WRITER’S BLOC - Cornell...
Transcript of WRITER’S BLOC - Cornell...
Spring 2011, Issue 3
WRITER’SBLOC
WRITERS
EDITORS
LAYOUT
ADVISOREsther Kwan
Adina Rubin-Budick
Residents at Lansing Residential Center and MacCormick
Secure Center
ARTISTS
David Bendezu Michael S. BoydLatasio A. CendalesRob CumberlandChristopherCyrusDeeMichael Shane HaleShane KalbJoshua J. KeppenLucasDanny RinconByron K. Russ Sr.J. RusselMalik SheppardJermaine WestLucas Whaley E. Paris Whitfield
Michael HongEsther Kwan
James SchechterExecutive Director, Cornell Prison Education [email protected]
STAFF
Writer’s Bloc Literary Journal is an independent student publication produced by students in the Cornell Prison Education Program and Cornell University. Writer’s Bloc is an indepdent student organization located at Cornell University who produced and is responsible for the content of this publication. This publication was not reviewed or approved by, nor does it necessarily express or reflect the policies or opinions of, Cornell University or its designated representatives.
EDITOR’S Oneyearago,Writer’sBlocbeganasagrant-fundedCornellstudentinitiativetoletthevoicesofincarceratedstudentsatAuburnCorrectionalFacilitybeheard.Throughbeautifulpoetryandprose,thestudentsoftheCornellPrisonEducationProgramsharedtheirexperiences,memories,andfeelingswiththeirextendedCornellcommunity.Sincethisbeginning,Writer’sBlochasexpandedbeyondtheconfinesofaliteraryjournalandamissionofcreativeself-expressiontoagoalofwidespreadawarenessontheincarcerationsystem.Distributionofthejournalisnowaccompaniedwithabi-annuallectureseriesbyCornellprofessorsandthispastsemester,Writer’sBlocheldaco-sponsoredexhibitionofartworkfromnation-widecorrectionalfacilitieswithPrisonerArtExpress.Throughoutthesemester,weasEditorsnotonlygrappledwithexpandingourplatformasanorganization,butalsowithourfundamentalrolesinheadingWriter’sBloc.Whilespeakingwithourcurrentandformerstudents,werealizedhowfortunatewearetobeapartofthisproject—andhowlittlewecontributeincomparisontothehardworkofourstudents.Withthisinmind,wehavestrivedduringthesemestertomakethiseditionofWriter’sBlocatruehomagetoandproductoftheincarceratedexperience.Writer’sBlocisnotaboutCornell,orCornellstudents—itisaboutourstudentsatAuburnandtheirstoriesthatarerepresentativeoftheprisonpopulationatlarge.Thisjournalisours:Cornellstudents,Auburnstudents,and—inthisissue—studentselsewhere.Forthefirsttimeinthisissue,wewerepermittedtoincludeartworkfromincarceratedstudentsintheArtBeyondCornellprogram.Weaseditorsaresoexcitedaboutthenewadditionofthesepiecesthatgorgeouslyadornthepagesofthisjournal.WhilespeakingwithaformerstudentoftheCornellPrisonEducationProgramduringthesemester,werealizedthatwewereleavingoutacrucialandseldomexaminedpartoftheincarceratedexperience:theemotionalrollercoasterofre-entry.InthisissueofWriter’sBloc,weareproudtoincludeliterarypiecesbyformerstudentsrecountingtheirownexitsfromprisonlife.Aswefurtherourgrowthasapublicationandorganizationinsizeandplatform,wehopethatthisprojectfeelslikemoreofacollaboration.InfutureissueswelookforwardtoinvolvingourstudentsmoreintheeditingandproductionprocessofWriter’sBloc,inhopesthatthisEditor’sLetterwillbewrittenbyajointstaffofCornellandAuburnstudents.Fornow,wearesoproudofthisnewissueandallofitsadditions,andwehopeyouenjoy. EstherKwan AdinaRubin-Budick
LETT
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6UntitledLatasio A. Cendales
8Auburn HaikuShane Kalb et al
10The Slaughter of InnocentsRob Cumberland
12Am I complaining too much?David Bendezu
7A Reliquary for ArdorJoshua J. Keppen
9UntitledAnonymous
11Bedtime StoryMalik Sheppard
13People just don’t know...Michael Shane Hale
14Is Innocence Irrelevant?Danny Rincon 15V-8 Eulogy
Lucas Whaley 16ConfessionsJermaine West
18LovepisodeE. Paris Whitfield 19The Day Jan Wozelwick Saved the
Planet Earth by Letting Her Hair GrowMichael S. Boyd
CO
NTE
NTS
Auburn Correctional Facility Cayuga Correctional FacilityCornell Prison Education Program Instructors and Teaching Assistants
Writer’s Bloc would also like to acknowledge Art Beyond Cornell, a student organization that provides weekly art lessons for the residents at Lansing Residential Center and MacCormick Secure Center. Lansing is a juvenile correction home for young women ages 12 to 18. MacCormick holds young men ages 16 to 21. Through a variety of projects, Art Beyond Cornell hopes to offer a means of expression and growth. In addition to giving weekly lessons, Art Beyond Cornell beautified the facilities, connected other Cornell clubs to the facilities, and held exhibits at Cornell showcasing the residents’ artwork.
