Dillard Emulation

I wake to the sound of the television whispering underneath the hum of the air conditioner. Before my eyes open I can feel the weight of something small curled up at my waist, secured comfortably like a trey of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Lightly I can feel the small, warm ball slowly fill with air and release in perfect rhythm with my heart beat. It is my dog. Our breaths are one machine, one exhale signaling the inhale from the other. As my eyes open I'm already greeted by a flash of sunlight that made it through the shudders of my eye lashes, piercing my pupils like diamond earrings through the soft flesh of an infant. I am not fully ready to wake but my eyes have already seen freedom. There is indeed light at the end of the tunnel. My dreams have become harder to get back to and with each passing second the life that took me (hours? Years?) to create is destroyed and gone forever.

Eggers Emulation

Preface: If you are reading this then you are probably as pretentious as I am and therefore should continue reading the rest of this fore you would only be denying yourself by choosing otherwise. We have written this together; now, back to me. I decided to write this blog in an effort to emulate the great Eggers, king of the pen, god of ink and all things verbalized. My emulation is merely a rough sketch of the shoes Eggers wears--I don't believe we are worthy of a glimpse of the ankle--when he takes the garbage out.

1. He is great.
2. He is terrible.
3. "1" and "2" completely contradict one another
4. Contradiction is genius
5. Eggers contradicts himself a lot
6. Eggers is a genius

(7,8,9,10,11,12 are irrelevant.)

G - Great
E - Eggers
N - Never not good
I - Incredible
U - um...
S - Whatever.

He represents whoever you rooted for in this scene...As long as he won. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypFIX0xWPQw

Eggers Response

Egger's uses these type of universal concepts in order to connect with more readers. He also is so brutally honest that one can feel slightly embarrassed, as though these are the bare thoughts of our own, the enjoyment of it coming from our realized separation from this public information. I'm the type of person that can watch a movie or some reality television show, someone do something really ridiculous to the point that it's tough for me to watch and I change the channel, as though I actually know that person. Same idea. We are entertained because someones is saying aloud the things we keep secret, and hold sacred for fear of rejection or judgement from society.

Tuesday's Response / Random Rant titled, "Unlimited"

   I think that in my essays I hopefully have connected with more than just those who are like me. I guess the hardest thing for me to identify within my own writing is separating who I am from who I'd like to be, or strive to be--but that's down to the nitty gritty of things though. On the basis, I'm a very inspired, imaginative, and visual person and would like to at least inspire others by my story, those who would be able to interpret it into something meaningful to their own. Most of my writing goes into my music, and expressing myself on page is quite different in its un-limitations. Let me explain. When I say "un-limitations" I hyphen it because it isn't really a word. Limitations; "an act or instance of limiting", doesn't really get us any closer to our explanation either but we can define "limit". Limit; "something that bounds, restrains, or confines."The word "un" simply means to remove, so going back to my original statement--most of my writing goes into my music, and expressing myself on page is quite different in how it removes the bounds of my writing.

   As song writers, and artists, we are bound by the music in which we are writing for, the drum claps and melodies sculpted and molded for each word, our syllables customized for every instrument. As an artist, when writing I often feel confound to the genre in which I am identified with, and the content expected from me. I often feel confound to my own privacy, for once I feel the need of expression filters are unnecessary, the same way a woman wouldn't put on makeup before she goes to sleep. I am bound by my own ideas in which to bring my expressions to life, visually. I am bound by many circumstances that would take much more page than warranted so I digress, but I guess these bounds have came to be the an arena that I have called home. I am a lion in captivity, and a blank page without music is a land I am not ready for, not yet. There are too many "un-limitations", and I have yet to have broken all the rules here in captivity.

Red Wine & Blues Song Lyrics (Creative Music Post)

Red Wine & Blues  

by CG

It's been two years since the last time we touched but

I still reminisce when we couldn't get enough

There never came a time I didn't get it up, 

eat it up. 

Supper

god, I love it when it's heated up, 

In public.

PDAAA we would do it while we waited on the truck

like I was riding on your bumper, but

I've been away too long

And my dreams are where you reside now

the mind can get lonely when it's gone

But I'll be back in no time

and you'll be so happy when I'm home

You let me back in your life

and we become stronger than before.

Quote

It would be harder than before

Comma

you ain't have to tell those people 'bout our drama

End Quote

Looking back, I should have kept some stuff in private

I guess that's what happens when your honest but

At least I didn't lie.

I guess the time wasn't right.

I guess I needed God in my life.

When I left

At least I left with that reminder.

I hope you and he live happily,

and have a child,

and go trick or treat,

and spend Friday nights out at Applebees.

I've been out and seen white on white

I won't try that twice

but It's after me, or 

after CG, which I don't like

Because He's only half

of who you thought you knew

without asking Me.

Peanuts (Creative Blog Post)

When the hyper-sensual, hot, and moist surface of the tongue meets the slightly less warm, dry surface of the skin it almost always carries the taste of a jar of lightly salted peanuts; unless, of course, it happens to be the skin of a child who just got done playing a game of touch football on blacktop. In this case, and the weather exceeds 71 degrees with the sun shining, then the taste would probably consist of a jar of the original salted peanuts, in which one of the kids spilled on the blacktop, then discreetly scooped back into the jar before presenting them to you.

Critical Blog

I thought Ackerman's long, hyper-detailed accounts on the mundane and subtle intricacies of life seemed a bit boring but it was interesting to see how much one can literally "zoom in" on objects with literature. These hyper-detailed accounts allowed us to visualize the specificity and poetry of her muse. "The tiny ridges in our fingertips, whose roughness makes it easier for us to grasp objects, are randomly formed, resulting in the unique swirling weather systems we call 'fingerprints'." (117)