About A Girl

Hair wavy and damp, brushed back away from her face. Her nose is running-decorated in glitter. Now her nose, finger and hair glimmers with colors of blue. “I’m fucked up” she says as her body waves and her thoughts come out aloud disconnected. She drops her phone for the second time beside her foot. She’s searching for something, perhaps a tissue, her lighter, no actually her phone. Again, for the third time she has forgotten something again. She looks down and around; raises her head. A smile lights up across her face-on to find something to drink, preferably water. In the kitchen now to stare at the stove then the fridge. Though she grabs a beer too-a decision to make of which to have first as she quenches both her habit and her thirst. 

Lisa looks into her in blank observation. For a moment she studies the girl before her in her body movements mocking the conflicting options going over in her mind. The move for the night was to make plans for a chill night, a smoke session. But now the dealer is too incompetent as the girl explains. She tells Lisa that he deserves his shitty job at Nachos and Bar. Lisa chuckles slightly to hear the girl’s frustration. In Lisa’s mind now going over what is actually unfortunate. 

An apology to Lisa is begged as the night extends to another hour without progress. “It’s alight, drink something.” Lisa beckons her to come closer. As she does, for a longing hug and a light kiss upon he lips. “It’s okay, do you need to sit?” Lisa pauses as she rubs the girl’s back. “You seem dizz.” 

“Oh no I’m fine, thank you.” The girl smiles again. 

Turning away from the embrace, the girl places her elbows onto the island countertop. Her head rest between her palms. “I’m sorry, just I took too many drugs and then I drank alcohol… and I don’t think that was a great idea now that I’m so fucked. I was looking for a good high and now I’m just.. I feel bad.” She raises her head from her palms to sniff, to wipe her nose again. “Do you mind?” Lisa tells her “no, you’re alright with me.” 

The girl lays her head on Lisa’s shoulder; brushing back her damp hair now. She kisses her on top her head. “You’re alright with me.”

“Thank you”, the girl whispers. She breaks away from the embrace to search her dazzled, glittered pocket purse. A pack of Marblos in hand now as she searches the living room for her lighter. “I need to smoke. Do you want to come outside?” 

“Sure.”

Lisa makes a motion with her feet. Bridget sniffs her shoes, paws at her shoelaces. Only startled for a moment, Lisa shakes her shoe -turns to make her way to the balcony. The girl ahead of her, and now the dog picks up into a pace to follow outdoors. 

The darkness is approaching midnight. 

What source of light allowed is the latter above their heads, a low tone of yellow. A wind chime matching the movement of a warm breeze. The two sit, offering one another a story about their day. As one tells the other, one may have a sense that both here are not altogether right mentally. Something in their respective past has affected them emotionally. And what they do to themselves physically expresses all that is wrong with someone else now a distant, painful memory.

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Rough Draft: A Reflection

Lisa S.

She claimed to have loved you. A simple statement covering all the mischaracterization and lies she wrote, to you, while in admiration. She claimed to love you for you. It was your smile that brightened her day. Your thoughts on the latest news, and all other topics concerning politics to religion. It was your beauty she grabbed, and mastered to then coerce your passions for her body and mind. All the physical and mental affirmation of love claimed to be faithful. ‘I love you’, Elia said straining to hold back. “And if anything happened to you I won’t be able to go further”. She only liked you when you were funny, not like this moping about. She only wanted to be around you because you’re different. And there is nothing more exhilarating than to add color to one’s life.

A young woman experiencing that new phase called love, yet she is already burnt out. What did Elia’s love mean to her in translation? “I love you because your mind is tormented and your life is not altogether”. PAUSE. “I love you because right now, you need to hear it”. A waste of breath. A waste of time and energy put forth to make the best of a toxic situation. Elia cares, but she’s heartless and self-centered. Lisa feels emotionally depleted, now. A love seeming to be the end of everything the future could promise in true love and affection. How to take her mind from Elia’s lies? She tried cursing her name. She tried a new love, yet that proved a pointless effort. Every new love a pointless effort.