SPECIALA Reliquary for ArdorJoshua J. Keppen
ConfessionsJermaine West
THANKS
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ShadowsgrowlongBirthwithoutsongFatedtodieUnabletoflyWithbrokenwingsPainthatstingsInthebreastHeartbreak’snest
UntitledLatasio A. Cendales
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Igazedthroughthesteelmeshofthevan’swindow.Itsdarktintonlyaddedtothegloomanddespairofthehauntinglandscape.Barrenfieldsandemptytrees.Emptylikemyheart.Itwasthedaybeforespring.Snowandiceclunginpocketsalongthesideoftheroad,accentedintheshade,likepicturenegatives.Thedrearymorningairpouredthroughthewindowslit,whippingmyfacewithitsicytendrils.Iignoreit,justliketheheater’swarmthblastingmylegs…penetratingmystateissuedbootsandlegirons.Funnyhowmylifeis,howIexistbetweenextremes.Likethemusicinthebackofthevanblastingloudenoughtopenetratetheplexiglassdividerfortheofficers,Idrownitalloutinmysolitude.Idon’tbotheraskingthemtochangeanyofit.LifehasconditionedmetoignorethethingsIcannotcontrol–ahandycopingmechanismformylifeinprison.Whatdiditmatter?Iwasalone.Atthemoment,my“existence”wasinthememoriesofthepast… Itwasjustaweekago.TheycalledmedowntotheChaplin’sofficetoinformmeofhowvaliantlyshe’dfought.Howoftenshe’daskedformeintheperiodsoflucidity,betweenthewavesofpainkillers.Thenshe’dslippedintothecoma.Thestomachaneurysmhaddrainedherlifeawayinebbs,liketherecedingtideasitflowsawayfromthelifelesssand.Herbodywasempty,sustainedbymachinesjustincasethey’dletmeattendherdeathbed.Becauseshehadn’tvisitedmeinthelasttwoyears,theywouldn’tletme.Byimplication,theAdministrationbelievedwedidn’thaveameaningfulenoughrelationshiptowarrantthiswasteoftaxpayers’dollars,justtocoddlealiferlikeme.Facedwiththisfinality,Ihavethempermissiontoremovelifesupportandallowherbrokenandtiredbodytofinallyrest. Shewastobecremated,andI’dneverseeheragain.Longforgottenmemoriesofalifebeforethishellcamefloodingthroughmymind–intimatemomentswithherwhenIwasjustachild,heldsafeinmyGrandmother’swarmembrace.Nothingcouldstopthedelugeoftears,orthespasmsofmychestasIstruggledthrougheachbreath.TheDeacondidhisbesttoconsoleme.ThismanI’dnevermet,gracedmewithhismostpreciousgift–compassion.Intheweekthatfollowed,I’dwritefrantically,tryingtopersuadetheAdministrationtoallowmetoattendhermemorialservice…butintheend,IbelievetothisdaythatitwasthecompassionofDeaconJohnthatsoftenedtheircallousedhearts. Afterfourteenyears,Irelishanyopportunitytoseeoutsideofmyfamiliarwalls.Asthetransportvanspedslowlydownthebackroads,Ilookeduponthelandscape.Mysaddenedheartfoundnosolace.Winter’sdeathlytouchwaseverywhere. Assoofteninlife,perspectivecanchangeeverything.Lifewaseverywherearoundme,aswashope,ifIknowhowtoseeit.Thosetreeswerenotdead,justhidingwhatisvulnerabletotheharmfulfrost.Onlytheirleavesdieinthefallastheydrawlifewithinuntiltheconditionsarerightforregrowth–tobloom!Howsimilararewetothosetrees,thoseofuswho’vebeenhurt?
Wintrytrees,devoidoflifeitseems.Tombstones…theystandwiththeirrootsunseen.Theirleavesdrop,forsaken–atrophied,WhentheSun’slovingwarmth,cannotfeed.Lifedrawnwithin,keptwarm,safeandsound.Tenderrootssearching,deepunderground.Lifeputonhold,tillspringcomesaround,Ardorhelddeep,tilllovecanbefound.
