In reading: In Cold Blood I enjoyed reading it but I also felt that I was reading a novel and it didn't seem like it was real. If that even makes sense. As I reading the story too..I was wondering how he could even write about the criminals. I'm wondering while reading the story how can he know what they're saying and what they are talking about and what they are doing. How did he know what Perry and Dick were saying and doing? It was so interesting that Capote became every character in his story. So he did have to do a great deal amount of research on the Clutter family because there was no way he could interview them because they had already been murdered.
As for watching the movie. I really enjoyed it. It anwsered my questions that I had for: In Cold Blood. The movie focused on Trumans's life and his involvement with Perry and him writing his novel. It seemed that Capote was always the life of the party and he was real funny. I feel sorry for Perry because he was never going to get help and nor did he as a child. He came from a fucked up family and somehow him getting a head injury seem to just mess him up over more.
I was sad seeing Capote cry. It was upsetting seeing that scene when Perry was going to get hanged. I also more interested in the Clutter family. I could be wrong but there might of been more to that family. It seems like they were the perfect family always doing good and being nice to the community however though the wife had a mental illness. It just seems to me that they were personally distant from people. But in public they were very helpful to the community. That was the impression that I got while reading: In Cold Blood.
I enjoyed reading the book and watching the movie.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Re: First Draft-Literary Journalism-Jimmy
Jimmy
Hi, Y’all, my name’s Jimmy, Jimmy Dean, folk’s aroun’ here call me Jimmy and my family. But to most of the world out there, around the globe, they know me as: James Dean. I was born on February 8th, 1931. To Mildred and Winton Dean. Boy did I love my mama, I felt she was the only person who understood me, understands me. Mother why did you have to go, why did you have to leave me mama in this cold world. Where no one understands me. Fuck, hey there, baby, sweetie, goin’ pass me one of them cigarette’s, you got a lighter, ok, ahh; I love that sweet taste of them cigarettes.
Always make me feel real cool, real cool. Well, where was I, oh yeah, now, mother. Sweet, sweet, mother. As I was saying I was born to Mildred and Winton Dean and I was born in good ol’ Marion, Indiana. Hoosier, is what we’re called, say it to me one more time, baby, Hoosier! We’s all just a bunch of farm hicks out here.
Even though I grew up on a farm, I traveled back and forth to Los Angeles and Marion, Indiana when I was a young child. My father was a Dental Technician and so we moved there because of a job opening and because that’s where the army sent him. As I was a little boy, mother always would put me into all different kinds of art, I use to play the violin and after school she would always read me poetry, such as Robert Frost. I also loved listening to classical music. Quite frankly, I still do.
Unfortunately, though, mother got real sick, I remember grandmother came down from Indiana and she was helpin’ around the house, doing’ all the cleaning and washin’ and stuff like that. Father was at work, and one day, mother wasn’t doin’ so good. Doctor
2
says, she was sick, real sick. She was sick with Ovarian Cancer, now you see in those days during 1939 we didn’t have the technology that could of helped take the cancer out and I can see in my mama’s eyes. Her beautiful sunken eyes just like mine and I can see the darkness in her eyes the black cancer that were them eggs and eating them ovaries away too.
And then that was it, my nine year old gaze at her pupils and her loving, mother, eyes, and the horrible dark cancer behind them pupils and it was time to let her go. No tears, no crying, just empty now.
Before I knew it was good bye, L.A. and back to Indiana. As me and my grandmother left Los Angeles we went by train back home to Indiana. Mother was in there to. She was in her coffin traveling back with us and we buried her back in Indiana. Sad thing is Father did not go with us. He did not attend mother’s funeral nor did he raise me for the past 9 years of my life.
So from nine years old on I was raised by my good ol’ Aunt and Uncle (Ortense and Marcus) Winslow. So here I am playing with my cousin Marcus “Markie” Winslow. We’re having fun. I love that boy. He now owns and is incorporated with the James Dean Inc. Good cigarette, smoke, I tell ya. I’m almost done, too, I’m gonna need me ‘nother one in a jiffy.
I lived with my aunt and uncle till I was 18 years old. I lived in Fairmount, Indiana, with Aunt Marcus, Aunt Winslow, Markie and their daughter (my cousin) in a farm house. Still standing up today as we speak. I attended Fairmount High School from 1945 till 1949 and I was in sports such as baseball and basketball. The two most
3
wonderful people I got to know and have in my life was the great Adeline Nell who was my Spanish, Drama, and Speech and the infamous Reverend James DeWeerd.
I really liked Mrs. Nell she taught me everything I needed to know about Drama and Speech. I use to go over James’s house now that man had style he had grace and I looked up to him too. He taught me about life and how you need to enjoy life and go around and explore everything.
Mr. DeWeerd taught me how to live the sophisticated life and we would also listen Tchovisky and other classical music when I would go over. There is nothing anything better that I loved to do was be on that motersickle. I’d drive through Fairmount goin’ as fast as I could, racing, and racin’ through life and on the farm through the cornfields.
I graduated in June of 1949 and my Aunt and Uncle threw me a going away party. Because I was going to L.A. to become an Actor my father also lived there. He had told me that I could go on and live with him and that he wanted me to study law. My father lived in Santa Monica, California. That is where my mother, father, and I had lived when I was a little boy.
I attended Santa Monica Community College and I was taking law courses but it just wasn’t for me, Jimmy. I got fed up with the law courses and I started what I enjoy and love the most. I started taking Acting classes. I then enrolled my self at UCLA (University of California Los Angeles) it was there I joined my first Fraternity but them brothers them I wasn’t digging them. I’d get into fist fights and their presence alone was
4
buggin’ me. So they kicked me out and things weren’t going to well with my father. He doggone got upset ‘cause I wasn’t taken anymore of them law courses.
So I left and dropped out of school and met up with Bill Blast a new friend of mine. And I started doin’ acting gigs and I got me a part time job at a place parking cars.
My first gig that I got was doin’ a Pepsi commercial and that was a’ round 1952. There was just a bunch of people I‘d been meeting and goin’ out with but I always felt empty inside. I’d like to be alone and sit in the dark. I couldn’t sleep I’d be up all night at the cafés and diners drinking coffee and chit-chatting with whomever’s was at the diners at 2am or 4am in the morning. You see I was what you call a somniac, an Insomniac, yeah, so.
So if you see me in pictures ‘n stuff and I have bags under my eyes it’s because I’d been up all night. Plus my mother had bags under her eyes maybe it’s hereditary.
A lot happened from 1952-1955 and it seems all like a blur to me it felt like everything went right past me like I was on my motersicle. All I know is I was doing television shows for “Hallmark” and I was in several plays like Meet the Jaguar and the Immoralist. Oh and what a funny thing I was doing a commercial by ford they had asked me to be the spokesperson on telling them kids to becareful and slow down on the roads and highways and you know what I told them on that commercial: “It might me one of you guys saving my life.”
