Written today, Sunday, December 7, 2008, about two hours ago
CAUTION: Content is long, about 740 words. Take time to complete, or there is very little point in attempting.
This fountain pen
Spurting forward with a liquid
No one dares frolic in
It does not shine
With the fresh clarity of fantasy
It does not gleam
With the mischief of youth
Its splashes do not sound
Of laughter or music
It falls with a muted thud
It slides like a slug
A gleaming trail on an uneven surface
A shade between green and gray
Barely the hint of color
Aged and weary
Drying to dust soon after
Not the green of glass
Nor the shade of thick, murky water
And not the grey of a dreary day
But the green of parasitic moss
And the grey of a fungal poisonous mushroom
Blended together
Under a shine seen only in the eyes
Of a disappointed, helpless and resigned child
A child by name only
But at heart something
Very possibly
Quite completely
Removed
Looking upon this fountain pen
It’s accompanying inkwell
A dull pot without a lid
To preserve its suspicious contents
Always evaporating
Into the air that you breathe
Be careful
It could be poisonous
But it never empties
Always brimming with this
Murky fluid
The fountain pen is callous but careful
Not to spill the contents of the inkwell
Onto the rough surface
Of the old wooden table
The wise aged table
Once with an inviting varnish
And a woody, refreshing scent
Now carved and discolored
Too dry to be moldy
And too sturdy to be useless
Once in a while
More often than is realized
The fountain pen forgets its place
Dipping into the inkwell
With too much vigor
Excitement is not to be found in a place such as this
Yes, the fountain pen forgets its place
And the murky fluid it is convinced is ink
Overflows from inside the inkwell
Creeping over the edge
Hesitantly sliding down
The side surfaces
Searching dearly for a hint of friction
Along the side surfaces
Of the eerie onyx inkwell
And though there may be
Inconsistencies along the surface
This fluid isn’t nearly
As friendly as water
And it slides down helplessly
Until it reaches the table
The dingy, rough
Though not splintered
Wooden table
The fountain pen stubbornly reacts
With sputtering astonishment
Absolutely every single time
It sees that the mess
Is not the grey-green color
It has resigned itself to
Upon the pieces of parchment
It acquaints itself with
No
The pool of color collecting
At the base of the inkwell
Is a splash of an unfamiliar hue
On the dulled, frayed surface
Like the trauma of female puberty in pristine hospital sheets
But this shade of red
Is not nearly as bright
It is thicker than dirty blood
It is darker than a cloudy night sky
It is a red
But a red of such blatant strength
You could only simply watch it
As it simply sits and pools
In all of its glory
Not merely is its color so striking, however
Its fragrance is majestic
Mysteriously
Pleasing
So foreign
The fountain pen can only watch
The fluid flow
Until the fragrance reaches its senses
And it can only focus on that one sense of smell
Attempting futilely to embrace it
Unmoving
Afraid it will disappear at the slightest change in movement
Meanwhile
The fluid creeps unnoticed
Right into the surface
The table breathes a sigh of life
The sneaking suspicious fluid
Seeping into the grain
Into and through the cracks
Like veins on a leaf
The fragrance disappears
The fountain pen reawakens
Only to find that nothing has changed
The same stoic inkwell
On the same resigned table
As it was just moments ago
The fountain pen, flabbergasted
Returns to the indifferent piece of parchment
Soon to forget all about it
The Red Luscious Fluid
Until the next time
It finds reason to be overzealous
And dip into the inkwell
With too much vitality
The table remains waiting
For that next time
The naïve fountain pen
Slips up and splashes
The inkwell remains sturdy
Simply allowing their antics
For this is the way of survival
This was their cycle of life
Parchment comes and goes
For reasons they care nothing about
As they remain
And inconsistently continue
On in their way
The only signs of their livelihood
The dreary ink upon those sheets of parchment
Lying among the many sheets of parchment
In this age of information
The three beings together
Indifferently
Indefatigably
And infallibly
Albeit mysteriously
Do remain.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Smells of Smoke.
