Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Carry On Dancing.


For those of you who are fans of Slam Poetry, below is the poem I read at my first Slam Poetry event at a coffee house in Providence, RI, on November 11'th, 2008. While it has been awhile since my schedule has allowed me to return to the mic, I am hoping that it will be soon that I can again enjoy the zen like experience of sipping coffee, listening to other poets, and feeling very much like a beatnik. Enjoy ~ DBCII



Carry on Dancing.

I am a dancer
I twirl around this way and that
I am a dancer
A ruthless dancer
Relentless in my endeavors
Restless in my desire.

I am a dancer
A cosmic dancer
Whirling about here and there,
My spirit yearning,
My passions burning
I never stop.

I am a dancer
An exhausted dancer
Fragile emotions
Deep, intense emotions
Striving for the ideal,
An impossible perfection.

Below a series of gears
Want to stop, can't stop
The screams below,
The grinding of bones,
Blood lubricating metal,
Won't let me stop.

I am a dancer
A questioning dancer
Who knows my dance?
Who will join my dance?
Who can slow down my dance?
Where is my partner?

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

An essay on the subject of literary Katherines, part 1

I love stories. I've learned most of what I know of the world from books, and most of that from fiction. My behavior is still influenced by Little Women, my self-righteous flair comes from Ayn Rand, my sense of wonder from Neil Gaiman. Stories change people.

There is one character influencing my actions that I have a particular interest in right now. Her name is Katherine, too. She could not be called kind, but she is fair. She is intelligent and willful. She struggles against a fiery temper. Some say she is cold. Those people don't understand. Generally, she really needs to get laid. Pick one - any Katherine, Kate, Katrina or Cathy you wish. She will fit the description. I'll call her a trope. She won't like that - she prefers "demi-archetype" - but I don't think we know enough to say that.

As usual, Shakespeare gives the best example, in "Taming of the Shrew." Kate exhibits every Katherinesque quality possible. Her temper is unchecked, she verbally spars with the only other character whose intellect is worth ten cents, and her will is stronger than yours. For most of her life, no man is good enough, challenging enough, interesting enough. When she finds him, she stops being such a frigid bitch. "Taming of the Shrew" is the basic Katherine story. For years, I thought that is where it started, all these similar girls named Katherine in my stories. Stern librarians, horrible school principals, any number of spinsters, all named Katherine - this is Shakespeare's fault.

The bard and I, we were not on good terms. It isn't nice to call someone a bitch before they're even born.

Recently, I've begun to look further into the phenomenon...and I have decided that I am placing the blame on the wrong shoulders. I should have realized sooner. Shakespeare is not wonderful for writing new stories, he is wonderful for taking existing stories and characters and making them his own, giving them new life and depth. The difference between the Saxo Grammaticus Amelth and Shakespeare's Hamlet makes all the difference in the world. Shakespeare did not create Katherine, he gave her an Elizabethan overhall.

End of part 1


Part 2 to follow, if I find there will be enough interest. For a full, down and dirty, unrevised view of my research and the process, you can visit my blog.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Alive and Free.


This is a fictional short story I wrote back when I was dating a writer who was experiencing writers block. As I tried to help by offering ideas, this story just came to me and I felt compelled to write it down. Though it is a work of fiction, it's message is one that everyone can learn from. ~ DBCII

Alive and Free.

The taste of his blood filled my mouth as I closed my eyes away from the sight before me. His scream was a howl from the deep depths of his lungs, which caused my eyes to snap open. It was real. This was really happening. There was no going back from here. It was either fight, or die.