There was a very special girl in my life her name was Pierre-Angeli, it was doomed from the beginning. Tragic love never has a happy ending her mother was an Italian bruja. She never liked me I was to dangerous and not good for her daughter. I was
5
not man enough and I wasn’t Catholic. Catholic my penis man, I was just as good and better than that Vic Damone guy. Oh, geez, how I miss Pierre, I would just love her to death and I would do anything to see her again. It’s too bad she ended up marrying Vic and having their perfect Catholic wedding and it’s what her mother wanted not Pierre.
You know what I was right there outside of the church on my motercikle smoking a cigarette and I didn’t have the nerve to go in. What good of what it done I had nothing to offer Pierre except my love and her mama would have been right in the middle of everything and gosh. I need another smoke. I sure do miss my mother. So here I am at the L.A. airport ready to leave for New York. I really fell in love with New York. I felt like I was at home. So I stayed there for about a year or two from the early 50’s and now I’m doing a film it’s called East of Eden. East of Eden was a book written by John Steinbeck and he was part of the film that was produced and directed by Elia Kazan. John was always on set helping out and givin’ us pointers on how he we could play the characters better. We did most of the filming up in Salinas, California. Got to hang out with the Mexican folk them people were real nice and kind. We did shoots out there in the lettuce fields and they got a lot of fields up there in Salinas, Ca.
Next film I got casted in was Rebel with out a Cause. I made let me see here, it must have been 1954 when I made Rebel and it was see I made all these three movies within a year to two years within themselves. So I was in Rebel with the kind kid Miss Natalie Wood. She was so sweet. She was the little girl in A Miracle on 34th Street that was made in the 1940’s.
6
Sal Mineo was also my good friend that kid looked up to me. I love that kid it was too bad he got tragically killed and so did Natalie. And Pierre she drugged her self to death. I also got to know Dennis Hopper he was the villain on the movie Speed.
That movie was about teenagers and how they got into trouble with their parents and sometimes the law. I was now about 23 or 24 years old and the last movie that I did was Giant now we went up to Texas and I got to meet Liz Taylor, Roc Hudson and I got to work again with Sal and Dennis and Elia was our director again. I really enjoyed getting to know. Mercedes McCambridge. She played the sister to Roc Hudson on the movie. I got to meet some more Mexicans. I really love these people.
The only thing I loved more than anything in the world was acting. I just I was able to express my guts my emotions my passion and I completely loved that was the only time I never felt conscious. I still was feeling lonely though, felt real sad. So I bought me a car and I named it, “Little Bastard.” It was a grey Porsche spyder and not too many of those were made. It was made by a German Manufacturer. Since I loved drag racing I won me several awards and I had signed me up for one of the car races up in Salinas, Ca. So I took two photographer friends with me and my mechanic.
That day on September 30th I got to see my father and one of my Uncle’s from Indiana before I headed out to leave for Salinas. I’m still mad and resentful at my father but I guess I’ll always love him. So then we left and headed for Salinas. We stopped in Bakersfield to have a bite to eat at a local diner. Then we left it wasn’t to far from there that I got pulled over and got a ticket and can you guess what for, speeding. After that, I just tore the ticket I didn’t care.
7
That was that. So Ralph, my mechanic, and I were racing along through the long roads of Cholame, California. My photographers we’re quite a ways behind us and from a distance we saw a green Ford car coming the opposite way and you know me driving real cool with a smoke in my head and wearing my red hooded jacket with my cool shades. I was racing man it was as if I was the only person that existed and nobody else and I told myself, “"That guy's gotta stop... He'll see us."
I never really saw what hit me. All I know was I was out of my body seeing my mechanic on the passenger side and I’m on the driver’s side and I looked horrible. I had whiplashed with the impact of the car because the driver hit my side. And I practically almost got decapitated. After that I heard the sirens coming and I was then put onto the gurney and then I remember seeing the police I was on a hospital and I got this real terrible headache and before you know it. My head fell to the side and I went to sleep. A sleep from this world
I was now back in Indiana and as I walked through the Funeral I saw people crying and my poor Aunt and Uncle and my cousin Marcie. I touched his face but you know. Then I walked right up to my…coffin and there I was. I looked like a sweet angel, proper and gentleman like and can you believe it. I finally cried.
The people and family members who were there had gone and walked to the Fairmount Cemetery and there I was laid to rest I was there co-mingled with everybody else except they couldn’t see me I was the only one wearing my red hooded jacket and I threw me my own white rose after that everybody had left, the Winslow’s had left and it was just me there. Me and James. James Dean and me.
8
And then I heard the most softest voice in the whole wide world and I fell to my knees and I started crying and I turned into the little nine year old boy and I wept and wept and wept and as I was weeping I had a flashback of being nine again and seeing my mother go.
As I got up and came back I was back to my ol’ 24 year old self again and wearing my little red jacket and my cool hip blue jeans folded from the bottom and some black boots and I turned around and heard the voice again. I turn the left no one there and I knew because the hand on my right shoulder was very soft and warm. And you know what she told me. “It’s time to go home Jimmy.” There was no more cancer in mother’s eyes any more and I said, ok. But mother when we get home can you just hold me and never let me go and she said, “I will Jimmy and I will never let you go.” I love you mother I love you too my Jimmy.”
Wait there’s something I gotta do before I go. I gotta say goodbye to someone. Good bye, James Dean.
9
References
Alexander, Paul. Boulevard of Broken Dreams: The Life, Times and Legend of James Dean. Plume: New York-USA. 1994
Hi, Y’all, my name’s Jimmy, Jimmy Dean, folk’s aroun’ here call me Jimmy and my family. But to most of the world out there, around the globe, they know me as: James Dean. I was born on February 8th, 1931. To Mildred and Winton Dean. Boy did I love my mama, I felt she was the only person who understood me, understands me. Mother why did you have to go, why did you have to leave me mama in this cold world. Where no one understands me. Fuck, hey there, baby, sweetie, goin’ pass me one of them cigarette’s, you got a lighter, ok, ahh; I love that sweet taste of them cigarettes.
Always make me feel real cool, real cool. Well, where was I, oh yeah, now, mother. Sweet, sweet, mother. As I was saying I was born to Mildred and Winton Dean and I was born in good ol’ Marion, Indiana. Hoosier, is what we’re called, say it to me one more time, baby, Hoosier! We’s all just a bunch of farm hicks out here.
Even though I grew up on a farm, I traveled back and forth to Los Angeles and Marion, Indiana when I was a young child. My father was a Dental Technician and so we moved there because of a job opening and because that’s where the army sent him. As I was a little boy, mother always would put me into all different kinds of art, I use to play the violin and after school she would always read me poetry, such as Robert Frost. I also loved listening to classical music. Quite frankly, I still do.
Unfortunately, though, mother got real sick, I remember grandmother came down from Indiana and she was helpin’ around the house, doing’ all the cleaning and washin’ and stuff like that. Father was at work, and one day, mother wasn’t doin’ so good. Doctor
2
says, she was sick, real sick. She was sick with Ovarian Cancer, now you see in those days during 1939 we didn’t have the technology that could of helped take the cancer out and I can see in my mama’s eyes. Her beautiful sunken eyes just like mine and I can see the darkness in her eyes the black cancer that were them eggs and eating them ovaries away too.