Written on Thursday, October 16, 2008
I love a man who smells like smoke
From burning up and out
Like campfires that struggle to light
But when lit
Bursts into flame
So bright and so strong
It burns the campers
Poking the sparks with sticks
Talking, laughing, and chiding
All the while
Because all they really want is to eat their meal
That fire wants to get lit, and bursts into flames
Maybe scorch the stick-pickers and static pokers
The hunters and the stalkers
Watching from the sidelines
Only ever watching
That big beautiful catch
But settling for the weak leftovers
Survival of the fittest
Is how animals move along
Evolve
Get stronger
And resolve
But these men who smell of smoke and ash and blood and perspiration
Move along with a force that is
Their own
Force of inspiration
Evolution does not apply
For they are not
Organic animals
They do not evolve
Due to others that are weaker
And they never resolve
Because there is time left to live longer
They are forces of nature to be reckoned with
Like the crass campfires
And the combusting volcanoes
And angry tornadoes
And disappointed hurricanes
Natural disasters that are causal to
The survivals and extinctions of the fittest and the weakest
Like rocks in the sun
And the snow caps on mountains
They live longer than the roaches baking in the garbage dumps of humans
They never perish as the sun’s flares are never enough to ignite them
I love a man who smells like smoke
From burning up and out
Like campfires that struggle to light
But when lit
Bursts into flame
So bright and so strong
It burns the campers
Poking the sparks with sticks
Talking, laughing, and chiding
All the while
Because all they really want is to eat their meal
That fire wants to get lit, and bursts into flames
Maybe scorch the stick-pickers and static pokers
The hunters and the stalkers
Watching from the sidelines
Only ever watching
That big beautiful catch
But settling for the weak leftovers
Survival of the fittest
Is how animals move along
Evolve
Get stronger
And resolve
But these men who smell of smoke and ash and blood and perspiration
Move along with a force that is
Their own
Force of inspiration
Evolution does not apply
For they are not
Organic animals
They do not evolve
Due to others that are weaker
And they never resolve
Because there is time left to live longer
They are forces of nature to be reckoned with
Like the crass campfires
And the combusting volcanoes
And angry tornadoes
And disappointed hurricanes
Natural disasters that are causal to
The survivals and extinctions of the fittest and the weakest
Like rocks in the sun
And the snow caps on mountains
They live longer than the roaches baking in the garbage dumps of humans
They never perish as the sun’s flares are never enough to ignite them
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Very late in delivery, but I got a twitter account. I wasn't sure how often I'd post there, and how much I'd actually enjoy the experience, so I took a while in spreading the word. I find I do enjoy it, and I use it relatively regularly.
Find me:
https://twitter.com/sighshrug
Enjoy me.
Add me.
Find me:
https://twitter.com/sighshrug
Enjoy me.
Add me.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Paddles Swing and Balls Fly at QC Game Room
This was an assignment for journalism class. The assignment was to write a new story on a sports event.
Thursday, April 7, 2008, the CUNY Queens College game room was the site of an intimate, but official tournament between Ronald Dickinson, 19, and Floyd Kerr, 18. They played a game lasting longer than either of them had anticipated at the table closest to the help desk. The ball had been hit over the desk multiple times in the heat of the game, so much so that the woman at the desk thought she might suffer injury.
Kerr and Dickinson have spent the better part of their free time between classes during their college career so far in the Game Room practicing their slices and smashes, preparing for a chance to display their skills and moves, and show the other one up.
They are both freshmen and in CUNY honors. With several classes in common, they are friends during class. But at the table tennis table, their jackets come off, and with paddles in hands, they are different beings to reckon with.
During the pre-game briefing, Kerr said the game should be over within a half hour. Obviously, he thought very little of Dickinson’s skill in the game. But Dickinson was oblivious, and agreed the game would be short-lived.