*
The night was young at the local club and so was most of the crowd. Within the desolate, back alley of the city, dozens waited in line to drink, dance, and possibly find a savoir from the night's lonely chill. The music pulsed against the walls and the floor seemed to move in the rhythm of the dancing that was taking place. I had just finished my first year in college and was celebrating my academic success alone.
The club was dank, but colored lights reflecting from the mirror ball above lit the dance floor in a mind altering fashion. The sporadic movements of the dancers blended together losing all form and shape. I shouldn't have been alone. I should have gone with friends. But I needed to escape. My prerogative for the night was not to socialize with those who either envied me or belittled me. Instead, I sought to drift into the sea of dancers. The adrenaline pumped through my veins and as I whirled around, I closed my eyes and stretched my arms skyward. I was lost within the melodies blasting from the speakers above and my hands caressed my body as if they were the hands of my past lovers.
Despite my desire to fade into the crowd, the spot light seemed to shine on me as I looked up towards the rafters. All along the banister of the floor above were the wall flowers who watched with sneers of lust for a taste of the sweetness that had gathered below to dance. I smiled up at the onlookers, moved my hand to my backside and winked. It was my way of saying, "look all you want, but you'll never have me." I had had my full of meaningless hookups with such men and their endless games tired me. Like I said, my prerogative that night was not to socialize. However, the hooting from the lechers above egged on my little provocative display as I bent down to reveal the nylon thong I had worn underneath my tight jeans. I felt their eyes burning into my backside, their desire to experience the pleasures of physical intimacy intoxicated me as I raised my head to look back at them.
Almost in unison, the expressions on their faces slowly faded from excitement to a look of loss. Before I could ponder why, strong hands grasped my hips and moved my legs close to another pair. I looked forward and saw that I was being held by the hands of an adonis. He was a hulking man of pure muscle and strength, with dark eyes that held a penetrating stare. As we danced, his hands explored my back side causing electric currents to explode beneath my skin. His lips held a slight smile as his eyes burned into me. His short, black hair was silky to the touch as he ground his body into mine. He cocked his head forward and forcefully kissed my lips. I was immediately drunk on the strong smell of his cologne and the taste of beer that was on his tongue.
Continuing to kiss me with his hands held firmly at my waist, he led me to the back alley outside the club. Once there, the only noise that could be heard was our heavy breathing and the muffled sound of the music playing inside. His hands explored beneath my shirt as he moved his lips to my ear where he softly whispered, "What's your name?" Breathlessly, I replied with a soft, "James. And yours?"
"Caleb" he grunted as he moved his lips to my neck where he began to suck feverishly.
And that was the night we met. Maybe if I had gone with friends, he wouldn't have approached me. Maybe if I hadn't been alone, his power wouldn't have been able to consume me so. But it did. There was something exotic about him, something unfamiliar and yet exciting which led me to go home with him. I was bewitched.

**
Caleb was a gymnast who made his living as a professional, personal trainer. With his physique, and expertise, people paid big bucks to train with him. At least, this was the reason they gave him. He was the perfect image of masculinity that could ever be fathomed by the human mind. He bragged to the people that he met that he could lift the back end of a car without any strain, of which no one ever doubted. I was entranced. I had had many attractive boy friends and fuck buddies in my past, but how anyone as beautiful as Caleb could ever be attracted to me was beyond my comprehension.
He insisted that I move out of my parents' house to live with him, an idea that my conservative parents disapproved of.
"Its not that we don't like him and that we're not happy for you," they explained, "it's just that you only met him a month ago and you don't need any distractions while you're continuing your schooling." I didn't know which was worse, their disapproval or their poor vocabulary.
As an English major at the local university, I was slowly becoming much more aware of the improper use of language that's common among the people I encountered. The words that would flow from Caleb's lips as his stare would penetrate my soul moved me both figuratively and literally.
"They can't expect you to live at home forever. You're not a little boy anymore, James. You're an ambitious young man now who can make your own decisions. Just think, wouldn't it be great to fall asleep in each others arms every night and wake in the morning to the other's embrace?" With that said, my mind was made up. I was moving in with Caleb.

