Advanced Essay Writing, Spring 2013

The most compelling acts from , “20 Acts in 60 Minutes” are 2,7 and 10.  In Act Two, “No, Of Course I know You,” I really can see how the intricacies of the depths of human connection occur. The way he felt about this woman drove him to both insanity and anguish. He felt that he may have been in love with her at one point and that whatever she had within her he needed for some unknowable reason that even he could not pinpoint. It wasn’t as if it was a love at first sight thing, it was as if he had known her in a previous life and immediately felt more than a connection. He became obsessed with her and can’t even tell her he loves her because he does not even know her in real life. It does not even occur to him to approach her and ask her if they have met before, he immediately jumps to wanting to profess his deep rooted emotions for her. Act Two is a beautiful piece of work. “Up Where the Air is Clear,” Act Seven, is very funny. It speaks to the power of the social circle and acquaintances because everybody else had felt that these two characters, Mary Poppins and Penguin, should meet and when they finally did they barely had anything to say to each other and it was quite uncomfortable. In fact when they met, “Penguin became very shy and quiet. As he stood there staring at her, his top hat felt needlessly clumsy, his monocle too small for his face, and the squinting needed to keep it in place was giving him a slight headache. For the first time in his life, the Penguin felt ludicrous.” Even though he knew he was going to meet her, his reaction was unprecedented in his life. I absolutely loved Act Ten, “Etiquette Lesson.” I think it is fantastic they way they use words to show how theater can work. They use adjectives and adverbs and such but it is once removed. Rather than placing a statement, they just say the word allowing one to insert whatever they think is appropriate based on the tone of the actors’ voices and the emotions. My two favorite phrases from Act 10 are, “aggressive childish insult,” and “pathetic self-evaluation.” The flow of the recording is great. They way they use English and voice and everything is superb. Overall this was an enjoyable experience, however I did not find all of the acts to be compelling. Some of them I found to be a little dumb and pointless.

As empty as an abandoned apartment
As weak as the ebbing tide
Gathered together like chains on 
As rough as my summer soles
Trembling like an apartment in post-earthquake Los Angeles 
Praying like a brotherhood of monks
Bouncing like a tennis ball
Smiling like a kid walking into Disney World for the first time

Heart of splintered bark
Mountains of cigarette ash 
War is a lost boy
The ocean is a well of unheard wishes
The moon is an escape from the darkest night
This house of broken glass
My love is a prisoner
Writing is a beaten dirt road 

——————————-

rooftop wishes (bedford)

my love is a prisoner of a brownstone in bedford,
   where mountains of cigarette ash build on the rooftop,
          the surface as rough as my summer soles,
   as i look out across the borough of the kings.
the moon, an escape from the darkest night,
   no longer lights up my night as it has before.
                          the ocean, that well of unheard wishes,
    has finally heard the splash of my latest coin.
          my heart now beats hard and fast,
          never to be as weak as the ebbing tide again.
                my love is at home in a brownstone in bedford.

After listening to the NPR segment “20 Stories in 60 Minutes”, I found that I was most attracted to stories to which I was able to relate; they struck a chord with me, creating a pathway through which I could connect to the speaker and the material through a strong combination of humor and familiarity.

My favorite segment by far was the story of the Penguin from Batman.  Early in the story, the reader begins talking about a cartoon character drinking Absinthe and reciting poetry from Blake.  this idea both made me laugh out loud and become eager to find out where the rest of the story was going.  The music in the background helps to tell the story and gives time for reflection, an important factor in any story.  The connection to Mary Poppins is also unexpected and hilarious, and the mental image of the Penguin “challenging her to a duel” and “umbrella travel” again kept me on my toes. 

The story of the boys naming their dog Pasta-Batman held many similar qualities to the first story despite touching on a completely different topic in a different way.  What I liked about this story was the way the readers played off of each other, keeping the listener engaged much in the same way the first story did.  I wanted to know more.  The humor in this segment came across in both material and style, and I found myself laughing frequently throughout the course of the tale. 

A final story that contained similar qualities despite being told in a different manner is the story of the woman babysitting for a family with her future husband.  Her voice was immediately engaging, and she allowed time and space for the audience to process that story and imagine what was going to happen as the story went on.  Despite the pauses, the story teller still managed to add shock value to the segment because of her content material.  The lies that they blatantly told to the parents upon their return were hilarious and unexpected.

I enjoyed hearing these stories read out loud because they highlighted the content material and allowed me to reflect on how to get these important factors of making content familiar to your audience and incorporating some shock or surprise into a story to make it a quality read.

Simile

As empty as the open road

As weak as a newborn baby

Gathered together like a group of gossiping schoolgirls

As rough as chafed skin

Trembling like a naked mole rat

Praying like an Olympic gold medalist

Bouncing like light off the wall

Smiling like a child on the last day of school

Metaphor

Heart of a soldier

Mountains of flesh

War is a deadly chess match

The ocean is a boundless pool

The moon is nature’s nightlight

This house of judgment

My love is a chameleon

Writing is a never ending marathon

******

I am still.

I take short deep breaths as I observe them, gathered around like gossiping schoolgirls. The sun has set unusually early today, but that’s ok, the moon is nature’s nightlight and I use it to my advantage.

Crack!

The sound of the bullet escaping the rifle is deafening in the silence.

I hit my mark. Bambi goes down, trembling like a naked mole rat. Panic sets in, the other schoolgirls scramble and scatter, their shadows playing in the moonlight bouncing back and forth off the trees.

I rise, smiling like a child on the last day of school, I collect my victory.  

“Not bad for an old man, huh!” I mock, as I toss the nights dinner in front of the camouflage clad men.