And then that was it, my nine year old gaze at her pupils and her loving, mother, eyes, and the horrible dark cancer behind them pupils and it was time to let her go. No tears, no crying, just empty now.
Before I knew it was good bye, L.A. and back to Indiana. As me and my grandmother left Los Angeles we went by train back home to Indiana. Mother was in there to. She was in her coffin traveling back with us and we buried her back in Indiana. Sad thing is Father did not go with us. He did not attend mother’s funeral nor did he raise me for the past 9 years of my life.
So from nine years old on I was raised by my good ol’ Aunt and Uncle (Ortense and Marcus) Winslow. So here I am playing with my cousin Marcus “Markie” Winslow. We’re having fun. I love that boy. He now owns and is incorporated with the James Dean Inc. Good cigarette, smoke, I tell ya. I’m almost done, too, I’m gonna need me ‘nother one in a jiffy.
I lived with my aunt and uncle till I was 18 years old. I lived in Fairmount, Indiana, with Aunt Marcus, Aunt Winslow, Markie and their daughter (my cousin) in a farm house. Still standing up today as we speak. I attended Fairmount High School from 1945 till 1949 and I was in sports such as baseball and basketball. The two most
3
wonderful people I got to know and have in my life was the great Adeline Nell who was my Spanish, Drama, and Speech and the infamous Reverend James DeWeerd.
I really liked Mrs. Nell she taught me everything I needed to know about Drama and Speech. I use to go over James’s house now that man had style he had grace and I looked up to him too. He taught me about life and how you need to enjoy life and go around and explore everything.
Mr. DeWeerd taught me how to live the sophisticated life and we would also listen Tchovisky and other classical music when I would go over. There is nothing anything better that I loved to do was be on that motersickle. I’d drive through Fairmount goin’ as fast as I could, racing, and racin’ through life and on the farm through the cornfields.
I graduated in June of 1949 and my Aunt and Uncle threw me a going away party. Because I was going to L.A. to become an Actor my father also lived there. He had told me that I could go on and live with him and that he wanted me to study law. My father lived in Santa Monica, California. That is where my mother, father, and I had lived when I was a little boy.
I attended Santa Monica Community College and I was taking law courses but it just wasn’t for me, Jimmy. I got fed up with the law courses and I started what I enjoy and love the most. I started taking Acting classes. I then enrolled my self at UCLA (University of California Los Angeles) it was there I joined my first Fraternity but them brothers them I wasn’t digging them. I’d get into fist fights and their presence alone was
4
buggin’ me. So they kicked me out and things weren’t going to well with my father. He doggone got upset ‘cause I wasn’t taken anymore of them law courses.
So I left and dropped out of school and met up with Bill Blast a new friend of mine. And I started doin’ acting gigs and I got me a part time job at a place parking cars.
My first gig that I got was doin’ a Pepsi commercial and that was a’ round 1952. There was just a bunch of people I‘d been meeting and goin’ out with but I always felt empty inside. I’d like to be alone and sit in the dark. I couldn’t sleep I’d be up all night at the cafés and diners drinking coffee and chit-chatting with whomever’s was at the diners at 2am or 4am in the morning. You see I was what you call a somniac, an Insomniac, yeah, so.
So if you see me in pictures ‘n stuff and I have bags under my eyes it’s because I’d been up all night. Plus my mother had bags under her eyes maybe it’s hereditary.
A lot happened from 1952-1955 and it seems all like a blur to me it felt like everything went right past me like I was on my motersicle. All I know is I was doing television shows for “Hallmark” and I was in several plays like Meet the Jaguar and the Immoralist. Oh and what a funny thing I was doing a commercial by ford they had asked me to be the spokesperson on telling them kids to becareful and slow down on the roads and highways and you know what I told them on that commercial: “It might me one of you guys saving my life.”
There was a very special girl in my life her name was Pierre-Angeli, it was doomed from the beginning. Tragic love never has a happy ending her mother was an Italian bruja. She never liked me I was to dangerous and not good for her daughter. I was
5
not man enough and I wasn’t Catholic. Catholic my penis man, I was just as good and better than that Vic Damone guy. Oh, geez, how I miss Pierre, I would just love her to death and I would do anything to see her again. It’s too bad she ended up marrying Vic and having their perfect Catholic wedding and it’s what her mother wanted not Pierre.
You know what I was right there outside of the church on my motercikle smoking a cigarette and I didn’t have the nerve to go in. What good of what it done I had nothing to offer Pierre except my love and her mama would have been right in the middle of everything and gosh. I need another smoke. I sure do miss my mother. So here I am at the L.A. airport ready to leave for New York. I really fell in love with New York. I felt like I was at home. So I stayed there for about a year or two from the early 50’s and now I’m doing a film it’s called East of Eden. East of Eden was a book written by John Steinbeck and he was part of the film that was produced and directed by Elia Kazan. John was always on set helping out and givin’ us pointers on how he we could play the characters better. We did most of the filming up in Salinas, California. Got to hang out with the Mexican folk them people were real nice and kind. We did shoots out there in the lettuce fields and they got a lot of fields up there in Salinas, Ca.
Next film I got casted in was Rebel with out a Cause. I made let me see here, it must have been 1954 when I made Rebel and it was see I made all these three movies within a year to two years within themselves. So I was in Rebel with the kind kid Miss Natalie Wood. She was so sweet. She was the little girl in A Miracle on 34th Street that was made in the 1940’s.
6
Sal Mineo was also my good friend that kid looked up to me. I love that kid it was too bad he got tragically killed and so did Natalie. And Pierre she drugged her self to death. I also got to know Dennis Hopper he was the villain on the movie Speed.
That movie was about teenagers and how they got into trouble with their parents and sometimes the law. I was now about 23 or 24 years old and the last movie that I did was Giant now we went up to Texas and I got to meet Liz Taylor, Roc Hudson and I got to work again with Sal and Dennis and Elia was our director again. I really enjoyed getting to know. Mercedes McCambridge. She played the sister to Roc Hudson on the movie. I got to meet some more Mexicans. I really love these people.
The only thing I loved more than anything in the world was acting. I just I was able to express my guts my emotions my passion and I completely loved that was the only time I never felt conscious. I still was feeling lonely though, felt real sad. So I bought me a car and I named it, “Little Bastard.” It was a grey Porsche spyder and not too many of those were made. It was made by a German Manufacturer. Since I loved drag racing I won me several awards and I had signed me up for one of the car races up in Salinas, Ca. So I took two photographer friends with me and my mechanic.
That day on September 30th I got to see my father and one of my Uncle’s from Indiana before I headed out to leave for Salinas. I’m still mad and resentful at my father but I guess I’ll always love him. So then we left and headed for Salinas. We stopped in Bakersfield to have a bite to eat at a local diner. Then we left it wasn’t to far from there that I got pulled over and got a ticket and can you guess what for, speeding. After that, I just tore the ticket I didn’t care.
