I didn't really excel in school due to my lack of discipline to finish homework assignments, but I didn't fail either. What I was really known for during all those school years was for my ability to make friends with just about everyone in school and socialize. This led people to start calling me “ El TIburon “ which is Spanish for “The Shark“ due to my aggressive and in your face style of making friends.  Fast forward a couple of years, I found myself unable to pay for college; largely due to my ridiculously average grades. Since I knew nothing about FAFSA, or pretty much anything else, I decided to pursue order and earn my education the only way I knew how. Enlist in the Navy. 

 When it comes to writing my experience doesn't extend beyond that of writing for school. I don't write in my free time and I don't journal. The closest thing to writing I do often is write down my To Do list for the day. I look forward to learning how to write a grammatically correct sentence because that's where I feel I struggle the most. Dang iPhones and autocorrect.

    There's nothing like cracking open a good cold mountain dew and read about your favorite topic. Whether it be saucy romance novels, or scary westerns, losing oneself in an imaginary world filled with novel characters and great stories is a great way to build a connection with the characters almost to the point they become like real friends. lets consider the opposite scenario if you will, you sit down holding a boring, burnt plain black coffee and try to focus your mind on boring subjects like quantum mathematical basket weaving or underwater thermodynamics. This is almost like pretending to like that one guy in the office who always smells like the dude  who didn't shower after gym class in junior high. Unless you're a masochist, or immune to smells, choosing the latter would seem like a very bad idea.

     Time, the world's most important resource. Even the rich can't buy more. We've all had those moments when we were so engaged, whether it be through activity or conversation, that hours seemed like seconds ticking away leaving us only with the want for more. On the other hand, we've also had those moments where the minutes felt so long you can practically feel your hair and nails growing. Just like anything else worth doing in life, one may only really reap the benefits of reading when one can sit and commit oneself to getting trapped in good literature.

     To summarize, I enjoy reading about an interesting topic, and I wish I could find the time to sit down and read more. I will try this semester to do both and receive the great benefits of reading listed above. 

  As far as completing my writing assignments for this semester I'll try to establish a more disciplined approach to completing my assignments. I will establish a time frame of about at least one hour a day where I will sit down and dedicate myself to completing my homework. Doing this, I expect to see my tasks being completed in a more timely and efficient manner, thus producing better, not as stressed work. 

I've noticed that when it comes to completing tasks It's not the difficulty of the task that affects me, It's scheduling the time to work at it and complete it. If I could only become more disciplined then I feel like I would be able to gain great success; not only in regards to school work but in my private life as well. I will use this class as a sort of experiment if you will to test that theory out. Hopefully in doing this I will not only become a better writer but a better adult. 

 

I still remember the day I was taken. We had begun walking through the park when out of nowhere a old delapitated van came alongside us. Two men dressed in all black opened the doors and held us at gunpoint. “ Take the child”, you said. “ Spare me and take the child. “. They proceeded to throw me in the back of the van. I still remember them arguing about what to do with me. “ We should put him up for ransom!, that way we can use the money for the cause. “. “ Maybe we should kill him. “, the other soldier said. “ “ What !?, are you crazy! That makes us like them. WE ARE NOT LIKE THEM.” His friend responded in a stern voice. “ Just an idea” he blurted out defending his previous words. They took me to a safe house deep in the mountains.

 

They introduced me to the leader of the rebellion, and older man with a confident yet quiet demeanor. “ Come with me” he said, “ Ill show you the reason for the rebellion “ . We took a long walk around the mountainous favela. Dirt streets flowed like rivers among the downtrodden shacks, kids are visibly playing baseball with rocks and sticks, barefoot, the dirt coating the bottom of the children’s feet. “ These kids do not know that they will likely not eat today. Their parents know however. And it kills them.” The old man spoke. “ All while the city's casinos are booming with riches and wealth made from foreign businesses, fill their stomachs with endless trays of gluttonous food.” “ This is why we fight, so the people of this country don’t have to worry about feeding their kids.” When he said this I immediately knew I was on the wrong side of history. I knew I had to do something. So I became the spokesperson for the rebellion. I mean, who better than the generals son?

 

“ I see. “ His father replied in an ominous voice. “ It is clear what I must do “. The general unholstered his .38 caliber revolver and shot him dead. His own son, right between the eyes. The people watching what had happened all around the country were in awe. Thanks to a little camera, fixed to the guerrillas shirt, the whole country knew the truth. And the country burned. And the country bled. And the once oppressed country rose again.

 

 Childs change becomes charging youth 

 Adapting, failing, learning, wanting to be influential 

 Whoosh, the sound of time doesn't stand still while I seek truth 

 The scent of pine in my home, keeping it real 

 Ethics and values flow deep in my crimson vein 

 Cars zoom past the McDonald's , a tasty meal 

 Under the palms, while they sway crying in pain 

  Over 2600 miles looks like defeat, all I can do, Crack open 

 a Jupina,  and take a seat while I listen to a conga play 

 As I serve my sentence, quietly, patiently waiting, awoken 

 I try not to forget the music, food, or dance that raised me this way 

 So I continue to iron my shirt, make my work my spouse 

 And remember when mom screamed, "Jose, clean the house!” 

Not an “S” lay

I don't just lay there

I speak my mind

I take you to another world and trigger your emotions

I share my truth with you

I am strong, I am 1500-2000 words long

I am due in a couple weeks

I haven't even started, but when I do,

I'll have a lot to say

1. Dillard's purpose in this essay is to share and educate the reader on her belief that the best way to live life is with relentless passion and tenacity. In lines 7-10 of paragraph 1, Dillard states " But if you flung yourself wholeheartedly at the back of his knees - if you gathered and joined body and soul and pointed them diving fearlessly -  then you likely wouldn't get hurt, and you'd stop the ball. " Here Dillard uses the mechanics of a proper football tackle to illustrate her opinion that just like in football, you should fling yourself, diving fearlessly at life.  

2. Dillard describes the "chewing out" seemingly the object of the chase, as redundant, a mere formality, and beside the point" because she believes that the "chewing out" was not the exciting nor important part of the chase. In lines 2-3 of paragraph 19 the author states " The point was that he had chased us passionately without giving up, ...". Here the author clearly dictates the importance of the chase and in doing so overshadows the consequences that followed.

1. Dillard opens her story with a discussion about football because she uses football as a metaphor for life. The author compares the attitude that one must have during a game of football to the way she believes one should live their life. 

2. The two rapid transitions found in paragraph 2 are in lines 2-3 where she states " In winter, in the snow, there was neither baseball nor football, so the boys and I threw snowballs at passing cars.", and in line 4 where she writes " I got in trouble throwing snowballs,, and I have seldom been happier since.". They contribute to the coherence of the story because the allow her to transition in to the climax of the story making for a fluid and natural transition.

Crenellated - provide (a wall of a building) with battlements.

Translucent - semitransparent 

Nigh - coming closer

Impelled - push, shove forward

Compelled - to force to push

Prow - protruding out 

Perfunctorily - regulatory, traditionally

Redundant - over used, over played, repeated

Piecemeal - slowly over time

Exalting - make better, rise above, dignifying

Righteous - justified, 

1. It is usually necessary for writers to revise the opening paragraphs of what they write because usually when a writer begins a work of literature he or she may not have the end in mind and there may come a time where the end may change the opening paragraphs.

 

 

I invited him for a delicious dinner one night

His favorite, Pechuga de Pollo with Arroz Blanco y Frijoles Negros

 

That was his favorite dish, Classically named “The Hemingway”

He ate it almost every day while he was in Cuba

 

He arrived right on time, as expected

Dressed sharply, suit and tie, polished brown leather shoes

 

We broke the ice over a whisky and a cigar, Cohibas of course

We spoke for hours, well HE spoke, I listened

 

We talked about manly virtues, Honor and such

We talked about his experiences during the war

 

He spoke about Canadians, our friends up north

He spoke about advice he would give to a son

 

And then we ate, ate like men who've never eaten

Ate like vikings feasting after a great conquest 

Our bellies were full, and our hearts were content

We walked out on the porch, a cool breeze blew

 

We looked at at the moon and sang old spanish songs

He knew every lyric and melody to the tee

 

And just like that he was on his way

And I'll never forget when it was just the old man and me

 

Being from Florida, I have heard just about every Florida joke ever created. Most of them, however, revolve around the same topic: “Florida Man”. A popular social media handle, “Florida Man” is just about anything crazy, outlandish, or foolish things people from Florida do. Although I’m not from northern, or central Florida (where the majority of “Florida Man” cases come from), I’ve heard countless stories from locals about friends or family members of theirs who, at one point in time, WERE the “Florida Man”. It’s been engraved so much in the Florida psyche, that even Floridians joke around about “Florida Man”. Some say that we as a nation should not joke about the legendary “Florida Man” due to the majority of cases involving him, have mental health issues and drug addiction as a kind of etiology. I, however, as a fellow Floridian, am FOR the humor and memes that the “Florida Man” produces. The argument FOR or AGAINST the ridicule of  “Florida Man” is really just the argument FOR or AGAINST ridicule in general.

