Parker Writes

So I’m a college student now. I’ve heard “No” quite a few times in the past couple weeks. It’s not necessarily an angry thing. But I still hate it. I hate “No.” As an improvisor, I’ve learned how to say “yes,” and even “yes and.” I learned that humor doesn’t have to involve “no.” As an increasingly socially aware person, I am very sensitive to “No.” I want people to be free and explore and experiment and be themselves instead of being “No”-ed into a mold.

I participated in a phone bank for the Obama campaign. I called some 15-20 numbers and didn’t get a single positive response. New Hampshire residents have apparently been baraged with propaganda from both sides because their votes are so important. To these people picking up their phones, I was just another solicitor. They were not happy to hear from me. “Don’t call here with that crap.” “No, I don’t know who I’m voting for, but if I keep getting these calls I’ll know who I wont be voting for.”

I applied for funding for my trip to the Free Culture conference. I tried a few resources. I wrote a proposal. I got “No”s.

I took three placement exams. “No” advanced placement for any of them.

I tried out for the two campus improv groups. I was sure I was going to get in, until i saw how many other talented improvisors there were in my freshman class. “No.”

I really really hate “No.” I like “Yes.” I like “Yes you can.” Encouragement. “I think that what you are trying to do is extremely important and valuable, even if i can’t help you with it right now.”

I don’t take “No” well. It’s a character flaw. I get depressed and want to quit. I realize that I’ve been lucky to get a whole lot of “Yes” the last few years of my life. I don’t think there’s going to be as much “Yes” from here on out. I want to be on the forefront, making the change. So, in a way, I don’t really want “Yes.” I want to get right in there with all of the “No” and stand tall and fight.

I’m going to work with friends to start a new improv group. I’m going to the Free Culture Conference, even if I have to pay for my travel out of my own pocket. I’m going to kick ass in my intro-level courses and use my exta time to Get Things Done. I’ve registered to vote in New Hampshire, where my vote will really count, and I’ll make sure that all of my friends do the same. This is important stuff. I’m not going to let the “No” slow me down.

My strength can come from my self, not from receiving “Yes.”

a person who just got shot with a tranquilizer gun and who favors government systems that emphasize equality over personal freedom?

a calmunist

however, if we had been playing the alliteration game:

sleepy socialist
lethargic leftist
maxed-out marxist

warning: emo 16-year-old poetry. not for the feint of heart. may trigger gag reflex.

Then I was alone. Or maybe I had been alone for some time. Maybe I was always alone. I was insufficient. But how should I have known? I put so much into this. Now I understood the poems. The song lyrics. It is like you’ve lost part of yourself. Better to have loved and lost? Why didn’t she just let me in? I should have seen it coming.
Confusion. Pain. The kind where it hurts to stand still. Even sit still. The smiles were fake. Nothing was for sure. No, I don’t want to right now. Yes, I am losing interesting in things I once enjoyed. No, I am not clinically depressed. I don’t want to talk about it. It just wasn’t ready to come out yet.
It was getting harder to hold it in. Some spilled out on a piece of clay. It seems in my frustration I broke my plate in half. It’s a metaphor. That felt good. I made more metaphors. They went over everyone else’s heads. They helped me get my head straight. I could articulate. This was good.
The hole was being filled. Then it was over. No, it’ll never be fully over. But I don’t need the angry music anymore. Smiles dont make me sad anymore. Still alone. But this time it’s a good kind of alone. The old interests return. I’ve gained some new. Like my metaphors. I sit in front of a fresh piece of clay. There aren’t any metaphors inside this one. No more overflowing liquid to pour out. Not even a drop to squeeze out. I guess I should be happy. At least smiles don’t make me sad anymore. Better to have loved and lost?

some people do drugs. or they vandalize. maybe they watch movies. together or with friends. sometimes it’s videogames. it’s like a high. it’s being free. it’s a deep, penetrating happiness. it usually works best with other people. you become completely relaxed and carefree. you can run faster at night, barefoot, on a really big, really open, field. “giddy.”

yesterday we played tag. then capture the flag. then sardines. during our last game of sardines, we were able to keep something like 8 people hidden in one spot. everyone played along. faces down in the dirt, breathing slowed. you gain a consciousness of the whole. similarly in capture the flag. like fish, with their lateral lines. “hive mentality.” you see one person go, and you go also. one person draws a defender out, and you move in. sometimes it’s way out of sync, but then sometimes, for a brief bit, everyone thinks together. it’s beautiful.