***
Things were wonderful at first. Caleb had recently bought out a local gym that had an enormous apartment above it. He even paid me to write his advertisement slogans for him. While he spent his days working with various people in the gym, I spent my days writing. One night, two weeks after I had moved in, I was vigorously writing to a local newspaper about the new ownership of the gym when I felt strong hands on my shoulders.
"That should have been done hours ago," Caleb murmured, "why isn't it done now?"
 I sighed out of exhaustion for I had been working on the article all day. Before I could speak, however, I was immediately spun around in my chair to face Caleb.
"Don't fucking laugh at me," he growled as he smacked my face, "I asked you a question!"
I was stunned, shocked, and confused. I didn't understand his anger and could smell the scent of beer on his breath.
"Well?" He barked as he grabbed my wrists to hold my hands away from my face. "Why isn't it done? Why isn't dinner made? You know I needed that sent out today and that I get hungry after work. What the hell is wrong with you?"
I should have remained silent, or at best apologized, but I was so full of anger and confusion.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled back and before I could continue, Caleb picked me up by my waist and threw me into the computer desk.
My head smashed the liquid crystal screen and sharp pain jolted within my entire body.
"Who do you think you are talking back to me? I'll rip your fucking tongue out and shove it down your throat, you little piss-ant."
I tried to move, I tried to run, but I wasn't fast enough. Before I knew it, Caleb slammed his fist into the side of my skull and all had gone black.

****
I awakened to the bright sunlight which burned my eyes the second they opened. My entire body was in pain and my head felt as if it had been hit by a sledge hammer. Slowly, and carefully, I opened my eyes so that I could adjust to the brightness of the room. It must have only taken a few moments, but it seemed as though hours had passed before I could see everything clearly. I was in the bedroom of the apartment. The clock on the end table digitally displayed a red 8:32 am. As I slowly moved my head from side to side, I noticed the tightness around my mouth.
When I looked at my reflection in the mirror across the room, I was horrified. I was completely naked with a gag tied around my mouth; my arms and legs were tied to the posts of the bed with hand cuffs that were locked so tight around my limbs that they were cutting into my skin. Bite marks and bruises covered my body along side the remnants of dried blood. Candle wax had been poured onto my chest and was cracking at my movements which caused me to produce a muffled cry of agony as the handcuffs dug deeper into my appendages. The foreskin on my penis was swelled and full of pain leading me to believe that he had been biting me there too. My lower extremities were covered in semen and what smelt of urine and my anus was wet too and burned like fire.
"I have to get out of here," I thought, "he's crazy. I have to get out of here. What has he done to me? Why did he do this?" It was at this point that I noticed that the hand cuff holding my left foot was not cutting into me. Puzzled, I gently wiggled my left foot around and the hand cuff slowly slid off. As I had been doing this, the hand cuff holding my right foot slid off of me as well, slicing into what appeared to be a wound that was in the process of healing. Another muffled cry escaped my lips as I let my feet drop to the bed.
After the pain had subsided, I realized why my anus was sore and dripping wet. He had released my feet from the hand cuffs so that he could fuck me on my back and had been too disorientated to actually lock the cuffs when he tried to re-cuff my feet afterwards. "If only it had been my hands," I thought, "then I could un-cuff my feet and go. How am I going to get out of this?"