Ear buds in, cell phone in hand, Lisa subdues the noise within her mind. Scrolling through her playlist to search for passionate anger and frustration about love. Searching for that song, and those lyrics about the troubles of love on a young heart. The song about that girl so trifling and dishonest about her character; deceptive about the cause of her love. She finds it, plays it. From the low taps of the drums to the shriek of the heartfelt singer she closes her eyes- Elia never loved me.



Elia M.

Elia lays with Dylan. Their love will be celebrated within a few months, so something right and special for him is being decided. Something right… Elia knows she will not find another guy like Dylan, as sweet and with patience so rare to find. He deserves someone better, certainly more attentive and sure of who she is and what exactly does she want. A woman that will treat him as the only person that matters most, adoringly and as a best friend. Elia has a best friend, the one isolate and always troubled and in need of comfort.
You love her dearly but not in the way that it is meant. You please her in every aspect, sexually too. Though in your complicated affair you cannot part from Dylan. To spare his feelings is never a contemplated thought as you love him. You cannot part from your friend as to do so would leave her so devastated, bouncing on and off her habit again. You’re not responsible but you feel obligated-to both. I mean Dylan is for your image, for your parents to accept you. For society to see that you too have conformed to what is right. All that fake exchange of pleasantries and then that dreaded presentation of a ring. What would you say if he asked? A sense of hesitation sits on your mind. To erase everything, shake your head, stand up and walk out. Making your way to the dining room you take your phone. Tell Lisa that you miss her.

 

 Writing A Book

To know how to read the student is taught to write. To know how to write the student is taught to read. 

The basics of the stroke of a crayon, pencil or pen in our early years tells us how to properly begin the story. They start with the article ‘The’. 

‘The boy’ as the subject. 

‘The boy ran’ as the subject doing something, in this instance [always] going somewhere in a forward direction.

‘The boy ran home’ as the subject going somewhere thought to be pleasant. 

The students are asked to write a forward thought as well. Why is the boy going somewhere pleasant? Is he anticipating something? Yes, he is anticipating to play, to eat, to do whatever that kid is concerned with more so than the lesson. Or so one may think as we were kids once but never overanalyzing kid-like thoughts. 

That’s the basic of how to write stories, and we continued to write stories that way until told otherwise. Or until told that the subject is someone else imagined. 
I’m typing this, rather, to explain my short trip to the bookstore. There I go to scan thoughts, phrases and ideas to soak in and to practice on my own. As well as I’m there I am always to read the preface, introduction or the very first chapter or sentence of the first or second paragraph of a thought. In those ‘firsts’ I gather the subject that the writer is to expound upon. As well, how the writer introduces the subject. 

I have come across that great stories or stories that are to mimic those that are great-it’s alright the first article ‘The’ was writen once before in billions of writings-begin either with a scene doing something or a person or thing doing something within the scene. 

For instance, the scene set in the time of marshes, raindrops left on the petals over night and fog is telling the story of a fantasy, of a crime or of horror. Some great writers write this scene to tell something about nature. What is its overall significance to the subject, the plot, or even the conclusion? Does this scene have meaning or is it simply the beginning? That all depends on how the writer describes the scene and how the writer writes-specific or overly detailed. Most importantly how well the writer may write.

The second instance being that the subject is either thinking, speaking, or the writer is speaking of the subject. Toni Morrison writes a poetic version of the writer speaking of the subject’s scene and viewpoint. Others like George R.R. Martin may write of a fantasy subject thinking then to explain why that subject thinks that way. Who knows what a ‘warg’ is and may do besides him? It’s the way in which the writer describes the subject that may captivate the audience to read more. 

The ability to imagine too, to identify with the subject or scene allows the reader to continue reading.

There requires no sophistication in word choice as the Victorian writers. There requires no complexities in sentencing structures, just the ability to connect with the reader. The ability to describe in a way that captivates your audience. 