Those on the other side say we should not make fun of  “Florida Man” because sometimes the people that become “Florida Man” are mentally ill, or are addicted to drugs. That is true. However, I ask the question: Then WHO is it okay to make fun of then? If you say, people who don’t have mental health issues or people who aren’t addicted to drugs, then you can infinitely come up with valid reasons as to why you shouldn’t make fun of anyone at all. This is because ALL people have some disabilities or something that society may judge negatively. If you think we shouldn’t make fun of anyone then, you are a hypocrite. You might not make fun of people, but you sure as hell JUDGE them. Is that any better? By choosing and selecting which groups of people ARE and ARENT allowed to be made fun of, what you are really doing is further dividing society (the past has shown us why this is not a good idea). We should work to build a society where EVERYONE gets made fun of, and EVERYONE can learn to laugh at themselves. Yes, we should take care of the mentally ill. Yes, we should take care of those addicted to drugs. But Yes, we should be able to make fun of them, AND they should be able to make fun of US. For we've all done "Florida Man" worthy stuff at some point in our lives. And if you haven't? I'd say you need to take more risks. 

 

Prof. Crane

English 105

8 March 2020

Beat Street 

The sun had just set, it was a cool evening, a welcoming break from the humid and sweltering golden Miami sun. The little yet elegant green cafe was booming with life, people sat at their wooden tables enjoying refreshing cocktails and smoking coffee-colored Cohibas while enjoying the music being played by the well-orchestrated band. The band’s most popular member, Carlos Ochoa, banged away on the two giant Conga drums putting the people in the establishment in an almost zombie-like trance. Sitting front and center was his sixteen-year-old son, Daniel Ochoa, who tried to play the Congas like his father, but gave up because “Coño, it’s too hard!” Daniel dreamed of one day being able to play like his old man, he wanted to gain people's respect, he wanted to be the talk of the town, and just like your average sixteen-year-old, he wanted to impress the ladies too. 

Carlos wasn't always as well known as he was on that night, as a young man he struggled to pay the bills, playing the African drums on the streets in exchange for tips. It wasn't easy being a political refugee. He had left Cuba during the Mariel Harbor Boatlift with his son, only ten at the time. Daniel saw him struggle to make ends meet, but he always found the time to practice his music playing. “Daniel,”  Carlos would say. “Nothing in life is easy, you have to practice over and over again if you want to be a master at something.” Daniel understood his father's advice but struggled when applying it. He would get easily frustrated and give up, unlike his father. It seemed like they were never gonna escape poverty till one day a vocalist from a popular band heard Carlos’s Conga playing abilities on the side of the street. From that day on, Carlos exploded into a local celebrity, playing every other night at popular cafes and clubs. 

When Carlos finished playing that night, he and Daniel walked to the car through the dark and cold alley behind the cafe, a normal occurrence since street parking was almost never available, even for Carlos. As they turned the corner, they witnessed two men exchanging money and a brown lunch bag. They made eye contact with Carlos and said, 

“You, you’re Carlos Ochoa Right?” 

“Yes,” said Carlos in a scared but composed voice. 

“He’s Famous.” One of the criminals stated. 

“How about you empty your pockets right now.” 

“Gentlemen there's no need for that, Look I’ll just be on my way.” 

“ I said right now!” 

The man yelled pulling out a silver thirty-eight caliber revolver aiming it at Carlos’s head. 

“Okay, okay no problem.” Carlos replied pulling out his wallet and throwing it in front of them. “Dead men tell no tales,” one of the men said. 

Daniels' ears ringed as he watched his father's lifeless body crash to the floor. Naturally, the two men took off running leaving poor Daniel alone in the dark miserable alley. A nearby officer heard the gunshot and ran to it. When he arrived, he saw little Daniel, speechless. “We have an S thirty-three on eighth street and one forty-seventh ave. Oh my god, it looks like Carlos Ochoa, send EMS stat!” Drug-related shootings were common in Miami during the eighties, But no one expected it to happen to them, let alone a well-known figure in the community like Carlos. 

After that night, Daniel was bounced around from home to home, mostly friends of his fathers, who volunteered to watch over him after they found out what had happened; never really being able to adapt to a normal life. He grew depressed, started doing drugs, and hung out with the wrong kids at school. He hated music, it reminded him of his father, it reminded him of what he wanted, it reminded him of his failure to save his father and his failure to be a talented musician. One night he was caught doing cocaine in the park by the local police. He was arrested immediately and brought down to the dilapidated police station where he was placed behind cold iron bars. Daniel looked around the cell. He could see the black mold that had been building upon the walls of the cell. He could see a metal cot where supposedly he would sleep for the night. To the left, however, he could see a black telephone hanging in isolation on the wall. “Do I get a phone call?” He asked the bored police officer in charge of watching him. “Sure, but make it quick!” the officer responded. Daniel held the phone to his ear as he thought of who to call. “I'll call uncle Tony,” he thought to himself, he might be able to get me out of here. “Hello? Who's this?” He answered. “Hey Uncle Tony, It's me, Daniel.”

“Hey kid, look I'm sorry I missed the funeral. I was touring in Europe and when I found out what had happened, we were already too far into the tour to cancel.”

“It's okay I understand, I need a favor though.”

“Dime, tell me,  anything you want it's yours.” He replied. 

 “I'm in jail right now, can you bail me out?”

An hour or two later, Uncle Tony arrived at the police station. He checked in, gave the officer in charge of Daniel a look and slid him the bail money and a fifty; a good amount of money in the eighties. They both walked to the car; a brand new Cadillac he had bought cash. One of the many perks of being a successful musician. They drove to Uncle Tony's house in silence. They were almost home when uncle Tony said, 

“Listen, from now on you're gonna live with me; your father was a good friend to me.”

 Daniel did not respond, he was indifferent to everything at this point. 

“Hey, did you ever learn how to play the congas?” 

“No, I would get frustrated easily so I gave it up a couple of years back.”  

“You know, my lead conga player is gonna retire in a few years, I could use another one.”

“What part of I get frustrated easily, don't you understand?” he replied.

“Calm down there Fidel, you didn't have a reason to keep going before. Now you do.”

“Oh yea, and what exactly is that reason?”

Uncle Tony looked over at him with a serious face. He didn’t need to answer. Daniel knew exactly what he was talking about. 

Over the next few years, Uncle Tony taught Daniel how to play. There were long nights full of frustration, mostly for Daniel, who still got frustrated but had found his reason to keep going. He started small, he played various holes in the wall bars around Miami, he played at outdoor events, hell he even played at local schools open houses. It was only a matter of time before Daniel was selling out arenas, rocking the crowd with his electric conga playing skills. It wasn't long before Daniel surpassed his father in both fame and in skill. His band quickly climbed the Latin music charts. They won multiple awards and sold millions of albums worldwide and all throughout Latin America. Daniel even opened up a foundation dedicated to reducing the number of kids on drugs through education, counseling, and music as a stress relief activity. It seemed like Daniel had it all. Easy for someone to lose track of where they come from. He would make it a point to visit the home he and his father lived in when they first got to Miami. That way he never forgot the lesson he had learned from both his father and Uncle Tommy. “Once you master the congas you master life. Both take practice, learning, and grit. But, if you never give up, you can have a beautiful impact on the world and the people around you”. 

“That's the story of my father, your grandpa, Abuelo Daniel,” Matthew said.

“Wow, that's a powerful story dad. So maybe I shouldn't give up? Maybe I should just keep practicing till I get it right?”

“Right, after all, it is in your blood. You just have to keep practicing till it comes out.”

The two of them sat on the white wooden porch watching the royal blue ocean. The evening waves gently rolling along the white crystal sands as weightless seagulls floated to and fro. The sound of the green palm trees swaying back and forth lulled them into a half-sleep half-awake state. And for one second, they thought they heard two conga drums banging in the distance in perfect harmony. The palm trees kept swaying producing a whoosh like noise. The waves kept rolling gently along the sand. There they sat, father and daughter on the white wooden porch staring off into the distance; congas in hand.

“Shall we?” Matthew said 

“Dale dad, Let’s go! I'm waiting for you!” Denisse replied.

We all know that one co-worker. The one with a new, fascinating story every day: He played high school basketball and dunked on Lebron James. He took a political science class and beat Barack Obama in a debate. He landed on the moon with Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong. Although sometimes entertaining, that person is most likely a liar. Considered a sin in many religions, lying is purposeful or accidental relaying of information that may not be true; so that the liar may benefit in some way. In Ericsson, Stephanie’s essay “The Ways We Lie” (Utne Reader 1992). We learn many different ways we relay that misinformation and in doing so cause moral harm to ourselves. Not only is Lying morally incorrect, but it is also a weak action taken when we are afraid of what could be if we only told the truth. By lying, we are unable to trust other people. We do not think of the effect our lies can have on the people we lie to. Lastly, one lie leads to another, to another, and to another until it becomes so complicated that we begin lying to ourselves. There’s a reason why so many past religions and spiritual teachings forbid lying. They recognize its dangers and the problems that come with it. To put it simply, lying is just plain wrong.

