We Have Always Lived in the Castle

I finished my J book a few weeks ago and due to finals never had a chance to blog about it.

It's by Shirley Jackson and I believe it was her last novel. I haven't read any of her other stories, though I know her short story, The Lottery, is famous and lauded many times over.

The book was quite good. The story was interesting and the narrator, Merricat, was fascinating. She seemed crazy, maybe delusional. Her accounts of events, at first, were fully believable, as it seems a narrator should in a book. However, the more I read, the more it appeared Merricat might be more than just kooky. The idea of a narrator skewing stories works rather well with this book.

The story itself is flat. The characters are static, situations don't change. In this respect, I could see why some people wouldn't like Jackson's novel. For me, though, it really pulled the story along. I thought the story wasn't so much about Merricat and her sister, but about their surroundings, their neighbors and how people reacted to them.

I loved it for its dark, creepy thoughts. I loved it because it didn't hold back much from the cruelty of others, the cruelty people can force onto others just because they can.

I have no complaints about this book. It was beautifully written and well worth a read.

PS. I'll post a picture later.

Product

I haven't posted much of anything in a while.

I'm being more productive, though, I swear. And summer is full of potential, I can feel it in me. I want to create, create, create. Make some little videos. Make some art. And write till my hands swell up and fall off.

I'm working on a few different things and the worst one thus far is my children's book(s). Who knew writing for children could be so difficult? I've got the story mapped out. I just need to get the actual words down.

Fingers crossed. Summer will be my time to work out all the kinks.

Bones

I was having really restless sleep last night. I kept waking up every hour or so. I was tired, but couldn't find myself in a proper state of sleep. I woke up one last time at around 6:45am and couldn't fall back asleep until I churned this out. It's a first run and not revised, written in half sleep. Eat it up, my dears.


It takes a lot out of us.
Sitting sideways, the way we like.
Our shoulders jut out, bones beneath the sun.
It doesn’t last long, but it warms us just enough

We’ve still got our hair grown, but not growing
You always moan that you forgot.
It’s our hair that keeps us human
Our hair that won’t be growing.

Dust gathers in heaps around our feet
Leaving dirt under nails,
Smudges on our cheeks.
We forget, we forget,
To keep our eyes to the sun
We forget to stay human
Our hair grown, but not growing.

I Got Beef

I got beef with our educational system.  What sort of place do we live in where students at a city college, that is, students that have been allowed to graduate high school, can’t read without stuttering and certainly can’t be asked to write a single coherent sentence?

I know, you’re probably thinking helloooo, City college.  Yes, most students at a city college are sub-par.  Yes, most students didn’t have the ambition, grades, or money to afford something better, but that doesn’t mean they’re stupid (or so I thought). 

Rudimentary reading and writing skills shouldn’t be a classification for stupid or smart.  They are rudimentary for a reason.  They are a part of the basic skill set we need to survive in this society.  I can make exceptions, some people aren’t great at English, some aren’t native English speakers.  But for criminy’s sake, I’m asking for a comma here, a period there, a sentence that actually makes sense.

And my beef, this time around, is why in God’s name can’t these students compose a clear sentence?  How come they’re unaware of when to throw in a period or when to use “was” instead of “were”?  I think it’s unacceptable that kids are allowed to graduate.

I mean, what’s the point of going to school if a majority of the kids are going to be glossed over?  We’re pretty much holding them hostage for 8 hours a day and then releasing them into the wild, unprepared and ill-suited for the real world. 

We’re supposed to be this great and powerful country that all other countries should covet.  Yes, we’re supposed to be amazing, yet we are breeding and perpetuating the common idiot.  Is it “the man’s” way of keeping us down?  Is it a conspiracy to make the rich richer and the poor poorer?

Probably not, but it’s definitely a sad, fucked up state of affairs when people 18 and up probably spell worse than my 5 year old niece.

And why are we catering to the Spanish-speaking community???  My niece goes to school and the children that speak only Spanish aren’t being integrated into the English language, but being taught in Spanish.  How will that help them?  In the long run, they’re in the United States, and as much as some people don’t want to admit it, speaking English is imperative. 

