainly not the last. That first trip she took as a child was enough to change her mindset about the town her father constantly boasted about. However, her father has leapt on the other side of the fence and is now an extreme admirer of the American culture.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Personal Essay
Beads of sweat slithered down my face as I tried to remember the steps to this waltz. I’ve danced this dance before…a million times actually. Almost everything in life resembles a dance when you think about it. Doing homework is like participating in ballet. Reading a magazine is kind of like tap-dancing. Surfing the internet is reminiscent of the rumba and paying your taxes can be compared to doing the salsa with a partner who constantly steps on your feet deliberately. Everything in life is a dance of some sort. For the millionth time in a week, I danced the dance of skateboarding. Furthermore, I was dancing with two left feet today.
I can feel the beads of sweat from nearly half a decade ago trying to break free from the scenery of my skin and race down the sides of my cheeks towards my chin. They’re trying to break free not because of how much effort I have been putting into my skating or because of how long I’ve been skating, but because of the fact that it was just really, really hot outside. We got to the skate spot, Roselle Park High School, and sat down for a bit. This is before driver’s licenses and Roselle Park wasn’t exactly right around the corner from where we lived. I got off my board and walked to the top of the five stairs that composed the staircase that led to entrance of the building. I rolled around for a moment in the wide corridor that one had to walk through to get to the front doors of the school. The ground was nice and smooth; the nicest and the smoothest I had ever ridden on; at that point in my skate career anyway. I stopped playing around, looked out towards the street, and watched as a few cars drove by. Then, my eyes slowly tiptoed towards the stairs.
There are cases where you look back at a set of stairs you just climbed and you can’t actually see the stairs. It’s like looking over the edge of a cliff and all you see is the ground below and a few yards away from the final step touching the floor. All I saw was a tree that seemed to be setting like half of the sun dipping below the horizon line. I thought to myself as Brett and Manny skated around the driveway of the school. I was thinking about all the wrong things. I thought about what might happen if I didn’t land the trick correctly or what might happen if I tried to evacuate and eject while I was airborne. I visualized the end of a Thanksgiving meal where you and a family member or friend grabbed the opposite legs of a wishbone and tore it in half and saw who got the bigger piece. However, instead of a wishbone being torn in two, it was my legs going in opposite directions if one foot decided to stay on the board and the back foot decided not to tag along. Suddenly, my mind went blank. I stopped pacing around in my head and on the smooth concrete with my board. I looked out over the horizon and went for the trick.
I stopped being so pessimistic about the situation and thought about how flying off of a two stair wouldn’t kill me. Secondly, I had a right foot and a left foot… not two left feet. I’ve danced this dance a million times. I got on my board and advanced towards the stairs. Brett and Jon watched as I approached the two foot drop and stopped what they had been doing. My feet shuffled on the grip tape of my board in preparation of executing an ollie; the most basic trick in skateboarding. My back foot slammed on the back of my board while the front foot lingered forward to even things out. My eyes crept ahead of my position and all I could see was the hood of and SUV.
I ejected in midair as the SUV drove past me and stopped at the drive-thru ATM machine of Unity Bank. I landed on my feet in less than a millisecond from the time of evacuation. My board had flown to the right and landed on the lawn besides the two set. The impact of a two set, well, this two set, is really insignificant. I say this two set because of the fact that there are staircases with two steps somewhere out in the world in which one of the steps is six feet tall. That means doing a trick off of something twelve feet tall. Any trick, be it an ollie or a three sixty flip in which the skateboard rotates a full three hundred and sixty degrees before you land back on it, is difficult. Not only is the object twelve feet tall, but you not only have to deal with the height of the steps, but the distance of them as well.
But enough of the boring stuff. When you do the math, doing an ollie off of a two step shouldn’t have been such a big problem. But I guess we all have to start somewhere, right?
I landed perfectly on the board and rolled away without a problem. I looked over my shoulder at the five stair of Roselle Park High and laughed at it. Not out loud mind you…because that would have just been really weird. I got off my board and ran back up the stairs to try them again. Manny decided to take pictures with my camera and Brett decided to sit on the stairs while I tried them. This was only semi-distracting. There was a handrail that divided the stairs in two; a left side of the rail, and a right side. I was trying the right side and Brett was pretty much leaning against the rail; on the right side. He didn’t occupy anymore than ten percent of the right side with his sitting there so I went for the trick anyway and landed it again.