I once had a friend who was known to be popular with the members of the opposite sex and promiscuous because of it. He would go around cheating, lying, and being deceitful. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” He would say. That was, until one day he fell in love and ruined the relationship because he thought she was the same way. It is said that people who are the most afraid of getting cheated on, were at some point cheaters themselves. The same is true for liars. People who habitually lie are rarely able to truly trust other people. Ericsson clearly agrees with this statement because she included a quote from George Bernard Shaw. “The liar’s punishment… is that he cannot believe anyone else.” (Shaw quoted in Ericsson 182). When we lie, we see the potential for lying in other people and acknowledge that other people may be lying to us. This degrades our friendships and personal relationships. Imagine living life not being able to rely on other people. This behavior borders on paranoia. By lying we say to the world: “I am not good enough to hear the truth myself”. The answer is simple; if you don’t want to be lied to, don’t lie. Although we may not be able to control other people and what they decide to tell us, we do however have control of our own words. We must choose to tell the truth, in hopes that someday someone will show us the same kindness. Be trustworthy, dont lie.

 I once dated a girl who notoriously lied on job interviews. She made it so convincing that she knew what she was talking about, that she would usually get the job. A couple of weeks after she started the new job, the employers quickly realized her lack of knowledge about the task that needed to be done. She would lie, occupy the position, and therefore prevent actually qualified people from getting the job. Not many liars think about the outcome of their lie when they choose to deceive. They strut about not thinking about the effect that their lie could have on other people. Ericsson uses an example of a sergeant in Vietnam who lied about his platoon mate’s death; listed him as missing so that the family may receive a bigger monetary allowance. “Yet for twenty years this family kept their hopes alive, unable to move on to a new life.” (Ericsson 175). Using this quote Ericsson shows the negative effect the sergeants lie had on the family. Although he lied with noble intentions, the sergeant did not think about how his lie could affect the family. Yes, they received more money, but also spent the rest of their lives waiting for someone that was never going to come home. Maybe if the sergeant would’ve done the right thing and told the truth, the family could have moved on from the loss and prevented further suffering and anguish. Before we lie, we must think about how it might change the future of the person on the other end. We must consider the long term instead of focusing on the short term instant gratification lying grants us. Unless one can see the future, one should lie.

Not all lies go as planned as we learned before. I heard from a law enforcement friend of mine that the best way to catch a liar is to have them recall as many details as possible. Then, after you spend some time hearing their alibi, refer back to the beginning. Nine times out of ten they won’t be able to remember, and they’ll be caught. Saying you are only going to tell one lie is like saying you are only going to have one slice of pizza. That rarely happens. When we lie, we quickly and chaotically find ourselves lying about our lie so that we can get away with it. Ericsson faced a similar situation when she discovered that a former friend was a liar. “A simple investigation into his past revealed a crowded graveyard of disenchanted former friends.” (Ericsson 176). The author compares all the people that her former friend lied to a graveyard because just like a graveyard, there’s a whole lot of people. She discovers that she was not the only one that had been wronged, but was just a step in the ladder of misinformation. This is equivalent to taking one step forward and two steps back, never really advancing as a person or a friend. Don’t make things complicated, just don't lie.

Some will argue that lying can be beneficial in that it can prevent unwanted confrontation and unnecessary embarrassment. That point is true, but it is unimportant because what the liar is really doing is not taking responsibility for their opinion. Stephanie Ericcson says it best when she says: “Our acceptance of lies becomes a cultural cancer that eventually shrouds and reorders reality until moral garbage becomes as invisible to us as water to a fish.” (Ericsson 182). Sure, lying can prevent you from facing difficult and uncomfortable situations but it won’t help you in the long term. Instead of telling the truth and taking responsibility for their actions or words, liars go with the easier option. When people lie they choose the path of least resistance. They choose to feel good now instead of facing the pain of improvement. They take the cowards way out; the easy way,  so that they won’t have to suffer and in doing so remain emotionally weak. It is wise to choose the harder path; the path of telling the truth. It is the same path that builds emotional resiliency and the same path that, when chosen consistently, leads us to increased courage and emotional strength. However tempting it may be, It is best to not lie. It is best, to tell the truth, and become better by doing so.

At its origin, lying can be attributed as a weakness. It is the lack of courage to do what is right no matter how painful the result may be. When we choose this easy road, we end up morally and spiritually harmed. We hurt the people we love. We tangle ourselves in a web of deceit. We have a hard time trusting other people. The alternative is far better. We can tell the truth. We can better our relationships by improving our communication. We can learn to trust other people. We can become better human beings, both morally and spiritually. I challenge you to tell the truth, no matter how difficult it may seem. When we do this we embrace the hardships and the challenges of life valiantly and courageously. We can’t control whether people will continue to lie to us. We do, however, control our own actions. We could only hope that through our actions we will inspire people to do what is right. To live a life of honesty and character. When I was twelve years old, I forgot to do the dishes one day. My mom came home and asked me why the dishes weren’t done. I thought about it, and I told her the truth. I had forgotten, I was sorry, and that  I'll get started on them right away. She looked at me, smiled, and we both did the dishes. Together. That's the difference between telling the truth and lying. When you do the right thing, it ALWAYS pays off. So next time you have to choose between lying and telling the truth, remember that one-coworker we talked about earlier. Don't be like your co-worker, don’t lie.

Works Cited

Ericsson, Stephanie. “The Ways We Lie”. Utne Reader. 

1992. Print

Shaw, George Bernard.  The Quintessence of Ibsenism. 

1891.

 

 

By: Bita Roxana Tarani

I am with a name,

a unique as a language that flows 

Peaceful warrior,

that raises from ashes of fire

Taste of kindness,

like a giving tree

But rebel deep down below,

inside of me

Colors splashing on,

a white canvas

Creating my soul,

in this spiritual nature of my madness

Please don't call me girly, 

or I'll just walk away once more

Playing the role is easy,

but my mind is into sports and more

All my creators are four legged or two,

maybe more

I wonder?

How different are my thoughts than yours?

My skin hasn't age by the vampires fangs,

of course

My old soul, that been created by spirits,

of fairies, witches and wizards

The smell of wonders, 

down the rabbit hole I continued my adventures

How mad do I have to be? 

like the hatter in the story

I once meet Mr. Time,

back at Northern Cali

Where he once told me,

"the things you have dreamed you will never receive."

Though my problems doubted  me once more

before... you see 

My journey continued dancing with music,

a high up beat

What do they call it? My hips don't lie,

that figure of speech

Spotted the caterpillar,

Absolem?

Who said "why are you on the frog and toad?" 

frog and toad means road

What an odd thing to say? 

Rhyming  in a leerie way

I  learned how  to speak,

with my thoughts and opinion

I stepped through into the looking glass,

feeling as though I know what to be

Dancing and singing ,

as I drive down the streets

I really don't know how to end this,

cause my life story isn't really complete...

This journey is like a map,

you'll see 

I look up at the stars,

that will guide me where to be

Lost in the haze,

but there her father remains

I tell the truth of her tearful journey

With a loved one which remained 6 feet below

Anger inside, like a volcano would explode 

Showing the scars that she held with thirst

Sounds of punches hitting the grass

Which ends up with a spiritual content

Where at the end a beautiful creature

Will be there at last

Tea Time

Invited to tea time, by hatter and the hare

Nobody said, Rumi will be there

We ate our precious meal, at the wooden table in the forest

Everybody enjoyed their pleasant and cheerful conversations

How little I was, with my lack of faith and joylessness?

Hearing words like love, life or happiness, is hard to bear

But I cleared my throat, with water that was there

I whispered, there is a voice but doesn’t use words

How could that be, so rare,

When you say, when you do things from the soul,

He smiled, you feel a river moving in you with joy,

Raise your words not your voice, I said

It is rain that grows flowers not thunder, my friend,

Right, though I still don’t understand the meaning of this inspiration theory

I stared into his face, with my tearful eyes

The words, I did my best came into mind

You can do better Rumi spoke, then got up and left,

Now I sat there, beginning to wonder and think

How can I do better, better than my best?

I believe, that I may need another drink

By: Bita Roxana Tarani

From the town of the Natives,

Live creatures of the night,

Resembles

A dog

Can be difficult,

With one site 

 Eyes,

Of gold

Stalking,prey

 Teeth,

 longer and larger, 

they say

Smell

Sharp as a cold a wind

Ears listening,

Hearing far away

Tracks in snow,

Warm

 furs

As chorus they sing,

With the sound of howls

In the stars 

That beams

The true masters,

Of the woods

Of thee

Wolves

Reading 

For experience, I read books well and I used to not like them before.  After times passed by I fell in love with Harry Potter books and other stories, even comic books. The journey of just reading the book takes me to a new place, a new town or a new century. Losing yourself in the story.

For some reason I enjoy going to a bookstore, it's like a candy shop to me. It has that calm feeling when you just sit down and read a book, plus the smell is something I enjoy. It sounds crazy but when you open a new book, it's the feeling that you are going to take an adventure and the smell gives you that satisfaction. Well... to me of course.

