- Write a poem or story (genre is up to you) that is exactly 26 sentences long. The first sentence must begin with the letter A, the second with B, the third with C, and so on. Use complete sentences and proper syntax -- no cheating! As you write, notice how the constraint shifts your attention away from "what next" toward language itself.
- Write your own version of the story from Exercises in Style. Use one of the styles you brainstormed in class to add to Queneau's collection. Give your version a title that indicates what the style is.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Writing with Constraints
Your assignment this week is to experiment with writing with constraint. There are two options:
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Option One: Alphabet
ReplyDeleteTitle: A is for Asexuals Thinking of Cis Circles
All I wanted to do was think about circles and Venn Diagrams. But as much as I wanted to think about them as the groupings of people and their sexual activities, with me as the space inbetween them, I couldn't. Circles and Venn Diagrams bother me because I don't like them. Doing nothing but thinking of the things that I don't like is a nasty habit I have. Even nail-biting would be better because, if I bit my nails, people would see the proof of it and try to stop me.
"Finn," they would say, "Finn, don't bite your nails! God only knows how bad that is for you!"
Have you thought that maybe, I need you to say that about other things too? I don't know how to tell you that I've got nothing left to live for if I can't shut myself up. Just sit there and think about what that means. Knock those thoughts out of my head, destroy their flight patterns and burn the control towers to the ground. Let me not think for just a little while. Maybe I need help, or sleep, or both. No matter what I try, it's like angry bees are buzzing about inside my skull. Only the touch of your hand to my forehead seems to make it shut off. Pull out the functionality of me; let me be the calm and quiet house at the end of the lane on a sleepy Saturday.
Quit the label-stamping with your brand new label maker, stop trying to remind me--however innocently you think it might be--that you want to label me something I am not. Ripping off your labels, putting the pieces together in the form that I choose--Asexual--is exhausting. Someone stop them from making labels; someone stop me from letting those labels touch me. Those labels have an adhesive that burns me, a stickiness that continues to destroy after I try to scrub it off. Underneath all these labels, underneath the residue, I am still thinking about them; and about circles; and about Venn Diagrams.
Vacate the idea that by throwing your labels off, I have forgotten and moved on. Whispers in the back of my head remind me that you do not see me, and that I have no place in these Venn Diagrams that people like you have created. XNAY this message so no one can find it: "Your circles cannot and will not define me. Zephyrs will blow the lines away, and their gusts will empty my head like a bowl of punch."
*eiLs: AeeEDLrV
ReplyDelete(Lies: Revealed)
A group attacks.
Beef, there captain urges on.
Cuts, deep ones appeared.
Down on us they went.
Elevators, or time boxes came and saved us
For they were the heroes that conquered.
“Go and revolve for this is a revolution”, the heroes said.
“Ho ho ho”, we said not really mimicking Santa Clause.
I was trying to be weird and funny but nah.
Jokingly surprised you sit in awe.
Known to be the group, not the heroes, but the actually good kids for doing morally right events.
Lying to myself I get out of my head and back to you sitting in confusion but patience.
More of the story starts now.
Now the time boxes were flying.
Or really they were just going.
Plowing through anything were the boxes.
Quitting was not an option for them.
Roaring is what they, the sylors do.
Sylors are the essence of morale good doing.
Truth is an attack used.
Undying was another name.
Volleying is all that was left.
Worldwide the event was held.
Xenocide was the heroes goal.
Yellow bags they gave us as a peace offering.
Zombie is what we have become.
A man with a Thousand Faces moved through the window into the darkened room, then walked towards the light shining under the crack of the door at the back. Before he got there, he paused to pull an object from his coat pocket, but kept it low in his right hand, partially obscured from sight.
ReplyDelete‘Could this be?’, thought the man. ‘Everything led me to this point, but could I really be first?’
For a brief moment he scanned the room, noting the sumptuous appointments. Gladewater Hotel was known to offer stylish accommodations. However, Thousand Faces had more important business and there was always the possibility that OneFace might arrive at any moment. In moments he was at the door, opening it, and then, finally, he saw her.
“Jas” he said, crossing to where she waited in a white armchair.
“Keep to the rules” she said, stopping him dead.
“Leave that to me” answered a voice from behind. Minding the object in his right hand, Thousand faces turned to the new intruder.
“Never expected to see you here” said OneFace. “Obviously you were hoping not to see me either, but since you you’re here you must have made it past my considerable resources. Pretty impressive, considering I had half the CIA watching out for you. Quite the feat, but then you were always good at pretending to be people you weren’t. Really Jas, is this the man you want to spend your life with?”
“Silence, the rules haven’t changed” said Jas. “The one who got here first, WITH a ring, wins me.”
Unfazed, Thousand Faces spoke not a word, instead turning back to Jas. Very slowly he raised the object in his hand. Without a glance back, he offered the ring to Jas. Xanth-gold glinted for two whole seconds. Yelling in fury, OneFace slammed a knife into his back. Zeal of fury was the last thing Thousand Faces heard.
Option 2.