7
That was that. So Ralph, my mechanic, and I were racing along through the long roads of Cholame, California. My photographers we’re quite a ways behind us and from a distance we saw a green Ford car coming the opposite way and you know me driving real cool with a smoke in my head and wearing my red hooded jacket with my cool shades. I was racing man it was as if I was the only person that existed and nobody else and I told myself, “"That guy's gotta stop... He'll see us."
I never really saw what hit me. All I know was I was out of my body seeing my mechanic on the passenger side and I’m on the driver’s side and I looked horrible. I had whiplashed with the impact of the car because the driver hit my side. And I practically almost got decapitated. After that I heard the sirens coming and I was then put onto the gurney and then I remember seeing the police I was on a hospital and I got this real terrible headache and before you know it. My head fell to the side and I went to sleep. A sleep from this world
I was now back in Indiana and as I walked through the Funeral I saw people crying and my poor Aunt and Uncle and my cousin Marcie. I touched his face but you know. Then I walked right up to my…coffin and there I was. I looked like a sweet angel, proper and gentleman like and can you believe it. I finally cried.
The people and family members who were there had gone and walked to the Fairmount Cemetery and there I was laid to rest I was there co-mingled with everybody else except they couldn’t see me I was the only one wearing my red hooded jacket and I threw me my own white rose after that everybody had left, the Winslow’s had left and it was just me there. Me and James. James Dean and me.
8
And then I heard the most softest voice in the whole wide world and I fell to my knees and I started crying and I turned into the little nine year old boy and I wept and wept and wept and as I was weeping I had a flashback of being nine again and seeing my mother go.
As I got up and came back I was back to my ol’ 24 year old self again and wearing my little red jacket and my cool hip blue jeans folded from the bottom and some black boots and I turned around and heard the voice again. I turn the left no one there and I knew because the hand on my right shoulder was very soft and warm. And you know what she told me. “It’s time to go home Jimmy.” There was no more cancer in mother’s eyes any more and I said, ok. But mother when we get home can you just hold me and never let me go and she said, “I will Jimmy and I will never let you go.” I love you mother I love you too my Jimmy.”
Wait there’s something I gotta do before I go. I gotta say goodbye to someone. Good bye, James Dean.
9
References
Alexander, Paul. Boulevard of Broken Dreams: The Life, Times and Legend of James Dean. Plume: New York-USA. 1994
Re: First Draft of Personal Essay
hear me
I want everything to sound perfect and be perfect. I’m mad and pissed off and that’s where it seems to go as far as that; my feelings. I’m standing there with my arms folded across my chest. It’s just anything I try to say or want to say or feel passionately what I want to say. I just can’t throw up the shit out of me.
My motherfuckin’ family will not listen to me. They are all stubborn headed fools. They don’t want to hear anything, they don’t want to be yelled at or have anybody tell them anything. They are not understanding and it just makes me feel fuckin’ frustrated.
For Christ sake I want this, whatever’s inside me to just explode, I want to hit and sock them sometimes because I feel that it is the only way they will listen. I want to hit my little sister get her head and bang it across the side white cabinet door at our house in the restroom. She’s just a bitch right now. I can’t even be mad or upset or pissed off at home because my mom thinks that, well, she says, “Aye Fermina don’t be mad at your sister, she’s your sister. You’re the oldest. Aww, fuck that shit mom, your daughter’s a gawd damn bitch, just like you fuckin’ are.”
My sister acts like she is older than me. I’m older then her. I always look like the bad one. You crazy ass psycho-bitch.
Oh, and this fuckin’ morning I was so fucking pissed off at my dad and my older brother. My brother is so fuckin’ stubborn headed and yet it’s ok for him to get mad and I mean mad. He is able to express his shit. Fuck dad. I gave you thirty fucking dollars and you didn’t put any gas. Dad, what tha fuck were you doing yesterday? Gawd Damnit, then my dad snaps at me or is well he lets his oomph out. So then I just shut up.
But I was just getting frustrated because my dad was pissed off, he was frustrated and when he honked the horn for me to go out side I was still doing a couple of things to get ready. However, my fuckin’ brother did not get up his ass, and I was like fuck. Because I had heard the car horn honked from the bathroom. I was brushing my teeth and when I came out and saw my brother just calmly sitting down on the computer chair chilling, not moving and not getting up, because he hates it when dad honks the horn like that.
He says that when my dad does that it is like he is saying, “Hurry up kiddos, and blah blah, blah, I can’t put the words verbatim right now. So anywho. I knew it was all fucking over. And when I saw him sitting there nonchalantly I said, “Fuck.”
I hurried up to go outside and told dad, “Dad, two minutes, I’ll be right out.” So as I’m getting ready, I’m trying to hurry up and I was taking to long for my dads’ patience. Then my nephew had to go to school. But my other older fucking brother, Public Enemy’s asshole number #1 did not take his fat ass in his truck to take my fuckin nephew to school. He was supposed to take Francisco to school. Then he comes out all raving mad and tells my dad in my point of view meanly and demanding and so my dad does but he just drives around the block because he does not want to come back and pick me up even only though the school’s about a minute away by car and it’s too much for my dad, going back and forth, back and forth.
So I was done getting ready my nephew comes back in and I say, “Francisco what are you doing back? Francisco: Fermina, Tia Fermina, grandpa wants you to hurry up. Accck, oh my gawd, so then I was like, what tha fuh, then my drunk ass brother #2 told my brother (Public Enemy’s asshole number #1) to take Francisco and that’s where he got all mad and huffy puffy because he was going to eat his breakfast and he came out storm raving mad yelling at my dad to take Francisco to school.
So then dad finally comes back, me and drunk ass brother #2 are ready and we get into the car. But I knew something was up my dad’s butt. And then I look at the gas tank and it is close to empty as usual. Since I’m frustrated, “Dad why didn’t you put any gas in the car I gave you money yesterday. Ommpff, that just blew his top off, and he yelled at me, I’ve told my dad before, sometimes when he gets mad like that I feel like he wants to hit me. He has so much pent up emotions himself I don’t blame him for being like that but fuck. If you really understood me dad then you would know I have pent up emotions myself as well and yet when I want to try to blow off steam you guys can’t handle fuckin’ handle it.
Think about it, assholes, do you ever think about other people who can’t or have a hard time talking back or yelling or saying shit that bother them. Hey asshole do you ever think when you get mad that it’s ok for you to show it and then when you have someone else trying to explain themselves you don’t want to hear it. Aww, fuck you man. You can kiss my ass.
So after that, then drunk ass brother #2 got pissed off, because my dad was starting to get steam off his chest, saying he was tired, tired of taking my brother places and I know my dad gets tired coming back and forth to Fresno. But I got pissed off at my brother because my dad has been doing a lot for him I mean he takes my brother to the doctor’s office and other important places he needs to go. My brother’s white car’s fucked up, so then my dad was pissed off that he had to go take Francisco to school and I wasn’t ready when he came by the house and honked and then my brother was saying smooshy stuff like, we should just be a family and help each other out and do none of this arguing crap. He hates the fighting and the arguing and for some how some reason I’m not tired of it. I just get pissed off that I can explain any of my crap.