The story simply has to be interesting to the imagination, intriguing to the mind. 

Would You Like To Upsize?

In the time being that I an here, I am aiming for a purpose or something anticipated. I am aiming for a career as a writer, as an author, as an acclaimed thinker. This has always been an underlying desire since childhood, though never brought forth and managed until now. Only until recently have others suggested that ‘with all of your knowledge and quest for more, as well for your need to express such a need to let it all out…’ Why not become a writer? I made a post, inspired by a questioned phrase stated by myself. ‘Why not now?’

This has been a new pursuit, well a rekindled desire with a direct purpose and reasons to back it. It was of my sophomore year as a an undergraduate college student that I found my desire. I wanted to write, I had typed and shared on a previous blog. I wanted to express myself, however I did not know whether fact or fiction would be my strongest. So I had tried fiction first. As imaginative as my words may appear to be, I have found that my challenge to write a fictional character about an emotion or thought I have not expressed or felt myself proved to be more difficult. I can write, well I can express myself poetically but the stories I find myself writing have no beginning or ending. They are at random occurrence, in the middle of a sentence or thought. For example, the boy walking through the woods. It was at random, a young masculine of center appearing person. The time and place was undefined. The nature was not adequately expressed but I was thinking of autumn. Where he was walking from and to was unknown to the reader and myself. In a sense what I aimed to capture was a feeling, or something I have felt and experienced myself. A person walking through the woods. A person that feels and hears the overwhelming presence of nature in the absence of disturbance by humans-except myself. What I was I thinking remained in my mind alone-chaotic. What I was feeling was so profound at that moment that I had wished to share it. The ability to express that moment and feeling in writing remains as a task to master.

I found that writing in fact to something proved to be more rewarding; inclined to my nature and thought process. The way in which I think is called ‘conceptual knowledge’, though not in reference to math functions but to a personality or way of thinking about ideas. I have shown this in one of my lengthy blogs, The ‘Borg’, as I relate a larger sporadic concept to a defined understanding as it relates to our own reality. I anticipate to write further in this way. As well, constructing arguments to widely held ideas is best described as a ‘brain workout’ for me. Again, another anticipated writing.

The Hunt

Through all of this anticipation, pursuits, and fire where am I? Outside of this screen, outside of my books and journal I am a fast food worker. A recent college graduate who is finding the ‘recentness’ of her expensive, yet to have been paid off, piece of paper- indicating ‘this person is versatile and educated’-is a negative. The moment an employer looks upon my resume they see food- menial task and job regarded for those without a degree. The moment that the employer see a list of my work experience primarily being in food-the assumption goes that I have absolutely no experience worth noting, worth to take a chance on. It is discouraging. Actually quite frustrating knowing that at the beginning of my resume list all of my achievements, education and skills and knowledge acquired that they all claim to so desperately want and need in a qualified candidate. Yet, here I am denied before I make an appearance, denied because they refuse to think outside of the box. As one interviewer rudely, and by ignorance, stated “but you only have fast food experience here”. I would assume that in order for me to not ‘only have something’ I must be given the chance to have something else. However, since I had managed to struggle for years to acquire what I only have now, then what I anticipate to have instead will be years to come. As a fast food manager, I wait and write until that chance is given.

I have played all of the possibilities for myself to become someone to another. I have tried every entry-level job position though without success. They want actual work experience. Since I am unable to lie as it is suggested often to me, I have totally given up. Why? I can rewrite my resume to reflect either the exact details as described in the job advertisement or write all that I am and can potentially be, but still I am worth nothing without experience. To have experience is to be given that chance to acquire experience and not to be judged for not having it. My struggle is in line with all other college graduates underprivileged, yet hopeful.

