Exposed

     For some time it didn’t bother me. I sat there comfortably not concerning myself with it. It was a part of me. Then one day my face felt as if it were on fire.

     An uncontrollable itch urges my fingers upwards to my face and I scratch manically around the edges, trying to find relief. This tactic worked many times before but brings me no reprieve now and my nails only dig deeper. I find myself lost in the frenzy as my fingers tips scrape against my face. My nails try to catch the edges and pull at them but it won’t give so easily. I need it off and despite my attempts  it will not release itself. As if some unknown adhesive secures it to my skin. I can feel it pulling at my flesh as I try to pry it off. It is stubborn but I am determined to have it be done with it.

     I redouble my efforts to cast if from me. It is no longer who I am, why won’t it leave, and this becomes my subtle prayer trying to urge its removal. I will no longer allow its reputation to proceed my own. I yearn to see the world as myself and for the world to see me, even if I am to be judged.

      Then, just like that, it releases as if nothing had ever held it there. I am able to peel it away and already the world looks newer and brighter. I can already feel the difference in the wind and the sun feels like a caress on my face instead of a scorching torch now that my mask is removed.

Fb.com/christobarart

Instagram.com/christobarart

Christobarart.com 

     So there was this artist that I met on Wall Street the night of May 22^nd in front of the WaiTiki Lounge. In attempts to support my local art I purchased a small item from Mr. Chris Tobar that was of interest to me.  Several of his pieces involved the use of a gas mask and many portrayed what appeared to me to be Native American markings. Before procuring the item I asked him for a better understanding. In response to my inquiry, and I will try my best to summarize here, he explained that we as a people wear masks in our society. He explains that as we search for ourselves we find realization one day and remove our masks after we go “native”. In other words as we find ourselves, and not simply what society determines we are, we are no longer alien to ourselves but so much  more. We are a deeper understanding of ourselves and not simply the mask most people see on the surface.

     Suffice it to say I was quite inspired. What I wouldn’t do to have written this during that moment of inspiration. Alas, other obligations required that I go to bed that night and so two days later I am trying to recapture the pure rapture and elation I felt when I considered his words that night. What If I were to take on the same state of mind? What if I am a native girl, a fighter for art, willing to take up the tools of my trade and defend my creativity? All I am waiting to do is unmask myself and become the creative mind I was meant to be.

      I leave you with one thing more that I strongly back:

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL ARTIST!

What's My Passion

So, you know how I said article writing was not my thing, well, that has changed. With school behind me for a temporary period I look now more closely at my options. One such option would be writing a regular article. Now that I have recanted my earlier statement I realize the potential of a regular column. I can not only add potential readers to my works but also explore writing more, my voice, and of course get some practice. Now to consider the obvious, what to write?

This blog was easy enough. Let's write about anything and everything regarding my actual writing and building my career in writing. This is more of an abstract outlet than a place of any specific purpose. Inspired moments go here, something that merely occurred on a whim of inspiration. Now I want to write a focused article on a very specific and narrow topic. I would like it to be something more personal, almost anthropological without the research (or at least very little research). So what to consider? Something I want to expand upon. How about lesbians? How about philosophy? How about my view of the world? Then again how about a little bit of all of them. After recently discussing my inquiry into the writing world with a fellow writer I was told that a broad topic may be best. By allowing myself as few restraints as possible I would be allowing myself a number of topics to exist, BRILLIANT! Kind of what I do here (as you can see the answer was already there but I tend to make things hard on myself and over think them).

My intent at this time is to keep my options open. I am researching however and looking into how others do it. One example mentioned in another blog is from fellow writer Spoken Pandora. Spoken has several published articles with Elixher, Sage, and LOTL. Another interest is that of my previous professor, Nathan Holic who has a well organized blog site and several published books. I enjoy reading other works and as I have learned (and was taught throughout my scholastic years) this is the best way to expose yourself to other styles. From the writing of another author I have been able to learn what I like, what I don't, and all the little things in between. With a little sampling I may find what works best for me here in this particular arena. Confidence of my researching abilities is limitless being that I'm fresh out of college I can put that skill to good use.

I'm still skeptical however on having enough to say. When it comes to discussing certain things at length my ability becomes a little shaky and questionable but I believe and therefore it must be possible. So what topic shall I take the time to research and present in eloquent prose? I’m narrowing my options and time will soon tell. I'm looking forward to my next true adventure.

Just a side note: I recently joined the Writer's Digest mailing list, does anyone have a clue what this copy writing advertisement is? For that matter, does anyone know what direction to point me in if I have a healthy interest in this subject?

End of an Era

“I am a 2014 UCF Graduate that is ready to take the world by storm. I will have my day in the sun!”

