awesomecoolnutstudentthings

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

see you around old man.

It was an evening event that took place in the union, near the fireside lounge but directly next to the Union Ballroom. It was a seemingly small crowed of about twenty to twenty-five people, a mixture of teachers and students alike. Some students stood out, obviously there were some that weren’t reading so no materials were in hand, while the others had faces of anxiousness, some tapped there feet repeatedly, but I’m glad the room had carpet because people walking outside the event would have took it for a tap dancing expose. Other faces were there, sporting a supportive look for this one girl that read her short story on finding love in the middle of an apocalypse, I wish she would have put more emphasis in the emotions of her piece, would have made it pop. I had the list of people that were ahead of me, so I decided to look around and guess who was who. I was impressed with this other girl’s poems about her weight and her battles with it, she had this spaced out look that wasn’t synonymous with someone that would talk about something as personal as her battle with it. But as she read her four poems, her word choice, her demeanor changed to that of a person that was on the brink of coming to terms with who she is and rocking that shit till the end of her days, it gave me inspiration. Before the readings started, we were giving strict rules about our usage of time and how we were limited to just five minutes. Before we knew it what should have taken an hour to accomplish only took about 25 minutes, and when it was my turn I decided to read my entire short story. I was fucking nervous dude like; I haven’t been in that sort of spot light since high school. I was settled and began reading, I noticed myself stumbling out of the gate, but once I got to the halfway point on the first page, I found my pace and killed it. Adding pauses for the effect, emphasis on the voices throughout the conversations the works. When I finished, I was rewarded with a healthy applause. I’m glad I did it.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

I’ve come to realize a lot about myself throughout this class. The styles of others and their writing, where my interest lie, the many styles that people so ingeniously come up with, the stories that I can tell and having the confidence in my craft to write it. this was a year of growth for me, both spiritually but most of all mentally. The ways that I would like to keep up with my writing, I would like to manifest them through the forms of getting my name out there, having my stories heard and shared like I know they should be. I would like to continue my writing by telling Milwaukee’s story first hand, by using the craft of dialog within my writing as a point of reference, or like my signature style. But I would also like to build off of the dialog as well and venture into new spaces like journalism and film. The art of story-telling and developing the skill of writing has always captivated me, both mentally and emotionally. I was never taught how to manage my emotions as a child so I was always angry at myself and at others for reasons that didn’t make any sense, I projected a lot but I also placed all the blame all on me. I felt misunderstood because no one else was in a chair within the family sphere or my friends. I found writing in high school where I learned to release the anger in a cathartic and healthy way, and I give my thanks to this ancient form of communication. I remember at the beginning of class that we had a discussion about how open we wanted to be with our writing and if outside criticism was important to you. I remember answering in the form of no, “I want people to openly criticize my stuff because it makes me better as a writer and as a person.” I sit here; and thinking about the lasting positive, negative effects I want my writing to have is what I want to strive for, the balance of a story, its characters and their created validities as members of the stories I want to tell, I want my stories to embody the reader and their personal stories, I want my stories to reach past boundaries, borders, religions, cultures, politics ect. I want my writing to take you to a place were all of the exterior noise is neutralized and its just you the reader and the story.

Striking the balance I find in my life, in my writing.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

week 12 prompt

What I was thinking about doing for my final zine would be to do one of those big folded paper things that we learned from the workshop that we had in the archives with Max this past week. There was this picture that I wanted to use for my latest zine but I could figure out how to literally put it on the page without distorting my passages even further than I did. I’ve come to realize the fact that outside of writing in Word is literal garbage, which doesn’t help for the final but F@%& it. What I wanted to do was like put the picture that I withheld from my last zine into this one, but as you may know the reoccurring name that I choose for my zine is CANNED GOODS. I want the story or whatever I do to flip in and out like your opening a can of something. I would start with copying and pasting the picture to a blank document, where I would then size to scale, which hopefully take up as much space, without loosing the integrity of the image. Meaning that I hope it doesn’t look pixelated and it looks in good quality. After I get the image set, I would like to put whatever I wrote onto the page, depending on how much the writing takes up, I want it to be on one side of the zine so I might have to separate the zine into two parts. If that has to happen, I will scale up another canned image and continue that writing on there. Now the hardest part of it all would be the cutting of the paper and creating this sort of illusion. Cutting it a certain way, the end result is that the left side of the paper and the right side of the paper collapse inward and or outward the words on the backside come out and are readable. There’s no other way for me to explain.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

