A lot of things are coming to head as the semester comes to a close. My life feels drastically different in these short four months of the semester. I have become someone I almost don't recognize. It seems like my life used to have a certain degree of unpredictability, the future unwinding at an alarmingly random pace. Now my future feels warm. It doesn't feel predictable, but it feels more slow and gentle. I used to think that change could only happen slowly over a long period of time. I am proving myself wrong. Even if I change I will still struggle with the same issues, but how I push myself will show because I pick myself up when I fall, instead of dragging myself at the knees, burring myself deeper into the sand. It's realizing that your knees are beginning to be buried, stepping out before your legs are powerless. I've begun to lift weights. Not just for physical strength, but for myself and my emotions. Lifting the weight of the world feels like less work the stronger I get. This week I have felt my future shifting in a thousand directions. From 2 complicated relationships, to the end of this semester, the daylight strikes many angles. Sometimes I see clarity, other times my shades are rose colored and hazy, smoke eroding my eyeballs from what's right and real. Because future is such a strong theme in my life right now, I am going to write about "The House of the Future" from Maps to Anywhere.
The future is always bright, never bleak. We see ourselves as better human beings, setting unrealistic goals that are never achieved. It holds iridescence instead, changing with different angles of light, the way oil looks in a pool of water. The pink and green melding with blue, swirling in and out while changing the angle you're looking at. This is how the author feels about his future. His brother is going to die; he has no control but the color of his control is ever changing. As he matures and detaches, the blue becomes more of a bronze-gold. The future isn't really the future, it is a continuation of the circle you have already chosen to stick yourself into. You change your present because time has no boundary, no stopping point or past. That is a rather difficult concept for humans to conceive, none the less it's important for us to grasp in order discard this "better future" idea. In "The House of the Future", the author is obsessed with futuristic architecture and the idea of the future. He is adopting this idea because he needs to detach himself from his brothers death. He saw time as a bridge to happiness and perfection: "Time was the road that led to utopia-or so I believed-and life, prolonged, would be nearly perfect, human kind molded like plastic til virtue and peace and pleasure prevailed" Future is the answer to his brothers pain and suffering. It reminds me of believing in the tooth fairy as a child, fantasy that feels more real than it should. The act of him writing this memoir was his realization of how future is just a continuation of now, something you can't wait for. You have to act in now how you would act in your future. I hate watching people wait for their future. If you wait you are going to remain in exactly the same state as you were in. This is the biggest thing I learned this semester. You can't wait to get better at something, you have to get better RIGHT. NOW. Or else nothing will change.
This book was life changing for me. It has helped me see my life in a different, more detached way. I see much of my childhood and young adulthood as trauma and suffering, but after reading this novel I can see how you can easily look at a situation in your life and find beauty in even the worst things. You can morph it into something beautiful. Life has so many stages. Not every stage has to be enjoyable. I am finding more solitude and comfort in my skin as I age. Perhaps that's something every human being enjoys the older they get, but I think the transition point in my life is just as valid as any other. The author uses descriptive details and imagery that turn things I would be upset about into works of art. I have since incorporated this into my writing. I want to write about some of the things I have experienced growing up, but I want it to be a little bit more artistic and detached like his writing is. Writing in itself feels kind of like a detachment, allowing the author to feel the barrier between fingers and keyboard, screen and web browser. I can feel it developing itself on its own now, brain and fingertips less connected than ever before. Sometimes I feel like that's the best way to write, semi conscious and uninhibited. I want to show the bad in my life as something good, because that's largely how I've been able to come out so clean. I take what I get and turn it around. I use the bad for good. So many people continue letting their knees become paralyzed in the sand, unable to move in any direction. My protest is pulling myself out before it's too late.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Blog Post 10: 4/2/15
As a class we have begun to read Maps to Anywhere by Bernard Cooper. The book is situated as a bunch of essays about different memories the author has about his life. They are beautiful and untamed, the way I would like to write my life story. They are thoughts and descriptions of troubles, joy, and just life itself. I have begun to really love the language that holds itself between the pages. His descriptions are vivid and evoke emotions of my own life. The sensory detail is wet on the tip of my tongue throughout every essay. His descriptions of his father are some of my favorite parts so far. Today I will talk about some of the sections in the novel that I like so far and why. I may also include an exert from an essay I have begun to write that imitates a section of the text.
