Showing posts with label Day Thirty-One. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Day Thirty-One. Show all posts
Monday, 3 February 2014
Gravity by Carolyn Glass
I had never really thought about gravity, well you don’t do you? It’s just there, we’ve never known any different, it’s not something we’re short of on planet earth. When it gradually started to disappear, we didn’t really appreciate what was happening. It was a long time before scientists let us know what was going on; we actually scoffed at the idea, like we had global warming centuries earlier. They don’t really know why it is happening, but we better hope they find out soon, before we all start floating away. It sounds silly but how will the earth work without gravity? What will small animals do? I’m sure some people will have endless fun with it, imagine being able to jump over your house, and there’s bound to be some way for criminals to exploit it. Not much of a legacy for future generations, our parents left us global warming and extreme weather; we’re going to leave no gravity. Perhaps it’s time to evacuate while there is still a population to evacuate.
Gravity by Lesley Whyte
"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation you're in. You can't expect..."
My brain goes spinning off into space. It's a stupid expression, really. What IS the gravity of a situation? I mean, seriously, what does that actually mean? Where does it come from? It's a stupid expression. If we really were in space and there was no gravity, I'd be able to swim away from her super-fast. She'd never catch me. She'd never have managed to get me in her office. I bet I can air-swim a thousand times faster than she can. Of course, I'd have nowhere to go, but still.
She's still talking.
"I'm sorry, what?" I say.
Her lips pinch together. Her eyebrows pinch together. "I think you should probably be paying attention. I mean, you have been arrested for murder."
"I know. And the gravity of the situation is like...super gravity-ish."
My brain goes spinning off into space. It's a stupid expression, really. What IS the gravity of a situation? I mean, seriously, what does that actually mean? Where does it come from? It's a stupid expression. If we really were in space and there was no gravity, I'd be able to swim away from her super-fast. She'd never catch me. She'd never have managed to get me in her office. I bet I can air-swim a thousand times faster than she can. Of course, I'd have nowhere to go, but still.
She's still talking.
"I'm sorry, what?" I say.
Her lips pinch together. Her eyebrows pinch together. "I think you should probably be paying attention. I mean, you have been arrested for murder."
"I know. And the gravity of the situation is like...super gravity-ish."
Sunday, 2 June 2013
Blue Jeans by Sara Travis
“We don’t need the money. We can make it all work,” she says.
“I know you think we don’t need it, but we do. I do,” he says.
She sighs. She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. She stands in the doorway, he sits on the sofa, one leg pulled up over the other. He doesn’t look at her. He can’t bring himself to. She’s glad. She knows that if he looks at her she’ll melt, and all the troubles won’t matter anymore because she loves him, and he loves her, and when you love someone you can forget all the bad stuff as long as you have each other. But this is really bad stuff, and she doesn’t think she can forget.
“There are other ways of making money. Safer ways. I don’t like this, you know I don’t like it. We don’t need it, we can manage.”
“Why should we have to manage? Why do we have to live our lives just ‘getting by’? We deserve more than that. You deserve more than that. And I can give it to you.”
She risks a glance in his direction in spite of herself. He’s picking at the frayed hem on his jeans, still avoiding her eyes. She lets her arms drop to her sides.
“I don’t want the money, I want you.”
“And I want to do this for you! It’s all for you, you know that. You’ve always known that.”
“Don’t put this on me,” she says, her voice breaking slightly, “I’ve never asked you for anything, I will never ask you for anything. I don’t need the stuff, we don’t need it. It’s just paper; you’re chasing paper. But I’m real, I’m here and I’m yours. We’re in this together. We can still walk away from this and we’ll be okay.”
He stands and walks to the doorway, stopping in front of her. He takes her hands in his and before she’s aware of it, she’s lost herself to his deep, hazel eyes.
“I can’t walk away. I won’t. I want to do this for you. For us. You’ll see, when we’ve got the money and we’re out of here, somewhere far away from here, you’ll see that it was worth it.”
He places his lips to her cheek and walks straight past her, out the door, without a backwards glance. And suddenly the room is colder, emptier than it was before, and she knows, somehow she knows in her gut, in her heart, that she’ll never see him again. He’s gone, and he’s taken a part of her with him.