week 11 blog

I think the method that I choose was along the lines and ordinary when it comes to methodology. It was definitely pretty comfortable for me, and if it were a different person that I was interviewing I know that it wouldn’t have been that difficult either. I’ve had experiences in interviewing other people for other classes in the past, I also think that my personality and how open and down to earth I come off as really helps my cause too. I think the hardest aspects of interviewing someone familiar to you would be in the fact of creating questions for the interview. With already having predisposed information that you already know about said person, it was hard for me to come up with specific questions that would catch the interviewee off guard, to get an edgier response. But what was really fruitful for me during the process was in the fact that I asked questions that I already knew the answer to, and to my surprise the responses were indeed a little bit different, they were the same; but they evolved. I think ethically speaking this method is the most secure and comfortable for both parties involved, it confines the space within the parameters of an interview but it allows you to enter a space of vulnerability, and truth. It allows you to create a space where the questions are boundless but so are the responses. When it comes to interviews that aren’t really about anything, every question revolves around the persons, personal like their life’s story, their fears, what their dreams mean to them, what was something traumatizing that happened to them, favorite leisure activity to kill time, do they have a favorite movie, do they like art, do they people watch ect. I think it’s important to ask questions that are outside of the box as well, in my interviews I like to see how my interviewees minds work and non-conventional question help to give trajectory. One of the things that I regret not doing would have to be in not having a goal, or a conclusion to arrive at within the interview, I wanted there to be a point to the questions that I was asking but I think that trying to explain what an outsider is is much harder than it looks in my opinion. I didn’t think about any other method of interviewing, in the end a conversation is a very powerful tool, and understanding that was the first step I choosing the method of my choice for this assignment.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

week 10 prompt

this is what I’ve got so far from my interview draft, I think it might be to your liking Lane. I tried to root out as much of the passive tense stuff as I could and put it presently, like I was there. Let me know.

Me and A.Z. go way back, surprisingly enough, she was the first friend that I made her at the university, since then we’ve been on this road ever since. I relished at the idea of diving deeper into the head space of this women. A.Z was never the type of person to try to fit in, with her intelligent, strong, abrasive, brash, loving (when she wants to be), creative, candid, feisty, funny, nonchalant, unapologetic nature that she exudes, she understand that trying to fit in is for people who lack the understanding of who they truly want to be. I sent the notice advising AZ where the interview was going to take place and at what time. Like always, its either she reads it and replies like a normal human being or, she leaves it; most of the time to assumption that she will show up in an anticlimactic fashion. The room was in the eastern corner of the union on the third floor, there’s only two main hallways leading to the spot and I still manage to get lost. Trailing the administrator who was opening the door, I wheel into the space and only after the administrator left, I role atop an old carpet stained with semesters old Tapatio sauce and an alarmingly high smell of mold, thinking out loud to myself “This will really set the mood.” I settle down and I notice the cunning smell of our mutual friend Mary coming in through a draft let in by the crooked door, as I turn around to understand what’s happening she appears, in a chair, eating a pocket full of mini Twix. “Welcome mademoiselle, thank you for meeting me here under short notice,”

“You know I got you E.”

“Ok, formalities are out of the way, let’s begin.”

“Cool.”

“So, this is as anti-formal as any interview you will ever have Z, so there are only like a few on script questions I would like to start with, if you don’t mind. You can be as honest and as open as you want to be with me.”

As she munches on three mini Twix, she answers while the crumbs fall from the right corner of her mouth.

“Shoot.”

“Tell me about your early life?”

She immediately stops chewing the wad of Twix and looks at me with an exciting demeanor, like I haven’t already realized that I just opened Pandora's Box. She clears her throat, leans in and proceeds.

“I was born in the beautiful city of Milwaukee and from the ages 1 to 7 I’ve resided nowhere else. I then moved from here and grew up some more in some western part of California and was raised by my father Bartholomew and my mother Laurie, who knew each other since kindergarten. I always knew that my parents were different.”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, I was about 10 or 11 when I was first heard about Bart’s exploits in the 60’s and 70’s, and the drug tirade that he went on. Dude, my dad was a drug addict and could no one tell me different.”