When I first started reading Maps to Anywhere, I had no idea that the essays I was reading would somehow all meld together and make sense of themselves. I really had no idea that the whole thing was almost a complete memoir of the author's life. The surprise of this is wonderful to me. He is creatively writing about his life in a tasteful and artistic way. I want to some day do something similar about my life, because I believe this way is the most pleasing to the eye. As much as I love reading autobiographies of people's lives, the way Bernard Cooper expresses his life is fresh and unique. The first section of writing in the text that I took particular liking to was on page 6, titled The Heralds. This section of writing is very descriptive in regards to a multitude of religions. His writing is so beautiful it almost takes my breath away. I really liked the lines "Once, Life magazine featured "The great Cathedrals of Europe," and what I saw, or tasted rather, after turning the pages and licking my index finger, was the bitterness of ink, a flavor that matched the photographs of expressionless death masks, prostate statues, apothecary jars (more ornate than our pharmacist's) in which slept silvers of the saints." I feel like I can taste the ink from the magazine and know exactly what he means. After these lengthy descriptions of religions comes his own opinion. From what I gathered, he isn't religious. I got from this that he finds beauty in religion, and likes the idea of it, but he can't see anything more than that. The last part from this section that I want to mention emphasizes this perfectly; "Sure, I've got work enough for a legion of angels: insurmountable personal fears, a vendetta against international evil, friends to raise from the dead. Why, just yesterday I was lamenting all these things when I saw a stream of black birds soaring over the city. Endless they were, like winged pieces of letters, like a moving sign in Times Square, heraldic and quick and colossal. Except that a message never appeared. Their transmigration riddled the sky." To relate this to me, I am not religious, but I still have riddles of hope and curiosity of the unknown afterlife. I still wish that i'll get to see my loved ones when I die, but these thoughts don't hold true to what I really think. I think he feels the same way. It's a curiosity in the unknown. He sees this in the birds, but is quick to react because they aren't really angels.
The next section I am going to talk about is on page 45 titled "Sleeping With My Father." This section was almost completely about the author's father. There are snippets of little memories that he has about his dad, especially about the different phases his father goes through. After his mother died he got remarried, and then the marriage ended badly when she went a little crazy. After this his father entered a new stage of quiet reflection about his life, and a realization of his own loneliness, in my opinion. His constant story telling and fragments of life lead me to believe this. He is constantly thinking about all of the things he went through in life. A section that I liked was on page 48; "During my boyhood and his marriage to my mother until her death, my father was a man wracked by an excess of energy. He never seemed to sleep. His was not the insomnia that results in indolence, bags beneath the eyes, stifled yawns. When he was awake he was wide awake, jumping at the slightest noise. No exertion, regardless how back-breaking, could exhaust him." I feel very connected with his father in this section. I experience this kind of insomnia all the time. I feel wired no matter how tired I am, and I try to sleep but my mind is active and ready to learn new things, or clean my room. I have to wait through periods like this until my body can't take it anymore and I pass out for long hours. This section is showing his fathers intense personality as well. The memoirs bring to life his personality bit by bit. The other section that I want to mention is on page 50; "I came to him in his bedroom. He was sleeping in the center of a double bed. The room was suffused with blue light. It was dusk or dawn, I don't know. On the dresser, statuettes of Moses and Jesus over saw our assignation. I stroked his shoulder. My father awoke. "Dad," I whispered, "are we getting older?" "Here," he said, lifting the blanket. "Here," he said, patting the bed." This section hits close to home for me. I can smell the pillow cases that I would smell for hours in my dad's bed while he slept next to me, TV blaring. The comfort of your father is unlike anything else. It's different than being next to your mother, who you are used to being held by. My father would always let me lay by his side when an episode of insomnia struck. I can't describe why it always helped me sleep. The smell of his pillow cases always comforted me, I can't forget their smell.
I chose to write an imitation of the essay "Sleeping With My Father". I've been including lots of little things in all my writings about my father. Him and I have gone through a lot so far in my life, and a lot of it is hard to talk about. Instead of talking about some of the harder, more negative memories of him, I wanted to write about some of the areas that capture his personality and different situations that we actually bonded over. Throughout most of my life he has not exactly felt like a father to me, more of a friend who I could tell every secret to. I never felt uncomfortable telling him anything I did that was bad, or asking for advice about inappropriate subjects. This bonded us tightly, but also kept him from being a role model to me. Here is a short exert from my essay: " He cooked us a lavish meal complete with an endless supply of pepperidge farm cookies of our choosing. He always had them in the cupboard for as long as I could remember. Now that I think about it, his house always had the best food, and his cooking skills were to die for. Josh, my boyfriend fell in love with him instantly, forming a bond similar to the one my father and I share. " This piece is still a work in progress, and this part may even change. I like it because it shows his personality a little, and also the relationship we shared in my past. Writing about myself is really hard, but I want to do it to try and heal from my past woes and troubles. I think writing is one of the most powerful retrospective tools. You can teach yourself a lot by reading the words you have written on a page. Maps to Anywhere has really taught me that everyone's experiences are relative, and everything you go through is an experience, no matter how someone else is going to interpret it. That's how I feel about my life. My experiences are different than how someone else might experience what I go through. But everything is experienced.