Friday, 31 May 2013
Blue Jeans by Lesley Whyte
You should be here by now. You said you would be. You said you'd come on Monday, and now it's after midnight. I've stayed up, waiting, pacing the room. I must look like a crazy person. If anyone was peeking in the curtains, they'd wonder what was wrong with me. You should be here by now. You said you would be. You said you'd come on Monday. You should be here. Everything will be better once you're here. You're coming. I know you are. You said you'd come on Monday. If you don't come soon, it'll be too late. You need to be here soon. You're always a little late, I should have predicted that. It was stupid of me. I won't forget it again. I'll be better.
You should be here by now.
I drift in and out. I'm having trouble focusing. I can barely keep my eyes open. The room is hazy, shifting in front of me. Shifting underneath me. I tumble from the sofa and land face-first in the carpet. I can't breathe. I turn my head, scraping my nose across the carpet just so I can keep dragging in shallow breaths. Is that the door? I think I hear the door. You're here! You're finally here! You're late but you're here now and that's all that matters!
You should be here by now.
I drift in and out. I'm having trouble focusing. I can barely keep my eyes open. The room is hazy, shifting in front of me. Shifting underneath me. I tumble from the sofa and land face-first in the carpet. I can't breathe. I turn my head, scraping my nose across the carpet just so I can keep dragging in shallow breaths. Is that the door? I think I hear the door. You're here! You're finally here! You're late but you're here now and that's all that matters!
You call my name. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. You come into the room. The last thing I see before my eyes shut are the scuffed hems of your blue jeans. I hate those damn jeans. You could have worn something nicer than that. You could have been on time. But then you wouldn't be you. And you're perfect. I try to tell you I love you, but I just can't manage it. I should have known you'd be late, I should have planned for that and waited a little longer to take the pills. Still, you're here now, and that's all that matters.
Blue Jeans by James D. Irwin
The jeans were executed without trial. Everything had dyed, and it was his fault.
Friday, 1 June 2012
Nursery Rhyme by Emily Chadwick
At my mother’s funeral, we stood in a circle and sang nursery rhymes.
None of the toddlers she worked with at the pre-school could come to the funeral, of course – that would have been inappropriate. But working with those kids was her life, so singing nursery rhymes was the perfect way to honour that.
The priest had blanched a bit when we told him we’d rather sing ‘Humpty Dumpty’ than ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. But, of course, he honoured our request, though he looked rather pasty again when my Uncle Jeremy started to warble ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ in a voice caterwauling cats would have been proud of.
Once the service was over and we had buried my mother in a lovely ceremony in the churchyard, my great aunt came up to me and told me how disappointed she had been in the lack of ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’. I told her my mother had hated that rhyme, but she said it didn’t matter, it was one of her favourites.
Some people, it’s all about them.
None of the toddlers she worked with at the pre-school could come to the funeral, of course – that would have been inappropriate. But working with those kids was her life, so singing nursery rhymes was the perfect way to honour that.
The priest had blanched a bit when we told him we’d rather sing ‘Humpty Dumpty’ than ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. But, of course, he honoured our request, though he looked rather pasty again when my Uncle Jeremy started to warble ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ in a voice caterwauling cats would have been proud of.
Once the service was over and we had buried my mother in a lovely ceremony in the churchyard, my great aunt came up to me and told me how disappointed she had been in the lack of ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’. I told her my mother had hated that rhyme, but she said it didn’t matter, it was one of her favourites.
Some people, it’s all about them.
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Nursery Rhyme by Lesley Whyte
"You know, when I have kids, I'm never gonna sing them nursery rhymes."
"Why?" I asked, dreading the answer. She's always been like this.
"Because they're dangerous."
"How exactly are they dangerous?"
"They give us unrealistic expectations. I mean, think about it, every guy you've ever gone out with, you've dumped because he wasn't perfect. Right?"
"Well...yeah."
"And that would be fine, except nobody's perfect."
"Okay, I don't dump guys because they're not perfect. I dump them because they're no good. I don't freak out over little things like he only wants two kids and I'm having three, regardless of what my husband wants. You remember Scott? He was gay. That's a perfectly legitimate reason to break up with a guy."
"And Ben?"
"Can we please not talk about Ben?"
"Fine, whatever," she said, waving her hands dismissively. "The thing is, nursery rhymes give you unrealistic expectations and then you don't know how to function in a real relationship. You don't know how to compromise, you expect Mr Perfect to stroll right into your life and then be perfect forever. And it's not healthy."
"What about Luke?"
"We're not talking about me."
"We're always talking about you," I said. "Didn't you break up with Luke because he wore odd socks? They were both black, but one was a slightly different black to the other? And when you told him you couldn't see him anymore because of the odd socks, he pointed out that he only did it because you'd previously said that you couldn't spend time with a man who wore shoes without socks."