The cry is that of an amazon, strong, piercing the heavens as the dawn spreads out over the city. With her arms raised the woman stands triumphant as the morning wind tugs softly at her afro. Her face is determined as she stares in the direction of the rising sun searching the horizon for her next triumph. She doesn't know what the day will bring but she stands prepared.

Long winded but in so many words my life as a student in formal education has ended. I will always learn (this I have discovered all too well) but for now it will be on my terms and as of now my steps towards a successful writing career will be my focus. So where do I go from here? I know that school is supposed to be the preparation for a working life, but what do you do when you have been working that whole time and your job pays more than most out there? You leave.

As much as my job pays me it does not provide the peace of mind I need. I will remain here for now until I locate something more ideal. I don’t want to settle for just anything, writing is my passion. So I’ll keep my current employment for now and productively start chipping away at my student debt. In the mean time I know there is more out there for me and that is what I will attempt to search for.

One consideration is copy writing. My cousin recently introduced me to Mad Men (yes working a full time job and going to school has deprived me) but this show did not spark the idea. After recently subscribing to Writer’s Digest e-mails one in particular stood out. It had a flashing fan fare feel to it describing the awesome career path I could embark on as a copywriter and so the seed was planted (had to have an Inception reference). From that point forward I researched this particular career and found out more details. Little did I know that Don Draper’s entourage is a perfect example of this work environment ( despite it being circa 1960’s). My only set back is I don’t want the office life. I really want to work from home, but can I sell myself as a copywriter when I've never don’t it before? Do I take a year long course to learn the trade? Will that bring me any closer to being validated as a copywriter?

These questions fly about my head like so many busy bees in spring and I have yet to find the answers. I still search to determine what the right decision will be. In the mean time I am looking for legitimate jobs to apply to that fall under this heading in the hopes that I will eventually strike gold. With this option still be researched putting all my eggs in one basket does not breed opportunity for me.

While I seek a reasonable alternative for copy writing (I still want this par time) I’m also attempting to start elsewhere. I have been familiar with a fellow writer for years and now I’m trying to see how she does it. With a column, a published book, and another book on the way Spoken Pandora is doing things I can only dream of. I hope her blueprints can be mine or at least give me an idea where to start.

With that discussion under way I fear only more questions come up than answers. If I wrote a column what would it be about? How much time can I dedicate to my book and still carry on the other laundry lists of things I give myself to do? Will I find my niche? Do I want one?

Sigh…well for now my adventures in experimental words continue as I seek the next level in my search for writing nirvana.

Hip Hop...the bastard child of poetry

            Now when I say bastard I by no means intend that in a negative way. In fact I myself am a bastard and I think of myself in a positive light. No, Snow is not my name thereby relating me to some blank, shapeless, colorless form. Instead I am the bastard that has thrived and grown from the lack of a structured home through my own tenacious efforts to succeed and be better than what others projected.

            Hip-Hop is that statement in the music industry telling others I will be poetry but on my own terms.  I have recently taken several formal poetry courses and they have all taught you this structured approach to writing the rhymes and observations. What happens however when you don't care about following a set of rules given to you? What happens when you insists upon abstract instead of concrete? The result are the words of Kanye West, J-Cole, and Jay-Z and what about  Biggie, Mc Lyte, and Rakim.  There words speak volumes. They paint a picture, sometimes it's not so concrete and at others time you know exactly what they are stating because you have been there before. Sometimes it is that opportunity to warp their world into your own. Interpreting their emotions as your own because these were once the things you felt.

            There has been an ongoing debate to determine if hip-hop is truly a part of the poetry scene. The use of rhyme, metaphor, rhythm and story-telling certainly give hip hop the points for being a form of poetry. It's still however considered an entity onto itself and as a result not truly honored as a legitimate work of study. Only in California do they honor the words of Tupac with a class of study. Are we become such a society that we are ignoring new levels of art when at one time we embraced the emotionally empowered  hymns of the slaves or the reverberating sounds of the rhythm and blues. Another form taken and made their own hip-hop to me is the poetry of music. I understand that lyrics of a song interpret one thing all together but hip-hop is so much more than matching your words to a beat. In the right hands a portrait is built of strife, of love. Repetition helping us to remember the strange fruit of Billie Holiday introducing history to another generation.

            I am one certainly of liberal thought but I don't think it is too farfetched to consider hip hop as the current opportunity for poetry to re-invent itself.

 

From Time - Drake ft Jhene Aiko (Inspired)

 

What are you so afraid of

 

I don't know...

 

Feels like my mind moves fast

while the world strolls slow.

 
What if I don't know me any anymore

and you're the next one to walk out the door.

 
Got me thinking about that day and how I'll feel

Like a whole bunch of fiction, it'll be so unreal.