A Reliquary for ArdorJoshua J. Keppen
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Thesuccessionismeanttobeasequence–eitherlightly,sharingoneword–ordirectly,progressingtheidea.Pleaseusethetraditional6-7-6-syllablecount.
Outwhereunderlamps Streetmothsflutterinhighheels;Solitaryswarms(Lucas)
SuchsolitaryThatlivesinbothlightanddark Isfriendtonoone(Dee)
Batsswooptocatchthem, Dropthem,can’tswallowhighheels,Theyhavepointyfriends(J.Russel)
Crowswatchfromthedark,Perchedontheblackhangman’stree. Pointyeyes‘ponfoes.(CyrustheVirus)
Avianmalice Itchesforacawtoarms;Dwarfedbybat’sfervor.(ShaneK.)
UnleashthefuryViewedwithArmageddoneyes Bloodiedfist,myarms(Christopher)
Swarmsofarmedfury VanishintheshadowofMasteringlove’sfire(MichaelShaneHale)
Moth’sanguisheddesireForflickering-dancingfire Cruelfate-noescape(E.ParisWhitfield)
Auburn HaikuShane Kalb et al
Mothtoflame,twirl’dpath Fool’sjourney,courseisthesame.Moon’sbeamswhatitseems.(JoshuaKeppen)
DulleyesinnightsskiesWingswithdust,pheromonespath Imagosinlust.(JoshuaKeppen)
Beakandmaw,sharpclaw Lightsdeceive,stillIbelieveInlove,it’senough(JoshuaKeppen)
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UntitledAnonymous
It’sObvious.Goingupstatewith15toLIFEissomescaryshit.Anxiety.Degradation.Confusion.Loneliness.Enteraworldyoucannotimagine,doesn’tmatterhowmanystoriesyou’veheard.Orhowmanyprisonmoviesyou’veseen.Willyoumakeithomebeforeyourfatherdies?Willyoumakeithomeatall?
Yearsgoby.Itisamazingwhatyoucangrowaccustomedto.Inacoffinwithaglasstop.
Themachinewithpigsforcogssaysyoucango.Home.
Goinghomeissomescaryshit.Anxiety.Expectations.Confusion.Self-Doubt.Youreadathousandbooks?Youdidamillionpush-ups?Youready?
Gateopens.Heartpounds.Walkout.Gotosleep.Dreamofprison.Wakeupnotknowingwhereyouare.Walkoutside.
Strangefeeling.Canpeopletellwhereyou’vebeen?Theycansmellitonyou.
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The Slaughter of InnocentsRob Cumberland
TheframersoftheUnitedStatesConstitutiononceheldtheindividualrighttolife,liberty,andthepursuitofhappinesssoscared,itwasbetterforaguiltymantogofreethanforaninnocentmantobecondemned.TheformationoftheAmericancriminaljusticesystemsetupadoublefail-safeinprotectionofthatsacredindividualright:First,anaccusedistobepresumedinnocentuntilprovenguilty,andsecond,theaccusedmustbefoundguiltybeyondareasonabledoubt.
Analysisofthepresentdayjusticesystemwillrevealaprofoundperversionoftheidealsuponwhichitwasfounded.Forinstance,theconstitutionalrighttoapublictrial.Thisdoesnottranslateintotrialbypublicopinion.Oftentimes,thecourtofpublicopiniontaintstheadversarialprocessofatrial.Publicopiniondoesnotpresumeinnocenceandthusthedetailsofmanyaheinouscrimesareenoughtobrandtheaccusedguilty.Theaccusedthenbecomesthedefendantwhomustnowdefendagainstthepresumptionofguiltandproveinnocence.Theprosecutorialburdenofproofisthereforeplacedonthedefensewhomustnowtrytounringarungbellsincethejurypoolismadeupofmembersofthepubliccourt.
Publicoutcriesforswiftandlastingjusticepromptsprosecutorstoappeasethepublic–leasttheylosevotesorsufferbudgetcuts.Thetruthbecomesobsoleteandtheswordofjusticefallsunmercifullyupontheguiltyandinnocentalike.TheinnocentiscondemnedandBarabbasroamsfree.Crimeswerenolessheinousinthedaysofourfoundingfathersthantheyaretoday.Itwouldhavebeenheinoustothemtodenyacitizenlifeandlibertyasaresultofarushtoconclusionfromhyperboleorfearandrevulsion.Heinousiswhenwecompromiseourconstitutionprotectionsbyfailingtoholditstruthsasevidentforalltotheletter.