The pre-game warm-up indicated that Dickinson might have an advantage in the game. Kerr is known to play very poorly under public scrutiny. There were at least 20 other people in the room during the game. Kerr struggled with his shortcomings, and tried harder to focus on his slices, as Dickinson “practiced shots.” “My smashes are a lot better with this paddle,” said Dickinson, about the battered green paddle, standard at the Game Room.
At 12:15 P.M. the game began. There were seven sets of eleven points. The first to win four sets wins the match.
Volley went to Kerr. And so did the first point. The set began evenly, but then Dickinson had the advantage with nine points to Kerr’s five. Kerr got the idea, and caught up. In the end, the set went to Kerr. Despite the uncomfortable audience, Kerr managed to put Dickinson at doubt.
The second set’s volley went to Dickinson. Again, the first point went to Kerr. Both were neck at neck for the better part of the set, and the referee called deuce twice, Kerr with the advantage first, and then Dickinson. Dickinson won this point. Kerr accepted gracefully, still confidant that he would win in the end.
For the third set, volley and final point went to Dickinson, again. Kerr got the first point, but said he hadn’t gotten his “competitive juices” flowing steadily yet. Despite Dickinson’s advantage in the game so far, with two points to his own one, Kerr doesn’t consider his opponent much of one at all. Dickinson was still oblivious to Kerr’s condescension, but at the time, he had full reason to be. He was in the lead.
Dickinson got the volley at the start of the fourth set, but Kerr got the first point. Kerr’s competitive juices were definitely flowing, because he won this set with eleven points to Dickinson’s four. Dickinson’s overconfidence from the good start has failed him, and helped Kerr’s competitive edge. Though the set was short-lived, it only just evened the score between the two.
Dickinson, spurred on by the prize of a free meal of his choice at the gyro stands adjacent to the college campus, comes back with a flare in the fifth set. He served the first shot, and won the first point. But Kerr wasn’t giving up quite so easily, as he realized Dickinson would not be quite as easy to beat as he’d originally anticipated. The game began steadily. Kerr gained theadvantage with eight points to Dickinson’s five. Dickinson came back with three consecutive points.
The game was really on then, with four deuce points to the end of this set. Beads of sweat were visibly sliding down the necks of either player. Kerr took off his jacket, though he is known for wearing it in any weather or wear, adamant about his wardrobe. Dickinson held the advantage at the second deuce point, and Kerr at the third. Dickinson held the advantage again at the fourth, and won the set.
The sixth set began at close to an hour into the game. Dickinson was proving his skill, and Kerr was forced to shed his trademark jacket in the heat of the game. Kerr served and won the first point. Dickinson had Kerr running back and forth with the intensity of his returning slices and smashes for the better part of the set, but in the end, the set went to Kerr.
Dickinson was feeling the prize lunch slowly slipping away. Kerr could care less about the prize lunch; he just wanted to beat Dickinson. Always a graceful winner and never a sore loser, Kerr intended to uphold his reputation. Dickinson was looking to improve his game, and of course the prize lunch, always a worthy cause in his mind, or stomach, for that matter.
The seventh set went to Kerr with eleven points to Dickinson’s seven.
The air, thick with stress, competition, and the force of ping-pong balls bouncing and flying off the table, finally cleared after Kerr’s win. Dickinson conceded heartily, saying Kerr was a worthy opponent.
Kerr donned his jacket once more.
The prize lunch was postponed until further notice due to lack of funds.
Dickinson laughed it off, saying it was better he didn’t win. Kerr won the game, and to him, that was a far better prize than any gyro stand lunch.
Thursday, April 7, 2008, the CUNY Queens College game room was the site of an intimate, but official tournament between Ronald Dickinson, 19, and Floyd Kerr, 18. They played a game lasting longer than either of them had anticipated at the table closest to the help desk. The ball had been hit over the desk multiple times in the heat of the game, so much so that the woman at the desk thought she might suffer injury.
Kerr and Dickinson have spent the better part of their free time between classes during their college career so far in the Game Room practicing their slices and smashes, preparing for a chance to display their skills and moves, and show the other one up.