So then it’s about 8:06 am, my class starts at 9am here at school, I have Strength Training. So then all the commotion is going on inside my dad’s little four door, shiny grayish-purple Nissan car. And then he has to go drop some keys off somewhere and then I told my brother I needed to go to the bank and somewhere around there we were all pissed off and then I was defending my dad, Hey, Loen, Dad does does a lot he takes me to school he helps you out and from there he was pissed he didn’t want to fucking hear it.
So then you know what, I was like I’m not going to school. Fuck this shit man, I didn’t want to go and then when we got back to our house and I was like it’s only P.E., so it’s no big deal. There are only three other classes that I really care about so, you know big deal. I’m not gonna kill myself over P.E. big fuckin’ deal man. Life’s too short to kill myself for a class let alone a fucking teacher. Good thing my two Drama courses weren’t today all the motherfuckers (Faculty) had a retreat today.
My voice is dry; I get nervous to express my shit out of me. This shit that’s held in my chest is stuff I want to say to every fuckin’ individual in my family, professor, professional-whatever, people, drama people, anybody who pisses me off and I want to give them a piece of my mind. Ugghh... I’m so deeply muddled and conflicted and confused with my own emotions. My thoughts are at times like a train-wreck and about four of them are coming at each other at the same freakin’ time. Fuh (Fuck).
I wish you can enter my body, my mind, my soul, my psyche, my cognitive thoughts, my world, Mi Vida. Yet I’m afraid to let you in. I don’t want you to judge me, look at me and give me non-blank emotionless stares.
Don’t fucking look at me. Damn it. I wish I can just wear a brown, “Town ‘n’ Country, grocery bag over my head and then I would feel a lot more confident about myself. Why, you may ask, I won’t have to worry about ‘your eyes,’ just looking at me and I already feel like a bad little kid, doing something wrong.
I feel like if I look at other people, they’ll think I’m just staring at them. I like to look around at other people. Having the brown paper bag with a handle over my head, would help me to express myself. I wouldn’t hold back, I don’t have to see you; you don’t have to see me. I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious (well unless maybe I was in a therapist’s office).
I feel like I don’t exist in my family. Deepness is what I feel. What is this deepness? There is this card and it has a young man and Jesus is behind him and at the bottom of the picture is a stream of blood and the young man is clenching his fist and man. I wish it was me in that picture.
At time I feel that I am having a heart attack. I can be eating dinner or typing on the computer and then out of the blue, bam, these deep aches in my heart just stop me in action. Somebody would somebody just stick a knife in my heart and get it over with. I want to feel but am I ready to handle such truths?
I hate you! I fuckin’ hate you! You stupid bitch! You stupid whore! You fuckin’ whore! Fuck you, you asshole, you fuckin’ prick. You know what you’re a dick a pure bonafied dick. Yeah, I said it, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick. You fuckin’ Pussy!
You psycho-rapist hillbilly, retarded, ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyper Activity Disordered) fuck. I hope you felt that blow. You pussy head. Fuck you and your big tit mama, you interbreeded family. Tightwad, selfish, personality disordered freak.
Damn it, motherfuckers would you just stay tha fuck outta my space. Can you all just shut tha fuck up! You know what y’allz, y’allz just shut tha fuck up!
I hate you mom. I wish you would die sometimes. I love you, mommie. Would you rub my tummy mommy? It hurts me, mama. Please, rub my belly. Why do you hate me so much mama, why? Please help me, mama, please.
(Mom’s Voice): You son of a bitch kids, you guys treat me like shit. Some day you guys are gonna regret it. Your gonna regret it someday, Fermina.
I hate you, mom! You fuckin’ bitch!
(Mom’s Voice): I’ve done everything for you my whole life and this is how you guys repay me.
I feel guilty. I feel bad. I’m sorry mama.
(Mom’s Voice): Ahh, go over there; you say the same thing over and over. Ahh, chie, chie (cry, cry), chiona (crybaby).
I feel really bad mom, I’m sorry for spitting on your red Chevrolet Cavalier and then on your window. I was so vengeful how you acted this morning. And then once you gave me that look, I knew I felt bad. I felt bad. Mama I love you, mama. I wish you would hug me sometimes. I wish I was small again mama. Remember mama when me and Lina would be asleep in the bed, waiting for you to come home from work and I would be so happy to see you, mama.
And I know you were happy to see me too. Lina was sleeping and I go run to the laundry room and you wearing your white uniform, white shoes and your clear plastic apron on. Then you got your black curly hair just the way mama had it.
Then you would come out with your black purse. And out came those pretty little ruffled underware or the pretty little ruffled socks and sometimes you would have candy for us. Mama, what happened to those days mama, what happened?
Mama, please, let, why can’t, only, damn.
I don’t like people; I think their stupid, dumb and don’t understand. They don’t understand anything. They can’t pick up on my emotions of feelings. I hate people.
No one understands me and I’m freakin’ tired of “understanding” or being understanding or trying to understand other people. I hate people. I’m mad. You know why, because yesterday on the first day of school, my Drama 10-Art of Theatre teacher told me, “Hey, wake up, pay attention.” I was like ughh, in my mind, I was just like asking my new classmate a question that was pertaining to our assignment.
Which was we had to interview a person we didn’t know. So as I simultaneously turned my head to ask her, “How she views the world, his yellers (yellow) wooden teeth, told me, “Wake Up, Pay attention.” What pisses me off about it was, how can you tell me that, I do nothing wrong, I always listen in class, I pay attention. How can you tell me that?? But I’m Fermina. You stupid Asshole, well all your dumb ass Theatre Arts students who are talking their heads off, being stupid, nerdy and rowdy. You don’t fucking notice them because your late to your own class.
I know you are sarcastic because you were being detrimental to the two theatre art guys in class. Ha, Ha. But you know them and you like them and their heavily involved in the Theatre Arts Program. Awww, Phooey on ya. I know I’m not well known and you don’t know me, I already think you probably think nothing of me. And I feel that tomorrow you will ask why I didn’t show up to auditions. Well, maybe you do notice me after all since you freakin’ asked us what our majors were, damn!
I hate being stared at; I hate people looking at me. I hate people just looking with their eyes. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one with feelings and emotions. I just I don’t know, I feel people’s feelings and I’m tired of asking people if there ok, or what’s bothering them, or ughh…..something. I can’t even feel my own ga dam feelings. I just want to be away from people. I feel like I’m wearing all black, a black t-shirt, black pants and I’m just huddled in a corner, with my hands and arms around my legs and I’m slighting touching both my index fingers.