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Bedtime StoryMalik Sheppard
Lazy!Lazy!Lazy!you’vebeenthatwaylatelyfor days and days and daysyoulayinadazereflectingthewaysandactionsofthoselackingmotivationandit’skillingthecreationofyourcreativethoughtsbeforethey’rewrought.
EverytimeyoureclineI’minclinedtomakeyouuncomfortablesoyouwouldgetupanddigupthecorpseofyourpoeticthoughtsbutyoujusttwistandturnonmysteelframeinpainfeeling sorry for yourselfbutIrefusetofeelthesame.
Manyamenhaveusedmetolosethee,theylayandlayandlayuntiltheirmindsbegantoplaydelusionaltricksuntilIhearthemsayIquitandtheysurrendertheirsanity.
ThesewallsandIhavewitnessedweakermencryandfelttheirsoulsturnascoldasmine,butwhenyourestonmeIlistentoyourbreastbeat,Ifeeltherelentlesspoundingofasoulthatwon’tgivein,thistellsmeyourfirestillburnswithin,yourheatseepsdeepintomyironskinandIknowyoushan’tbecastamongstthebrokenmenbutyouwillifyoucan’tbrakethisstateoflazinessyou’rein.
Sturdyandfirmmyformoftentransformsintoapitofquicksandwherementalsgetstuckinthemuckof deserted lands,desertswithoutoasis,blurredvisionsofdeferreddreamsreamedwithinferredscreamsofdissipatedpassionsleavesmeaskingquestionsthatcan’tbeansweredbynoneotherthanthebrotherwhohasmademehislovernotknowingIwillsmotherallotheremotionsleavingbreathingnoneotherthandepressionwhenyou’rerestin’day in and day outwithoutcontestingthedroughtofconceptionsasiftheinspirationalspoutiscongestedquestionslikewhydoyounotdothatwhichyouusedtodothingsyoulovetodothingsthatmakeyouyouandbrightenedthehuewhenyourdayswereblue?Doyoulackwithinthedisciplinetoascendtotherealmwheredestinyisdeterminedbyself,wherewealthisnotdeemedbyphysicalthingsbutgleanedthroughspiritualmeans?
ThesequestionsIaskmybedfriend,yourworstenemyIamforthebedyoulazeinwillbethebedyou’reengravedin.
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Thesebarsarewhoopingmyass.Thesewallsareblockingmyview.Thissystemistryingtobreakme.
Thetoiletinmycellisannoyingtheshitoutofme.Theloudbelleverymorningisburstingmyears.Theseguardshavenoregardforyouorme.
Thisplacesomesayremindsthemofslavery’spast.Theserehabilitatorsknowhowtoreadandwrite,butrealisticallytheyhavenoidea.Onewordtodescribetheparoleboard:redundancy.
Theyardscoldhardsurfaceishurtingmyfeet.Thesethoughtsofmelosingmymindareonlyfuellingmyfears.19whenIcamein,15tolifenowwonderingifI’mevergoingtomakeitoutofhere.
Thesetaxpayingcitizensarepaying40grandayeartokeepmealive!Thesepoliticiansarepolitickingaboutpoli-what!?AndherethroughCornellIlearnthatslavelawsweremeanttokeepwhitemenspacehigh,whiletaggingthewordindigenoustotherestofthepopulationleavingeveryoneelsetodie.
Slavery,JimCrow,thencallittheDrugWar?Thanks,MichelleAlexander.Youmeanwomendidn’thavetherighttovoteuntilthe1920s?
WasIreallyborntowitnessallofthis?IknowI’mcomplainingabouthowmuchallthissucks,butpleasetrustme,Iunderstandtheworldissufferingalso,andtherearepeoplewithhardlyanyluck.
SorryifyouthinkI’mcomplainingtoomuch.It’sjustthatI’mtired,woozy,andpissed.Idon’twanttoquit,butthisvirusisdefeatingmycells,andIfeelunprotectedsoyes,I’mgettingsick.
Dedicatedtothepeoplewhosaytheycan’tstandcomplainers.
Am I complaining too much?David Bendezu
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December22,2010DADTrepealed.
Iwhisperthenewstoyou,unconsciouslyawarethataninnerfeargnawsonmybones,thatastraightmanwillrainonourparade.Thesamewaymytearsrainatthenews,theunbelievable,shockingnews.
“Really?”youwhisperback.Theglintofhoperaisesyourbrowfightingthecloudsofadoubtfulfrown.
Weembrace–withoureyesNomorelestwedrawtheirfire.Wearechangingourclothesinthelockerroom.Wedon’tknowhowtoact.Straightoppressionhasbentourbacks,Wedon’tknowhowtostand.