Not only that, if we’re going to cater to Spanish speakers, why are other foreign tongues not treated the same way?  You go anywhere public, you’re likely to see signs and hear notifications that are said in English then in Spanish.  Where are the announcements for the Chinese?  For the many other people that don’t speak English as a first language?   

 If you ask me, THAT’S a conspiracy to keep the poor man down.

It's May Already??

April was a whirlwind! I spent a little over a week in Chicago, took a gazillion midterms and saw a lot of old friends.

To kick off May, the man-friend and I rode bikes to the train station and hopped on one to LA. After a visit to Freestyle, we trekked through the streets to Griffith Park. It was sunny and filled with interesting characters and strange interactions. It's really a lost enjoyment, the act of walking. I don't think many people do it for the leisure aspect of walking and observing anymore. But every time I go on a walk, I see or hear something interesting.

On our way back, we made a pit stop at The Soda Station to say hello to our friend/owner, Michael. We bought a grape soda from him and were overjoyed at how delicious it was.



Don't be fooled by his utterly bored face; the soda was beyond what we expected. And he's even opening it with a Soda Station bottle opener!

I Got Beef

The more I see these days, the more aghast I become. I've got a lot of things on my mind to rant about, thus I'm preparing to bring back (though it was very brief while it lasted) "I Got Beef" rants. Only this time, I plan on not only ranting, but picking and choosing certain companies and people of import to direct my raving too. I not only intend to post those thoughts here, but to send them out to the proper people.

This will help myself sort through my own feelings (hopefully to inspire creativity and rid myself of writer's block) and maybe even feel a little bit like I've made a difference.

Going Back

I've been in a state of confusion regarding writing topics. I've also been in a rut with my dreams which not only affects my mental well-being, but also my writing. A lot of what I write is inspired by a dream or thought. Instead, I've been waking up tired and dreamless. I've had nothing to look forward to when I wake up which makes me feel even more tired. It's a morning routine to recant to myself what adventures I've been on while slumbering.

I'm not sure how to improve my dreams, but I've been returning to old (and unfinished) writings to try and siphon creativity from them. Here is something old that I'm working on completing. It kind of falls apart, but the first paragraph flows beautifully (in my mind) and I would love to complete it. The second one kind of jumbles around and I enjoy the third one. It all needs a lot of work and, cross your fingers, hopefully I can manage to work something out.




How sweet the sound of keys pressed softly in the dim glow of a fading sun. While dusky shadows trace a silhouette, fingers fold over the twinkle of each ivory bone. In the cramped corridors of what was once a pulsing nightclub, the silhouette plays for no one.

Outside, the city bustles. Like ants scavenging, the people follow an invisible trail, eyes trained to the floor. The pavement slops, wet with a gritty dirt that coats the city's streets and walls. Yet, the people don't see this. The streets are packed with jostling arms and pendulum legs swinging back and forth, back and forth, with no thought. People seem to move regardless of destination or will. Out here people have all the time in the world, but can't stop to breathe, or think, or listen.

From deep in the heart of the jungle grown from seeds of concrete and vines of steel comes a most unusual occurrence. Something has changed. People walk with the same automatic movement, but something, perhaps, seems different. Through the heavy stale sound of silence, a certain brightness brews. For most, the brightness, the twinkling lightness is a sensation almost forgotten.

He bleeds in a pool of inky black, slipping with his eyes closed. Around him business suits clatter by, each sleeve ending in a pale hand grasping the sleek leather handle of a briefcase. Skirts cut business appropriate short swing past, the puff of air moving slight his hair. His pants soak slow in the warm wet of his own life and when he opens his eyes, he’s staring at crotches jostling and cloth covered butts shuffling away.

It’s warm in his head, in a most unusual way. The leak in his side throbs less making it easier to focus, easier to steady himself on the ground. But with each movement, the warmness in his head seeps as if hot blood had never reached