"It's gross."
"But it was a ridiculous reason to dump him."
"Whatever. So I'm the perfect example of my point. Nursery rhymes are dangerous."
"Yeah, I think maybe you mean fairy-tales," I said, and that shut her up.
"Why?" I asked, dreading the answer. She's always been like this.
"Because they're dangerous."
"How exactly are they dangerous?"
"They give us unrealistic expectations. I mean, think about it, every guy you've ever gone out with, you've dumped because he wasn't perfect. Right?"
"Well...yeah."
"And that would be fine, except nobody's perfect."
"Okay, I don't dump guys because they're not perfect. I dump them because they're no good. I don't freak out over little things like he only wants two kids and I'm having three, regardless of what my husband wants. You remember Scott? He was gay. That's a perfectly legitimate reason to break up with a guy."
"And Ben?"
"Can we please not talk about Ben?"
"Fine, whatever," she said, waving her hands dismissively. "The thing is, nursery rhymes give you unrealistic expectations and then you don't know how to function in a real relationship. You don't know how to compromise, you expect Mr Perfect to stroll right into your life and then be perfect forever. And it's not healthy."
"What about Luke?"
"We're not talking about me."
"We're always talking about you," I said. "Didn't you break up with Luke because he wore odd socks? They were both black, but one was a slightly different black to the other? And when you told him you couldn't see him anymore because of the odd socks, he pointed out that he only did it because you'd previously said that you couldn't spend time with a man who wore shoes without socks."
"It's gross."
"But it was a ridiculous reason to dump him."
"Whatever. So I'm the perfect example of my point. Nursery rhymes are dangerous."
"Yeah, I think maybe you mean fairy-tales," I said, and that shut her up.
Nursery Rhyme by Sam Smith
‘Ring a Ring o’ Roses’: A Critical Essay, by Dr. Samuel Smith
‘It’s not the words that give a nursery rhyme a purpose, it’s the lyrics,’ said Daniel Batinski in his seminal essay on the subject of connotations and hidden meanings in nursery rhymes, titled ‘The Songs We Sang As Kids Were All Actually About Totally Dumb Stuff’ (New York: Idle Press, 1986). In the essay, he discussed the tale of the ‘Three Blind Mice’ as being an allegory about the songwriter developing a fear of unknowingly eating mice tails when having spaghetti bolognese for dinner and ‘London Bridge is Falling Down’ obviously being a metaphor for performance enhancing drugs in 10-pin bowling tournaments, among others. However, there was one nursery rhyme missing from Batinski’s essay which I felt has some hidden meanings that are worth discussing; that nursery rhyme is ‘Ring a Ring o’ Roses.’
It is a deceptively short nursery rhyme, only one stanza long, although this does not stop it from being completely full of connotations intended by the author, whom has asked to remain anonymous due to reasons that will become evident further into this essay.
The focus on flowers throughout ‘Ring…’ suggests a positive atmosphere for the piece, but these are metaphors for a darker, disturbing topic, that of hoarding. The Oxford English Dictionary defines hoarding as ‘…The act of stockpiling a large number of items, to the point of being kind of ridiculous,’ (England: Oxford University Press, 2004). It has recently gained attention from major television networks and many shows have been made about the subject, but ‘Ring…’ is the first recorded reference to hoarding in popular media. The roses and posies mentioned shows that a collection is growing in the author’s house, probably including other well known flowers, such as daisies and stinging nettles. We can tell that the hoarding has become a problem, as the author points out that he has… ‘a pocketful of posies.’ He has run out of room in his house and is forced to carry around the collection in his trousers. Whether or not ‘Ring…’ is meant as a cautionary tale, a warning against hoarding, or as a small tip about finding space for more items, is still up in the air.
The last line of ‘Ring…’ is perhaps the most controversial for it’s time. ‘We all fall down.’ There are many interpretations of this, but the only one that is backed up by my intense research is that this refers to 1997, when our friendly neighbouring star, the Sun, decided to stop shining for us everyday. On the 31st of May, 1997, we were plunged into darkness as the Sun threw a small, interstellar tantrum and became selfish with the light emanating from its gargantuan mass for five months. This was a big subject in most newspapers for at least three weeks, inspiring incredibly creative headlines, such as ‘Dis-SUN-peared!’ from The Daily Mail (England: News Corp., 1997). Because there was no light, many people found falling over becoming a regular part of their day, so much so that in a survey carried out by The News of the World documented over 80% of people carried plasters around with them wherever they went (England: News Corp., 1997). The author wanted to reference this in ‘Ring…’ because falling over must have been a big part of his life in those five months.