Iwonder,didsomeIrish,Italians,JewsbegrudgetheBlackstheirday?Likesomestraightsbegrudgeusours.Ouronemomentofhavingourmouthsunshackledsotightly.
Westandnakedinstarkcontrasttooneanother,Whiteskin,blackskinamidstothernakedskinbrown,yellow.
Wemovedeliberately,Mindful.Rightleg,Leftleg,Rightarm,Leftarm,Pullingthelacestightly,Wedrawouttheactofdressinginnewclothes,Havingnoideawhatwillcomeafter.
People just don`t know...Michael Shane Hale
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Manyyearsago,JudgeHenryFriendly,awisejurist,posedthequestion:Isinnocenceirrelevant?AquestionequallyrelevantinAmerica’sjudicialsystemtoday.EverymonthIreadaboutsomeonewhohasspentmanyyearsinprisonforacrimehe/shedidnotcommit.WrongfulconvictionsofActuallyInnocentmenandwomenshouldnotbethenorminamoderndaysociety.In2009,theNewYorkStateBarAssociationstudied53caseswheremen/womenwerewrongfullyconvicted,andspentmanyhardyearsinprisononlytobevindicatedlater.Thetaskforceidentifiedseveralfactorsthatoccurredineachcaseasthecauseofthewrongfulconviction.Amongstthemwere(i)misidentificationoftheaccused;(ii)generalerrorsbyagovernmentactor;towit:prosecutors,policeinvestigatorsorthepresidingjustice;and(iii)errorsinthehandlingorpreservationofkeyforensicevidence.Thetaskforcehighlightedspecificcauseslinkedtothewrongfulconvictionstowit:(a)identificationprocedures;(b)governmentpractices;(c)falseconfessions;(d)mishandlingofforensicevidence;(e)unreliablejailhouseinformants;and(f)defensepractices.
Asystemthatarrest,convictandimprisonitscitizensdespiteproofofinnocencecommitstyrannyuponitspeople.Whatkindofsocietyarewe(America),whenweallowinnocentmen/womentobethrowninprison,aswegoonlikenothingwronghashappened?Arewesoconditionedwithtyrannicalbehaviourbyourgovernment,thatthecouragetospeakouthasbeenlost?InAmericanhistoryithasalwaysbeentheyoungmenandwomenfromcollegecampusesandinstitutionsofhigherlearningthathavebeenthevoiceofthepeople.Wherearetheytoday?PerhapsapageshouldbetakenfromtheTunisianpeopleormaybetheEgyptians,riseupandspeakfortheDerrickHamilton’sandtheShabkkaShakur’s–twomeninNewYorkStatePrisondespiteoverwhelmingevidenceoftheirinnocence.
In1215,boldEnglishbaronsbrandishedfirearmsagainstKingJohnandforcedhimatgunpointtosigntheMagnaCarta.ThisdocumentgaveallthecitizensofEnglandbasichumanrights,andprovidedthefoundingfathersinAmericaaguidetobasetheAmericanConstitutionupon.
Today,acalltojusticefromtheWrongfullyConvictedacrossthisnation,totheboldAmericancitizensisannounced.Foramovementthatprotectsthelibertyofinnocentmenandwomen.OrisJudgeFriendly’squestion:IsInnocenceIrrelevantnowanormalrealityinour21stcentury?
Is Innocence Irrelevant?Danny Rincon
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Dustblewacrossthewindshield,scratchingathousandunseenfissuresintotheglass,tohismindeachgrainwasanemberburninggrayasitleftitsmarkandthenflittingawayinthelengthofaheartbeat;thelengthofforever.
Thebarrendesertlandscapeseemedtoreflecttheabyssofhissoul,justasthelowrumbleofthunderthatrolledacrossthepredawnskyseemedtoreflectthegrowlofhisengine.
Hegrippedthewheelwithclaw-likehands,knuckleswhite,hisshouldersslumpedforward,hiseyesnarrowed.Behindhimthehorizonbecameathingoldlinepushingagainstthegloomofthenight.Hisfootpresseddownupontheaccelerator.
Somewhereonthatemptyhighway,abrickwallwaited.
Theworldwasablur.Themilesflewbyhimandstillhewentnowhere,anunwillingcaptivebetweenyesterdayandtomorrow.Hebarelynoticedanymore,whocouldreadtheclockfacewithonehandmissingandtheotherbrokenbeyondrepair?Everythingcountedinseconds,themeasuresofagonyandecstasy.
Thethundersoundedclosernow.Nothinghadeverseemedsofaraway.