Leaning back in her chair as she spews, what sounds to her as just another day in her childhood, I lean in and unsuspectingly start to concoct other questions while she continues.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

week 9 prompt

my boy Mart.

I knew this dude and his name was Mart. From the neighborhood stoops we were always in the same vicinity and we would always accidentally cross paths until it was intentional. We became good friends and for a while I stuck around long enough to have some great times with him and our cohort of hood hooligans. Mart was a little older than we were, he bared the hardened face you get when you’ve lived in the streets and jail, he would hide it behind his sense of humor, which he used more often than not. The cohesive nature that stemmed from our friendship was the fact that we all loved cars. In his possession he had a 1972 boss mustang 450 halfback that I had rode in with his pops once. He thought that it would be funny for me to ride in it with his dad. At first, I suspected nothing mischievous until we were on a narrow empty quarter mile road and his dad told me he was half blind before he punched it topping off at 80mph before decelerating, while the laughter accelerated. Mart was a very superstitious person, since we both grew up in the same hood bad things would happen and he would always tell me “things happen in three’s E”. I never payed any mind to some of the shit that he said. Mart, although a young dude was a devoted father to two beautiful daughters that I came to know. Mart was a really random and sporatic dude, paranoid from his days in jail, all of that carried over into the real world. He was a creature of habit, he would always flush the toilet three times when using the bathroom, he would sleep with his shoes on, he would eat in a flash because in jail he said “if they take your food it no telling what else they gone take” and we would have to remind him that this wasn’t that. He was a spontaneous dude, always showing off something that he had bought or from his job. One time, chillin with Mart we were about 4 deep in his white Impala when he reach inside his glove compartment and pulled out a quarter sticks of Dynamite. From a distance it looked like coin straps of 25 cents but in reality, they weren’t. this man had dynamite nonchalantly laying in his car. He worked as foreman for a construction company and had the calluses on his hand, arms and legs to prove it. We proceed to blow the quarter sticks of dynamite. “It’s not every day that you get to play with construction grade dynamite” as he convinced us as to why he had it in the first place. We proceeded to blow this stuff up. As charismatic and funny as he was, he couldn’t hide the feeling of contempt he had with himself and at the end he admitted himself into rehab for opioid addiction. I spoke to Mart three days ago for the first time in 2 years.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

week 7 prompt.

I was descending from what just came over me. In an elevator, I walked past the room in this heightened state of mind and to my avail a puzzle. Now I don’t know how I got into such a giddy mood swing but there I was. At that moment, looking into the room felt to my mind what it is when your being nursed back to health from the flu when you were younger. My mind felt sharp, clearer than the mist spray of an air freshener. The puzzle room was no help either, it smelled of slick old furnished wood, that smoky ash stains of this wood reeked when walking by it, from the tramples of the infinite amount of auditions that it had witnessed in its life span of about 15 years. Amazing really, from the water fountain across the hall, the view is advantageous for a lesson for any unsuspected bystander to become a teacher on quick assemblages of labeled 15yr old tables. The nails used to put it together were wood to wood deck screws that had a slight curvature from the pressure absorbed from the weight of those using it. Its color, silver by creation was distorted by the beige hue that it was repeatedly screwed into.

something that I've been messing with, I’m still contemplating if I should use it in my draft or not. I still haven't found the right way to use the passage. But I'm leaning more towards holding it off. 

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

week 6 prompt Brevity

I finished reading “What Happens When You Drown” by Sarah Beth Childers and I can attest that it was a bittersweet story. It was about her brother’s suicide and how she tried to make sense of what he did by trying to drown herself. Throughout the story she structures the lead up to the event with reminiscing about her brother and how he was the person that taught her how to swim. “In the lake at seven, in our grandparents’ wood-framed aboveground pool at ten, your legs pockmarked from mosquitoes.” Or “In the Atlantic Ocean, two years ago at Myrtle Beach, when you defied the shaggy-haired guy in the lifeguard chair and floated toward Portugal on a bodyboard.” Are both examples she uses to contextualize the time frame that she’s working with when describing her brother, the things he’s done with her. We see the premeditation of what she was about to do when she details the chart that warns swimmers that they can drown, “I’ve read it before, idly curious, but now I study the steps: hyperventilation, O2 drops, unconsciousness, drowning.” After studying the chart, we see through the story the contemplation of what she’s about to do, and mask’s it well with detailing the pictures on the chart, then abruptly almost like in a haze she’s pulled out of the pool from drowning. While this happens, she thinks to herself how closely she felt to her brother and his decision to take his own life, while at the same time the only sense that she’s made from his situation are the four steps before drowning. The way that I see myself relating to the story would be in how open she choose to be with her story, laying everything she could into such a confined and limited manner speaks volumes to the imagery of her past memories, and the pool and how she used the surroundings to place you in her head was amazing. But bittersweet nonetheless.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