I was full of anger and fear and began to kick the bed with the heals of my feet, causing the bed to groan. My captured state frustrated me even more so and I insanely began to kick and scream like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. Creak. I stopped. Puzzled, I kicked the bed with my heals again. Creak. At first, I was afraid Caleb had come home early to check up on me, but then I realized that the sound was coming from the bed. It was then that I remembered that the bed was made of wood; it hadn't been a very expensive bed and the pieces of the frame fit in together like lincoln logs. "If I push my feet against the bottom of the foot board," I plotted, "I can push it out of its post and with enough force, push the bed apart."
I brought my knees to my chest and in one swift blow slammed my feet against the foot board. There was a huge crack and then it seemed as though the room came tumbling down. The head board slammed against the wall and the restraints on my wrists were pulled with a tremendous amount of pressure. Tears fell from my eyes as I screamed out in muffled agony. Then the blood began to flow from my wrists and I was sure I was going to die. "Quickly," I thought, "I have to move quickly before I bleed to death, before the racket of the bed falling apart causes Caleb to come back upstairs." I used my feet to help prop the rest of my body back towards the wall. Slowly, I raised myself up to stand on top of the mattress and the hand cuffs slid off of the top ends of the bed posts. The first thing I did was untie the gag that had been wrapped around my mouth.
Before I could make another move, I was pulled back down onto the bed with Caleb on top of me. I hadn't heard his footsteps coming up the stairs and he had moved silently through the apartment.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he yelled as he slammed my shoulders into the mattress. I struggled to push him off of me and was met with a punch to my stomach. I howled out in agony and did the only thing I could do, I sunk my teeth into his shoulder. The taste of his blood filled my mouth as I closed my eyes away from the sight before me. His scream was a howl from the deep depths of his lungs, which caused my eyes to snap open. It was real. This was really happening. There was no going back from here. It was either fight, or die.
The hand cuffs were still attached to my wrists and so I frantically swung my arms around, hitting him repeatedly in the head until he collapsed on top of me. All I could hear was the sound of my heavy breathing, my lungs gasping for air. My heart was beating a mile a minute as I realized I was ok. I was immediately filled with the hope that I was going to make it out alive. That is, if I could manage to roll him off of me and flee before he came to.
With all the pain I was in, and the weight of Caleb's muscles, it was a miracle that I was able to roll him off of me. Once I did, I stood up and looked down. He wasn't moving and the back of his head looked grotesque. It was covered in blood, hair, and what appeared to be a piece of bone sticking out of the flesh. I didn't care whether or not I had killed him or just merely knocked him out. So long as I got out of there before he came to, I was safe.
Quickly, I ran to the bath room to get some bandages for my wrists. Though the encounter with Caleb had seemed like an eternity, it must have only been a few minutes because my wrists were still bleeding fast and I was still conscious. With silent tears rolling down my cheeks, I managed to wrap the bandages around the handcuffs that were still attached to my wrists. Once the bandages were in place, I reached for clothes out of the hamper, listening to make sure that Caleb wasn't getting up. After I was dressed and I was sure that Caleb was still unconscious, I bolted for the front door. I limped in pain down the stairs and out the back of the building towards the outside, where I was greeted by the sun and the fresh air. Though the sight before me filled me with a sense of well being, I continued to run limply. As I ran, my lungs burned from the deep breaths within my chest. It wasn't until the apartment was out of sight that I had begun to whisper to myself repeatedly, "I'm alive! I'm alive! I'm free! I'm alive! I'm alive!"