They are both freshmen and in CUNY honors. With several classes in common, they are friends during class. But at the table tennis table, their jackets come off, and with paddles in hands, they are different beings to reckon with.
During the pre-game briefing, Kerr said the game should be over within a half hour. Obviously, he thought very little of Dickinson’s skill in the game. But Dickinson was oblivious, and agreed the game would be short-lived.
The pre-game warm-up indicated that Dickinson might have an advantage in the game. Kerr is known to play very poorly under public scrutiny. There were at least 20 other people in the room during the game. Kerr struggled with his shortcomings, and tried harder to focus on his slices, as Dickinson “practiced shots.” “My smashes are a lot better with this paddle,” said Dickinson, about the battered green paddle, standard at the Game Room.
At 12:15 P.M. the game began. There were seven sets of eleven points. The first to win four sets wins the match.
Volley went to Kerr. And so did the first point. The set began evenly, but then Dickinson had the advantage with nine points to Kerr’s five. Kerr got the idea, and caught up. In the end, the set went to Kerr. Despite the uncomfortable audience, Kerr managed to put Dickinson at doubt.
The second set’s volley went to Dickinson. Again, the first point went to Kerr. Both were neck at neck for the better part of the set, and the referee called deuce twice, Kerr with the advantage first, and then Dickinson. Dickinson won this point. Kerr accepted gracefully, still confidant that he would win in the end.
For the third set, volley and final point went to Dickinson, again. Kerr got the first point, but said he hadn’t gotten his “competitive juices” flowing steadily yet. Despite Dickinson’s advantage in the game so far, with two points to his own one, Kerr doesn’t consider his opponent much of one at all. Dickinson was still oblivious to Kerr’s condescension, but at the time, he had full reason to be. He was in the lead.
Dickinson got the volley at the start of the fourth set, but Kerr got the first point. Kerr’s competitive juices were definitely flowing, because he won this set with eleven points to Dickinson’s four. Dickinson’s overconfidence from the good start has failed him, and helped Kerr’s competitive edge. Though the set was short-lived, it only just evened the score between the two.
Dickinson, spurred on by the prize of a free meal of his choice at the gyro stands adjacent to the college campus, comes back with a flare in the fifth set. He served the first shot, and won the first point. But Kerr wasn’t giving up quite so easily, as he realized Dickinson would not be quite as easy to beat as he’d originally anticipated. The game began steadily. Kerr gained theadvantage with eight points to Dickinson’s five. Dickinson came back with three consecutive points.
The game was really on then, with four deuce points to the end of this set. Beads of sweat were visibly sliding down the necks of either player. Kerr took off his jacket, though he is known for wearing it in any weather or wear, adamant about his wardrobe. Dickinson held the advantage at the second deuce point, and Kerr at the third. Dickinson held the advantage again at the fourth, and won the set.
The sixth set began at close to an hour into the game. Dickinson was proving his skill, and Kerr was forced to shed his trademark jacket in the heat of the game. Kerr served and won the first point. Dickinson had Kerr running back and forth with the intensity of his returning slices and smashes for the better part of the set, but in the end, the set went to Kerr.
Dickinson was feeling the prize lunch slowly slipping away. Kerr could care less about the prize lunch; he just wanted to beat Dickinson. Always a graceful winner and never a sore loser, Kerr intended to uphold his reputation. Dickinson was looking to improve his game, and of course the prize lunch, always a worthy cause in his mind, or stomach, for that matter.
The seventh set went to Kerr with eleven points to Dickinson’s seven.
The air, thick with stress, competition, and the force of ping-pong balls bouncing and flying off the table, finally cleared after Kerr’s win. Dickinson conceded heartily, saying Kerr was a worthy opponent.
Kerr donned his jacket once more.
The prize lunch was postponed until further notice due to lack of funds.
Dickinson laughed it off, saying it was better he didn’t win. Kerr won the game, and to him, that was a far better prize than any gyro stand lunch.
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