I do enjoy reading Alice in the wonderland, into the wild, Mystery books, I can go on and on... Books are like an adventure. It just takes you places or teaches you something about your own life. Or books that teach you about ideas on how to make your own story books, or television scripts, maybe movies.

I really don't enjoy reading magazines, it's a long story but it just doesn't give me that great pleasure like a book does. Plus I believe that a magazine just has pictures, but I rather create that imagination, than it being given to me...? Spiritual books, mystery, none fantasy books, fantasy, great meaningful books, are the types of books that I enjoy reading. The book list that I've made will never stop growing.

The Passion for Writing

What I’m passionate about: I have been writing a lot all my life, essay's, journals and  TV or Movie scripts. The feelings I have is to enjoy writing, it gives this greatest feeling, more like pleasures. To just sit down and write whatever is bothering you or stories you have, adventures. Putting your feelings out, thoughts or opinions.  It's better to  put it in writing  then to just hold on to them in your mind.  writing just makes me feel like I'm in the 1890's. Pin pals, handwriting letters, in which I still do. 

The dislikes, are some rules about writing is that there are many different ways to write but there are rules to follow. Another one is grammar or ways to write phrases, it drives me insane, but it gets me to reach out for help when I need it. I can handle the hand cramps. It shows that I got passion for something that not even hand cramps can stop me from writing. Journals, I have several journal books that I send back and forth to people, it’s more of a private journal talking. Traveling journals on places I have visited, Essays for class, research papers for class, in which I would complain sometimes because it is hard to do. I do enjoy writing short stories, it gives my mind a time to take flight and have fun. I started writing idea stories for television scripts, than again I do work with a partner or two, to work together or even brainstorm ideas, then me doing it alone.

When it comes to studying, I usually study little by little each day, it's not like I'm procrastinating. I am a full time working teacher so  I  try to form study groups on the weekends. Just to help each other out. Sometimes I just study in my room, on my bed like I'm  in a dorm. Maybe listening to music or I'll take breaks and draw for a bit.

 I try to put at least 80% on my homework time. I am starting to enjoy English, I came this far and nothing can stop me now. There are times where I will fall into this rabbit hole, where I would get lost. That's why it's great to have a study group, but not all classmates can set a time and day because everyone has a life. So I need to push myself to finish the work as much as I can, by telling myself that the field I want to be in, has writing involved, that if I wanted to create a show or a movie I need to make sure that my writing skills are improved.

Used to  dread about school and how I never got anything from studying but just taking a break from school and coming back again. My mind has changed or figured out a way for me to just enjoy the class works, like there is a prize at the end of this journey.  It helps me to push myself, like I'm fighting for something that I wanted for a long time. That's the feeling that everyone should have when it comes to education.

For the 60 tweets below, they are funny but as well stupid headlines to get peoples attention, so I stand in the middle on this question. They do make people laugh because of the stories that are being told, starting a stereotype to make it like a trend about Florida. Some people like the comedians or the jokers tend to look at this from a different point of view. A good way to use this to make people laugh, but they are making fun of the mental health crisis that is happening. From what I realized that even if you're making fun of them, you are also putting out there that this is something that needs to be worked on. Raising the attention on the mental health crisis that is going on, so that help can be on the way. 

Another thing for this is as funny the stories are, entertaining the audience, or whoever is reading the tweets. Laughter is a good medicine to have in this life, in which Florida is starting the stereotype to get people laughing, just so life is good in a way. 

Talking about football, every sliding, joyous step, that this ordinary adult. The outsize backyard is part of the football theory. It gives background information of how it tributes to football. In the intervals between cars we reverted to the natural solitude of children.  

Crenellated: As a parapet or molding.

Translucent: Permitting light to pass through but diffusing it so that persons, objects, etc.

Nigh: nearly; or almost

Impelled: to drive or urge forward; press on or constrain to action.

 Prom: The forepart of a ship.

Perfunctorily: Lacking interest, care or enthusiasm 

Redundant: Being in excess; exceeding  what is usual or natural.

Piecemeal: Piece by piece; one piece at a time.

Exalting: to raise in rank, honor, power, character, quality, etc. 

Righteous: Characterized by up rightness or morality. Morally right.

Making everyone take action on what they want to do, lacking interest in something. taking little steps, one piece at a time to be in that thing you enjoy doing. The Chase is talking about Football, the dive, to raise in rank to be in the highest level. Having that urge to move forward.

1) Does Yunior love his father? Does his father love him? 

Yunior and his father have their tough times, Papi was old fashioned; he expected your undivided attention. Any time Papi raised his voice people around him would get scared.  They didn't talk much, they just drove around the neighborhood.  Yunior still wanted him to love him, something that never seemed strange, until years later, when Papi was out of their lives. 

2) How do you interpret the last line of the story? What is the deeper meaning?

Even though the father was cheating on the mom, they still have that connection. Like it was their last memory of them being together, in a way. Where they are sitting in their seats, quiet and still. No one could see their expressions. 

3) What is the effect of using Spanish in the story? What does it add?

The effect of using a language in a story, gives the reader to imagine or make a scene in their own minds. A taste of that culture or the country  that the writer is talking about. It gives the reader to imagine what it was like or describing the food smell, or if every culture is different when it comes to family get together or romances. 

4) What do you make of the mother's religious leanings, habits, and rituals?

The mother was calm, or just missed having fun and not caring about rules. Like it doesn't bother her. She stands out in a crowd, smiling quietly  like she is the important one. Just a plain simple mother who's looks isn't the important thing to have but just enjoying life as it is..

5) Is the father a bad person? Is there anything sympathetic about him?

I wouldn't say he is a bad person but him cheating on his wife, then wanting to wash off the evidence quickly is something that I might be as sympathetic about. Then again the father hasn't done much with his kids, just punishments and not telling them much about anything. 

Bita Roxana Tarani

Professor Luke Crane

English 105

20 April, 2020

For the existence of “Florida Man” why does he exist and why do we hear so much about him?

My first reason that I believe is to get the attention from people around the state, in order for Florida man to exist, someone must post or share crazy stories that are going on in Florida. 

Second, is when something is funny it tends to raise something  that is wrong. In this case for Florida members are the drugs, alcohol plus the mental health that is going on. It’s more like sounding the alarm that the city in Florida, people need help.

Third, as for articles and different news talking more about Florida Man, it’s not just about one man, they are most likely talking about all Florida people who do the oddest things that end up on the news.

Fourth, could be making fun of the poor, thinking that Florida is a joke for the police officers who are posting these stories. Then again, the man in the video is saying that Florida don’t have laws or hoops in order to keep stories or any police reports on files without anyone knowing about it. They act like free people who can do whatever they want.

Laast, fifth reason, Florida doesn’t have a stereotype. Unlike Texas, their stereotype is wearing cowboy boots and riding horses everywhere or  they listen to country music. I’m guessing that Florida doesn’t have a stereotype so they end up making their own, in which there are crazy stories about Florida Man.

Is Florida Man a funny meme? Is it funny because we have all done some crazy stuff and recognize that maybe we aren’t so far away from Florida Man ourselves, or is it wrong because “Florida Man” needs help? Are we laughing with “Florida Man” or at “Florida Man’?

In this part, I do stand in the middle. Florida Man memes are funny, but it is also a way to attract people's attention to make them realize that something is wrong, that people in Florida need help. Despite all the crazy stuff that Florida members have done. I feel as if we all have stories that haven’t been told in a way. Which, Florida is creating this stereotype telling everyone that Florida is a crazy place with weird stories. When I say that I’m in the middle of this, it’s because I think Florida is funny to read, plus they are getting my attention. That even means laughing at Florida Man, is like laughing at poor people who are really crying for help. With all the drugs and mental health crisis that they are going through. 

It depends on where people stand in this situation, it is an easy target for comedians, or journalists who are making fun of them. At the same time, the laws and police force don’t have rules. Where these investigations are made by police officers, information is easy to be found online and posted for everyone to see.  A new stereotype to make fun of the Florida People.

1. I believe when it comes to writing zombies, sure it starts in the cemetery, but it's that scary look. Plus the first modern zombies to start showing up is around 1919. It's the words that describe them, “There are some things that never die. Things that never really were alive” For a vampire, you stabbed them once with a stake in their heart but a zombie never dies. I believe this whole thing is to be fun in a way. In which zombies are better ways to compare with how we are dealing with our daily lives. Vampires wouldn’t make sense for us because sucking blood isn’t how people live. Killing each other is how we are fitting to stay alive or succeed in this life, like zombies.

2. Saying that zombies is just a zombie. No matter what you do to kill it. Apocalypse on the horizon, the pathos of his ex-personhood. It's like Parker is talking about a person being a zombie, but an ex-personhood meaning he isn’t there. We are fitting to stay alive or in which saying we are letting all the technology take over us, like we are in a coma.

3. She is talking about how just going on the internet and letting it take over us, consciousness be taken away. When we don't notice it in life. We just let the internet do the whole thinking for us, we are really like zombies with no consciousness at all. Klosterman is really talking about “This is the zombies’ world, and we just live in it.” meaning all of us are zombies in a way. That if you don’t wake up and you're not noticing anything around you, following the same path again and again. You're being a zombie in a way. We all can change in a way that we can live better.