On my way back to the top of the stairs, Brett grabbed a newspaper from a stack of tied up Sunday Star Ledger’s that had been sitting on the steps. He flipped it open and decided to move closer to the center of where I had been soaring over on my skateboard for the last thirty minutes. He kept saying how cool it would look if I did the set while he was reading the paper.
We all have to start somewhere. My thing was this: there are tons of things you can skate and be good at. Whether it’s grinding handrails, flying over gaps and huge chasms, grinding ledges, skating skate parks, doing what Tony Hawk does, and so on and so forth. Why did I need to be good at skating staircases? Brett varial flipped two stepped staircase right after Jon had kick flipped it. I was sort of in awe at all the stuff they could do on it compared to what I could; nothing at all. I ran back up the stairs in about a millisecond and thought about the mathematics and arithmetic behind it. There wasn’t much to it. Pop and land. That’s all there was to it. I rolled up towards the stairs and tried again. I ended up throwing it away and not committing to it. All I thought about was how I could die on it or break something like my wrist or my face if something went wrong.
Nothing went wrong. While I was soaring over Brett and his Sunday paper I managed to catch a glimpse of the Family Circus before impact; that’s one of the funniest comic strips in the universe. I rolled into the semi-circled driveway of Roselle Park High and thought about how school the next day was going to suck. Not because I didn’t like school, I did, but because I would probably spend the whole day doodling skateboards and drawing staircases with a million steps on them and me flying down them in my notebook. A million stairs is a lot of stairs so I would probably end up using two notebooks, maybe even three. I looked back at the set of stairs and wondered if there were any good coupons in the Star Ledger.
I could tell that Jon and Brett thought I sucked at this thing. Then again, they also knew that they had put more man hours into skateboarding than I did. I was a geek who never missed a day of school at that point and loved computers, martial arts and drawing. I was not cut out for sports. I also wasn’t cut out for sitting behind a computer screen all day while the world outside passed me by.
I got back to the top of the stairs and thought about how many other things I could be perfecting with my skating other than staircases. I could be practicing grinds or rolling around in pools right now. But there were no empty swimming pools to use as concrete waves and tear asunder. Right now, at that moment, there was a flight of stairs a toddler could hop up backwards with out a problem laughing. I thought about how my failure stemmed from lack of commitment and not some sort of allergic reaction to stairs at Unity Banks across the state of New Jersey, because, at the end of the day, allergies is the only excuse not to be able to do something. And even then I would be able to find a two stair somewhere else. I put my board on the ground and rolled towards the horizon.
I did my ollie and thought only about the ollie. Not about gashes in foreheads or missing kneecaps, but about the now. I thought about how in forty years I could say to myself that I actually stuck to it and didn’t abandon ship in midair. I thought about how my shoes were untied and looked kind of like thin strands of spaghetti being thrown at a food fight in a elementary school lunch room. I thought about how I landed all four wheels on the ground as I rolled away from the two stairs.
Brett and Jon applauded my accomplishment. To some, it would have seemed like a minor accomplishment at best, but to those who know what it’s like to start at the bottom and work your way up to something higher it was like a breath of fresh air. I picked up my board and did the staircase with two steps again and again and again and again. After about thirty minutes of back to back ollies down it I got tired of dancing and took off my dance shoes.
I can feel the beads of sweat from nearly half a decade ago trying to break free from the scenery of my skin and race down the sides of my cheeks towards my chin. They’re trying to break free not because of how much effort I have been putting into my skating or because of how long I’ve been skating, but because of the fact that it was just really, really hot outside. We got to the skate spot, Roselle Park High School, and sat down for a bit. This is before driver’s licenses and Roselle Park wasn’t exactly right around the corner from where we lived. I got off my board and walked to the top of the five stairs that composed the staircase that led to entrance of the building. I rolled around for a moment in the wide corridor that one had to walk through to get to the front doors of the school. The ground was nice and smooth; the nicest and the smoothest I had ever ridden on; at that point in my skate career anyway. I stopped playing around, looked out towards the street, and watched as a few cars drove by. Then, my eyes slowly tiptoed towards the stairs.