Gawd what tha fuck am I mad about? I hate people. I hate it that they don’t notice me or see me or hear me that I’m quiet. Or pick up on what kind of person I am. I can tell you what kind of person you are. Why can’t you tell me what kind of person I am? Why can’t you tell me how I feel? Why can’t you feel me? Why can’t you feel my feelings? Why can’t you at least try to figure out what I am thinking or try to consider what I’m thinking what I’m feeling?
Damn, I do this with everyone, family, people, classmates, teachers, I just feel people. I feel their feelings. I don’t think I even fuckin’ exist. I’m just stoic. What that fuck am I? Who tha fuck am I? I hate you. I hate all you stupid fucking people. I can’t wait to see all you dumbfucks just drop your jaws and be shocked and amazed. Because someday I will be somebody, some day, I will tell you to your face what I think of you. If I don’t fucking like you I’ll tell you. And I won’t give a fuck.
Fuck man, but there is such a loving and caring side to me too. I do and care a lot for people. I care for their feelings, I care for their emotions. But there are only certain people whom I seem to have a connection with.
I want everything to sound perfect and be perfect. I’m mad and pissed off and that’s where it seems to go as far as that; my feelings. I’m standing there with my arms folded across my chest. It’s just anything I try to say or want to say or feel passionately what I want to say. I just can’t throw up the shit out of me.
My motherfuckin’ family will not listen to me. They are all stubborn headed fools. They don’t want to hear anything, they don’t want to be yelled at or have anybody tell them anything. They are not understanding and it just makes me feel fuckin’ frustrated.
For Christ sake I want this, whatever’s inside me to just explode, I want to hit and sock them sometimes because I feel that it is the only way they will listen. I want to hit my little sister get her head and bang it across the side white cabinet door at our house in the restroom. She’s just a bitch right now. I can’t even be mad or upset or pissed off at home because my mom thinks that, well, she says, “Aye Fermina don’t be mad at your sister, she’s your sister. You’re the oldest. Aww, fuck that shit mom, your daughter’s a gawd damn bitch, just like you fuckin’ are.”
My sister acts like she is older than me. I’m older then her. I always look like the bad one. You crazy ass psycho-bitch.
Oh, and this fuckin’ morning I was so fucking pissed off at my dad and my older brother. My brother is so fuckin’ stubborn headed and yet it’s ok for him to get mad and I mean mad. He is able to express his shit. Fuck dad. I gave you thirty fucking dollars and you didn’t put any gas. Dad, what tha fuck were you doing yesterday? Gawd Damnit, then my dad snaps at me or is well he lets his oomph out. So then I just shut up.
But I was just getting frustrated because my dad was pissed off, he was frustrated and when he honked the horn for me to go out side I was still doing a couple of things to get ready. However, my fuckin’ brother did not get up his ass, and I was like fuck. Because I had heard the car horn honked from the bathroom. I was brushing my teeth and when I came out and saw my brother just calmly sitting down on the computer chair chilling, not moving and not getting up, because he hates it when dad honks the horn like that.
He says that when my dad does that it is like he is saying, “Hurry up kiddos, and blah blah, blah, I can’t put the words verbatim right now. So anywho. I knew it was all fucking over. And when I saw him sitting there nonchalantly I said, “Fuck.”
I hurried up to go outside and told dad, “Dad, two minutes, I’ll be right out.” So as I’m getting ready, I’m trying to hurry up and I was taking to long for my dads’ patience. Then my nephew had to go to school. But my other older fucking brother, Public Enemy’s asshole number #1 did not take his fat ass in his truck to take my fuckin nephew to school. He was supposed to take Francisco to school. Then he comes out all raving mad and tells my dad in my point of view meanly and demanding and so my dad does but he just drives around the block because he does not want to come back and pick me up even only though the school’s about a minute away by car and it’s too much for my dad, going back and forth, back and forth.
So I was done getting ready my nephew comes back in and I say, “Francisco what are you doing back? Francisco: Fermina, Tia Fermina, grandpa wants you to hurry up. Accck, oh my gawd, so then I was like, what tha fuh, then my drunk ass brother #2 told my brother (Public Enemy’s asshole number #1) to take Francisco and that’s where he got all mad and huffy puffy because he was going to eat his breakfast and he came out storm raving mad yelling at my dad to take Francisco to school.
So then dad finally comes back, me and drunk ass brother #2 are ready and we get into the car. But I knew something was up my dad’s butt. And then I look at the gas tank and it is close to empty as usual. Since I’m frustrated, “Dad why didn’t you put any gas in the car I gave you money yesterday. Ommpff, that just blew his top off, and he yelled at me, I’ve told my dad before, sometimes when he gets mad like that I feel like he wants to hit me. He has so much pent up emotions himself I don’t blame him for being like that but fuck. If you really understood me dad then you would know I have pent up emotions myself as well and yet when I want to try to blow off steam you guys can’t handle fuckin’ handle it.
Think about it, assholes, do you ever think about other people who can’t or have a hard time talking back or yelling or saying shit that bother them. Hey asshole do you ever think when you get mad that it’s ok for you to show it and then when you have someone else trying to explain themselves you don’t want to hear it. Aww, fuck you man. You can kiss my ass.
So after that, then drunk ass brother #2 got pissed off, because my dad was starting to get steam off his chest, saying he was tired, tired of taking my brother places and I know my dad gets tired coming back and forth to Fresno. But I got pissed off at my brother because my dad has been doing a lot for him I mean he takes my brother to the doctor’s office and other important places he needs to go. My brother’s white car’s fucked up, so then my dad was pissed off that he had to go take Francisco to school and I wasn’t ready when he came by the house and honked and then my brother was saying smooshy stuff like, we should just be a family and help each other out and do none of this arguing crap. He hates the fighting and the arguing and for some how some reason I’m not tired of it. I just get pissed off that I can explain any of my crap.
So then it’s about 8:06 am, my class starts at 9am here at school, I have Strength Training. So then all the commotion is going on inside my dad’s little four door, shiny grayish-purple Nissan car. And then he has to go drop some keys off somewhere and then I told my brother I needed to go to the bank and somewhere around there we were all pissed off and then I was defending my dad, Hey, Loen, Dad does does a lot he takes me to school he helps you out and from there he was pissed he didn’t want to fucking hear it.
So then you know what, I was like I’m not going to school. Fuck this shit man, I didn’t want to go and then when we got back to our house and I was like it’s only P.E., so it’s no big deal. There are only three other classes that I really care about so, you know big deal. I’m not gonna kill myself over P.E. big fuckin’ deal man. Life’s too short to kill myself for a class let alone a fucking teacher. Good thing my two Drama courses weren’t today all the motherfuckers (Faculty) had a retreat today.
My voice is dry; I get nervous to express my shit out of me. This shit that’s held in my chest is stuff I want to say to every fuckin’ individual in my family, professor, professional-whatever, people, drama people, anybody who pisses me off and I want to give them a piece of my mind. Ugghh... I’m so deeply muddled and conflicted and confused with my own emotions. My thoughts are at times like a train-wreck and about four of them are coming at each other at the same freakin’ time. Fuh (Fuck).