Bita Roxana Tarani

Professor Luke Crane

English 105

13 April, 2020

Princess Spring of Glory

My mother and father never understood why I enjoyed spring so much when it came around every year, though I dare say that I do enjoy the other seasons. Princess Winter brings cold white snow, Princess Fall puts beautiful autumn colors on the leaves and Princess Summer, well she makes the earth hot where children's of all ages race to the beaches or the river streams to cool down. But there's just something about spring that simply must be celebrated.  

 As I wandered through the forest, surrounded by big trees, the dress my mother made me weaved around my legs. My long dark hair covering my shoulders,  I slid my flats off, barefoot on the green grass, feeling the rich, earthy dirt on my young skin. “Mother wouldn’t know.” I whispered. Talking to the trees as if they are my friends. As I sat there, on the grass watching the river stream, footsteps came from a distance. 

“Alice, your mother said I would find you here.” Said a young girl with long blonde hair, wearing a blue dress.

“Oh my dear Debbie, haven’t you noticed Princess Spring has returned.” Alice said, smiling.

“And she is the most beautiful princess we have seen this year.” said Debbie, one classmate of Alice. 

“Don’t you wish spring could stay forever? How this beauty could stay with us, creating like a castle in the woods, a wonderful place with new baby creatures of all kindred spirits, as if they are reborn to this life.” Alice said beaming. 

“I would wish for Princess Spring to stay forever, but mother said when spring comes, tears and sneezing tends to come with it.” Said Debbie.    

“Well… seasons do tend to bring their powers with them. They just haven’t figured out how to control them.” Alice said so proudly, as though she was defending the seasons. Alice and Debbie looked at one another sideways, and began giggling.

“Oh Alice, you must come and join us at the spring fest.” Debbie said beaming with delight, “The whole town gets together every year to celebrate spring.” 

“Oh, like wearing flower crowns and dancing by the river stream...as if we are bowing down to Princess Spring who welcomed us to this time of glory…?” Alice said getting lost in her own imagination.

Debbie put both hands on Alice's shoulders and turned to face her. “Even better. Tea time in the woods, dancing with ribbons, flying kites in the baby blue sky. Boys and girls dressing up in spring outfits, eating pastries and sweets.” 

What  wondrous words flowed out of Debbie's lips! Such beautiful words made Alice smile with excitement.

 “I dare say it is a wonder of glory.” Alice said.

I then slipped on my flats, then Debbie and I started running to the festival in the village.

The Captain of the Spaceship

With a flash I fell to the hard floor.  I gazed up, seeing men in unusual outfits. I picked myself up, still puzzled on where I was.  A tall figure from the back, moved forward. Spoke to me with a confused tone, asking how on earth did I get on his spaceship? I was in shock, spaceship? That can not be? I was just out of the woods arguing with my dear friend Debbie, she got angry, cast a spell, opened the portal and pushed me in it. 

The tall man stared at the young girl, his eyes fell upon her’s.

“My name is Alice and yourself?” Alice said.

“I'm the Captain, Captain Roger and these are my crew.” The man said grinning.

“Captain? Like captain hook?” Alice said, confused.

“Ah. You're mistaken for me as one of those fairytale stories.” Captain Roger said. 

“You know the pirate book, with Peter Pan?” Alice said.

“Aye. A classic story that I read to my daughter of course.” Captain Roger replied.

I sat on the cushioned bench back of the spaceship, glazing to outer space.

“Water or coffee?” Captain Roger said, holding a tray with two cups.

“What, no rum on this spaceship?” Alice said, questioning the captain.

We live in high altitudes, rum isn’t a good thing to have.” said Captain Roger.

As Captain Roger sat down next to me. We began to talk about our stories. How Debbi and I were practically like sisters, knew each other since we were little, living in a small village near the forest, reading books or shooting arrows but she changed when she started her training. Where she started gasping for more, where she became malevolent. I  just wanted my friend back, the girl that I knew to be kind and generous. She vanished me into a grey smokey portal. Captain Roger  told his story about his daughter Hope. Raising her on his own. She cares for others, sees the good in them. Till a group of hooded figures took her away. He has been searching for her for 18 years. 

“What do they need for a young girl?” Alice said, “What are they?”

“To make her like one of them,” Said Captain Roger, “A sorcerer.” 

I couldn’t just sit there, I needed to go home, but how? 

“You know if there's another way to open a portal?” Alice said.

“It’s thousands of miles away,” Captain Roger said with no belief. He then sighed. “There is something, but it’s dangerous, you can lose yourself.”

“I’ll  take any chances.” Alice said, fiddling with her pocket watch she always had with her.

“Suit yourself, but if you lose your soul, on your head be it.” Captain Roger warned.

“ Don’t worry. My soul is filled with pure love.” said Alice evenly. 

“Funny, that is what my daughter would say.” said Captain Roger looking at Alice cryptically. 

The Next Door Neighbors Window

Alice moved her desk towards her window. As she sat down to do her homework, she couldn’t stop to think why a red fox was lurking outside, eyes beaming up at a tree nearby. Alice scanned the top tree branches and spotted a nest. When one bird left, where three baby heads popped out. Alice stumbled out of her chair.

“Alice what was that sound? You better be doing your school work.” Alice’s mother called out as she passed by her bedroom door.

“Yes, mother, just spotted a spider that’s all!” Alice replied back.

She quickly grabbed her journal, her pen and ink bottle.

“Oh heavenly blessed life,

I have been stuck in this horrifying place, as we all call the bedroom, by my lack of finished school work, mother is not letting me go out to play. I enjoy playing outside in the marvelous forest that was created by the spirit known as our Mother Nature. All creatures of every size have their own ways to make music. Oh, I would just sleep out there all day if I could. Mother would tell me a lady’s work is in the house. I dare say, I rather be working out in the barn with the animals because their hearts are kindred spirits. A kindred child mustn’t be stuck in the bedroom. The pieces of my adventures are like treasures to me. Today, I spotted Mr. Red Fox near my window, lurking around, eyes beaming up at a tree, in which there is a nest with baby birds inside. Mr. Red Fox mustn’t do such horrible things. They're just babies you know.”

“Oh heavenly blessed life,

For weeks I’ve been watching Mr. Red Fox pass around the tree. Mother bird didn’t like it. She would swoop down to scare Mr. Red Fox away. I don’t want anyone to hurt Mr.Red Fox, he’s my friend, but I don't want him to hurt anyone or any animal.”

“Oh heavenly blessed life,

A month went by, I couldn’t bear watching Mr.Red Fox and mother bird fight. Every evening I would put out some meat from my lunch, mother had given me. Maybe Mr. Red Fox had trouble finding food on his own. A kindred child must help out a dear friend. Mother doesn’t know about me feeding Mr.Red Fox. She’ll be furious at what I have done. Keeping Mr.Red Fox so close to home, dangering the other chickens in the farm.”

“Oh heavenly blessed life,

What news I must tell you! Mr.Red Fox was pleased with the food I gave him, sadly his trip had him depart somewhere else, I hope he enjoys his journey. As for the mother bird, she paid me a visit when I was reading in the forest, landed next to me to sing thank you.”

      As the butler cleaned the portraits in the hallway. Wondering of a life he missed in India, where the smell of curry fields the air, clothes being hung outside on the ropes, children from all ages playing cricket on the streets. How he would live in a town with colors and temples, feeling the desire of tasting this mother’s home cooked meals once more. Leaving his family behind from taking his father's place in a cult that he joined. His father believes in the words that the foreigners have promised. The young butler looked at his own reflection in the mirror next to him.

“There was no other choice,” He said to himself, “You’re the eldest one. Just like what father said, a man gotta do what a man’s gotta do for his family. Even Bartimus would back you up on this.”

As he ran from the cult that abused him from where he was from or what his love, laughter and soul that he was created in his young childhood life. Seeing it shatter day by day, being beaten up, burned, watching the light in his own vision, disappear into the mist. “You can’t leave now.” His thoughts said to him as he began to pack up his bag in the night.  "You're worthless.”

Heart pounded in his chest, as he fell to the ground, feeling his journey ends here.  He leans against the tree trunk, feeling the cold air cutting him like knives. His body shakes, due to the lack of body-fat. Cults believe in starvation, from what he was taught. From laying there, he spotted the tattoo on his left arm, of a tiger. Rubbing his finger on the design. “Protection, courage.” He whispered to himself.

“Stand up”, as the wind whispered to him. “Now is not the time for weakness.”

He stood up, slowly, dusting himself off and forced himself forward.

While he polished the gold frame on one of the portraits. The smell of the wax rushing down in his lungs. Feeling the brush of a furry tail rub against his legs. The butler smiled. “Bartimus, I’m glad you’re here with me, my dear old friend.”

Omar glanced at the table filled with food. His mouth started to water, missing the taste of bread and lamb stew. He walked to the table, and was about to grab a piece of bread. When a hand stopped him.

