Assign#5 (minus the question marks)

So I absolutely dreaded this assignment, this was worse than Zine#1.  I am usually able to supplement my lack of creativity with half way decent writing.  Not in this case.  I still do not think i fully grasp the concept of this assignment.

My Idea:  I decided instead of walking down a city block or specific area, i would highlight Milwaukee as a whole.  I took pictures of weird signs around milwaukee and attached weird meanings to them.  It all revolves around the theme of "Home,"  but not specific to the house i live in.  I was also able to incorporate some planking photos i took in random spots in Milwaukee.  The overall project is supposed to show why i call Milwaukee home.

I did my best with my iPhone camera (which is actually pretty awesome) , Keynote and powerpoint.  The ideas of incorporating sound is still up in the air.  Hopefully Project #6 will go a little better for me.

Assign#5??

I have no clue what i am supposed to do for this assignment..literally no clue!!!!!

Need a title.......

She’s just beyond the bush over there, fumbling her keys and talking on the phone.   Her hair is long and Ferrari red.  She’s wearing black leggings and a low cut tank top.  I have been keeping my eye on her all night.  We started out over on 54^th street where she met up with some friends, and had a few drinks.  They talked about her Math final, and this boy on the La Crosse team who had added her on Facebook.  She has the sweetest face I have ever seen, so innocent and forgiving.  After that she headed over to the university bars, Old Timers to be exact.  I watched her dance the night away, drinking and carrying about in a sluttish and profane way.  These goddamn children of today have no respect for anything.   They just want to drink and party with no regards, but not in my world.  I know what’s right and wrong and so will they.  She called a cab to 544 Mitchell Way.  She got to her dorm room at 2:10 am, ten minutes after dorm lock down.  As I approach her I can smell her bewilderment.  I wait until she finds the right key; I brush up against her, gently alerting her.  Before I grab her I look into her eyes.  This innocent face I watched tarnished all night with drinking and flirtatious smut suddenly changed, she’s afraid.  She looked at me as if I shouldn’t be there.  I grabbed her around the neck and firmly placed my hand around her mouth to dampen the sound of screaming.  The sound of screaming while someone’s hand is over your mouth sounds like screaming with someone’s hand over your mouth.  So I pull her into the parking garage entrance.  She was kicking and biting at my hand, her face is filled with tears and running mascara.  The same mascara I watched her put on earlier.  She worked so hard at the campus school store to buy that mascara, what a shame.  I move my hand from her mouth to reposition it around her throat.  I use my other hand to cover her mouth.  I squeeze with all my strength and it’s not long before she’s quiet.   She’s quiet and motionless now, the beauty and innocence pours out her face with her fading tears..  All that’s left of her is a lanyard with her college ID in it.  It reads Sarah Meyer.

            She works for the Census bureau; her nametag reads Elaine Brewster.  I have been watching her go door to door with her clipboard for the past 3 hours now.  She usually takes her break at 1:30pm.  She will find some secluded place where she can smoke some “Mary Jane.”  I despise that pungent smell and all of its sins.   She is making a mockery of America and its work force.  I approach her car from behind the car.  She is to indulged in the drug to even notice me.  I stick my hand through her back window and wrap the seat belt around her neck.  Her deathly screams ring in my ear, she fades quickly.  I ease up on the seat belt and her head falls forward.  I wipe away her cherry flavored lollipop hair and look into her eyes.   She is a beautiful now, no more drugs to tarnish this innocent soul. 