prompt #5

The first object that I will bring up would be the red chair that I have laying in the back of my room. In its former glory it was like a ripe red pepper freshly coated with a fiery deep red paint, with several accents of other different colors such as a bright sun yellow which were apart of the rear coils to help with shock absorption. The lettering of the model was drawn in with a pearl white paint, like a painting to add dimensions of depth to the body of work, it helped the chair really stand out. The scars from my childhood adolescence are clear to see, from the long engraved scratched to the right fender; where I tried to fit in to a tight space during hide and seek. The slightly curved bent right-side frame from the time that I fell into a pretty big ditch. The fading of the paint from the deep firey pepper red to the soft cotton candy red hue that it transformed to after all the weathering, salt, snow, sand, gravel, tar, dirt, rain, oil, tight spaces, mis-timed jumps off of stair stoops, collisions with other wheelchairs, people; it has endured a lifetime of trials. Like a piece from tetras, I managed to maximize the amount of space without having to sacrifice the areas that I most frequently use, by placing the chair in the southeast corner of my bedroom, it is the corner now. Out of sight out of mind unfortunately. Now the chair, in the present day is stripped of its vital mechanical pieces, like my father would say “una mezcla de Frankenstein!” now used on my current black chair to help it running smoothly. The reality is, that I use my chair to take me the distance; its function has aided me in reaching many heights. A creation with a noble intent. like the last brick laid in the foundation of our home, red pepper is and will always be the last foundational brick to my adolescence.

I’ve kept a pair of my M.A.F.O’s from my childhood. Now, M.A.F.O’S are “Molded Ankle-Foot Orthosis”. I was born with fin feet, meaning that my feet were pointed straight to the ground because of my physical disability. The M.A.F.O’s were given to me as a child after the countless surgeries I had, they kept my feet up in a 90* angle to condition the muscle to regrow in that preferred way. I’ve kept them because it just reminds me of how far I’ve come with understanding my condition, and how much I’ve grown mentally from it all. The MAFO’s are similar to cocoon’s, in shape they wrap around your leg in a cylindrical fashion, hugging the shin and Tibia, then curve at the bottom to embrace the ankle and the palm of the foot, like what water does to an object when placed in it.

There’s a brown blanket that I was given when I was a child that, till this day I still use. It holds sentiment because my family and I have passed through some cold winters and that blanket has kept me warm throughout. It’s a warm earthy soil brown, I would always imagine myself as a plant and ever night under the cover I was freshly potted. It hugged my body the way my mother would when she missed me. I would pair my legs together like a frictionless pivot, and pick them up to swing the leftovers of the blanket under me like a pendulum would on a grandfather clock. The stitched edges would come undone like shoelaces on busy feet, the insides were as similar as dental floss but clumped together and compacted tightly. There were tears along the edges and the middle of it, like unique routes I would take to travel on to get to my dreams. Each different colored string sown across different section of the blanket, would rival any jigsaw puzzle.

In what is now known as the sun room of our home. Five large panel windows encased the very bright but small space, encapsulating the very light that we see every morning fortunately. It used to be my old room. In this room there are four rustic style hooks that would be used to suspend the plants in midair. These plants are a collection of Pothos Jades, Pothos Neon’s, marbles, enshrine the room with its lively demeanor. Each plant is unique, like the name suggest the Pothos Marble is a fusion of three colors, like a lack of skin pigmentation we see that each color, green, beige and sometimes brown all can coincide on one face of the leaf but highly different when it comes to the next. They grow at least a new leaflet every week in the summer and bi-weekly during the winter but none the less growing. They drape across each other like neuron connections in a brain.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

