A Journey Through The Mind

So, for this specific assignment in my creative writing class, we had to write about a character going on a journey. I am not really good with imagery so I couldn't take my character on a physical journey... So, I gave her an emotional one... tell me what you think :)

          After that fateful event on that one day, the entire structure of my world collapsed. Food lost its taste, my favorite TV shows lost their appeal, and any relations with the opposite sex were clearly out of the question. I withdrew into myself because I felt that I was the only one I could trust, and even then, that was asking too much of my heart. My relationships with my family members all went downhill, and none of them knew why. I quit my job, stopped going to my book club meetings, and closed the door to my apartment for months.

Until my mother came banging on my door. She had had enough of my moping around and she wanted to know what the problem was. She said that we were Davis women, and Davis women never stayed down for long like the wounded, we got up and fixed our problems. Put on our makeup and faced the world. But she didn’t understand that I just couldn’t be that strong anymore. Being raped, being violated in that specific way had snatched a large piece out of me and forced me to return to that little girl who was afraid of the dark. Cowering under my covers after my dad turned my lights out, just waiting for the boogie man to jump out of my closet or some unknown thing to crawl from under my bed. That is how I cowered in fear now in my apartment, just thinking about facing the world after all I had been through.

My mother was a one-of-a-kind type woman. She always spoke in proverbs and adages, and everything she said, or every story she told had a meaning behind. Some hidden secret I was supposed to unlock and use to get through my own life. As I grew older, I cherished her quirky comments and stories, because they helped me get through life.

After I opened the door for her, she rushed in with a tuna casserole and a bottle of White Zinfandel, her favorite drink. She slammed both items down on the table, removed her pashmina scarf, and yelled to me :  “Pauline Danielle Davis, I didn’t raise you to be a social recluse. You’re far too beautiful to be holed up in this apartment. Now what the hell is the problem?”  And apparently that’s all I needed because I broke down crying right there and let it all out. The tuna casserole and wine helped me to give her the details. How I met the man, the beautiful date he had taken me on, the goodbye kiss at the end of the night that led to him pushing me inside my apartment and taking what was not his.

I opened up and told her how it made me feel small, fragile, and unimportant. I explained to her that existing in the real world afterwards was scary and I needed to shut everything out and not think about anything at all. And she told me, “Pauline, there are times when you have to have silence and close your mind, but you can’t do that forever. You can’t allow any man or woman to ever take away your will to live. If you need to get counseling then do that. Do whatever Pauline needs to do to feel whole again, but never, ever let anybody make you feel like you don’t belong here. Do you hear me?”

That’s what brought me out of shell and put me back into game of life. A small part of me will always feel empty, but like my mother said, we’re Davis women, and nothing ever stops us from waking up and living life to the fullest. Nothing.

Abecedarius

In my new Creative Writing class, we have been focusing on structure and forms of different kinds of creative pieces. For one of my assignments, I wrote an abecedarius. For those of you who don't know, an abecedarius is a piece of creative writing that uses the alphabetic order. My abecedarius is titled:

Meditations on Relationships, Pt. 1

All is forgiven, which means don’t throw it in his face two days later when you get mad because he forgot to wash the dishes.

Better not throw on that old t-shirt that’s been sitting at the top of the dirty clothes hamper for weeks. You’re going to meet her friends, and she’ll never forgive you if you go smelling like cigarette smoke and wacky tobakky.

Calling me at midnight to go over the entire game play-by-play, not acceptable.

Dressing is always going to take me an hour and half, no matter where we’re going. And maybe an extra 30 minutes after that.

Even if I hang up and ask you to never call me again, I want you to call me RIGHT BACK

For every hour you spend with your PS3, that’s another hour I’ll spend in the mall, with your money.

Giving into go see the romantic comedy that’s playing in theaters doesn’t make you soft, it makes you more likely to get laid at the end of the night.

Having more money in the bank doesn’t mean you’re the man of the house, it just means you’re a man.

If all else fails, just lay in her bosom. The softness of it will make your problems melt away.

Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say.

Keeping things to myself is sometimes how we maintain in this relationship
.
Love is a subjective feeling. I can never love you the way you would love you if you were me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you with all of my heart.

Moody doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel when my Aunt Rose comes to visit, so find a corner and hide in it for a few days.

Never ever give up on true love.

Orgasms do not equal love. Orgasms equal a big cheesy smile on your face followed by a frown when he wakes up and you realize he isn’t the guy you thought you met at the bar last night.

Purses, handbags, and shoes however do equal love. You buy them, you are mine forever

Quiet in the mind, composed in the body. That might work for you, but I will always have questions that need answers.

Riding in your old school car is fun sometimes, but it does not qualify as a date.

Sex is great, not just for men, but for ladies too. We probably even love it more.

Tears are acceptable during all romantic movies and plays, and when we see little tiny poodles.

Understand that sex is not the answer but it feels great until you find the right one!!

Venting is something that a woman has to do. So just shut up and listen. Or at least pretend to listen.

Whenever you cook dinner, I’m suspicious of your motive.

eXes are exes for a reason.

You are the only one who can me laugh and cry in the same breath. Do not use that against me.

Zesty is the adjective to properly describe any meal I make you. OKAY!!!