“What ya doing puppet?” said one of the members of the cult.

Omar swallowed his saliva. “I’m hungry...”

The guy grinned, “Wrong answer.”

Pushed Omar to the ground and started punching him. The man then pulled Omar up on his feet, brought him to the wall, making him face it.

“You’re just lying like all the riff rats in your country.” The man said, picking up a chain that hung on a hook near a door.

“The only person who is lying is yourself. Lying to people that you will give them freedom, and a life of glory.” Omar said with a tone of anger and hate-read in his voice.

As furious the man got, from hearing what Omar had said. With all his strength, he whipped Omar’s back.  

Omar started to scream, feeling as though he was being whipped over and over again. The chain hitting him rapidly against his back. Ripping deeper and deeper in his skin. He falls off the bed. Woke up sweating.

In the morning, in a big house up on the hill top. The morning air filled the big house. Omar, as tired as he was. Get dressed and head to the dining room. “What can I get you ma’am?”

“Please, Omar, call me Jo.” Replied an elderly woman, who owns the big house. She then looked up at Omar, noticing his tired face, with dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Heavens dear boy, are you alright? You look as though you haven’t eaten anything.” said Jo, who got up from her chair, “Please sit down, you must eat something."

“No thank you ma’am.” Omar said not willing to give eye contact.

Jo glared at Omar; her heart was filled with love that she wanted to give to Omar, like he was her own son.  She never wanted him as a butler, she wanted him to live in this life with love and be happy. Yet, she was trying to figure out how to reach this young boy, as though there was a brick wall between them.  

Heading back to the kitchen, Omar fell on the cooled floor. Breathing heavenly, when he felt a nudge on his left inner arm. With eyes closed, Omar began to stroke the head of the tiger. “I’m just a riff rat, Bartimus, I don’t belong anywhere.”

While Omar cleaned the dishes. Hearing Bartimus heavy chuffs.

“There is no love or laughter Bartimus. My young childhood life is dead.” Omar answered.

Bartimus chuffs again.

“I can’t go back. You don’t get it! I’m not welcomed back! No food for me, don’t you get it!” Omar’s voice got tense as he spoke.

Bartimus groans.

“I’m Dead! You stupid friend, get it now in your furry head of yours! I lifted my country! I’m stupid piece of riff rat! I took my father's place. He didn’t tell me that he loved me nor tell me don’t go with those foreigners. I took his place, but he never bothered saving me. I deserve the whips and burns. I deserve them all!"

Without knowing what he was doing, he picked up a teacup and threw it against the wall. Missing Jo who just walked in to see him.

“Who is Bartimus?” said Jo, panting as she stares at Omar, “Who are you talking too?”

Omar looked around, realizing that there was no tiger. That his old friend Bartimus wasn’t with him. Not knowing where the groan and chuffs sounds came from. Omar tried to understand, from nights screaming, having night terrors, thinking that he was talking to his old tiger friend Bartimus. Feeling as though he wasn’t alone. Not feeling the love and kindness that was offered to him with open arms by Jo. Not understand what is love or how is love supposed to be given.  

As broken and hurt Omar felt, he had lost himself into his own madness. Creating a poison that pumped through his veins into his heart. The light in his own vision, disappearing into the mist, wasn’t from how he was beaten up and burned. No, Omar understood that the light in his vision disappeared from a broken heart that was shattered by his own father.

 

2.How I intercept the last line of the story was I feel that the mom knew what was going on she was just trying to put it aside and not think too much about it I just feel like she is still with the dad because she wanted to be there for the kids. she wanted the kids to have a normal life with a father and mother figure. but I feel like at the same time she also knows that her two sons know was going on already but she was not thinking too much about it.

3. feel when they added Spanish to the story it made it more realistic it made the story come out more. And for me I feel like it also brings out traditions of Hispanic culture. it makes the story more interesting because I can tie a lot of the words to what I use at work or when I talk to friends. Also I feel when characters speak in Spanish it brings there personality out more.

 4. I feel that with the mom's religion, habit, and rituals that they are old school like she likes to follow her past and also how she loves traditions because going to the family house and eating traditional food dancing. Also how the husband in Mexican culture makes the decision on everything. I feel like she has a clue of what is happening but needs to obey what the husband wants and does.

 5.   
In my personal opinion I think the father is being a bad person because he is hiding his other life from his wife but his kids know and I feel that not only he is hurting his kids he is hurting his wife. But also I just feel like him doing this is showing his kids and promoting cheating. And the fact that he still with his wife shows how low he is. Honestly I just can't stand people and cheating its just not the right thing to do it shows how bad of a person you are.

Chef David creator of food, creator of 

Umami

As I walk in with my white button up coat I make sure this place is sane.

Organized, clean, and perfect. With just a crack of an egg my day has started ticking

Tickets starts printing the aromatic of flavors and sweet taste of smoke escape.

NUMBER 25 your food is ready as you see a full smile of white. Walking towards you

The day goes by with pans crashing and clinging water splashing people yelling.

I am wishing the day could be over already.

As my time ticks to an end I Think to my self is this the life I want to live and do?

Why is my body slowly hurting at this age I say to my self? I am only 25 !!

All I hear is you an amazing chef But NAH. I have changed my mind

This is the life I don't want to live anymore.

 

Crenellated: A wall or a building with battlement, in the paragraph what I think he was trying to say was as he was driving trough the street all you could see is old broken building on the side.

Translucent: Permitting light to pass through but diffusing it so that people, objects, the opposite side are not clearly 
visible

Nigh: Near in space, time, or relation

Impelled: to urge forward

Compelled: to force

Prow: something in front

Perfunctorily: being indifferent or apathetic

I went to Mexico Sinaloa Guamulichi one summer day it was my first time there I was with my best friends family, we all just got there from a 12 hr car drive from San Diego, CA, finally, we made it. It was my first time meeting their family they were so sweet nice and very welcoming they said Bienvenidos. With Spanish being very familiar to me I fit just right in. Life in Mexico is different I feel like it's all happiness and joy hanging out with friends and family, drinking eating good food compared to the United States. We were all sitting together in the back patio and my friend's family said are you ready to go to a wedding fiesta of your lifetime, I said yes I told them I want to experience the tradition of a party in Mexico. The day has finally arrived it was the wedding, we had to get all dressed up everyone was dressed up really nice makeup done and suits and dress shirts all pressed shines shoes it was perfect what everyone was wearing. We all hopped on to the car and drove to the venue, we got there I stepped in and I never saw anything so beautiful in my life before, lights shine so bright the color white was everywhere the table setting was amazing so many gorgeous flowers, the cake was beautiful and best of all there was so many alcohol. Unexpectedly live music called Banda came out and they started playing some amazing Mexican music it was so cool. But at the end of the night, I had an amazing time just as we got more into the night we started drinking shots after shots after shots and then everything around me got really blurry and dark the last thing I saw was me being carried out by the police I was worried I thought I was going to jail because I might have done something wrong I was freaking out the suddenly last thing I remember was being in the back of a car with the light flashing red and white. A second time I opened my eyes I was in a room with a whole bunch of people around me in a hospital bed. As I woke up completely my friend said you almost died you over drank and had way too many. I though I was able to control myself but I didn’t, I guess that is how you party in Mexico. 

As patiently and excited, I was waiting to see an old friend

His name was Ocean Voung with days before he told me 

He wanted to go and try some delicious traditional Vietnamese cuisine.

With a click in my head I said Pho Van restaurant yum   

Ocean said That is the place I want to go perhaps some beer too  

I know this place will play the tears and joy of his past

When he was a child he told me pho was his favorite.

As he walked in the aroma of his past trigger the smile

I can see the light glowing from his face a tear drip 

He says this is the smell of my child hood past 

He orders a bowl of pho and I order a bowl of pho. 

We talked over with beer he told me he was excited

He misses home in Vietnam he misses his moms home cooking.

We spoke some more and shortly the guy comes out

Two-pho dac biet the server said " steam floating to the top"

The smell of star anise and ginger and cinnamon and fresh spices 

We scoop up the rich clear broth 

As we slurp the flash back of Ocean’s mind we back in time 

A drop of tears 

He said this was exactly how it tasted just like home.

4. I feel that with the mom's religion, habit, and rituals that they are old school like she likes to follow her past and also how she loves traditions because going to the family house and eating traditional food dancing. Also how the husband in Mexican culture makes the decision on everything. I feel like she has a clue of what is happening but needs to obey what the husband wants and does.

5.
 In my personal opinion I think the father is being a bad person because he is hiding his other life from his wife but his kids know and I feel that not only he is hurting his kids he is hurting his wife. But also I just feel like him doing this is showing his kids and promoting cheating. And the fact that he still with his wife shows how low he is. Honestly I just can't stand people and cheating its just not the right thing to do it shows how bad of a person you are.

 

Red
White
And Blue
America
The dream
Freedom
Grills grilling
Burgers sizzling
Clink clack pop
The sounds of beers opening
Cheers
Freedom
As night fall
We celebrate
Thank you America
Boom
Bang
Pshhhhhh
With bright lights
Soaring in the sky

 

 

“What is that?” Alice said. 