I wish you can enter my body, my mind, my soul, my psyche, my cognitive thoughts, my world, Mi Vida. Yet I’m afraid to let you in. I don’t want you to judge me, look at me and give me non-blank emotionless stares.
Don’t fucking look at me. Damn it. I wish I can just wear a brown, “Town ‘n’ Country, grocery bag over my head and then I would feel a lot more confident about myself. Why, you may ask, I won’t have to worry about ‘your eyes,’ just looking at me and I already feel like a bad little kid, doing something wrong.
I feel like if I look at other people, they’ll think I’m just staring at them. I like to look around at other people. Having the brown paper bag with a handle over my head, would help me to express myself. I wouldn’t hold back, I don’t have to see you; you don’t have to see me. I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious (well unless maybe I was in a therapist’s office).
I feel like I don’t exist in my family. Deepness is what I feel. What is this deepness? There is this card and it has a young man and Jesus is behind him and at the bottom of the picture is a stream of blood and the young man is clenching his fist and man. I wish it was me in that picture.
At time I feel that I am having a heart attack. I can be eating dinner or typing on the computer and then out of the blue, bam, these deep aches in my heart just stop me in action. Somebody would somebody just stick a knife in my heart and get it over with. I want to feel but am I ready to handle such truths?
I hate you! I fuckin’ hate you! You stupid bitch! You stupid whore! You fuckin’ whore! Fuck you, you asshole, you fuckin’ prick. You know what you’re a dick a pure bonafied dick. Yeah, I said it, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick, Dick. You fuckin’ Pussy!
You psycho-rapist hillbilly, retarded, ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyper Activity Disordered) fuck. I hope you felt that blow. You pussy head. Fuck you and your big tit mama, you interbreeded family. Tightwad, selfish, personality disordered freak.
Damn it, motherfuckers would you just stay tha fuck outta my space. Can you all just shut tha fuck up! You know what y’allz, y’allz just shut tha fuck up!
I hate you mom. I wish you would die sometimes. I love you, mommie. Would you rub my tummy mommy? It hurts me, mama. Please, rub my belly. Why do you hate me so much mama, why? Please help me, mama, please.
(Mom’s Voice): You son of a bitch kids, you guys treat me like shit. Some day you guys are gonna regret it. Your gonna regret it someday, Fermina.
I hate you, mom! You fuckin’ bitch!
(Mom’s Voice): I’ve done everything for you my whole life and this is how you guys repay me.
I feel guilty. I feel bad. I’m sorry mama.
(Mom’s Voice): Ahh, go over there; you say the same thing over and over. Ahh, chie, chie (cry, cry), chiona (crybaby).
I feel really bad mom, I’m sorry for spitting on your red Chevrolet Cavalier and then on your window. I was so vengeful how you acted this morning. And then once you gave me that look, I knew I felt bad. I felt bad. Mama I love you, mama. I wish you would hug me sometimes. I wish I was small again mama. Remember mama when me and Lina would be asleep in the bed, waiting for you to come home from work and I would be so happy to see you, mama.
And I know you were happy to see me too. Lina was sleeping and I go run to the laundry room and you wearing your white uniform, white shoes and your clear plastic apron on. Then you got your black curly hair just the way mama had it.
Then you would come out with your black purse. And out came those pretty little ruffled underware or the pretty little ruffled socks and sometimes you would have candy for us. Mama, what happened to those days mama, what happened?
Mama, please, let, why can’t, only, damn.
I don’t like people; I think their stupid, dumb and don’t understand. They don’t understand anything. They can’t pick up on my emotions of feelings. I hate people.
No one understands me and I’m freakin’ tired of “understanding” or being understanding or trying to understand other people. I hate people. I’m mad. You know why, because yesterday on the first day of school, my Drama 10-Art of Theatre teacher told me, “Hey, wake up, pay attention.” I was like ughh, in my mind, I was just like asking my new classmate a question that was pertaining to our assignment.
Which was we had to interview a person we didn’t know. So as I simultaneously turned my head to ask her, “How she views the world, his yellers (yellow) wooden teeth, told me, “Wake Up, Pay attention.” What pisses me off about it was, how can you tell me that, I do nothing wrong, I always listen in class, I pay attention. How can you tell me that?? But I’m Fermina. You stupid Asshole, well all your dumb ass Theatre Arts students who are talking their heads off, being stupid, nerdy and rowdy. You don’t fucking notice them because your late to your own class.
I know you are sarcastic because you were being detrimental to the two theatre art guys in class. Ha, Ha. But you know them and you like them and their heavily involved in the Theatre Arts Program. Awww, Phooey on ya. I know I’m not well known and you don’t know me, I already think you probably think nothing of me. And I feel that tomorrow you will ask why I didn’t show up to auditions. Well, maybe you do notice me after all since you freakin’ asked us what our majors were, damn!
I hate being stared at; I hate people looking at me. I hate people just looking with their eyes. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one with feelings and emotions. I just I don’t know, I feel people’s feelings and I’m tired of asking people if there ok, or what’s bothering them, or ughh…..something. I can’t even feel my own ga dam feelings. I just want to be away from people. I feel like I’m wearing all black, a black t-shirt, black pants and I’m just huddled in a corner, with my hands and arms around my legs and I’m slighting touching both my index fingers.
Gawd what tha fuck am I mad about? I hate people. I hate it that they don’t notice me or see me or hear me that I’m quiet. Or pick up on what kind of person I am. I can tell you what kind of person you are. Why can’t you tell me what kind of person I am? Why can’t you tell me how I feel? Why can’t you feel me? Why can’t you feel my feelings? Why can’t you at least try to figure out what I am thinking or try to consider what I’m thinking what I’m feeling?
Damn, I do this with everyone, family, people, classmates, teachers, I just feel people. I feel their feelings. I don’t think I even fuckin’ exist. I’m just stoic. What that fuck am I? Who tha fuck am I? I hate you. I hate all you stupid fucking people. I can’t wait to see all you dumbfucks just drop your jaws and be shocked and amazed. Because someday I will be somebody, some day, I will tell you to your face what I think of you. If I don’t fucking like you I’ll tell you. And I won’t give a fuck.
Fuck man, but there is such a loving and caring side to me too. I do and care a lot for people. I care for their feelings, I care for their emotions. But there are only certain people whom I seem to have a connection with.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Re: Befriending Barbie-by Shari Caudron
"Befriending Barbie," is a story, about Shari who goes to a Barbie Convention, thinking it was just a silly thing that these people do. When she got to the convention she just thought that the convention was about a bunch of ladies wearing pink and all giggly, googly and happy all the time. However, when she got to sit down with some of the women and got to observe this "Barbie Convention" she went to, she had changed. She wasn't so judgemental and she became a little Barbieteer at the end of her story.
Ms. Caudron when in with not really knowing these people behind the barbie. People who have emotions, and people who have real lives. What touched me the most while I was reading the story was when one of the ladies had her son killed in a shooting at school and it was her son who led her to her barbie friends, (who were really her life savers).