            I call her #3. Her singing is so beautiful; you could easily mistake her for an angel.  She stands with the posture of a choir singer.  Her vivid fire truck red hair reflects off the light as if it were raining red raindrops.  She performs for two hours and thirty-five minutes every Monday at Jake’s Irish Pub.  Every night I watch her fool around with the owner in the back seat of his luxury car.  He’s a married man and she’s a fool, they are both fools, sinners.  This man taking advantage of an innocent and precious soul is immoral. Tonight I follow them to the Sears Motel across the highway.  They check into room 3.  I watch as different members of the worlds scum enter and exit this hotel.  I wait until the yelling and music stops and nothing but silence roams the air.   I approach the door and put my ear to it, I hear quite chatter and giggling. I cover the peephole with my hand and give a subtle knock.  I hear a door slam from inside and footsteps approaching the door.  “We don’t need anything thing thanks.”  I knock again, this time harder than before.  “ I said we don’t need anything, get the hell out of here.”  As soon as I hear the door unhinge from the lock I push it, hitting him with the door.  I step in the door and close it behind me.  He looks at me with this blank stare while holding his head.  Before he can say a word one thrust to the head and that’s the end of this cheating man.  “Jake, Jake,” I hear being mumbled from the bathroom.  I walk toward the bathroom clutching the metal pipe I had dislodged from Sarah Meyer’s closet.  I try the handle but the door is locked.  “Who’s there?” she says.  I can hear her voice trembling; she’s definitely a screamer.  She again asks who’s there, I say nothing and begin to shoulder the door trying to break it down.  She’s screaming now and it’s fueling me to break down the door even quicker.  I finally get in; she is in the bathtub screaming with a shaver in her hand.   I look at her from top to bottom.  Her beautiful hair is soaked with tears; I say to her,  “Don’t scream.” 

            She jogs every night through the park.  She’s wearing shorts and a cross-country shirt from her high school that says “Weiss.”   Before her jog she spent hours at the casino gambling and pissing away her earnings.  She justifies this by drowning in her own sorrows and booze.  Gambling is a fools game and for sinners.  She is a damper on society, she feeds into the worlds many vices she’s weak.  I follow her though the bridge underpass in the park.  Her iPod headphones are lost in her beautiful ginger colored hair.  We reach the middle of the underpass; I catch up getting close enough to push her to the ground.  I start to clinch my fist tight.  She looks at me with a puzzled face.  I kneel down and place my hands around her neck.  She never screams, I watch as tears and saliva run down her pale cheeks as she stares into my eyes.  Thirty seconds is all it takes for her body to lie lifeless in my hands.  There’s an imprint on her neck from her necklace.  I could feel it clinched in between my hands and her neck.  The necklace had a heart locket on it and reads, Daddy’s Little Girl.  I suddenly have a terrible nauseating feeling in my stomach.  I open the locket and it’s a picture of a little girl sitting on Santa’s lap.  The back of the locket reads Florida 1991.  I rip the necklace from around her neck and clinch it in my fist.  What have I done?

 I remember there was a time when I had a little girl she was my world.  She would always stare at me with her beautiful little brown eyes.  I would kiss her on the forehead every night before bed.  A little piece of my heart died the day her mother took her away from me.  I wanted nothing but the best for my daughter but she picked the wrong path and chose the wrong friends.  I was irrelevant to her, just another dead-beat dad.  I look at the locket once again and start to tremble.  Tears start to run down my face and I feel weak inside.  I try and stand but the sight of her body lying there lifeless weakens every attempt.  I close her beautiful brown eyes with my index finger and thumb.  I come to the realization of what I’ve done.  The last piece of my heart just died.  I sigh, and kiss my little girl for one last time. 

           

           

Momento Mori Response

I think in the movie the character is a lot more self-sufficient than he is in the story.  He is able to do a lot more things on his own.  He is also in a different setting than in the story.  The movie Momento begins at the end of the story and chronologically works backwards.  I think this aspect of the movie gives it a different type of feeling to it.  I like that the movie starts at the climax and tells the story leading up to that climax.  I think the roles of the audience are different in the book than they are in the movies because the movie and the book start in different places.  If you read the book before the movie a different perspective is given because of where the story starts.  Both stories make the concept of time and confusion a very important element.  The movie is in reverse chronological order and the short story jumps around leaving out keep components, giving it a sort of memoir feeling.

The film and the short story both try and confuse its reader/viewer.  The way the film is structured lets the viewer see through the eyes of Lenny, learning new elements to the story as the viewer does.  In the story the notes Earl leaves for himself act as the narrator or a type of conscious, just from a different time.   Both the short story and the film are unique and engaging because of its unorthodox structure.