Though my family would have me to believe that it is my appearance that causes for my denial at every turn. They wish the best for me, though in their taking my interest at heart they ignore their own prejudices loudly projected. In the time I have applied for jobs, similar positions at a time, resume rewritten to reflect their purpose as my own, I have only received 4 interviews in this year thus far. Of those four interviews I have received one position for a temporary job working for the state education system. For every interview I had had, I have followed the correct behaviors and formal dress codes. I came prepared, pen and folder in hand. I came neatly, well dressed and groomed. My tone, manner of speaking always considered professional, proper or well spoken. What is the issue then? I am clearly a masculine of center female destroying heteronormative values and expectations, though not as a stereotype. Those within my community will consider me to be a dapper ‘stud’, or a masculine of center black lesbian female well dressed. According to my family this would all be fine if I were a male, preferably heterosexual, but as a female I should not exemplify that standard. And if I refuse the standard to be feminine then what will come to me is discrimination, but that is not how they phrase it. What will come to me are employers judging me based on my appearance and deciding to not give me a chance because of that fact, and they are right to do so because that is how society works. As I am often told, ‘we have to play the game’. But in their assumption they believe I have had more interviews requiring my presence, or what I look like to be known. No, out of hundreds of applications I have only had four interviews. This means only four out of hundreds know what I look like beyond my name in bold. And what my name bolded and enlarged can tell about my appearance is that I am a black American and that I am female.

What I tell them then, what they are suggesting is the issue now, is that I am to expect discrimination based on my gender expression. However, if I am to walk the line, to appear feminine as society may demand, what if I am denied a chance because I am a black American? The discussion changes, as this is a common issue that they are most passionate about. What if I were denied simply because I am female? To suggest that I must change would also reinforce a common racist and sexist mindset that once denied qualified or candidates with potential that so happen to be not white and not male. And as I recall- throughout my lessons and personal readings-that such forms of discriminations are not to be tolerated any longer. What I tell them then is that they are simply projecting their own prejudice about my appearance. And that they are living in a time where they are unable to give me, anyone else young, advice in how to navigate this struggling economy.

A Crowd

As I tell my mom, as worried as she is about my prospects in life-that I am one among millions of young hopefuls unable to prove their worth in such a tough economy. She will ask me often what I am doing, implying what am I doing with my life so that I can honor my degree. I tell her that I am trying, have given up but trying again. In the process of myself trying I do not mind so much working in the restaurant industry. There I am among several others thinking about obtaining a degree, those in the process of obtaining a degree, and those that have since graduated and searching for a purpose too.

We all discuss our dreams. I wish to be a medical assistant. I wish to be part of a professional sport. I wish to own my restaurant, too. I wish to do something but have not quite figured it out yet. Then I add, I wish to be a writer, but in the meantime I wish to teach. As we discuss everything other than fries and rude customers, it’s like we bond more closely. We are able to laugh. We cut up sometimes and I too try to remind them that this life is only temporary. Why? Those fries, temperature logs and a higher manager yelling about what we didn’t do or could do better again will get to a person. As I tell the others, sit them down, focus on the best that you can do and laugh at everything else. Yes the older customers tend to think of you as ‘lesser than’ or uneducated as they forever remain indecisive and entitled, or unknowing how much of a skill it takes to multitask at an ever increasing speed. I’m referring to restaurants where short staffing means you are the only person taking the order, cashing out the order, filling the drinks, bagging the orders, then ding! next person in line and impatient. I tell them, yes pick up the pace as I am your manager, but relax. Find your rhythm and relax, because you will have something better waiting for you.

Then I think of all others that have given up. The retail managers that laugh about their expensive piece of paper that is still worth everything to them. The same ones that make enough money to afford the essentials and all other leisure time, since they can pay as little as they can to their student loan debt. Not all, but some here are this way. They are those older than I am, a college graduate four years ago or more. And really, what is there to do when one lacks work experience for a position that basically requires what we have been doing and prepared for since the age 9 years old or so? I told this to my coworkers. I was denied a job once for something that I had experienced for years now and that is typing and knowing Microsoft programs. All of this practice, and as I remember began when I was 10 years old to my college freshman year, worth nothing at all. You are among everyone else with the same exact experience and know-how, aiming for the same entry-level positions to get a foot into a door for another.