PS- i’m going to write more.

I haven’t been taking many photos recently, but I’ve still been learning stuff. I learned a little bit about cropping when I assembled my arts portfolio that I sent off to colleges (I’ll publish it here eventually). Today, I started experimenting with post-production photo enhancement. It’s crazy how much more colorful you can make a photo with just a few clicks. To the point where the original suddenly looks like it’s b+w. Photos of tuscan summer landscapes suddenly become photos of the same landscapes during spring.

I’ve uploaded a few neat ones to flickr. I also gave some old ones a cropping and coloring facelift, but re-uploading to flickr would be redundant. I’ll install some better photo publishing software once i set up my new web server.

I really like this article. It links to this one, too. These are kinda neat.

in no particular order:
I held her hand
Mom and Cotter were also in the room
There were people just outside the door talking
When we arrived, a catholic priest was just walking out of the room,
He said that his cellphone had rung while he was anointing her,
And that he thought it was probably my dad
My mom talked to her first, holding her hand
The monitor behind her had numbers in the 90’s
There were 3 blue box-type things with tubes coming out
Also an external pump for circulation
She asked about my shirt
I explained that I had personalized it
My mom explained that I was covering up its dirtiness
She said it was creative
She told my brother that she wished he would help end all the violence in the world
He had been talking about horror movies
Her mouth was dry
So a nurse went to go get her some water
We saw that nurse on our way out, she said the water was coming
She said “it’s in God’s hands now”
That was towards the beginning
I didn’t really say much
But I smiled a lot
She asked us to pray for her
She said that it didn’t matter what type of prayer it was
I said “of course”
My mom said that she went to services, and so did her mom
I thought about going to services to say the Kaddish, if need be
That’s a heavy thought
I told her how Skyler thought “elevators” ought to be renamed as “upevators”
‘Cus they go up
She laughed
It was noticeably difficult for her to speak
Her voice was raspy by the end
I didn’t say much
Cotter said less
My mom said some
She said most of the stuff
I wanted to say “stay strong”
That’s what I said to runners at the cross-country race
She wanted to show Skyler the little light on the end of her finger
It was hard for her to lift her neck, but she did it a couple times
She said she didn’t like diets
She said she had a hard decision ahead of her
She said she would have liked a few more years
She said she would have liked to see our futures a bit more

I think it’s the kind of thing that is exempt from judgement, from opinion. These are just facts.

This was my final project for 11th grade biology. At some point I’d like to add a little bit about evoluttion–my audience already had extensive knowledge about Darwinian Evolution, so in context this presentation served as an introduction to a contrary view, but I’d like to make some adjustments to make it function as a more general introduction to both sides of the issue. I hope to eventually make a recording of myself giving the presentation for easier online viewing. In the meantime, you’ll have to match the slides with their notes yourself.

creationism slideshow
presentation notes

Mid-term Modernism Project from 11th grade english. I experimented with improvisational writing. I went to starbucks with my laptop and wrote. I eventually took an excerpt and polished it into a short story. I’ve attached the rest of my stream of consciousness.

