week 11

1. The round golden crust was teeming with flattened fingers of sinewy bronzed cheese that clustered at the base of the round cooked dough. Red shimmering discs of delicious cured pepperoni buoyantly float on a sea of molten mozzarella. brown bubbles of crisped cheese rose where the moisture had escaped from the secluded scrumptious sauce smothered by the tantalizing off-white topping. Soft fibrous strands of steam intertwined as they lifted off the pizza effervescently. They carry the salty mellow scent through the air and into the sensitive olfactory receptors. the synapses fire rapidly carrying the signals through the fractal nervous system at half the speed of sound. the synapses disperse in the pillowy layers of grey and white matter branching throughout the entire brain, triggering a cascade of hormones. the stretchy stomach expands and delicately secretes bile in preparation for the wholesome meal, while the precious salivary glands kick into high gear. pizza party.

2. A pepperoni and cheese pizza makes someone hungry.

3. A freshly baked pepperoni and cheese pizza is inciting a response in the nervous system of someone about to eat it.

week 10

1.

Their tongues removed, their hearts found peace.

2.

It is much more difficult to write one of these brief stories than one consisting of at least a few paragraphs. I wanted to convey something of meaning, which is much easier when you can write many things in many ways concerning your theme, or subject. the brevity of the story meant i wasn't really able to have a specific idea of what it would be about. I ran through my options quickly and had to constantly refer to examples of other brief stories to stay on track and avoid digressing from my original goal.

Concerning my theme and the meaning conveyed: the simple notion that words have a way of mucking up reality, even generating conflict--both in their inaccuracy of expressing meaning, and their ambiguity in interpretation. A neutral statement can be interpreted as hostile to a temperamental person prone to instigating conflict, but if there are no words, what is left?

week 9

William finished putting the nightvision cameras in the back of the truck. It was a rental that had been so badly damaged on their first hunt that the dealer wouldn't take it back. On the side read in bold italics: "Custom Electronic Equipment". There was no money in ghost hunting, despite the wave of paranormal reality shows that had swamped the television recently. They could still dream, but for now it was but a hobby. Jarrod rolled up and tossed Will a redbull. 

"That everything?"

"Well lets see...EMF readers, cameras, plumb, yoni, gallium mics, aaaaaaand the flux capacitor."

Jarrod yawned. Between their day job and this, they got very little sleep.

They pulled up at the address. A dilapidated three story victorian home that had not been lived in for years.  most windows were boarded up, and the lawn had been torched, as was tradition in kerotish county. The men grabbed their gear and headed to the front door. After a few swift kicks the door was open and they were in. The beams of their flashlights were twinkling yellow cones. the house was dustier than the inside of a shopvac. After they had set up their cameras and microphones in strategic locations, they began touring the house, looking for pockets of electromagnetic activity.

Jarrod was in the master bedroom upstairs when his scanner went on the fritz. 

"Hey Will, I've got a read-"

He looked up to see a little translucent girl in a red stained dress in the doorway. She turned and disappeared out of sight once Jarrod saw her. Jarrod made sure his camera was recording and followed.

As the Jarrod rounded the corner he caught sight of the girl running into a smaller bedroom. Following, he entered the room to see her walk into what appeared to be a large closet. As he walked closer, the floor gave way beneath him. A loud scream was heard followed by the sound of bones and boards breaking finishing with a hollow "thump". Jarrod had fallen 3 floors to his death, landing directly on top of William. Their cold lifeless bodies were found the next day by a curious passerby.

Week 8

HarryPotter
J.K. Rowling


"you're a wizard harry" said Hagrid.
Harry had no idea where this giant beast of a man had come from or who he was. He reeked of sweat, onions, liquor and urine. his best bet was he had a homeless man stalking him. This man was clearly hallucinating. the only question left was: what had he ingested? mushrooms, LSD, meth? Or was it simply the hallucinations brought about by withdrawals from rampant alcoholism? The Man smiled at Harry.
One look at his teeth and he knew--it was meth. The meth-head began probing Harry, asking him why his uncle and aunt never told him he was magical. The room went tense as the beast looked at his aunt and uncle with detest. The animosity in his eyes was blatant.

The man who identified himself as Hagrid walked over to the fireplace and pointed an umbrella at it. "there, tha's better, in'nit? he said, as he warmed his hands like one would in front of an actual fire. Harry's uncle went to get his shotgun. He came back and pointed it at Hagrid as he ordered him to get out. Hagrid waved his umbrella at the man and said "schkootely" or some such nonsense. Harry's uncle pulled the trigger. nothing happened. He cracked the barrel to check that it was loaded. The shells were swamped.

"Tha'll do ya no good 'gainst magic" said the intruder.  He pointed the umbrella at Harry's cousin and said "shmowzow!" and proceeded to laugh at the boy while the family stared. He then proceeded to pull a dead cat out from under his layers of coats. "Happy birthday Harry", he said, as he passed him the dead cat. "Th-thanks" said Harry, squat feline. at this point he told Harry it was time to go and bid him to get on a piece of driftwood he called a "motorcycle". Harry had no choice in the matter. he hopped on the back and Hagrid jumped into the sea. They both drowned in the storm.

Week 6

THE POOL PLAYERS. 
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

1.

Die soon.

week 7

 "you hit any sweet jumps on your bike?"

                                                            sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps 

                                                         sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps  f

                                                    sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps       l    

                                             sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps sw        y     

                                  sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps  swee               i      

                 sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps                      t

sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps sweet jumps  sweet                            !

week five

Roethke's poem "My Papa's Waltz" is written with a tone of irony. The author writes of his troubled childhood, describing his relationship with his father on the nights he would be beaten, in a nostalgic way that makes it appear as if the beatings were a play, or a dance between him and his father. There are many examples within the poem that lead to this conclusion and create the sense of irony in the tone.