Week 4 Prompt

I think that one of the reoccurring themes throughout the book is the aspect of relationships and displaying the different partners perspectives on the matters such as the titles might sometimes suggest. For instances Good Times was one of the many poetic passages in her book. In this passage I think she accomplished what she wanted to, through refraining from using her punctuations and creating what are run on sentences. The story is about a woman trying to overcome some sort of depressive state wither significant other, but she feels the pressure of the depression; and every run-on sentence is a positive message nonetheless but also feels like a she’s trying to breath with every sentence uttered. Another great passage that I choose was Kafka Cooks Dinner. I found this passage intriguing because, I don’t know if she’s read all of his books, maybe she read up on who he was as a person but I think that her detailing a man that in this case has severe anxiety of cooking a meal for a women he has an affinity for but also in a way despises her, and finds a semblance of balance intrigued me throughout. There were certain parts of the passage where they weren’t cohesive to the story, it was reflected by the spacing of certain paragraphs; there were some that were spaced proportionately like a cohesive passage but other were spaced down twice, separated from the ending of the previous paragraph but not connected to the following, like it was floating on the page. I thought of it as a viewpoint that it was in the mind of Franz, which displayed his inner thoughts that were holding him back from the reality of the dinner. There were three or four instances where this occurred and each was progressively worse than the other, it got to the point where she (Lydia Davis) didn’t even detail the women coming in to his apartment to eat the dinner because the episode was so strong. It was masterfully written.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

Urban drift Snippet

School let out a little late that day, unusual from what my set schedule normally dictates. I enter the coffee shop to see if my fellow patrons were still inhabiting it. To my avail yes, Bell was serving up the last of the days brew to a lone customer who had looked like a humanly manifestation of how my week felt, shitty. After serving she turns to me and says, “Dam E!” I turn to acknowledge her words of, what I at that moment thought it to be words of endearment, “You look worse than the guy I just served coffee too.” She’s one of a kind. She comes from behind the counter and gives me a hug, in the middle of it she whispers in my ear,

“The Lanisters send their regards” and proceeds to air shank my back copiously. We both laugh, at that moment she knew that her deed was done; my day went from bad to alright because of her. I check the time and it read 8:30 and counting, I knew I had to go so I say my goodbye and tread onward. I exited the front of the union to this serene picturesque abandonment of the front of the union; I come to an immediate halt and I say to myself, ”My my, what a wonderful night.” I roll off into the night without a care in the world. Fortunately, I catch what would normally be a bus packed to the brim with people; void of any life except for the driver and his contagiously charming personality. When I come aboard the first thing that the drivers utters to me in a thick southern accent, “I’m Roy L. but if you say it fast enough it sounds like your saying royal,” intrigued with the man and his charm, “whats happ’nen Roy L, my names E.”

           “Where will I be taking you this evening young man” he asked after strapping me in, “This is my last trip going southbound, I’mma take a guess and say that you’re on here for the long ride huh”

“You guessed right” I replied to Roy. There was a brief pause for about 4½ block, my attention was out the window, watching the countless lives that wonder aimlessly in the night time. We passed up a huge building with floor to ceiling windows; when I saw in the reflection of the windows that the bus was out of order, I immediately asked Roy “hey uh, the bus isn’t being used right now? And you let me on anyways?” I was caught off guard.

“I let you on because the layover for the bus that comes after me was about an hour and a half due to mechanical issues, and I just didn’t wanna have you to wait that long so I decided to take you aboard,” as he diverted his attention from me to the road I saw his reflection through his rearview visor a smirk of contempt.

“You don’t get an accent like the one you have living up here?” I stated out of curiosity. Roy gives me a side eye look and reveals to me his golden tooth with his half smile, which shines with the passing over of the street lights.

“listen here young buck, your not like some of these folks who get on here act like I don’t exist, I thank you,” “this accent comes from a long line of southern inhabiting” “I’m 60 years old and most my youth, into my adulthood was spent living with my great gran-mama down in Georgia”  “God rest here soul.”