Reflections
The man and the octopus sit at the table. The room is dark. Completely black. No windows. Cold. Not enough to shiver, but enough to want to. Clang. Metal on wood. Calm, silent movements by the octopus. Scratch, flicker, light! A single match. Illuminated face of the octopus shows no eyeballs. Just a round pale head with a slit of a mouth. White octopi are rare. The ends of 3 tentacles surround the tip of the candle as a fourth slowly but deliberately lowers the match, as the head remains erect and rigid, staring forward with no eyes. Only the outline of a small bunch of tentacle ends is seen as the match is allowed to excite the wick. All four tentacles are calmly brought back behind the the table, taking the still lit match with it, allowing the neck to be seen for just a second. A short, thin stub of a neck. The man ponders how it can hold up the head.
Ticking of a clock. The head is illuminated from below by the candle light, such that the top fades into darkness. The flickering light makes the form of the octopus’ head appear to jiggle. The man notices the shininess of the octopus’ mucus-coated exterior. Is it getting colder in here? Blink. Clang. The candle is knocked over. A lone tentacle is visible in the light, which dims, but then comes back. Larger. The table is ignited. Crackle of a more enthusiastic fire. The flickering light illuminates more of the octopus. The whole head is visible, sill in the same erect position with the unmoving slit. All eight tentacles can be seen in the violent flickering light. They emerge directly from the neck- no body. The man ponders an anatomical explanation for the octopus’ apparent lack of vital organs.
The fire is larger. A bucket of water emerges from beneath the table, held by two tentacles. The octopus slowly, calmly, turns the bucket above the table, releasing the liquid relief. Again, the head shows no motion. Completely erect. Eyeless forward stare. The fire climbs up the stream of water, igniting the bucket. The bucket is released and the tentacles, after an ever so slight jerk of apparent fear, are slowy lowered beneath the table. A minute shiver of the head. So minute it didn’t even happen. Completely still again now. Perhaps even more still, theres determination.
The fire leaps off of the table and engulfs the man. With the last few seconds of hist life, he turns and sees a window. Was that there before? The landscape is beautiful. A forever stretching flatland of dry dirt, fading into fog, with a sole tree off in the distance. A tear hits the floor as the last breath is released.
The octopus’s head nods forward some, and the slit relaxes into a hole as an enormous sigh is released. The top of the head sags forward, making a slight crease just above where the eyes might have been if they existed. The octopus remains at the table as the fire slowly burns out and the same initial silence is again achieved, only this time louder. Another sigh is released as the octpus slouches up to a “standing” position and moves away from the table, away from the carcass. The lowered head bobs up and down as the tentacles drag along the floor . A tentacle wraps around the handle. The door is opened. Light floods the room. The door handle reflects the light. The octopus’ mucus-covered exterior reflects the light. The walls are mirrors. The words are mirrors.

ANALYSIS
it’s important to note that this was done after writing the story. Some of these ideas emerged during writing, some during revision, few possibly subconsciously before writing.

mirrors
climax of story and overall message:
you just read all that story
i wrote it
but i didn’t TELL you anything
i didn’t make you BELIEVE anything
you just found interpretations inside yourself
almost demotes the entire story
THESIS: our class discussions have shown that in some modernist writing, we are forced to reflect on ourselves and find our own values, rather being spoonfed ideas by the author
ie: imposition of our own values onto interpretations of Prufrock

possible subconscious reasons for other elements:

initial cold
idea of finding purpose (prufrock, wasteland)

the narrator occasionally uses the man’s “voice”

octopus
very concerned with how the man sees him
cannot show weakness
straining to keep head erect and mouth in slit shape
eyes
show too many emotions
lack of eyes and candle is like kurtz’s painting in heart of darkness
represents imperialism (heart of darkness)
apparent good intentions (candle)
vast, destructive, expansion of ideas (burning table)
lack of sympathy for people (man)
presents self as superior, strong (erect head)
thin neck, big head
all bark, no bite
no body- no emotions, no sympathy, no heart

man
onlooker, uninvolved (prufrock, araby, heart of darkness)
killed before much is known about him
shows artist’s lack of sympathy for audience (killing roach in metamorphosis)
shows violence and uncaring of octopus

stream of consciousness

While approaching customs in the George Bush Intercontinental Airport, a recording was being played over the intercom, with one particularly interesting statement that went something like:

“you are reminded that any inappropriate jokes or comments about airport security could result in your arrest.”

My first reaction was to laugh out loud, attracting strange looks from fellow travelers. I could only imagine how many wise-cracks it took to drive security to issue this warning.

A second later the free-speech limiting implications soaked in. Aren’t jokes expressing one’s dissent from the political choices behind US customs just the kind of speech that the first amendment was written to protect?

To add irony, the U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) “Pledge to Travelers” includes the following two bullet points:

“We pledge to have a supervisor listen to your comments. We pledge to accept and respond to your comments in written, verbal, or electronic form.”

So they’ll listen to your comments, even respond to them in some form, but if they’re deemed “inappropriate,” you’ll get arrested. This flip-flopping bullshit is designed to make customs seem all warm and fuzzy while scaring people out of voicing their dissent. Sometimes the solution is worse than the problem. Time to write a letter.