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

The first few pages of the book im writting. still havent figuerd out a title.

When i was five my mother told me that the rain was made from the tears of all the angels in the kingdom of heaven. She said that when the angels were sad and cried their tears fell from the heavens down to earth.
When i was five i believed her.
When i was six she died........
The hungry cancer ate away at mommy's bones like a mouse eating a square of cheese. Slow at first,nibbling away at the edges and then when it got a good taste of her it began to gobble her faster and faster each day until finally swallowing the last bite of her.
When mommy left my blue Skye's with cotton candy puffed clouds turned grey and the clouds became black over roasted campfire marshmallows. Zeus hurled his lightning bolts down upon me and Hades opened up the earth and his wicked arms to offer me a new home. A home of constant darkness inside my head.
I was sent to live with aunt Marge and uncle ken (moms brother). My aunt and uncle didn't have any children of their own. It was a good thing too.
When they first got me they were like two excited kids getting their very first puppy ( i was that puppy). It was all new and exciting at first so they feed the puppy,take it for walks and brush its fur.
Then it starts to become a nuisance and the initial excitement goes away,so the children's parents end up taking care of the puppy in the end. In this case it was Maria,the nanny they hierd when their puppy (me) became nothing but a chore.
Every now and then they acknowledge me by throwing me a bone ( 20 bucks) and letting me gnaw on it (spend it) in the dog house (at the mall). I stay out of their hair and they stay out of mine.
The perfect pretend family.......
Eleven years later I'm seventeen sitting on the front steps of our lonely home.
I am alone.....i am always alone.
The sun is shining bright warming my cake frosting white skin. I notice a boy about my age with black porcupine hair walking up the drive way toward me.
Maybe if i pretend I'm invisibal he wont see me.
He steps up in front of me and sticks out his hand. He has a silver lip piercing and most likely a bad attitude. He smells like Marlboro's and cheap body spray cologne. "I'm Jobi" he says with a grin.
Thought to self: I'm angry,depressed and i hate smelly teenage boys with holes in there lips,now leave me alone.
I decide that's to drastic. "I'm Anna" i say instead. He puts his hand down by his side when he realizes I'm not going to shake it.
"wow that's rude Anna".
"so what" i say in between chewing my already too short fingernails.
"You look like you need a friend Anna".
"And you a haircut" i shoot back.
"Wow I'm sorry i came here" Jobi says, then turns around and begins walking back down the driveway.
Angel on left shoulder: Say sorry you idiot you have no friends.
Devil on right shoulder: You should call him back to chuck him the finger.
Me: I hate everyone.....
I don't want to call him back, I'll feel like a boob but angel on the left is right i need a friend, and a good one at that. Under my red knit sweater my left wrist looks like raw hamburger meat from all the cutting and healing and cutting and healing.
"Wate" i yell. "I'm sorry". Jobi turns around and heads back too me. "Apology accepted" he says.
"My dad and i just moved from Vermont" "Your the first person i talked to here,i decided to walk up the street and check things out". "And i saw you sitting here" "do you want to walk with me"?
Maybe i'll get lucky and he'll murder me,cut me up into tiny pieces and dump me in the creek. Doubt full.....
I flash him a girlie girl smile. "Sure".
He reaches his hand out a second time and i take it this time,standing up with his help.
"You have alot of secrets" he accuses. "Alot" i agree.
We begin walking. This is the start of a beautiful friendship.
Little did i know that something dark and deadly was going to come between us. Something that would change our mortal lives forever.......

Love In The Underground

My name is Michael Stapp, and I have been writing for quite some time. The Following poem is from my book Gravedust & Grace. Which can be found on Amazon by following the link above or at XLIBRIS when the link is working.


Love In The Underground

Like everyone else in the sardine car,
As I unaffectionately call it,
I ignore the smells of body odor mixed with
Those of urine and decaying food,
I’m not really paying any mind to anything whatsoever.
When, while looking out of a grease stained window,
I catch a glimpse of something.
The word love,
Written in bright red spray paint on the concrete wall.
And as people shuffle on and off the train I wonder
Just what is love.
A couple of stragglers run in right before the doors close.
And we are off again.
Only now,
Unlike my car-mates,
I am aware of my surroundings.
I look around seeking an answer,
Wondering; if any of these people; know what love is.
I first glance at the stragglers, a boy and girl of teenage years,
Their faces a veritable beehive of metal.
Their heads, even the girls, are shaven close,
With brightly dyed tufts in spots.
I watch them kiss,
The studs in their tongues flashing in primary colors,
And I wonder if they know what love is.
I turn my eyes away from the couple and spot a woman
Holding tightly to her young son’s hand.
And looking at them I wonder if they know what love is.
Could a young lad such as he, carry the secret to love?
The locomotive starts to slow again
And though I am still pondering love, it is my stop
And I must simply get off.
Rising up to the street, I am greeted by the sun.
I have to squint a bit until I am adjusted,
But that doesn’t put me off.
I can smell the java perking from the nearby coffee shop,
And the aromas drifting from the vendor’s carts.
Looking around I take in the world with all of my senses,
And I decide right then and there.
The feeling you get when you get off of the damned subway:
That is love.

Woodstock 07








Take me away, my love
for a ride in the sky.
Round and round we'll go
where we'll stop, no one knows.