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

Prompt #2

One of the things that I’ve had to overcome was the fact of being a minority in a majority white school, and having a disability too. The obstacle that I faced was the feeling of being alienated by fellow students and not feeling the welcome that the school preaches. I came from a high school where I was even cool with everyone from the students and teachers, to the janitors and cooks on a first name basis. Coming to the university I felt as if I was already subjected to a preconceived notion that I was someone that couldn’t be seen as an equal. I immediately noticed the side eye stares, the imaginary bubble that was around me, the condescending manner in which people spoke to me. It was a tough transition for me because and it is not to brag but I was the man in high school, coming to the university I was reduced to nothing but a face in a chair. Granted at first, I didn’t do anything that would help my situation, because I thought that by being the same person I was before would work now. I forced myself to change, I resorted back to what worked best, I started to listen again. I changed the way that I spoke; how properly I speak, different words I used, how I approached people, my hygiene changed, if I was ashy apply lotion, fingernails, shampooing, teeth brushing were all part of the simple foundation that I was laying for myself. I started to take myself more seriously and under that amount of pressure I became a more refined version of the person I knew I could be, Ethiel Antonio. I started to take charge of my actions, instead of cowering back into my comfort I started to put myself out there more often than not. Meeting new people and bridging the gap of their understanding of me, I joined a student org, I went out not caring what people thought, facing adversity head on like I’ve done my entire life.

 I am a man of conviction, a man of my word, a man with a will to fight, a man that knows no boundary that couldn’t be toppled, a man of love, and a man of hate, a man of many understandings, a man who is entrusted to keep the many secrets and dreams of my fellow beings, a man who is blessed, a man who is cursed to walk the realms of man without ever to touch the ground, I am a man of nature, I am a man of knowledge, a man of feelings, a man of thoughts, a man of the future, and I am a man of the past. I am transformed in front of your very eyes.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

week 1 blog prompt.

The one thing that I say describes a part of who I am as a person would be my nightly and morning routine in speaking to my dog as a normal person. Before I go to sleep I would prepare myself before, I would take a shower and brush my teeth and then apply deodorant, left pit then right pit always. All while the dog is in the bathroom with me, laid out on his back chilling on the floor mat enjoying the warm mist that is lightly applied to his fur coat, like the morning dew that covers grass. As I pull away the shower curtains he pops right up and awaits the next part of my routine. As the deodorant is applied and the teeth brushed, I open the door to let some of the humidity out and the dog with it. I step into the kitchen to quench my thirst with a glass of slightly cooler room temperature water, as I feel that cold water almost feels like it burns. My dog and I both sleep on the first floor of the house, were we both share in the responsibility of being the first line of defense should anything arise, it is an honor to share that with him. Before I get situated in my bed, I always noticed that he has his back towards me while he faces the entrance of my room respectively guarding my back at all times. When I get under my covers comfortably, he then proceeds to reach near the end of my bed and expects a rub for his due diligence, indeed I proceed to reward such a fine companion. Throughout the night he is subtly in and out of my room always vigilant up until he can’t keep his eyes open, then with the clatter of his long nails like hooves on a horse he proceeds to retire to his quarters. I know its morning, not when I see the sun but when I hear the subtlety of his walk creep to my doorstep then into my room; like a respective patron he then patiently waits for my awakening. I then proceed to wake up and get ready for school, you know rinse and repeat. As I proceed to the front door to commence my day, like a well-mannered friend he see’s me out and when I turn around to look and lock eyes with this dog I tell him to” portarse bien” and “I’ll see you later buddy”. What I want this to reveal to you is the side were my respect and love come from for animals, before having this dog I never knew what true empathy was; let alone being able to learn that to such a high degree from an animal. My dog has adapted to the way that I am and he see no limitations to what I can offer him in return. Our communication and intuition for one another transcends that of normal interactions, I’ve just took it upon myself to teach that to my niece and nephew and apply it towards my everyday interactions with every other animal that finds itself within my immediate vicinity.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

6 Questions.

Ethiel Antonio Vega-Padilla

English 215

 I guess that my first question would pertain to that of the Harlem Renaissance, why didn’t we dive deeper into the black poets such as Langston Hughes, Marcus Garvey, Claude McKay, Alice Dunbar Nelson. All pioneers who contributed greatly to the arts with their works. By diving deeper into the Renaissance with writers such as Marcus Garvey, we see that he offers a completely different dynamic in his “Go back to Africa” movement, and linking it to such topics such as the beat movement like Kerouac’s On the road narrative and compare both journey’s and how they both set their sights on their journey’s into the unknown.  