“That, love, is the tunnel of the black hole.” Captain Roger said, holding tightly to the steering wheel.

Alice looked at Captain Roger, “Black hole? Most town villagers said it’s a myth, that the black hole doesn’t exist.” said Alice moving to the window.

“In this galaxy… it exists,” Captain Roger said, noticing Alice  was close to the window, “Move away from the glass, entering the black hole will make the windows sensitive, it could easily break. Suggest that you strap on tight. This spaceship flips around at the speed that we’re going. Not many spaceships survive the black hole.” 

I strapped myself tightly in a chair. As we entered, darkness surrounded us. I felt the extreme pressure, as though feeling someone squeezing my head. I looked outside the window and noticed a figure, a man in vintage clothes, holding a sack.

“Jack!” yelled Alice, trying to fight to get out of her seat.

“No! Stay seated, it’s an illusion,” Captain Roger said, “ I assure you it’s not real!” 

The pressure stopped after what felt like 45 minutes.

“Who’s Jack?” Said Captain Roger turning to face Alice, who was coming in and out, dazed.

“My brother,” she said softly, feeling hazy, “ He was last seen delivering a message out of town. He said he would be back in two days. Weeks past, until my family received the news that my brother was found dead on the road, drunk. I knew it wasn’t true, my brother despised alcohol. The only thing I got of him is his pocket watch.” Alice held on to the pocket watch which was hanging around her neck. 

“I’m sorry, love,” Captain Roger said, looking down then turning around, “ These illusions are the ones that mess with your mind. I too went mad.” 

“What’s your illusion?” Alice curiously asked. 

Captain Roger opened his mouth,  about to respond when he noticed a swirl of what looked like colorful halos. He didn’t explain what he was doing, but sent two men down below the spaceship, who appeared outside with special armor, gliding towards the colorful halo. Minutes later they returned back to the spaceship.

“ Galaxy dust,” Captain Roger said holding the bottle, “you can open a portal to go home.”

I could almost feel the pull of the tunnel and grass beneath my feet, a daughter needs her father. 

Alice gave the bottle of galaxy dust back to Captain Roger.

“I would have thought, you wanted to go back home.” Captain Roger raised his eyebrows.

“Your daughter is more important,” Alice said, then grinned, “let's go find your daughter.” 

I got off work at 7 

I NEED GAS  i shout 
 
I see blue, white and red 

is that a chevron i see

as i pull into  number six

I stepped out of my car

smell of oil and gas burning 

walking in as the door bell jingle

the kind man say welcome 

the smell of incent burning

and lottery tickets hanging 

forty on Six please  lottery too

as i pump, the ticket scratch

winner winner of a million dollar 

I ran into the store 

I hand the tickets with joy 

the man said whoops 

its was not a winner

sorry a winner  no more

 

 

 

It was the 70's, California, reefer if that’s what you kids still call it in the air. I mean it really was something, seeing Linda Ronstadt when Henley and Frey were just her backing and not some big act. You took the bus, the only thing between your bare-feet and the concrete was beach sand. I mean it really was something. I remember one day I had locked up my little studio up above a dental clinic, some distant cousin gave me cheap rent, which these days is like 80s village wasp rent but that’s another story. Anyways, I’m carrying this box of something, doesn’t matter what, and the most charming slender, wide-hipped man bumped into me and made me drop this thing I was carrying. And I was mad you know? I was gonna lip this guy until I saw his jaw and resting on it was these lips oh and they made your grandma wild you know. And his eyes, they were like a solar system! And I didn’t know but he took me there, it wasn’t something he said, he just told me with his eyes. It was like he made me think what he meant. And it was poetry this vision, like pink sand, just barren. But it was just us, nothing spoken, and it wasn’t a thing like uhm uhm, Weinstein, no this wasn’t a creep, it just was like one of those mindfulness retreats, and we got into some stuff I can tell you with your mom looking at me like that but I mean it really was something. I tried painting him, sketching him, trying to just remember how magnificent he was but I never could. And then I met your grandfather when he bought a painting of mine, who knows where I’d be if I stayed with that star-man. You two might not be here, but now I’m freaking you out so I’ll stop. What’s for dinner Susie darling?

like honey I speak.

It's MLA formatting

like shark skin suits,

quite bleak!

I have declarations to make

in a black and white state.

If only you'd stay,

to see the impact I can make

with the power of furious intellect untamed.

Like a sundial lining the door

Shade taking the time

But ashes to ashes 

My coffee cup won’t rust

Black and white tiled floors

Donuts placed in their carriages

To the dismay of the Simpsons

There aren’t many caricatures

Igor makes love with the register

His fingers dancing the counter

Eyes watching, waiting for crime

A hot coffee stream like poetry

Cream no longer segregates

The concoction in my cup

Is truly the only celebrat-

Ion the engines roar

Of a smokers laborious

Lungs

If only sunlight caught the mood

Of these desperation blues

When the robbers come to kill me

In the glory of the gas station foods

I’ll let the wine and bread protect me

Because what’s more romantic than

My blood 

With God’s blood

As I die with this desperation

Of such gas station blues

"Red meat. heart attacks, privatized land, Native American caricatures, Bruce Springsteen."

"Bruce Springsteen's a fuckin' commie."

It was quite rare to find a diehard Fox News, Limbaugh on the truck radio, red from the rasp only red meat, whiskey, and cowboy killers can resonate to deal weed to two liberal millennial friends in an illegal state.

"My dad likes em," Shawn oscillated between his best friend and the oxymoronic conservative drug dealer as he realized the level of stupidity his addition to the conversation would be received,

"My dad likes em." his dying whisper to add something.

"Aight Sean Hannity, you got the eighth?"

"Yeah I got the eighth, Kobe"

Deon stepped back looking like he did when Richard's dad tried to do "the handshake" when they met.

"The fuck? you racist?" Deon double takes with his head angled and nose scrunched.

"Woah, woah," The dealer dances the legs of his thick mustache and stresses his belt against the unfurled curve of his large stomach, "fuck you callin' racist?"

"I bet you voted for Trump!" Deon steps up to him, emphasizing his stature against the large man, almost a match to Deon by a mere 5 inches.

"I bet you think Black Lives Matter." The Dealer calmly spoke with a coat of sardonic humor only a republican could laugh at un-ironically. 

Shawn pressed his hand between the two with a sense of urgency, worried about the response from authorities if his friend was caught fighting a Purple Heart vet with brown skin.

"Chill, chill! Just pay him and give us the weed, this isn't a Joyner Lucas video!
 Hesitantly they step back from each other with squinting snarls. The round mounds that formed the Vet's hand slapped the film container of grass into Shawn's hand, which uncomfortably pressed back from the sheer strength of the Vet.

"Deon! Give him the money!"

"There you go," a silence between them as Deon clearly paused and the night lay silent as if waiting for the tension to release as well.

Don't say it, Sean pleaded in his head.

"Cracka ass."

and by the drop of a needle Shawn and Deon ran to their car faster than the Vet could run into the night of the grass-dry city.

       The next morning I woke up went down stairs Stanley was there sitting at the dining room table i looked over and asked Stanly what did we see last night tell mom what happened. Stanly looks over to me with his face pale and with a smirk nothing happened mom everything was fine I don’t know what Charlie was talking about then he giggled. With a confused look I had on my face I brush everything off and said forget about it. After days has passed things started to get worse at THE HOUSE Stanly was acting weird he was not the same like he use to be I miss his old self. I try to stay positive but I feel like nothing is happening but I feel like I am on the verge of depression everything is going wrong I cant sleep weird noises keep happening at night and it just keeps getting louder. But my main concern is Stanly, as we sit at the dinner table I shout what is going on with all you guys “don’t you see that every thing is going wrong at this house”. Something is in here and it is trying to kill us all I shout.

I wish we stayed back at our old home where everything was better where our lives where better. My parent told me to relax everything is going to be okay. Things started to get worse I feel like something is trapped in my body something is controlling me my mind is everywhere, As days pass I started to get worse I keep seeing that same shadow I saw that night I ask Stanley has anything happened to you lately he says no the it comes to sense that the Demon was after me not Stanley, The demon was using Stanley to get to me.

Professor Luke Crane 

English 105 

May-18-2020 

 

An Adventure That Took a Turn 

 
As the sun begins to dim and the night starts to fall, a peaceful sound of silence usually follows, as it should in any community, but not mine. It was a summer night in July, school was out. My cousin Carlos had nothing to do so he decided to spend the weekend with my family and me. We were playing video games and pigging out on junk food in the living room, when out of nowhere a faint chopping sound emerged from the distance. The sound quickly escalated and before we knew it, started to encircle above my house. Carlos came running out from the bathroom with a concerned look on his face and asked, “Did you hear that loud bang?” We rushed to a window and all we saw was fire. All we could hear was the sharp sound of blades cutting through the humid summer air. We continued to peek out the window where of a sudden, we found ourselves being blinded by a beaming light in the sky.  