Take me higher, my love,
high above the world below.
Together, we'll rise above
the corruption of the materialistic.

Let us forget the world below
and enter one of our own.
Here between earth and clouds
all that exists is you and I.

Move in closer, my love
to share in an intimate kiss.
We must be very careful,
or we'll fall to a tragic death.

The warmth of your hands,
the taste of your lips,
the fire in your eyes
encompasses my spirit.

Let us move, my love
to a higher plane of existence.
Together, we can rise above
and find a serenity that is our own.

Let our hopes and dreams
wrap around us.
Let our passions ignite
and burn as one.

DBCII

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Adventures in Nannying...

Hi everyone, I am an after school nanny and sometimes like to write about the silly encounters I have with the people I see and listen to daily. Here is something I wrote at a kids' soccer game yesterday...

Goals

A stampede of little blond boys
rush to one end of the indoor soccer field.
The rubber spikes of their cleats
pitter-pattering
on the shiny Astroturf.
Blood drawn to their pale faces
as they breathe in unison
through their mouths.

Some parents -at the edge of the sideline-
puff out their chests and call out
to their yellow-headed sons
in vain,
"To the left Tommy, we talked about this in the car!"
or
"Come on Ref- that was in!"

The others sit on benches
sipping fair-trade coffee
in Styrofoam sups-
fiddling with their Blackberries-
and occasionally glancing up at the timer
21:20... 21:19... 21:18


Thank you for reading! -Lauren

Excerpt from my book.

This is a short excerpt from the second chapter of a book I've been failing to work on for about a year. I'm not sure I'm a good enough writer to pull it off, yet.

I got the idea driving home from school one day. There was a yellow line on the road on 295 from a paint truck accident, between exits 3 and 7 or so. The next day it had already been completely wiped out except for a scoremark. Very few people had a chance to know it was there. The line in my story is more like a cross between the bell in The Polar Express and the wardrobe to Narnia.

I chose to share this excerpt because I read it over and I think it is the most interesting. (The name Bunny is, um, explained earlier. XD) Enjoy!

“We seem to have a case of lazy dish elves again, Bunny,” her mother said holding a vegetable strainer, slightly grimy, up in front of her face.

Dishes were not Bunny’s favorite chore, and she avoided them as much as possible. But she was good at them. Her father was the “lazy dish elf” in the family but her mother didn’t know that. She sighed and decided not to argue it. “I’ll call the exterminator tomorrow,” she said, taking the colander from her mother and a scrubby sponge from the edge of the counter.

“Thank you dear.” Her mother smiled and limped up the stairs to her bedroom, kicking her heels off halfway up and carrying them. Bunny scrubbed the colander with grapefruit scented dish soap and hot water and poked around the kitchen for other misplaced or dirty dishes. She decided to start dinner, since mom didn’t seem to be reappearing and dad was on another kick of “dieting.” She preheated the oven and began filling a pot to boil some pasta. Watching the water rush into the pan she thought about the line. It was so weird that no one else seemed to know about it. She decided she would have to ask everyone she could think of the next day.

“I’m going to order pizza for dinner,” her mom said. She’d changed out of her suit and into ill-fitting pajamas. “What do you want?” Bunny eyed the chicken she had just started to coat in breadcrumbs and muttered “Anything you want is fine, mum.”

* * *

The next morning when Bunny looked bleary eyed out the window of her third floor bedroom, the green sunburst and the line leading down the road were still there. But gathered in the street was a collection of cats, some she recognized and others she did not, sitting at attention, eyes focused on one of them. She had never seen so many cats doing the same thing at one time. She shifted her attention to the one cat that had been singled out. It was a very large cat she had never noticed before, black with white mittens and what looked like a smudge of white on its belly. His fur was sleek in the early morning sun, and he was circling the manhole cover warily.

She tapped on her window and some of their heads whipped around. One of them gave a strained “meow” that made Bunny wonder if it was a signal of some sort. In a moment all of them were gone. No. The one who had been in the center remained. She felt like he was waiting for her to leave.