My second question would be concerned with why wouldn’t we dive deeper into short stories? I understand that we have books like in water melon sugar, and on the road, where the stories are artistically elongated and masterfully descriptive, but what left an even deeper impression was the short story by James Baldwin Sunny’s Blue’s where in just a short number of pages he could craft a story that takes you to a place you never knew you needed. Like longer novels, short stories are just as intricate and complex as the next and I think without having to cover so many chapters we can get to the point rather quickly.

My question would be why wouldn’t documentary cinema not be a bigger focal point within the course? I think that with today’s student; I apologize for steering from the prompt but, I know as a student I love learning about relevant topics in art, not through power point slides but through informational documentaries. I think that they are more influential, especially in today’s generation where all the kids have grown up with some sort of access to the internet, and we both know how influential that thing is.

I question why we didn’t go into more of the beat poetry. My feelings towards the beat’s movement would have been great in the aspect of how the beat’s where more of a sociopolitical outlet more than anything. I say this because like my blog post, Skin Head by Patricia Smith understandably was part of the earlier section of class where we were focused on poetry in general, but that post I wrote about really stuck with me. The dichotomy that is a Black Women and her doing a poem about an aspect of America which in this case (drum roll please), is racism; and in a way rewriting it in a light of sympathy and understanding that in the black and brown community is unheard of, which is powerful.

In the third part of class I wish we would have dived deeper into movies. I enjoyed smoke signals very much, and if I’m honest with you and myself, I really love buddy narratives and how they translate on film. But the spiritual dueling that one goes through throughout the film was something that I can relate to and others. Like for the instance of Shannon, her sharing of her relationship with her distant father and how she dealt with his passing is a testament to the power of a film such as Smoke Signals and the path that films like this set for us to walk and discuss and progress on. I also think that expressing how one feels is an important part of societal functions and pertains to the course heavily.

I guess the last question that I would bring up would be in the fact of discussions and why we didn’t get into more dialogs on heated topics. I get that like a butthole, everyone has an opinion but I think that we should have discussed religion a little more and also spirituality, and their differences and similarities. And like in parable of the sower how does one define God if you believe so. I hoped we would have dived into more of the education system and on hypothetical situations dealing with what our ideal educational system would be. I guess what I’m trying to get at here would be to get the juices flowing, not just for discussion but the blog post and writing in general.  

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

ANALYSIS

Parable of the Sower

By 

Octavia Butler

The aspect of religion and spirituality was and is till this day two separate things lumped into one. As a child I grew up Catholic, and going to church every Sunday until I was around 11 or 12 was something that I think every child in my position struggled with. But in my case, I stood out the most from the crowed when I wanted to be at my most unseen, church was anything but that to me. That fact that my relationship with God needed a middle man (the priest) and myself to be forgiven was bullshit, I knew it from a young age that my relationship if I were to have one with God would be personal; and private. Which brings me to the quote in the Parable “At least three years ago my fathers God stopped being my God” (Parable 7). I grew up believing in a higher power, so saying that my mother’s God isn’t my God is not true for me, but what is true is that the construct of her religion or of any for that matter I do not believe in. I am agnostic when it comes to religion, I don’t believe in fallowing in man mad things, much less religion but a I do have a respect for some of the good that it does; I can’t deny that. The fact that she thinks God is change is a great way of trying to find a connection to one of the things we can’t see or touch, in a sense I firmly believe that God comes from within.

What pertains to me when it comes to importance and the book itself, I think that disability was used sometime at the beginning of the book. I say this because it is not secret that I am wheelchair bound, and I think that you may know this already Lane I am proud of it. But it was the quote in parable where Lauren details “Hyperempathy is what the doctors call an “Organic Delusional Syndrome”. Big Shit” (Parable 12). I bring the point of disability up because it was one of the first themes that attracted me to the book right off the bat in the beginning chapters, she explains throughout the book how she has to deal with it and that resonated with me to a high degree. I’ve spent my whole life up until recently fighting to find myself, not realizing that I was fighting myself, when I realized this I let go and allowed myself to become the man that I needed rather than who I wanted to be. I have what you call AMC or Arthrogryposis multiplex congenita refers to the development of multiple joint contractures affecting two or more areas of the body prior to birth. Like Lauren I’ve fought with who I am throughout my life time, besides her struggle of survival the internal strife that she deals with I can relate to.