There are cases where you look back at a set of stairs you just climbed and you can’t actually see the stairs. It’s like looking over the edge of a cliff and all you see is the ground below and a few yards away from the final step touching the floor. All I saw was a tree that seemed to be setting like half of the sun dipping below the horizon line. I thought to myself as Brett and Manny skated around the driveway of the school. I was thinking about all the wrong things. I thought about what might happen if I didn’t land the trick correctly or what might happen if I tried to evacuate and eject while I was airborne. I visualized the end of a Thanksgiving meal where you and a family member or friend grabbed the opposite legs of a wishbone and tore it in half and saw who got the bigger piece. However, instead of a wishbone being torn in two, it was my legs going in opposite directions if one foot decided to stay on the board and the back foot decided not to tag along. Suddenly, my mind went blank. I stopped pacing around in my head and on the smooth concrete with my board. I looked out over the horizon and went for the trick.
I stopped being so pessimistic about the situation and thought about how flying off of a two stair wouldn’t kill me. Secondly, I had a right foot and a left foot… not two left feet. I’ve danced this dance a million times. I got on my board and advanced towards the stairs. Brett and Jon watched as I approached the two foot drop and stopped what they had been doing. My feet shuffled on the grip tape of my board in preparation of executing an ollie; the most basic trick in skateboarding. My back foot slammed on the back of my board while the front foot lingered forward to even things out. My eyes crept ahead of my position and all I could see was the hood of and SUV.
I ejected in midair as the SUV drove past me and stopped at the drive-thru ATM machine of Unity Bank. I landed on my feet in less than a millisecond from the time of evacuation. My board had flown to the right and landed on the lawn besides the two set. The impact of a two set, well, this two set, is really insignificant. I say this two set because of the fact that there are staircases with two steps somewhere out in the world in which one of the steps is six feet tall. That means doing a trick off of something twelve feet tall. Any trick, be it an ollie or a three sixty flip in which the skateboard rotates a full three hundred and sixty degrees before you land back on it, is difficult. Not only is the object twelve feet tall, but you not only have to deal with the height of the steps, but the distance of them as well.
But enough of the boring stuff. When you do the math, doing an ollie off of a two step shouldn’t have been such a big problem. But I guess we all have to start somewhere, right?
I landed perfectly on the board and rolled away without a problem. I looked over my shoulder at the five stair of Roselle Park High and laughed at it. Not out loud mind you…because that would have just been really weird. I got off my board and ran back up the stairs to try them again. Manny decided to take pictures with my camera and Brett decided to sit on the stairs while I tried them. This was only semi-distracting. There was a handrail that divided the stairs in two; a left side of the rail, and a right side. I was trying the right side and Brett was pretty much leaning against the rail; on the right side. He didn’t occupy anymore than ten percent of the right side with his sitting there so I went for the trick anyway and landed it again.
On my way back to the top of the stairs, Brett grabbed a newspaper from a stack of tied up Sunday Star Ledger’s that had been sitting on the steps. He flipped it open and decided to move closer to the center of where I had been soaring over on my skateboard for the last thirty minutes. He kept saying how cool it would look if I did the set while he was reading the paper.
We all have to start somewhere. My thing was this: there are tons of things you can skate and be good at. Whether it’s grinding handrails, flying over gaps and huge chasms, grinding ledges, skating skate parks, doing what Tony Hawk does, and so on and so forth. Why did I need to be good at skating staircases? Brett varial flipped two stepped staircase right after Jon had kick flipped it. I was sort of in awe at all the stuff they could do on it compared to what I could; nothing at all. I ran back up the stairs in about a millisecond and thought about the mathematics and arithmetic behind it. There wasn’t much to it. Pop and land. That’s all there was to it. I rolled up towards the stairs and tried again. I ended up throwing it away and not committing to it. All I thought about was how I could die on it or break something like my wrist or my face if something went wrong.
Nothing went wrong. While I was soaring over Brett and his Sunday paper I managed to catch a glimpse of the Family Circus before impact; that’s one of the funniest comic strips in the universe. I rolled into the semi-circled driveway of Roselle Park High and thought about how school the next day was going to suck. Not because I didn’t like school, I did, but because I would probably spend the whole day doodling skateboards and drawing staircases with a million steps on them and me flying down them in my notebook. A million stairs is a lot of stairs so I would probably end up using two notebooks, maybe even three. I looked back at the set of stairs and wondered if there were any good coupons in the Star Ledger.