SIMILES

As empty as an egg shell

As weak as the dying

Gathered together like hibernating birds

As rough as love

Trembling like the strings on my guitar

Praying like a new widow

Bouncing like club music

Smiling like the crescent moon

METAPHORS

Heart of glass

Mountains of laughs

War is time

The ocean is a wishing well

The moon is the smile of the sky

This house of lies

My love is the box you should handle with care

Writing is dancing with our hands

POEM

And I can’t seem to find the right way to dream

Under the smile of the sky; the moon shines bright

I sense the vibrant essence of the crescent,

And it keeps me alive.

But my bones shiver.

My body trembles like strings on a guitar.

It plays a sad, sweet melody

And cracks my glass heart.

My love is the box that should be handled with care.

Package my dreams and vacantly stare.

Simile 

As empty as a graduate student’s bank account (how’s that for originality?)

As weak as a new born calf

Gathered together like Starlings

as rough as sandpaper

Trembling like a washer

praying like hoarding

bouncing like Mitt Romney’s policy?

smiling like squinting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Metaphor

Heart of a mammoth

Mountains of crap

War is a mill

The Ocean is the bed

The moon is lamenting

The house is a lagoon

My love is a lock

Writing is the Universe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Composition

I walk the vast stretch of the land: pavements as rough as sandpaper, air too thin to feel, and the scope far too blurry to bring into focus. Everything seems elusive; my breath blends with the silence of what surrounds me. Every new and different shape has to fight my pessimism to come into reality. Reality–huh! I whisper to myself, with every snaps of scarce optimism that glimpses by, “the moon is lamenting on the other side.” That moon is the shelter waiting to be felt is the only solace that my endless steps, exploring void horizons, couldn’t salvage. If you see me, don’t be fooled, I am only squinting like smiling; the arch of my brows have nothing in common to the line of my lips. If you hear me, don’t be startled, because that’s my passive pulse. The heart of the mammoth has still the magnanimity, but between stillness and eternity, it is bound to halt.

Similes:

As empty as shelves in a grocery store before hurricane.

As weak as gossamer

Gathered together like a flock of sheep scared by a wolf

As rough as Hitlers hand

Trembling like colibris wings

Praying like mother whose son is at war

Bouncing like a check from an unreliable source

Smiling like a fourty-year-old who is finally getting married

Metaphors:

Heart of gold

Mountains of flowers

War is a dead end

The ocean is a mystery

The moon is Earths friend

This house of cold roommates

My love is a cherry in my cake of life

Writing is pouring your soul on the paper

My friends mother has always been as rough as Hitlers hand, still somewhere deep inside she had a heart of gold. My friends boyfriend brought her mountains of flowers, her mother did not know where they came from. He was her love, he was a cherry in her cake. Later her mom realized that war is a dead end, so she became friends with her cherry and they started a big family later.

Simile

As empty as long winter nights.

As weak as hopeless minds.

Gathered together like children to grandma’s tales.

As rough as unknown roads

Trembling like a lost wanderer,

Praying like my father.

Smiling like a champion

Bouncing like a frog embracing the rain.

Metaphors

Heart of hopes

Mountains of hurdles

War is a change.

The ocean is a mystery

The moon is a pathfinder

The house of  dreamers.

My love is a moonlit night

Writing is a rainbow.

To your city

So many nights I walked barefooted in the heart of your city like a lost wanderer, like a ship in a mystery ocean. That was my nights with your moon. My dark nights with your moonlit nights. Your moon sometimes begged me to clear the gray curtains of fog; I did as I always wanted to, keeping the mountains of hurdles away from the Moon. Because I promised you. I promised you to safeguard the Moon from the black clouds, from the white clouds, from the blue clouds. I also kept the kites away from your moon. I fought with the Sun to keep you happy as you once told me your moon would face a capital punishment on the arrival of the Sun. It never happened; the Moon never died because I was there, your dreamer.

But last night was different. I fed your moon to a beggar at ”Hopes Avenue.” He was starving to death and told me it, the Moon, looked like a toasted naan. I dragged the moon to his mouth because he needed food to live on. I killed your moon; I killed my nights, for a smile on the beggar’s face.

Simile

As empty as words.

As weak as a tongue.

Gathered together like strands of hair.

As rough as an emery board.

Trembling like a needle.

Praying like a mantis.

Bouncing like pebble.

Smiling like an actress.

Metaphor

Heart of steel.

Mountains of ice which melt below your feet.

War is an abortion, taking the life of a son from the mother who bore him.

The ocean is a chisel which sculpted the seven continents.

The moon is the sun of the night, allowing for dim lighting in the night sky.

This house of  disconnect.

My love is a nest.

Writing is history.

Poem

My love is a nest

Protecting those it holds dear.

As empty as words

Like broken promises that will never be fulfilled.

As weak as a tongue

Which in anger utter words that rain down like a waterfall.

This house of  disconnect

In which empty words are exchanged.

Similes

As empty as tear ducts.

As weak as muscle tissue.

Gathered together like a funeral procession.

As rough as a whisper.

Trembling like an epileptic.

Praying like an atheist.

Bouncing like flat stone across a lake.

Smiling like a fool.

Metaphors

Heart of coal.

Mountains of fear.

War is life.

The ocean is the moon.

The moon is the ocean.

This house of cards.

My love is the sky.

Writing is living.

Lost in Translation

Gathered together like a funeral procession

My thoughts set fire to my eyes

And burn through everything in sight.

My lungs left;

Empty as tear ducts.

My sanity teeters

As the ceiling closes in.

I am happy.

The thoughts linger still;

Uncertain like the past.

Life is war;

War is life.

My heart of coal sits still

Atop mountains of fear.

Beneath it the ocean is the moon.

My love is the sky.

Always there;

But never the same.

I am happy.

I am…

(I’m not very good with metaphors and poetry but hopefully this didn’t turn out too bad)