Ashiscarcontinuedtostreakthroughthenight,aforkofblue-whitelightningdancedacrosstheskybeforelancingdowntostrikethegroundbarelyafootfromthehighway.Hedidn’tacknowledgeit;itwasasadreamtohimandhealreadyknewwhatitfeltliketobaskwithinthewarmthofadream.It’sglorious,andfleeting,andultimatelyit’spainfulasitburnsyouawaytoash.Thenthereisonlythecold,thecoldandtheecho.Butifechoesweresupposedtofadeaway,howdidanechobecomeavoice?Howdidamindbecomeacemetery?
Anotherpealofthunderbrokeacrosstheheavens,butstillitdidn’train.Nooneeverrememberedtherain,theghostsofthepastbecameanendlesssuccessionofsunnydays,butaskyisneversoblueaswhenitcontainsafewclouds.Beautyisfoundbetweenthecontrastsandimperfections.
Hiseyesglanceddownatthefuelgauge.Hecouldn’tkeepthisupforever,thetankwasalmostempty.Ithadbeenthatwayfordays.
Behindhimthesun’sbrilliantcrownbrokeoverthehorizonline.Hedidn’tseeit,beforehimthedarknessgrewmoreprofound,hecouldn’tlookaway…
V-8 EulogyLucas Whaley
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Whatislifewithouttheonesyoulove,theoneswhomyousworntoprotectandcomfort,whoseheartsyoutorn.
Nowinthemidstofeverythingyourealizethatthosesameheartsyou’vetorn,wasittheliesofalifeIsecretlyheld,orwasitthefactthatourfamilieswishesprevailed.
IknowthatIwastobeyourall,togetherthroughallstormsweweretoprovethenaysayerswrong.Somewhereinbetweenourpassionsthingswentterriblywrong.Thepressuretobewhattheywantedwastoostrong.
Itweakenedmymanhoodlikeanoperasingerforgettinghissong,thekeysoflifewereallofbeat,Ijustcouldnolongerperform.
SoIfoundmytuneinthearmsofanamelesssoul,thesweat,thesounds,flashinglights,themoons.Thepulling,theturning,thetuningI’vefoundtherightchord.
Theemptinessinmysoul,thatgapingholewasfilledwithheressence,herall.Andforthatmomentmyconfusionfoundpeaceandcalm.
Canyoublamemeforwantingtofeelwholeagain?WhataboutmeiswhatIwouldalwaysshoutwithin.
Ihadtofeelcomplete,soinsearchofmymanhoodIfoundsolaceinotherswhoseheartsweretouchedlikeme.
One,Two,Three,shouldIgoon?HowcanIloveforanhourthanmoveon?Ihadtorationmylovebecauseyou’vedamnneartookitall.
TheFifthwomangavemeherall,lovedme,trustedme,heldme,gavememoistenwarmth,unlockedhertreasuresformetoenjoy.Butlikeawomanwhowasabusedyouleftmewiththosescars,Iwasscorned.
ConfessionsJermaine West
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TheSixth,Seventh,andEighthwasallablur,namesoffaces.
Scratchesonmyback,moremoansandpleasfordon’tstop,bedsmoving,tearsofjoy,neighbourscomplainingonmydoortheywouldknock.
Myhonestyhasyettodeplete…
Ninth,Tenth,Eleventh.Thewalksinthepark.Thebathroomatthejob,thecountlessnamesandfaces.I’vetriedtorememberthemall.MyhonestyhasnolimitsIhavetotellitall.
Therumorsofmysecretsandourjustassecreterendez-vous,likeahomingpigeoncomeflingingbacktoyou.Thepregnancyandthenthebirthofabeautifulchild.
Twelfth,Thirteenth,Fourteenth…Isearchedeveryinchofthembutcouldnotfindme.
DidIhurtyouintheprocessoftryingtohealmypride?Fifteen,Sixteen,Seventeen….I’minaparkfilledwithalongride.Candles,lotions,mynameechoingoffthewalls.
OverthemusicJermaine!Jermaine!Jermaine!Mypriderepaireditself.Ionceagainremained.Moreknocksonmydoor,theirsnodoubtthattheneighboursknowmyname.
I’vechosentopreservemyselfoveryou,youstrippedmeofeverythingIhadtorecoup.
Ihadsilverwithyou;nowIfoundgoldineighteen,platinuminnineteen.Iadmitallthistoyou.Foryoutoseewhatmysoulwentthroughduetoyou.
Alltherumorsweretrue,howdoIsayinRussian“Inevermeanttohurtyou.”Itwasn’tyourfaultyoujustcouldn’tcompleteme.