When I first started reading Maps to Anywhere, I had no idea that the essays I was reading would somehow all meld together and make sense of themselves. I really had no idea that the whole thing was almost a complete memoir of the author's life. The surprise of this is wonderful to me. He is creatively writing about his life in a tasteful and artistic way. I want to some day do something similar about my life, because I believe this way is the most pleasing to the eye. As much as I love reading autobiographies of people's lives, the way Bernard Cooper expresses his life is fresh and unique. The first section of writing in the text that I took particular liking to was on page 6, titled The Heralds. This section of writing is very descriptive in regards to a multitude of religions. His writing is so beautiful it almost takes my breath away. I really liked the lines "Once, Life magazine featured "The great Cathedrals of Europe," and what I saw, or tasted rather, after turning the pages and licking my index finger, was the bitterness of ink, a flavor that matched the photographs of expressionless death masks, prostate statues, apothecary jars (more ornate than our pharmacist's) in which slept silvers of the saints." I feel like I can taste the ink from the magazine and know exactly what he means. After these lengthy descriptions of religions comes his own opinion. From what I gathered, he isn't religious. I got from this that he finds beauty in religion, and likes the idea of it, but he can't see anything more than that. The last part from this section that I want to mention emphasizes this perfectly; "Sure, I've got work enough for a legion of angels: insurmountable personal fears, a vendetta against international evil, friends to raise from the dead. Why, just yesterday I was lamenting all these things when I saw a stream of black birds soaring over the city. Endless they were, like winged pieces of letters, like a moving sign in Times Square, heraldic and quick and colossal. Except that a message never appeared. Their transmigration riddled the sky." To relate this to me, I am not religious, but I still have riddles of hope and curiosity of the unknown afterlife. I still wish that i'll get to see my loved ones when I die, but these thoughts don't hold true to what I really think. I think he feels the same way. It's a curiosity in the unknown. He sees this in the birds, but is quick to react because they aren't really angels.
The next section I am going to talk about is on page 45 titled "Sleeping With My Father." This section was almost completely about the author's father. There are snippets of little memories that he has about his dad, especially about the different phases his father goes through. After his mother died he got remarried, and then the marriage ended badly when she went a little crazy. After this his father entered a new stage of quiet reflection about his life, and a realization of his own loneliness, in my opinion. His constant story telling and fragments of life lead me to believe this. He is constantly thinking about all of the things he went through in life. A section that I liked was on page 48; "During my boyhood and his marriage to my mother until her death, my father was a man wracked by an excess of energy. He never seemed to sleep. His was not the insomnia that results in indolence, bags beneath the eyes, stifled yawns. When he was awake he was wide awake, jumping at the slightest noise. No exertion, regardless how back-breaking, could exhaust him." I feel very connected with his father in this section. I experience this kind of insomnia all the time. I feel wired no matter how tired I am, and I try to sleep but my mind is active and ready to learn new things, or clean my room. I have to wait through periods like this until my body can't take it anymore and I pass out for long hours. This section is showing his fathers intense personality as well. The memoirs bring to life his personality bit by bit. The other section that I want to mention is on page 50; "I came to him in his bedroom. He was sleeping in the center of a double bed. The room was suffused with blue light. It was dusk or dawn, I don't know. On the dresser, statuettes of Moses and Jesus over saw our assignation. I stroked his shoulder. My father awoke. "Dad," I whispered, "are we getting older?" "Here," he said, lifting the blanket. "Here," he said, patting the bed." This section hits close to home for me. I can smell the pillow cases that I would smell for hours in my dad's bed while he slept next to me, TV blaring. The comfort of your father is unlike anything else. It's different than being next to your mother, who you are used to being held by. My father would always let me lay by his side when an episode of insomnia struck. I can't describe why it always helped me sleep. The smell of his pillow cases always comforted me, I can't forget their smell.
I chose to write an imitation of the essay "Sleeping With My Father". I've been including lots of little things in all my writings about my father. Him and I have gone through a lot so far in my life, and a lot of it is hard to talk about. Instead of talking about some of the harder, more negative memories of him, I wanted to write about some of the areas that capture his personality and different situations that we actually bonded over. Throughout most of my life he has not exactly felt like a father to me, more of a friend who I could tell every secret to. I never felt uncomfortable telling him anything I did that was bad, or asking for advice about inappropriate subjects. This bonded us tightly, but also kept him from being a role model to me. Here is a short exert from my essay: " He cooked us a lavish meal complete with an endless supply of pepperidge farm cookies of our choosing. He always had them in the cupboard for as long as I could remember. Now that I think about it, his house always had the best food, and his cooking skills were to die for. Josh, my boyfriend fell in love with him instantly, forming a bond similar to the one my father and I share. " This piece is still a work in progress, and this part may even change. I like it because it shows his personality a little, and also the relationship we shared in my past. Writing about myself is really hard, but I want to do it to try and heal from my past woes and troubles. I think writing is one of the most powerful retrospective tools. You can teach yourself a lot by reading the words you have written on a page. Maps to Anywhere has really taught me that everyone's experiences are relative, and everything you go through is an experience, no matter how someone else is going to interpret it. That's how I feel about my life. My experiences are different than how someone else might experience what I go through. But everything is experienced.
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