“Please stay inside of your homes! It is not safe!” the voice from the helicopter said. Carlos and I were really never good at following rules, and being the curious misfits we were, we decided not to heed the warning. We walked to our front door and cautiously walked out into the street. The whole street was lined with police cars and there were multiple helicopters circling the neighborhood. Whatever happened must have been pretty bad to call for this much commotion, I thought to myself. I motioned Carlos to be quiet and move quickly. We snuck past a couple cop cars and swiftly took cover behind a tree as we heard the police radios going off, “Suspect was last seen in City Heights area. All personnel stay on high alert and proceed with caution. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous.” 

 Carlos and I went to see what was going on. We just wanted to see if we needed to prepare for the worst. When we overheard the police on the radio, we were terrified. I thought to myself, If this guy catches us what would we do? As we were heading back home, there were cops at our front door. We couldn’t go back to the house, we would be in so much trouble if the cops saw us seeing as how they told us to stay inside. We decided to turn around and run away. We came across a stranger who was dressed in a suspicious mechanic jumpsuit covered with oil, as if he had just got off work. He told us his name was Tom, and that he was on his way home until he was forced to turn because of police and helicopters everywhere. He asked if he could stick with us because he didn’t want to be alone considering everything that was going on. Carlos looked at me with hesitation in his eyes. I whispered to Carlos, “He seems like a nice guy. Plus, I’d feel bad if we left him alone out here. He seems harmless.” We all decided to come up with a plan to find shelter. We didn’t have anywhere to go. We couldn’t go home because the cops were probably looking for us. My first idea was to stay at a nearby friend’s house. Just to lay low until this all died down. It was just across the street from our house, the cops wouldn’t know to look for us there. 

                  As soon as I was about to suggest laying low at my friend’s house across the street, Tom chimed in, “I know of a place where we can all stay until this whole thing blows over. It’s not too far from here. It’s probably pretty close to your house, so once the cops are gone you can get home faster too.” Carlos and I looked at each other. We were young and naïve to think this would be over soon. We thought that this would be over in a matter of hours and that we would be back home for dinner. We were trying to decide if we should go with Tom or not, when all of a sudden, we heard the sound of sirens. Tom began to run in the opposite direction, and without thinking we ran along with him.  

As we were running away from the sirens, we heard a man on the speakers behind the sirens, “Beware of a middle-aged male in a jumpsuit. He is considered dangerous…” Carlos and I didn’t hear the last part as we were running away, hoping to find shelter with Tom. As we got further away from the siren, we realized we didn’t know anything about Tom. We kept running until the sounds of the sirens started to fade.  

As we continued to walk, Tom began to tell us about his past and how he used to be in prison. He had a rough life growing up, his parents where drug addicts and he did not grow up with much of a family. He devoted himself to drugs and gangs. He told us that he was fed up with that life and wanted to change, so now he was living a clean and free life. He also explained to us how he wanted to help out the community as much as possible. He wanted to change the world, he wanted to reach out to people in similar situations and explain to them that there was more to life than drugs and being in gangs. We told him we were just normal college students. We mentioned we attended Mesa College and that we were both majoring in English together. We mentioned how much we enjoyed writing poems.  

As we continued to walk, we noticed that it was getting darker. There were no lights and there was not a house to be seen. The only thing we could hear were the faint sounds of a helicopter in the far distance. The sound reminded me of a saying, and I told Carlos, “Hey fool, I heard this saying once, ‘Don’t trust the sound of spinning blades because you never know where it can cut.” As we continued walking, we got nervous because we didn’t know where we were going. Something about the area just didn’t seem right at all. As we approached a dark familiar house, Carlos and I looked at each other in fright and disbelief. I whispered to Carlos, “Isn’t this where they found the body of that kid we went to high school with?” We looked at each other. “Nah… it can’t be,” said Carlos. Tom stopped walking.  

“Wait here, I’m going to see if the place is all clear before we go in” Tom said. We stayed put in the dark for a couple of minutes. A couple more minutes passed and Tom still had not come back. Carlos and I began to worry.  

“Do you think that Tom was the person that the cops were looking for? The man in the helicopter speaker mentioned something about a man in a jumpsuit.” I asked Carlos. Suddenly we heard the sound of a footstep crack in the bushes. Without hesitation, Carlos and I started to run. “Stay Close! We can’t lose each other! We have to make sure we stay close!” I yelled to Carlos. The further we ran, the more familiar the surroundings started to become. I thought of how I remembered seeing it on the news before. They found a kid’s body here years ago. They were never able to figure out how he died and how he even got there. The final story was that he may have committed suicide but there was never a court case because the news said there was no evidence to be found.  

We continued to run until we came across a wanted flyer posted to a wall. The face was familiar. We looked closer. It was a picture of Tom. Carlos and I looked at each other in disbelief. Suddenly we heard Tom’s voice,  

“Hey guys! Where are you going?” He was standing behind us about 30 feet away. He was holding something in his hand that resembled a knife. “You guys are done, there’s no turning back now!” Tom said with an eerie smile. Carlos and I began to run. We ran and ran as fast as we could, into the dark, not a trace of light. The sound of Tom’s footsteps started to catch up to us. I grabbed Carlos’ hand and pulled him into a bush. We were quietly gasping for air and hiding in the bush. The sound of Tom’s footsteps started to get closer. “Where are you boys at?” He shouted in an angry voice. “Remember that kid from high school? The one that committed ‘suicide?’ Well I slit his throat. You guys are next!” Carlos began to whimper and cry. With tears running down his face and a sobbing voice,  

“I don’t want to die.” Carlos whimpered.  

“Keep it down. We’re going be okay.” I assured him. The sound of Tom’s footsteps started to fade. We waited quietly. Was it safe? I wondered. We quietly jumped out of the bush and tried to run.  When we ran  Carlos fell into Tom’s trap. Carlos yelled in agony, screaming, crying for help. Out of the blue I hear Tom’s voice, laughing sinisterly,  

“I got you guys now!” Tom says.  

“Don’t worry cuz! I’ll come back for you! Don’t worry! I won’t let anything happen to you! I’ll come back!” I yelled to Carlos. I ran off. I turned around and heard one loud scream from Carlos. That was the last thing I heard as I ran. Tears ran down my eyes.  

I stopped for a second thinking of what I needed to do. I stumbled across a survival-hiking bag. It was filled with a knife, hammer, and heavy-duty string. I thought to myself, I know what I need to do. I ran back and saw a huge tree hanging over the mountainside. I threw the string over and yelled, “Tom! Where are you? Take me too!” Off in a distance I see Tom. He was holding Carlos by the neck. Carlos was limping. “Let him go! Or else...” I said  

“Or else what?” Tom responded. I stood, as Tom got closer. Tom grabbed on to my collar and said, “You guys are both going to die.” He brings us over to the tree and ties a rope around both our necks and hand. Carlos and I looked at each other with tears in our eyes. I look over at Tom, dead in the eyes 

“Looks like we’re not the chosen ones today.” I told Tom. I saw a hammer on the floor and reached to grab it to bang Tom in the head. Then took the knife and stabbed him on his left foot. He collapsed on the floor. I took a second to process what had just happened. After realizing Tom was unconscious, I untied Carlos and we to run away. I turned back and said, “I have to do one more thing. I need to get the police.” I ran back towards Tom. I thought to myself, I have to do one last thing. I grabbed Tom by the back of his collar and dragged him to where I tied the rope, by the cliff. I wrapped a noose around his head. “This is for that kid you slaughtered in high school! You don’t deserve to live! You’re a murderer!” I shouted. Tom looked at me with a smile and said, 

“Soon, you’ll be next.” As soon as I was ready to push Tom off the cliff holding onto his collar, dangling him over the cliff, I began to inch him off into his death. When all of a sudden a beaming light in the sky blinded me. All I heard was the sharp sound of blades cutting through the humid summer air. 

1.  This story is told from the 3^rd point of view 

2. It looks like the story takes place at a train station, with a bar inside and the characters that are in this story is waiting for a train to come looks one of the character speaks Spanish but both characters are in a relationship while reading the female character looks like she is frustrated with her partner which looks like he does not seem to really care. What I think the railroad track could symbolize is there relationship how tracks keep going and never ends so therefore that could symbolize their relationship.    

3.The couple is on a vacation in Spain waiting for a train, I feel like one of that characters has had a couple of drinks or too much maybe he was drinking to forget or to not think about something going on the relationship too much as I say drink to forget. However the couple has not left the train station yet because they are still there waiting for a train to come and they can see their surroundings

4. The title truly means a lot and says a lot in the short story white elephant is a game that is played during the holiday which is you giving up a gift which for example her giving up the child. The woman is very overwhelmed by this situation of having to give up her child therefore she tries to distract her self about the issue with nonsense things, But through the story the relationship between the couples gets very tense coming to an agreement that cannot come to an conclusion. 

5. As they were both waiting reasonably, reasonably can means something in the relationship that one of them are not agreeing to the situation, the man in the relationship is utterly trying to be calm about the situation but he is also being selfish about the change which is having the baby. So therefore he is being reasonable and trying to cope what is happening but he is not happy about it either.