“Bunny! I’m leaving your lunch money on the table but I have to get going! I’ll see you tonight, okay?” her mother called up the stairs. Bunny just looked away for an instant, but when she looked back outside the cat was gone. For a split second she thought she could see the end of its tail over the manhole cover, but she couldn’t be sure. She was still, she knew, at the edge of sleep. She shook her head slightly and started to clamber into her school clothes.

Thanks for reading,
Katherine

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

What desert is this? I wish I knew.
It lays beneath the sky so blue.
The sun, the wind and cloudless sky
makes me ask the question, why?

That such a desolate and barren place
conspires to poison me, what a disgrace.
Oftentimes it can be said
this place fills me with unyielding dread.

The unyielding heat and dryness rule.
I suffer so and can be so cruel.
This place within is shown to few.
It is walled around and shielded too.

The rain provided by the sky so blue
evaporates or turns to dew.
But nourished me not, and quenches me neither,
tempts me so, and does not linger.

The desert is lonely dark and bleak.
I don't understand my needs to meet.
It hurts me so, I want to weep.

Monday, March 8, 2010

The Lessons We Are Taught.



The Lessons We Are Taught.

From the moment when we take our first steps,
we are taught that the world is a dangerous place.
Our bodies are fragile, and so we must 
tread carefully, while avoiding strangers.



When we begin elementary school,
we are taught that our bodies are like factories;
The heart pumping blood like a great machine,
the lungs puffing out air like a smoke stack.

As we prepare to join the adult world,
we are taught that our minds are like computers;
processing and storing information;
retrieving data to perform functions.



All along we are taught to worship
the all mighty dollar, and all of its glories.
Spending our days, performing our functions
filled with fear and greed, in order to survive.

When we grow old, we don't need to be told
that we have become obsolete, useless
bags of bones and flesh, never forgetting- 
that the world is a dangerous place.

~ DBCII




Thursday, March 4, 2010

I am a Little Bird.


Don't cry little bird.
Soon the storm will end.
Don't cry little bird.
Soon you'll be able to fly.

Soon the storm will end.
Soon you'll be able to fly.
Soon you’re heart will stop bleeding.
Soon you won't want to die.

Don't bleed little bird.
The pain isn't worth your beauty.
Your innocence will never fade away.
Little bird, don't cry.

Fly little bird.
Fly with your wings of love.
Fly into your lover's embrace.
Fly away from your angst.

Don't let it burn you.
Little bird, be careful.
Little bird, don't you see?
Don't you see your about to fall?
 


~ DBCII, Theater of the Mind, Nobel House;UK, 2006.


Writer's Voice ~ A New Blog Dedicated to the Writer's Craft.



"What attracts me to creative writing is that such writing is a powerful medium of expressing the human experience; our thoughts, emotions, and our desires expressed through the written word stem from our experiences which shape our perceptions of the world in which we live in. As the writer uses his or her own imagination and creativity to express themselves, the reader catches a glimpse into the writer’s psyche and hopefully takes away either a lesson in what it means to be human and or another way to view the world. With the enhancement of technology, our society has become a largely visual consumer. However, through the use of blogs, the art of writing has not become obsolete, but instead has become amplified through the ability to include pictures, videos, and music to accompany the writer’s words which can then be shared with a larger audience. Throughout my final semester at RIC, I will be exploring how the ability to share writing electronically through the world wide web allows the writer more creative freedom in his or her craft, as well as allows for a wider range of readers." 
~ Creative Writing Semester Project Proposal.

And thus, the creation of Writer's Voice! As the moderator of the blog, I will be updating the blog regularly with new posts each week. Feel free to follow along, share your own writing, and offer comments. As this is a safe space for writers of all genres to share their work, connect with other writers/readers, and gain feedback, it is advised that all comments be respectful for writing is a personal thing and all offensive verbal attacks will be deleted. 


Other than that; explore, share, connect, and have fun!

Enjoy,
DBCII