 
I don't even see you like  I used to

So I'm second guessing wanting to know if you're still you.
 

Or if the world has had its way,

And turned you into a fan of a good day.

 
Cause when clouds come you can no longer cope

So ready for the rainbows you forgot how to stay afloat.

 
Sorry I wasn't there to save you,

but I was looking for myself and I just couldn't pull through.

One Step Closer

Publishing, the next frontier... I would completely geek out and do a whole Star Trek the Next Generation reference here but I choose not to (because yes, you do have a choice in that kind of thing). What I will discuss however is this next adventure I'm about to take. In the next week I will be submitting three of my works, all poems, in an attempt to become a published author. Successful or not I will continue to make the effort to put my work together and make constant submissions. Eventually someone should see my genius (or I will force feed my genius to them).

What is the point of writing if I'm not sharing it? Success would only mean that others agree in the vision of my work, not that I'm a sellout. Why am I so scared then to put anything out there? Honestly I don't think it is a matter of being scared. What I think it is that it doesn’t hit home that to be published I'm not going to be a miracle discovery like some new planet. Instead it will take repeated attempts of bring my work to the attention of others. I love the idea of introducing people to the character of my writing. My character however has yet to be determined. Quirky, dark, or any number of things, but I know it’s not going to be “normal”. I'll start with poetry for now and go from there.

In somewhat related news I've decided a few significant things in regards to The Story of L. I can't wait to apply them but hopefully the outcome is well received. One of those decisions is to make it a novella. Until such a time is allowed that I can progress further in these projects I bid you adieu.

Poetry is the name of the game.

So I haven't been able to work on my Story of L blog. Why, not because I'm being a complete bum (although there are moments where I think my brain is fried and refuse to do anything) but because I have been attending class. This semester's focus is poetry. In fact the entire summer's focus is poetry. So I may not have the next chapter in the thrilling search for love as L seeks a new relationship but I do have about 15 recently written poems to share. Writing poetry is my hobby, not my first love, but I do find it exciting in it's own way. I will share two of my favorites with you here. I'll add postings of more as time progresses. As most writers know it is a matter of constant tweaking and the final product can always change. There are some I want to alter and others I never want to see the day of light. Until next time.

For Lover’s Only

Food for the soul is what we need to flourish. Or we
become as blue as Smurfs because we
are suffocating like animals in a zoo,
trying to clear the stagnant social dust on our lives. We
are near an end, unaware of the time that ticks by
slowly then quickly, a five step chacha. We
are unthinking of our actions as a whole,
a constant flux of situations that are forever changing
like the waves that crash against my feet.
Inconsiderate and egotistical we
never move towards the overall benefit really.
Really just selfish, all of us,
thinking only of the ones we
regard as part of our humanity. Thus
all others are less human.

I’m tired of it. The faces of physical starvation,
social indecency, and moral destruction
all part of a world that is tearing itself asunder.
A steak with two pit bulls fighting over it has a better chance.
Displeasure towards one type, distaste for another,
subtle hate all of it. Yet, they all turn to me
looking to me as if I have the answer when
I am just like them. I too am unable
to understand why we suffer
or why loss should even occur. Left feeling empty
and ashamed  like a two dollar whore
after the dick is taken out.
I question the structure of the world
only because they are me. So why don’t
I have the answers to feed myself,
nourish me, and provide myself the substance I need.
I refuse, I will not limit myself to a place than insists on death.
I will flourish and thrive.
I will go into myself only to expel outwards like a ball of fire
so that my light may shine by example.
Be myself but not the concerns of the world.

Depression

God must have washed the world in hot today.

Nothing holds a shine.
 

The sky looks as though

its dye has been rinsed away.
The emerald green of the treetops
no longer twinkles in my eyes.
Even the sun’s torch runs low
and on these days my head hangs from
the weight, heavy as boulders, swinging
on ropes like pendulums of sorrow around
my neck, their twisted knots cutting into my skin.
My arms like toothpicks are of no use
and so my feet drag
forward and the pain seeps
into my existence like a thick dark smoke.
It chokes the very life from me and leaves
my chest aching and my future dreary.
This desert of the mind has no oasis
and I am unable to find an end to its bleak landscape.

It's been awhile...

So another semester at UCF has come and gone. No excuse for why I have been MIA however I am making it one. I have few writings I will be posting shortly and a few more in the works to come soone. Another Chapter for Story of L should be completed (sorry I haven't kept my promise for a chapter a month). I have had a lot explained to me this semester as far as my writing is concerned. With these in mind I will be working hard to improve my grammar, amongst other things. Looking for faithful readers who will help me with this. Can't wait to have my next story up, until then.