Honestly, no matter how much research I did, I could find no interpretations for the third line, which consists of one repeated word; ‘Atishoo! Atishoo!’ While the repetition is obviously meant to emphasise the phrase, the meaning has obviously been lost to the ages. It is probably about having a cold or the Plague.
As we can see, ‘Ring…’ is an incredibly deep and complex nursery rhyme with many different ways to interpret every line, although the ones within this essay are more than likely the correct interpretations. It is a complete mystery as to why Batinski did not include it in ‘The Songs We Sang As Kids Were All Actually About Totally Dumb Stuff’. It is as if he thought that it was about something quite obvious and just ignored it. I suppose it is lucky that some of us cannot get out of an analytical mind frame when reading, no matter what it is. We are programmed that way. It is a blessing and a curse.
‘It’s not the words that give a nursery rhyme a purpose, it’s the lyrics,’ said Daniel Batinski in his seminal essay on the subject of connotations and hidden meanings in nursery rhymes, titled ‘The Songs We Sang As Kids Were All Actually About Totally Dumb Stuff’ (New York: Idle Press, 1986). In the essay, he discussed the tale of the ‘Three Blind Mice’ as being an allegory about the songwriter developing a fear of unknowingly eating mice tails when having spaghetti bolognese for dinner and ‘London Bridge is Falling Down’ obviously being a metaphor for performance enhancing drugs in 10-pin bowling tournaments, among others. However, there was one nursery rhyme missing from Batinski’s essay which I felt has some hidden meanings that are worth discussing; that nursery rhyme is ‘Ring a Ring o’ Roses.’
It is a deceptively short nursery rhyme, only one stanza long, although this does not stop it from being completely full of connotations intended by the author, whom has asked to remain anonymous due to reasons that will become evident further into this essay.
The focus on flowers throughout ‘Ring…’ suggests a positive atmosphere for the piece, but these are metaphors for a darker, disturbing topic, that of hoarding. The Oxford English Dictionary defines hoarding as ‘…The act of stockpiling a large number of items, to the point of being kind of ridiculous,’ (England: Oxford University Press, 2004). It has recently gained attention from major television networks and many shows have been made about the subject, but ‘Ring…’ is the first recorded reference to hoarding in popular media. The roses and posies mentioned shows that a collection is growing in the author’s house, probably including other well known flowers, such as daisies and stinging nettles. We can tell that the hoarding has become a problem, as the author points out that he has… ‘a pocketful of posies.’ He has run out of room in his house and is forced to carry around the collection in his trousers. Whether or not ‘Ring…’ is meant as a cautionary tale, a warning against hoarding, or as a small tip about finding space for more items, is still up in the air.
The last line of ‘Ring…’ is perhaps the most controversial for it’s time. ‘We all fall down.’ There are many interpretations of this, but the only one that is backed up by my intense research is that this refers to 1997, when our friendly neighbouring star, the Sun, decided to stop shining for us everyday. On the 31st of May, 1997, we were plunged into darkness as the Sun threw a small, interstellar tantrum and became selfish with the light emanating from its gargantuan mass for five months. This was a big subject in most newspapers for at least three weeks, inspiring incredibly creative headlines, such as ‘Dis-SUN-peared!’ from The Daily Mail (England: News Corp., 1997). Because there was no light, many people found falling over becoming a regular part of their day, so much so that in a survey carried out by The News of the World documented over 80% of people carried plasters around with them wherever they went (England: News Corp., 1997). The author wanted to reference this in ‘Ring…’ because falling over must have been a big part of his life in those five months.
Honestly, no matter how much research I did, I could find no interpretations for the third line, which consists of one repeated word; ‘Atishoo! Atishoo!’ While the repetition is obviously meant to emphasise the phrase, the meaning has obviously been lost to the ages. It is probably about having a cold or the Plague.
As we can see, ‘Ring…’ is an incredibly deep and complex nursery rhyme with many different ways to interpret every line, although the ones within this essay are more than likely the correct interpretations. It is a complete mystery as to why Batinski did not include it in ‘The Songs We Sang As Kids Were All Actually About Totally Dumb Stuff’. It is as if he thought that it was about something quite obvious and just ignored it. I suppose it is lucky that some of us cannot get out of an analytical mind frame when reading, no matter what it is. We are programmed that way. It is a blessing and a curse.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)