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Black WhiteBrown TanPink YellowWomenorManBleedOneColorRed SubconsciousBigotriesrule.InsteadofamasterRace.dichotomiesdejour….Whatafarce!AnUtterDisgrace!Brothers&SistersofonlyoneRacehuman…mortals“Lovethyneighbour”LoveoneAnother;Doesn’tanyoneRememberthePepsiColaCommercial?VeritableLovepisocle
LovepisodeE. Paris Whitfield
Itisnevertoolate…ChooseLove!It’smuchgreaterthanhate.
Writer`s Bloc Spring 2011
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“Ohshit,”Jansaidtoherselfasshewokeup. “Shit,shit,shit!”shesaid,climbingoutofbed.“HowcouldIhaveforgottentosetthedamnalarm.”Janrantothephoneanddialledthenumbertothesalon.“Hello,thisisJanWozelwick.Ihadanappointmentfor9:00am.I’mrunningalittlelate.Istherestillanopening?”Janasked.“Oh,thankGod!I’llbetherein15minutes.Okay.Seeyouinafew,”Jansaidgratefully.Sherantothebathroom,brushedherteethandwashedherfacequickly.Assheranbacktoherbedroom,shestubbedhertoeonthedoorway.“Ouch,damnit!”shehobbledtohercloset,grabbedapairofjeansandabuttoned-downpinkshirt,andthrewapairofsocksandherrunningshoeson.Onthewayout,shesnatchedherpurseupofftheend-table. Unbeknownsttoher,shewasbeingscrutinizedbyangelsanddemonsalike.“Sowhat’ssospecialabouther?”AzrealsaidtoMisery.“Bepatient,youngone,you’llseeinafewminutes.”Herepliedcoolly,withasinistersmilethatexposedhisrazorsharpteeth.Theybothwerewatchingfromarealmthatcouldnotbedetectedbyhumaneyes.Yet,astheywatchedJanmakeherwaydownMainStreet,Miseryglancedupintotheskyandsneeredasanaudiblehissescapedhislips.Therehesawthecloudslinedwiththousandsofangels,allshining,orratherradiating,withwhatseemedliketheenergyofthesun.Azrealheardhisdemonicmentor’shissandlookedtowhathewasgazingat.“Istilldon’tgetit,whyaretheyhere?Theyhardlyevershowuponearth.What’ssospecialaboutthisday?”Azrealsaid.“Okay,youseethatlittleblackboywalkingdownthestreet?”asMiserypointedwithhisvulture-liketalon.“Whichone?”Azrealsaid,lookingaround.“Rightthere,withthebrownshortsandwhitet-shirton”saidMisery.“Ohyeah,rightthere,”AzrealsaidpointingtothelittleboywalkingontheoppositesideofthestreetofJan.“Ifthatladygoesontogetherhairdoneanddon’tinterfere,thenthatlittleboywillgrowuptobeamilitant,revolutionist,arightwingextremist,whowilleventuallyleadagroupofhisfollowersintocausingthethirdandmostdisasterWorldWar!”Azreallookedawestruck.“Areyouserious?”hesaid.“Whenhaveyoueverknownmetoplay?”askedMisery.Justthen,asifoncue,therewassuchaloudanheavenlysound,sobeautifulitwasutterlyindescribable.MiseryandAzrealbothlookedup,andwhattheysawleftthemspeechless.Alloftheangelsweresingingsynchronized.Thesoundwasdeafeningastheyparted.AzrealandMiserysawsuchablindinglight,radiatingfromafigurethatapproachedthroughthecolumnsthattheangelsmadeoneachside.Azrealasked,“WhointheHadesisthat?”“ThatisMichael,”Miserysaidwithdistain. AsMichaelapproached,theswordthatwasinhishandwasalightwithflames.“MichaelisHisnumberone,”Miserysaid,“Heisthefinestofalltheangels.Hehasneversufferedadefeat!”AzreallookeduptoMisery,eyeswidewithastonishment.Miserycontinued,“Ishouldhavesuspectedhewouldbehere.Nevertheless,Heisaspowerlessasweareinthissituation.Heisonlyhereforshow.”AzreallookedbackatJanasshewasmakingherwayatahurriedpacedownthestreettoherhairappointment,mutteringsomethingbeneathherbreath.“Besilent.Littleone,itisabouttohappen,ornot!”Miseryexclaimed. Michaelliftedhishandandassuddenlyasthebeautifulsingingbegan,itceased.Thesilencewasdeafening. AllthedemonsthatweretherewithMisery,thehoardsandhoardsofthem,wereallsilentandstill,alongwiththeangels. Janwaswalkingwithaslightawkwardstepbecausehertoewasstillthrobbingfromstubbingitonthedoorway.Damnit,IhopeIain’tbreakit,”shesaidtoherself.Shewaslookingatherfootwhen
The Day Jan Wozelwick Saved the Planet Earth by Letting Her Hair GrowMichael S. Boyd
sheaccidentallybumpedintosomeoneandlosthergriponherpurse,spillingeverythingonthesidewalk.“Watchwhereyou’regoing,lady,”themansaidashekeptonwalking.“Sorry,”Jansaid,asshebegantopickupherpurse’scontents.Aftergatheringherbelongingsandstuffingthembackintoherpurse,shehappenedtoglanceupandseeaderelictstaggeringpastavendorthatsoldelaboratelydecoratedcakes.Seeingthatthevendor’sbackwasturned,thederelictswipedsomefrostingoffthecakeandstuffedhisfingersinhismouth.Jangrimacedasshesawthis.Asthederelictstaggeredaway,shesawthisyoungblackboywalkingfromtheotherdirection,passingthederelict,justasthevendorstoodupandsawwhathadhappenedtohiscake.Then,lookingattheboywhowasjustpassingby,Janknewinherheartwhatwasgoingthroughthevendor’smindashisfeaturesdarkened.Thenshethoughtabouthowlateshealreadywastoherappointment.