I could tell that Jon and Brett thought I sucked at this thing. Then again, they also knew that they had put more man hours into skateboarding than I did. I was a geek who never missed a day of school at that point and loved computers, martial arts and drawing. I was not cut out for sports. I also wasn’t cut out for sitting behind a computer screen all day while the world outside passed me by.
I got back to the top of the stairs and thought about how many other things I could be perfecting with my skating other than staircases. I could be practicing grinds or rolling around in pools right now. But there were no empty swimming pools to use as concrete waves and tear asunder. Right now, at that moment, there was a flight of stairs a toddler could hop up backwards with out a problem laughing. I thought about how my failure stemmed from lack of commitment and not some sort of allergic reaction to stairs at Unity Banks across the state of New Jersey, because, at the end of the day, allergies is the only excuse not to be able to do something. And even then I would be able to find a two stair somewhere else. I put my board on the ground and rolled towards the horizon.
I did my ollie and thought only about the ollie. Not about gashes in foreheads or missing kneecaps, but about the now. I thought about how in forty years I could say to myself that I actually stuck to it and didn’t abandon ship in midair. I thought about how my shoes were untied and looked kind of like thin strands of spaghetti being thrown at a food fight in a elementary school lunch room. I thought about how I landed all four wheels on the ground as I rolled away from the two stairs.
Brett and Jon applauded my accomplishment. To some, it would have seemed like a minor accomplishment at best, but to those who know what it’s like to start at the bottom and work your way up to something higher it was like a breath of fresh air. I picked up my board and did the staircase with two steps again and again and again and again. After about thirty minutes of back to back ollies down it I got tired of dancing and took off my dance shoes.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Blog 1: My Design Plan - Rough
· Who is my audience (What kind of readers? What age? What interests? What connections to other writers? What level of Writing/reading?)
My audience is comprised of young/adult readers who have completed at least Middle School and can comprehend reading material with words not seen in your typical magazine.
· What is my purpose (what do I want to tell my readers and why? How do I want my readers to respond? What do I want them to know for sure? What do I want them to have to figure out for themselves? AND What do they want to get out of reading my essay? How will what I write connect to my readers/ how will they use my writing?)
I want my reader to realize that there is no point in living if you can’t feel alive. That we all only have one life to live and that it should not be spent pondering “what if’s” and thinking about what could have been…
· In what context will my writing be read? (=> how will readers read my essay? What will they be doing as they read? Where will they be? How will they feel? )
The reader will have to visualize my essay due to the fact that it is an account of the past. There will be many adjectives to assist them in picturing these accounts. They will feel as if they are in the story.
· What form should I use to achieve my purposes (think about the forms described by Root, and about the forms of the essays you have read.) How should you organize your material to connect to your audience + achieve your purpose? How will you use the FORM of your essay to help your reader understand what you are writing?)
Segmented essay; possibly one that contrasts/compares the past and the present. Using this form will help the reader decide whether there has been progress or a decline in the evolution of characters.
How will you test your essay to make sure you are successful in achieving your purpose? Reaching your audience?
Allow a few people to read it prior to handing it in.
Rough Draft
My audience is comprised of young/adult readers who have completed at least Middle School and can comprehend reading material with words not seen in your typical magazine.
· What is my purpose (what do I want to tell my readers and why? How do I want my readers to respond? What do I want them to know for sure? What do I want them to have to figure out for themselves? AND What do they want to get out of reading my essay? How will what I write connect to my readers/ how will they use my writing?)
I want my reader to realize that there is no point in living if you can’t feel alive. That we all only have one life to live and that it should not be spent pondering “what if’s” and thinking about what could have been…
· In what context will my writing be read? (=> how will readers read my essay? What will they be doing as they read? Where will they be? How will they feel? )
The reader will have to visualize my essay due to the fact that it is an account of the past. There will be many adjectives to assist them in picturing these accounts. They will feel as if they are in the story.
· What form should I use to achieve my purposes (think about the forms described by Root, and about the forms of the essays you have read.) How should you organize your material to connect to your audience + achieve your purpose? How will you use the FORM of your essay to help your reader understand what you are writing?)
Segmented essay; possibly one that contrasts/compares the past and the present. Using this form will help the reader decide whether there has been progress or a decline in the evolution of characters.