Lydia Davis "Varieties of Disturbance"

So completely overlooked this as an assignment.....oops




One of the most interesting things i got out of Lydia Davis's book was the abnormal structure.  The book varied in terms of length.  The stories ranged from one or two pages to eleven or twelve.  Even though the length of the stores didn't stay consistent, the content was not lacking in anyway.  The idea of a 5 line short story was amazing to me.  Being able to describe all the elements of a story in so few lines is defiantly something i would like to develop.  


"Mothers Reaction to My Travel Plans," is a perfect example of the strange structure in this book.  These short pieces allow the reader to interprate the story in many different ways.  I personally think there are many ways to understand a story regardless of the length.  The shorter the story the more ways it can be interpreted because there are less words to dilute it.  


All in all i thought the book was very interesting.  It explored different structure, and the stories stretched across many genres.  This is something i would love to actually do in the future.

"E"

“E”

Evelyn teaches life and smokes.  Dancing, drugs, alcohol and life defeated her.  Habits stayed but children were gone, life was over, she was now gone…

Evelyn was her name, but everyone called her Eve.  She was a mother of three, two boys and one girl.  She wasn’t the best mother, but she did her best to raise three children with no male presence.  She worked odd jobs to make ends meat.  Stealing, stripping, drugs, whatever it was, if it produced capitol she would do it.   Giving the stressful life Eve lived she picked up an addicting habit called cigarettes.  Eve smoked four packs a day for 35 years.  Now she sits in a nursing home waiting for her meeting with god.  She has lost her ability to talk and she’s to sickly to move.   That didn’t bother her much at all.  There was something that hurt her more than the cancer.  Everyday she thought about how she had lost her children to the streets.  There was nothing she could do now; there was no family left, just a room and a machine that held her life together.  Eve grabbed her bible and opened it, a picture fell out.  It was of her and her three children.  The back read:  Gabby, Oliver and Nate Spring 1987.  A tear fell from her face, her arm dropped and that was it.  She could no longer hear the machine working and her breath shortened until it faded.  She was gone…

"G"

“G”

Gabrielle dances with long legs.  Walking, running, kicking long skinny giraffe legs.  Excessive jumping and awkward body movements indoor.

Gabrielle uses all of her god given “assets” in her occupation.  She is well known by everyone and has a huge clientele.  Everyone calls her “G” for short because of what she has gone through in her life.  But she doesn’t let that stop her.  She will display the most graceful 15-minute routine you will ever see.  The things she can do, the twisting the turning, the awkward body movement are all lustfully beautiful.  When she’s on stage its quiet as everyone watches in awe.  Her dancing is poetic, her movements tell a story to the catchy beat of her hips.  An exotic gymnast would be the perfect name for it.  To the naked she is a beauty to watch, but drugs and poverty have destroyed her family, dreams and aspirations.  Gabrielle’s dream was to be a world-renowned dancer, to have the ability to excite crowds everywhere., but all of that’s is gone now.  She’s nothing more than a dwindling candle.  Now she is simply known as “G” and she comes on at 9:30.  

"O"

“O”

He has addict arms clinching, holding, shaking, short and discolored.  Hanging bleeding unhealthy looking arms often bruising and occasional bleeding.

Everyday Oliver wakes up with a dying urge to do something.  Oliver is 30 years old, or that’s what he remembers.  He’s divorced with five children.  He used to be an investment banker in Chicago, seems like eons ago nowadays.  He figured he would try it just for fun; to be young again is what he thought.  That one time turned just one more, then another and another until he couldn’t stop.  Before he knew it things started to disappear in his life.  His job, his wife, his kids, his dignity, his respect, all gone.  Now he can be found scouring the slums under the 43^rd street Bridge.  Living day-to-day looking for his next fix, never eating or sleeping or reflecting on all that he has lost in is life.  For him it’s just a matter of time.  It’s killing him inside, the drug, he knows it.  But everyday Oliver seeks it out and does whatever it takes to get it, whatever it takes.  Deep down inside he knows he has failed in life, he understands he lost everything.  All he has left is his persistence.  He has lost everything but vows to never lose heroin.  He will never go a day without it until the end, and that’s what he’ll do.