Here we go, begging for more hours and better pay instead. We ask for a higher position, management, for those exact purposes. Then left limited as the business is limited as well-sent off to other stores to save hours and to gain more. Our best bet is for a second job, another possible yet impossible endeavor. Employers seem to want your time indefinitely no matter if they only schedule you for 15 hours per week. This means that they much rather have people whose hours a free of hassle and careful consideration. Why? They have enough on their plate too, perhaps struggling as we are in home life, work, college classes, etc.

The Purpose of This

I’m not trying to make a statement. Or to make this experience beautiful in writing to captivate an audience that is, too, disinterested. This is simply practice. I am to tell others of my experience, my current thoughts, and what I am about in several post. Then along the way to showcase my true interest in writing, in forms of analytical essays. Or an amateur approach at philosophy. Those are of my greater interest and purpose in writing, and wanting to write and to share more. And I do think this is my true calling here. That is to write in fact to something. This is to share my experience, feelings and knowledge rather than to give a fictional character to represent it all.

Discouragement

After experiencing technical difficulties with this website I felt lost. I had just nearly completed an essay, lengthy as my writing usually can become, only to find it erased. It’s as if I never typed, retyped or researched my topic at all. What was left are notes for this section, careful consideration for the reader. All of it now gone, disappeared.

The feeling was of anger, mostly. I deleted what was saved here as it was not much to revive to its original perfection. I was angry contemplating whether or not I should contact whomever that cannot do the impossible. That is to fix a computer glitch that exist as a technical issue, only on my end. I felt angry, then disappointed. To think of the hard work now left forgotten and unknown to the public.

I felt this emotion but decided to type here instead. I may feel discouraged in my plight to become something I once thought was meant for those brighter than myself. There will be times were I will lose all that I had worked hard. But if I continue, anew, with a different frame or mindset that I can still write, and write well. And here that I may type my heart’s desire of all of the various interest and passions, then I can do so again. The topic and many others will resurface again and I may write and relate to others as best I can again. My mind is endless and so is my time.

Heaviness of Heart

Negative emotions seeps way down into the very pit of her stomach. Friendless and without a companion, she stirs the feeling of loneliness within her mind. When existing with an innate wanting for companionship, you feel the isolation of being without another person. When existing within a society that craves a companion for the sake of having one, for the sake of never ever being alone, it’ll torment your mind. Why? She longs for a connection of a likeminded person. She doesn’t believe in souls or soulmates, or anything else of the imagined spiritual world. She craves for someone real and likable for once. But not to crave a body, but of a person. A body is merely a vessel that carries the character that exist within our minds. Have you ever thought about that exactly? The essence of our existence, what makes us the person that we are, is entirely composed of neurons and tissue that exist as the brain. She wants more than ever to crave that person, and to have and to hold dear of that person for forever long. This is simply not possible. She exist among a popular frame of mind that being with someone, rather, is better than being alone. A culture shock as she flip through the books of ups and downs in relationships that cares more for a person’s body than the actual person. She is sick, now, as she too was used by past lovers to satisfy this insisting need to not be alone.

She is bitter. An emotion that cannot be denied as she questions the predators of her lonely sensitive heart. Do you understand her or do you simply want of what you see? Do you like her or do you like an idea of someone so insightful and inquisitive that you cannot wait to master the experience of someone like her? Like her to place on a pedestal, like her to use as someone to make up the time and space left and forgotten by a past lover-or so it seemed. You do not actually care for the person that she is, really. She is a place holder within the chapter of your life, as you navigate your wants and need in a person through trial and error. Her limbs trembling with…stress, perhaps anxiety of meeting someone like you. Like the ones that left her broken, sunken in self-pity and regret that she may never let go. She may never trust again.

To exist alone until someone takes her love seriously.