The Time Has Come

Thursday, June 25, 2009, I will be returning to the stage for the first time in two years. I've been proked and prodded enough and now I will be performing my "Mama" piece at Taste of Art: Straight No Chaser. I chose "Mama" because I got a bullshit phone call from her yesterday, and its kind of the one I'm feeling the most. I am going to get up there and leave everything I have on the mic and hope the people feel me. Wish me luck :)

New Character

Ok, So I took my grams advice and I redid the whole flat character. This time I chose the popular basketball player. Again, tell me what you think :)

Time stood still as the ball made a perfect arch through the air towards the hoop. Or at least that’s how it felt to Domonic Porter. He stood stiff as a rock, unable to move, paralyzed by fear. This was the one shot that would define his college basketball career. There were three seconds left in the fourth quarter and his team was down by two. He had stolen the ball as one of the players from the other team had been going in for a lay-up, ran down the court and shot from the three-point mark. And with his luck, it fell through the hoop without so much as a swoosh.
The crowd went crazy, screaming and jumping out of their seats. His teammates all jumped on him, showing their appreciation. He looked up in the stands to see his father nodding his head proudly and at that moment, he knew he had done it. He had pushed aside all of his dreams, wants, and desires to become his father’s son. He had often shed tears at night as a young boy because his father never seemed to be happy with him. He shunned his artwork and thought his desire to read books was feminine. Domonic knew he would never get love from his father unless he played a sport like his older brothers had all done. Basketball wasn’t his thing but he was more than good at it and once his father figured that out, Domonic became his favorite son. He pushed Domonic to the limit when it came to basketball, and because he was finally getting the fatherly love he had always yearned for, he tossed reading and drawing on the backburner.
But now, as he stood at the pinnacle of all his father had aspired for him to be, an unexplainable sadness came over him. Sure, he had his father’s respect and love, but he had sacrificed so much of himself to get it. His heart broke as he realized that his father didn’t love who he really was. He had molded and shaped himself into something he was not and spent so much time denying who he was and wanted to be just to receive the love of a man who should have loved him unconditionally. The thought angered him. This basketball shit angered him. The jersey on his back made him ashamed at what he had become. He should have been off to Columbia University to study the Arts but he had given in to his father’s demands and given himself up in the process.
He wiped sweat from his face with his jersey and looked up to see his father walking towards him with a wide grin of his face and his arms wide open. Domonic swallowed his pride and anger and put a smile on his face too.

The Shifty-Eyed Thief

I've been taking this online writing course, the introduction to writing fiction and the first few days were about creating characters. We had to do this activity where we take a flat character (i.e. the anorexic model, the fat, doughnut-eating cop) and you write a brief scene in which you portray that character in a complex way; going against the usual expectations. I chose the shifty-eyed thief and here is my scene. Tell me what you think!!

Roberto eyed the bank teller, trying to size her up. She looked like an easy scare. He glanced at the guard, he was big, but kind of slow. He bet he could steal the money and outrun the guard without a getaway car. He chuckled at the idea. His stomach growled, reminding him of the urgency. His tongue hadn't tasted food in days and he was starving, and if he was starving then his baby girl back at home was dying. It had to be done for her.

Relapse

One of my earlier pieces.... hope you like

Sometimes…. The sun shines perpetually in my heart
And then again…sometimes… it is eternally dark
When those rays of joy and sunlight caress my face
I’m taken to my happy place
Where heartbreak is nonexistent
And love is shared, there is no rush to get this
But then…
Like mechanical clicks
Something in my head ticks
And I’m thrown into depression
Thoughts exploding like bombs from my mind’s own suppression
Of the things that hurt too much to bring into confession
But I keep a smile on my face
Because to society,
depression is an addictive place
Where people go when faced with reality
I keep my mind aimed at living in the happy place because my relapse is too much
Love from those who claim to be the closest just isn't enough
I...need...more
I need help getting through this emotional hurricane
I need help to understand why and what causes this type of pain
When I finally have true comprehension in my grasp
well...thats when there will be no need for a relapse.

Prologue--- however no title for the novel

Prologue

She was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Iris. Skin as delicate as a newborn baby with a mind to rival some of the greatest of our time. Her eyes could be the window to my soul; if you looked deep enough you could see all of my hopes and dreams; the answers to the questions of my universe. I cannot properly imagine my life without her, because I am so used to being around her. Holding her in my arms. Kissing her nose and kissing her lips second after. Making love to her in the most spontaneous of places. The many debates and thatg took place in our kitchen, usually over a cup of coffee or the Sunday newspaper.

Iris. My life. My light. My own personal shining star. But how can that be true when it all came down to reveal that she was nothing but deception dressed in nice clothes and expensive shoes. An illusion my mind created from what I desired, not what I was actually given. But still, I love her. Iris. Three years of marriage, no kids, and a shitload of things I should have never gone through. The key to my heart is still hers. Iris. In the end, I only ever wanted to be the husband that she wanted me to be, nothing more, nothing less. Other women don't ignite my fire, so the husband of Iris I feel I will always be.

But I believe in Karma and things do happen for a reason. This is all a large part of the scheme laid out for me, so I cannot weep over spilled milk. There is only cleaning up the mess and moving forward. But how can I move forward when my mind is stuck back there with her? Iris. If she weren't meant to be here forever, why was she a part of the scheme in the first place? And why is it so hard for me to continue living without her after everything she put me through? Iris...

Welcome

Welcome to my mind. Hope you enjoy the many different characters I create to convey my tales of deceit, sex, money, and internal discovery. May my poetry open your soul to mine and may my many different rants and raves help you understand Tia Love just a little bit more. Enjoy and leave your judgments at the door.