"In September 1999, there was a shooting at Wedgewood Baptist Church in Fort Worth in which several kids were killed. He murdered seven people that day, including my son Justin. He was my only child. But my Barbie friends, you wouldn't believe what they did. They called or wrote to me every day. They sent me money. They also contacted Mattel. Can you believe that? They contacted Mattel and the company sent me a special collectible Barbie and a handwritten note the first Christmas after Justin died."
This lady is very blessed she gots the most wonderful friends in the world and she loves what she does and that is collecting Barbie dolls and I'm glad that Shari got to feel that same wonderful happy feeling that Judy feels all the time.
Ms. Caudron when in with not really knowing these people behind the barbie. People who have emotions, and people who have real lives. What touched me the most while I was reading the story was when one of the ladies had her son killed in a shooting at school and it was her son who led her to her barbie friends, (who were really her life savers).
"In September 1999, there was a shooting at Wedgewood Baptist Church in Fort Worth in which several kids were killed. He murdered seven people that day, including my son Justin. He was my only child. But my Barbie friends, you wouldn't believe what they did. They called or wrote to me every day. They sent me money. They also contacted Mattel. Can you believe that? They contacted Mattel and the company sent me a special collectible Barbie and a handwritten note the first Christmas after Justin died."
This lady is very blessed she gots the most wonderful friends in the world and she loves what she does and that is collecting Barbie dolls and I'm glad that Shari got to feel that same wonderful happy feeling that Judy feels all the time.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Re: Meghan Daum-"On the Fringes of the Physical World"
Man, I really feel for this girl. I feel sorry for her that the man of her dreams is a small shorter little pee-wee then she had imagined. It was like who was being honest. Obviously, not Pete. All that emailing and writing and she lost reality outside in the real world and the white screen with black typed words became her real life reality but it was all make believe. But it sucks though she totally fell in love with this guy and all her hopes and dreams were dumped down the drain when she finally saw this person in real physical life.
Damn, I really wish she had that perfect person she dreamnt of or envisioned while she was keeping this emailing fiasco with AKA PFSLIDER. She deserved somebody who loves her just as much as she loves him
Even though she decided to to L.A. and meet him and have dinner with him she was still in a daze or most likely in a state of disbelief and shock of meeting the real PFSLIDER. She lost totally feelings and all her heart and soul went out to a screen with black letters being typed frantically but in love and all her hopes died when she met someone was below her and not above her (and I mean that in height wise.
Poor Meghan I hope she did find someone who she is madly in love with if not I hope she loves herself even more.
Damn, I really wish she had that perfect person she dreamnt of or envisioned while she was keeping this emailing fiasco with AKA PFSLIDER. She deserved somebody who loves her just as much as she loves him
Even though she decided to to L.A. and meet him and have dinner with him she was still in a daze or most likely in a state of disbelief and shock of meeting the real PFSLIDER. She lost totally feelings and all her heart and soul went out to a screen with black letters being typed frantically but in love and all her hopes died when she met someone was below her and not above her (and I mean that in height wise.
Poor Meghan I hope she did find someone who she is madly in love with if not I hope she loves herself even more.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Re: Vivian Gornick-"On the Bus"
Re: Vivian Gornick-"On the Bus"
This story was interesting it gave me a vivid imagination of what Vivian was going through on the bus with Jewel. I think Vivian felt like she was just there on the bus kind of like she's human and had nothing but white cotton stuffed in here because she probably felt dead, (meaning tired) on the bus and seeing everybody's emotionles tired faces doesn't make you feel any more comfortable.
I was thinking about our discussion in class on this story and I remember bringing up that Jewel really appreciated her listening to her and Vivian was just nonchalantly not feeling like she did anything I'm actually seeing through the eyes of Vivian and it dawned on me the name. Jewel, Jewel was a Jewel on that bus she was a person who had life, vitality, real human emotions and family problems going. She meant something more than the rest of those zombie people on the bus. She radianted life out of her.
Maybe that's why Jewel felt some sort of life force coming out of here.
I know I would want to sit by Jewel on the bus and hear about all her life troubles it's interesting because you know wow there is someone like me who is fucked up too.
This story was interesting it gave me a vivid imagination of what Vivian was going through on the bus with Jewel. I think Vivian felt like she was just there on the bus kind of like she's human and had nothing but white cotton stuffed in here because she probably felt dead, (meaning tired) on the bus and seeing everybody's emotionles tired faces doesn't make you feel any more comfortable.
I was thinking about our discussion in class on this story and I remember bringing up that Jewel really appreciated her listening to her and Vivian was just nonchalantly not feeling like she did anything I'm actually seeing through the eyes of Vivian and it dawned on me the name. Jewel, Jewel was a Jewel on that bus she was a person who had life, vitality, real human emotions and family problems going. She meant something more than the rest of those zombie people on the bus. She radianted life out of her.
Maybe that's why Jewel felt some sort of life force coming out of here.
I know I would want to sit by Jewel on the bus and hear about all her life troubles it's interesting because you know wow there is someone like me who is fucked up too.
Re: Maureen Stanton-"The Zion Papers"
Hmm.... what to say about this one...
I don't know if she really loved him I felt like this was more of a sexual relationship an Adult Sexual Relationship....."Steve used to stand behind me and press my nipples between his fingers clinging like sweaty children, he cupped my breast in his palm like it was a dove.
I just don't see the tenderness the love. I feel a swoosh of bitterness from Maureen maybe the fact he died to young they didn't get married they weren't gonna have any childeren together.
I just don't see a sweet loving couple probably not in their earlier years but now that he is sick with cancer. I don't see much of a change in her. Maybe she never really loved him. I would think with someone who had cancer you would want to be with them every second knowing that he could die any minute and yet she goes into some wacky motels and stay in rooms with people out of thier crazy minds. What was she paranoid about.
On another note, from her excerpts of describing Steve. I actually felt that I just in my mind a scarred face with deep purplish marks on his face. Kinda like Freddy Kruger's.
Maybe where ever Maureen's at maybe she really did love him after all and misses him.
I don't know if she really loved him I felt like this was more of a sexual relationship an Adult Sexual Relationship....."Steve used to stand behind me and press my nipples between his fingers clinging like sweaty children, he cupped my breast in his palm like it was a dove.
I just don't see the tenderness the love. I feel a swoosh of bitterness from Maureen maybe the fact he died to young they didn't get married they weren't gonna have any childeren together.
I just don't see a sweet loving couple probably not in their earlier years but now that he is sick with cancer. I don't see much of a change in her. Maybe she never really loved him. I would think with someone who had cancer you would want to be with them every second knowing that he could die any minute and yet she goes into some wacky motels and stay in rooms with people out of thier crazy minds. What was she paranoid about.
On another note, from her excerpts of describing Steve. I actually felt that I just in my mind a scarred face with deep purplish marks on his face. Kinda like Freddy Kruger's.
Maybe where ever Maureen's at maybe she really did love him after all and misses him.
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