It Is So…Poetic

I’m anticipating to write an extended essay about the issues most concerning black Americans and their communities. The subjects are typically those concerns of the poor [i.e. poverty, education, crime, police officers, etc.] and I aim to discuss why that primary focus is problematic too. So I’m gathering a collection of books, typically those that are of the popular canon of ‘black thought’ on such subject matters. Or rather the accepted authority on this subject matter in opposition to my own alternative thoughts. As I gather books I read to find the key points and topics that are related to this extended essay.

Yesterday I decided to read the most recommended and awarded text of this date: Between the World and Me authored by Ta-Nehisi Coates. Actually I skimmed through the text, as it is rather short and can easily be done, and found that I was not impressed. Do not become mistaken here, I skim then I read a book first. The initial captivation among the pages are what confirms my need to purchase, to read, then to recommend to others. I can only read of what I have skimmed if it is profound or simply interesting. I’ve found neither adjectives are appropriate for this book. Perhaps, as all others, being poetic with their ‘blackness’ may captivate an audience that are the same and those that are white Americans and liberal-minded. However that is all and nothing else.

Of course it was written in a time where police homicides of black Americans took the nation by storm. People are emotional, calling it the greatest crime against black American males from years past to this date. Though emotional, basically an appeals to emotions, the statistical data proves otherwise. Black American males are more likely a victim of intraracial crime than they are to be a victim of interracial crime or to be killed by a police officer. As well, white Americans, Latino Americans, and Native Americans are largely ignored whenever the discussion of police killings surfaces on mainstream media. The majority killed police officers this year and last year alone have been white Americans. However, it is more profound if we discuss the statistics based on groups or ‘per rate’. Still in doing so we largely ignore that Native Americans are effected more so than black Americans. That is what I mean that it is an emotional appeal and one used tirelessly in the discussion of ‘black thought’-the center of attention ignoring the plights of all others.

There is something about ‘black thought’ that always needs to be poetic and to appeal to emotions. Or to over exaggerate a claim and to assume a collective mindset on all issues, whether all black Americans face them equally or at all. I do not find this common tendency in almost every essay, or every book about issues concerning [some] black Americans, profound or interesting. I too have studied black American history, U.S. history, the history of me and my being here. I enjoy it and continue to read. Though I do not appropriate the pain of my ancestors as that is insulting compared to my far more privileged life and life of freedom. Though I grew up in a rural area I never assume that poverty and the issues that become of those existing in urban areas are similar to my own. Poverty in rural areas is different compared to poverty in urban areas and I cannot falsely assume to relate to those that have an entirely different experience. Or what I am saying here, I refrain from using black Americans as a collective whenever discussing police shootings and killings and all other issues. That would be false to do so, and to give a false impression to others about the experiences of black Americans as individuals. As well it is simply an appeals to emotions to do so. I can discuss my experiences without included the entirety of black Americans who may have or usually have not experienced the same life. And I can do so without the poetic rhyme.

In writing this future extended essay I have to keep an open mind. To include Coates and other like him that all write in a rather similar manner, I must understand their thoughts. Why is it a common way to speak of issues pertaining to some black Americans this way? Why do they always assume a collective experience extending to all black Americans? For instance, his text in referring to the police killing of Eric Garner: “And destruction is merely the superlative form of a dominion whose prerogatives include friskings, detainings…All of this is common to black people. And all of this is old for black people. No one is held responsible.” A collective experience and notion assumed to be the thoughts and concerns, even the experiences of all. To the last statement, why is it common to make a claim based on limited observation; an assumption without facts? I remember around the time Michael Brown was killed, the tension had continued ’til December where I read that ‘police officers are never held accountable’. I retorted with, well it depends on the circumstances of the event and the evidence found. Since within that same month a local news source reported a police officer sentenced to time in prison for his crime against a black woman. Unfortunately I do not remember the details to that particular news story, but to make a ‘never’ claim on the basis of limited observation is quite common. So I ask ‘why’. To ask is to read, and that requires me to read their thoughts.

So, I’m looking forward to reading those differences in thought processing. In doing so I will provide a proper book review of each book I am thinking to include for my extended essay.