Another factor that I think pertains not only to my personal life but to the lives in the city would be the issue of homelessness that constricts the cities, and its citizens alike. I think the quote doesn’t do the homeless folks justice because I’ve met some that whole heartedly under circumstance out of their control lost everything but their body function, their minds and their strong spirits. In Parable she states that “Most of the street poor- squatters, winos, junkies, in general are dangerous” (Parable 10). Aside from the situations in the book there are a lot of good genuine homeless folks that were dealt a shitty hand in this city and even in this “Great” nation. It’s just unbelievable to me that we live in the 21st century and we’re still worried about problems that persisted a thousand years. That not to say that there isn’t some truth to this, I’ve had my fair shares of encounters, it’s just a shame.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

ANALYSIS.

Smoke Signals

By

Ethiel Antonio.

 The difference between this buddy movie and others is in the fact that the other buddy movies we’ve encountered were most centered around the notion of American life shrouded by this mysticism of either the great unknown West, or the narrative of finding some long-lost treasure/ and or place that might not exist. Smoke Signals stands out because yes; it holds true to the plot for which these movies are based off of but we see it take a step further in the sense of the introspective soul searching dynamic that the movie explores. For instance, we see it in the scene where Victor and Thomas start their journey on the bus and before they cut to them sitting, the bus is already on the road and there the flashback of victor running as a child occurs. I find it a bit spiritual because in this stage of the movie Victor is already a grown man and for that running scene to keep reoccurring while he confronts his fathers past and how his relationship with him transpired throughout. It was a pretty powerful reminder that the hate you give to your children will more than likely influence who they become as we can see with Victor. And to make it more evident that this is true within the film, just take a look at Thomas and see how well of a friend, (though a little naïve and airheaded at times) turned out to be with the right nurturing situation in his Grandmother. We see that the plot of the film is centered around the journey that Victor is on I guess to find redemption for his past and his fathers as well, while trying to not self-destruct. Subconsciously we see the conflict manifest itself through Victors denial and hatred of his father, and we see this play out during the first diner scene between Victor and Thomas. I want to make it clear that the relationship that Vic’s father had with Thomas was better than the relationship he had with Victor, his only son. Thomas goes on to explain to victor the story of his dad where he took Thomas to Denny’s and starts compare what victor saw in his dad to what he thought of him which in this case was seen throughout the movie, and it showed once again Victors self-destructive nature when disregarding Thomas’s words. That as well played a significant role in this perpetuation to subjugate his father to the worthless man that Victor made him out to be. The character development within the story is prevalent but we only see it for Victor, and how his understanding evolves into a mode of acceptance. At first, we see that Victor never really liked Thomas, in one of the first flashbacks we see Thomas and victor huddle around a fire and Thomas asked victor “why doesn’t your daddy love you”, enough of trying to hear Thomas victor threatens to punch him. In another scene we see that victor’s dad skips out for good and Thomas runs by to see what was happening, in a fit of rage we see Victor as a young boy punch Thomas after asking him what had happened. Now, skipping to the end of the film we see Victor apologize for his wrong doings, a reconciliation of the past if you will. The film is a timeless classic that represents a true buddy narrative of self-exploration and the need to find an equilibrium of sorts to remedy the hurt endured by their past.

[awesomecoolnutstudentthings]

WYNONA LADUKE.

Check it, I think that the Wynona LaDuke’s presentation was something that I needed to attend, I for one as an environmental activist of sorts I think that the whole presentation was a breath of fresh air. I fallowed the entire protest during the Dakota access pipeline and to say that while watching the live streams and to never reach the ending of the results was disheartening. during the presentation I saw that the efforts of the people that withstood the storm of the police, and the dogs, and the military grade weapons used against peaceful protestors was disgusting to say the least. But towards the middle of her presentation she discussed that the five major pipelines that in this case all came from Canada and were either being defeated in the courts and or pursued currently was alleviating on my heart. The fact that five major pipelines were defeated all with just the efforts of small grassroots organization, and the support of local legislative action stopped some of the biggest corporations from inflicting there will on indigenous lands. I guess to tie it back to what we are doing in class, I liked how throughout the presentation she would through out jokes during, to liven up the mood and tie it back to what she was presenting, making jokes on Trump and even about her own people. I think that she is a trailblazer in her own right.