“Hey,youboy,”thevendorsaid,astheboywaspassingby.“Whome?”saidtheboy.“Yeah,comehere,”saidthevendor.Theboysawthelookonhisface,andknewnothinggoodcouldcomefromstopping.Hewasabouttoboltwhenthevendorgrabbedhisarm.“Isawyouboy,youruinedmycake!”thevendorsaid,ashewaswrenchingaroundtheyoungboy.Jansawallthisfromacrossthestreet,andshewasstuck,indecisive.Sheknewshecouldhelptheyoungboy,yetsheknewshehadtogetherhairdone.Ifshedidn’tgetitdonenow,she’dnotonlyhavetowaitforweekstogetanotherappointment,butshe’dlooklikehellforherdatetonight.
That’swhenthehoardsofdemonsbeganscreaming.“Getyourstupidhairdone!”“Yourlookbadenoughalready”anotherdemonshouted.“Hurryup,lady,you’relatealready!”Allthedemonsurgedhertogoon.Theangelsurgedhertostayandhelp.
Thevendoryelledattheboy,“Doyouknowhowmuchyoucostme?”Theboysaid,“ButIdidn’tdoanything,”astearsstartedtoflowfromhiseyes.
Janmadeherdecision.Asshewascrossingthestreet,shesawinhorror,asthevendorpickeduptheruinedcakeinhisotherhandandsmasheditintheboy’sface.Theboyquitstruggling,asastrangesenseofcalmseemedtoovercomehim.Janranacrossthestreetnow.Shewentuptothevendor,withangerinhervoice.“Unhandthatboynow!”“Ibegyourpardon,”saidthevendor,“Heruinedmycake!”“Nohedidn’t.Isawthatderelictovertheredoit!”asshepointeddownthestreet.Thevendorlookedandsawthederelictstillstumblingalonglickinghisfingersclean.Thevendorlookedconfused.“But,I…I…,”hetrailedoff.“You,nothing,”Jansaidwithauthority,“Lookwhatyou’vedonetothispoorboy,hisclothesareruined,he’samess.Whatarehisparentsgoingtosay?”Thevendorlookeddownattheboy.Heknewhehaddonewrong.Thevendorsaid,“Look,kid,Iamreallysorry.Iwasmistaken.Ishouldn’thavedonethat.Here,takethiscaketoyourmom,andtakethismoneytoo.”Asthevendorhandedhima20dollarbill,Janjuststoodtherewatching.TheboyacceptedthemoneyandlookedatJan.Shenoddedherhead,asifheneededtobereaffirmed,thatitwasokay.“TellyourparentstocomedownhereandI’dbehappytoexplaineverything.Okay,kid?”thevendorsaid.
Theboy,nowamanrecountingthisstoryofhowthisoneactofkindnessbythiswomanthatheneverevengothernameof,hadhelpedhimmakethedecisionsthatledhimtothispointinhislife,ashemadehisinauguraladdressasthefirstblackPresidentoftheUnitedStatesofAmerica.20
Writer`s Bloc Spring 2011
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Writer`s Bloc Spring 2011
21
As so often in life, perspective can change everything. Life was everywhere around me, as was hope, if I know how to see it. Those trees were not dead, just hiding what is vulnerable to the harmful frost. Only their leaves die in the fall as they draw life within until the conditions are right for regrowth – to bloom! How similar are we to those trees, those of us who’ve been hurt?
From A Reliquary for Ardor, by Joshua J. Keppen