How will you test your essay to make sure you are successful in achieving your purpose? Reaching your audience?
Allow a few people to read it prior to handing it in.
Rough Draft
So yeah, this is my first post...Blogger seems up there with the rest of the competition. It has things that other blogs don't have and vice versa.
I didn't much around with the HTML and coding too much since I didn't really have much time...I changed the background to a view of Tokyo...one of my Top 3 Favorite Cities in the universe.
Below the links to my fellow classmates' blogs I put a list of videos featuring the guys I skateboard with so you can check that out if you'd like.
Since this is a writing class I'll throw in an old homework assignment which required us to write a poem that used alliteration, onomatopoeia, assonance and a plethora of other poetic devices.
I didn't much around with the HTML and coding too much since I didn't really have much time...I changed the background to a view of Tokyo...one of my Top 3 Favorite Cities in the universe.
Below the links to my fellow classmates' blogs I put a list of videos featuring the guys I skateboard with so you can check that out if you'd like.
Since this is a writing class I'll throw in an old homework assignment which required us to write a poem that used alliteration, onomatopoeia, assonance and a plethora of other poetic devices.
Mr. Renaissance Man
His finger tips tip-toe across the keyboard on their way to Backspace Boulevard
He’s made several slip-ups while tap, tap, tapping a little less than hard
His finger prints appear to be leaving bizarre scars
Yet no one will wonder what they are
They call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
His scars and mistakes are loud like angry animals, but are magically minimal
His influence on the world makes them suddenly subliminal
Jack and his trade’s bring him fans and phenomenal praise
Though they don’t realize his title needs a rephrase
They still call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
His pencil point outputs a dry smile of Mona Lisa
A completely traced disgrace he’ll hand in to the teacher
His pencil’s lead appears to have left bizarre scars upon the paper
Where there are clues he’ll clean them up later
They’ll still call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
He plays piano with his fingers as if they weighed like light
Causing him to barely break the notes in quite right
He’s missed multiple notes while maneuvering measures
Yet in the eyes of many, his footnotes are tiny treasures
And so, they call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
Swoop, smack, slam…two karate kicks, a miss, and then the land
His form’s flawed; yet he’s hypnotized humanity to find it grand
Both his ebony eye and ruined wrist are blunt bizarre scars
Yet, once again, no one will see them for what they truly are
They continue to call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
His lungs look for air as he hums that final footnote
The two stop searching since seeking seems to be a joke
His voice vibrates violently as it gives in to futility
And the master of the mind purposely promotes personal humility
The note is mistaken for eclectic elegance and something grand
In spite of everything, they still call him Mr. Renaissance Man
Master of the mind and skillful with his hands
His finger tips tip-toe across the keyboard on their way to Backspace Boulevard
He’s made several slip-ups while tap, tap, tapping a little less than hard
His finger prints appear to be leaving bizarre scars
Yet no one will wonder what they are
They call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
His scars and mistakes are loud like angry animals, but are magically minimal
His influence on the world makes them suddenly subliminal
Jack and his trade’s bring him fans and phenomenal praise
Though they don’t realize his title needs a rephrase
They still call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
His pencil point outputs a dry smile of Mona Lisa
A completely traced disgrace he’ll hand in to the teacher
His pencil’s lead appears to have left bizarre scars upon the paper
Where there are clues he’ll clean them up later
They’ll still call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
He plays piano with his fingers as if they weighed like light
Causing him to barely break the notes in quite right
He’s missed multiple notes while maneuvering measures
Yet in the eyes of many, his footnotes are tiny treasures
And so, they call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
Swoop, smack, slam…two karate kicks, a miss, and then the land
His form’s flawed; yet he’s hypnotized humanity to find it grand
Both his ebony eye and ruined wrist are blunt bizarre scars
Yet, once again, no one will see them for what they truly are
They continue to call him Mr. Renaissance Man, master of the mind and skillful with his hands
His lungs look for air as he hums that final footnote
The two stop searching since seeking seems to be a joke
His voice vibrates violently as it gives in to futility
And the master of the mind purposely promotes personal humility
The note is mistaken for eclectic elegance and something grand
In spite of everything, they still call him Mr. Renaissance Man
Master of the mind and skillful with his hands
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