Thursday, June 28, 2007

''coz I been in the lab with a pen and a pad"

So, I haven't been slacking. School has focused my efforts. I wrote
this story over the past week. It will be workshopped next week.

I've actually learned quite a bit in this class. The nuts and bolts of things, the subtle things that one isn't even aware of as they read. How to hide the seams, how to control the image the reader has in their head, how to hint at things and then finally drop them just as the reader is figuring them out, how to explicate emotions with nothing but the way a character cuts against their background.

Anyway, if you get a chance to read the story . . .I'd be psyched.

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Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Nowhere, man. Nowhere

And sometimes when you can't think of anything to write you just close your eyes and let the latent anxiety and joy trembling in your fingertips find a home out there in the ether. At what point does our language become coherent and instinctual, when do we stop thinking about it? And do you and I really speak the same language, or do we each have our own with overlaps based on familial and geographical relationships, education, tendency towards poetics?

I've done my best over the last half-dozen years to situate myself in the space between independence and isolation. To take control of my domain, my life, my experience. And then once a year my doting parents, their fears and ambitions vast and frigid as tundra, visit and every scaffolding I've arranged is either shoved into a corner or temporarily disassembled. I can smell the fear on them. And they try their hardest to convince me of its validity. Since they've arrived there has been no writing, no exercise, no reading. Just work and then sitting around wringing hands with nothing to talk about and finally me smoking under the covers at midnight so I can sleep for a few hours.

Next Wednesday marks the falling action in the most chaotic month of my life. I've felt the full range of emotion, and the hybridization of various strains I had never imagined. I don't want a reprieve, not necessarily, but 30 free seconds to scribble some lines about it. An hour to lay down and stare at my blank whiteboard for inspiration. A late-night foray out into the neighborhood to collect impressions, indentations, instances of anxiety. Alcohol saturating my cytoplasm.
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Sunday, June 03, 2007

NY

As an epilogue to the craziness, I'm starting to decompress. The last few weeks had been anxious ones, the events of the present sort of brooding out over the fields and me holding my breath. But now, I'm in the thick of it, to be sure. I feel as though I've aged a decade in the last month.

Visiting with a great old friend is like visiting with all of the people that made up our tribe. As though we are merely out for an errand and caught up in some misadventure we will soon report to a smoky living room over Mickey's. And we had quite a misadventure. JK and I went to New York for a handful of days, after a stint in Boston. Boston is a beautiful town, really, though we spent most of it hung-over or rampaging through various bar districts with conviction. Night one we drank in the oldest bar in country and wandered around Boston's supposed slum practicing neuroscience. Night two we got kicked out of a decent BBQ as the BAC increased and everything we learned about fun in Detroit was laid bare. Hurdled balconies, thrown cups, melodramatics, more thrown cups and finally we absconded out into the street with pride in our mission, and a cadre of recent Bostonians willing to go anywhere or do nearly anything. Stops at a complete stranger's house to round up more, and out to the bars to get kicked out, drink Guinness, and simulate crack addiction.

A dazed four hour bus into New York with no explanations or entertainment, the subtle sense that this was all some front for the Chinese mob and that kilos of opium or dozens of illegals must be stowed beneath the bus. Finding ourselves from Chinatown to Times Square like the smart-ass kid from Family Circus's as we whirled through substations, mingled with tourists, waved to Angela Lansbury and sides-stepped the politest criminal alive. Finally into our stark hostel, staring down a pre-programmed fanny pack with a terse script and a high-counter. Into our rooms to contemplate location and plans, and then back out into the streets to meet good friend's I haven't seen since I made the leap. We wandered . . Empire State Building, several Perfect Pints, a stroll by twelve million peepshows, a drink in a vampire bar, and a endearing adieu. Down to Greenwich Village to drink as much as possible amongst languages we couldn't understand and several hundred of what I thought were caricatures of sailors on leave. Interesting smells and the dawning realization of how far this empire spans, and how entomological all this slithering around underground and emerging in alien lands drenched in familiar symbols. New York City is itself a caricature of infinity, as Forster would agree.

The next day we spent wandering Central Park, the Most Praiseworthy Natural History Museum. Met some Fellow Travelers at the Hostel and stormed the bar next door while we waited in anticipation for someone's friend to show up. Or something. We stayed up late ranting in staircases until the Fannypack sent us scuttling like cockroaches back to our cramped room.

The next day we accomplished little in the way of sight-seeing: Staten Island Ferry (witness to most of the city skyline), Wall Street, the WTC site, etc etc. In the evening we ran back into friends from the evening before, Australians and Brits, and went out in search of chaos and bass after general swigs of 151. After a few hours of stumbling around and dancing as if it would be our last opportunity for years, we all climbed out a window of the hostel onto a fire escape and watched the sky gradually become morning.

Joe left early. I staggered through New York with a few things left to see. ..
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