ReplyDeleteBackwards
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Dear X,
ReplyDeleteAll is well, my lost love.
"Be who you are", are the pivotal words you once told me. Creation was substituted for self-destruction, and that wasn’t fair to you. Destruction was my art, but now I’ve learned to paint flowers as Alice did, instead.
Everything is well.
Forget the pain, for I remember it well enough for the both of us. Grace, a trait once so foreign to me, I now offer to you.
How may I offer you anything, though when you no longer converse with me? I’m sorry, for I know it is not fair of me to ask such a thing as conversation from you.
Just ignore me, but know I will continue to sing of my love for you, from the rooftops and the mountains, I will sing.
Keep your distance from the ocean, my love, for it will only remind you of the vastness and relentless power of my love. Love, a kind of which, once felt, cannot be unfelt. Maybe you’re still trying, in vain, to forget me (and I applaud you for this).
No, I am not angry at you for this, should it be the case. Often, I also try to forget you. Petty, and childish are words to describe this internal battle, between remembering and forgetting the best parts of my life.
Quality of life is what I’ve lost in your absence.
Radiate love, I charge you, continue to radiate love. Saddening as it is that it is not I who you radiate love for, continue to radiate love.
Tell me, do I still appear in your dreams? Undeniably, you’re always in mine.
Vicarious I will be for you if it might ease your pain. Willingly I will suffer in your stead. X-ray my fucking chest and tell me you can’t see my ever growing passion for you, lost love, sincerely.
You, or perhaps the idea of you, leads me, for you are my passion. Zealously, I live for you, even in your absence.
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ReplyDeleteA boy, not yet a man and yet not a boy, lies on the branches of the tree that he has just climbed. Breathing heavily, feeling the branches strain under his weight, he waits in the shadows of those branches with his bow and arrow at the ready. Cold wind breezes from the north, causing the boy to shiver where he lays and wishing he had more clothes. Daylight fades, hidden by the clouds in the sky. Every now and then the male thinks back to how he got to this place. Forever ago it seems, his village was torn apart by bandits. Getting away by hiding under his dead mothers body. Having to wait what seemed like days, until he was sure the bandits had gone away. It was hell, feeling the blood of a loved one dripping onto your body. Just staying still, unable to move in fear for your own life. Keep playing that you’re dead, in the hopes that you might live. Left knowing that, for now, the darkness is better than the light. Madness, his gibbering, silent companion, slowly creeping in from all sides of the mind. Not wanting to look up, in fear of seeing the face and letting madness completely take over. Often wanting to look up into that face, of his beloved mother, hoping that this is all a dream. Pleading, that this is a mistake, that she is still alive. Questioning, ones self and ones worth, the boy continued to stay under the cold body of his dead mother. Reason told him that this was only to survive and convincing himself that his mother would want him to live. Sounds of the bandits looting the village kept him up, even at night. The bandits celebrated their victory in the village square as the boy sat in a pool of his mother’s blood, cursing them as they ate and drank. Underneath his mother’s body, the boys mind finally broke. Vile images swelled up in his head, and he swore his vengeance against these animals. Water brought him back to the present, for it had started to rain. Xenomorphic shadows crawled on the ground; almost foreshadowing what was about to happen. Yelling in the distance marked the approach of the boys prey. Zeal built up in the boy’s body, as he knew he would soon at last become a man.
ReplyDeleteGrey here
ReplyDeleteAs the sunlight pierces through our skin
Bones warm up and let love in
Careful not to confuse carnal sin with
Deep affection felt for a friend
Eternity can't even hold itself within
Forever spans a finite time
Grateful that I can call you mine
Happiness won't ever be found in wine
I know this and yet I can't help but try
Just once more to drink this pain away
Kindness isn't found in what you say
Lust seems bright until the break of day
Must I cry and scream and pray
Nothing can hold these demons at bay
Obsession should be a confession
Possession is obsession, my profession
Quiet room are scary, I hate the silence
Rules are all meant to be broken fuck compliance
Stop trying to fix me, you'll only get defiance
Trust is earned I don't just give it away
Understand that trickery is easy night or day
Violence is not just physical, it's in what you say
Wonder has left me and flown away
Xanax will help me find it again
You'll only leave, it's the date of every friend
Zabuton's are the only things I relate to
All the best things in life are free, someone told me. But I am not so sure that it's true, there are plenty of terrible things in life that are free too. Creating the best things in life seems like the key to happiness. Despite what people think, having what you want all the time, can be just as harmful as never having what you want. Everytime you get what you want, your actions are reinforced, so getting what you want all the time leads one to believe the world owes them rewards. Frequently, being over pampered turns people into less than pleasant individuals. Good thing for the rest of us, we turned out pretty even tempered. Hopefully other people will learn from us. I never thought i'd say it, but the world needs more structure in it. Jail is not the structure i mean, but rather one that guides people on the proper path to being desirable individuals. Knowing the truth about people can be a burden, however it also has some perks. Lust is one of those feelings which bring about the worst in people. Many individuals have fallen victim to their desires, failing to think through situations properly, or in the right ways. Nobody seems to think that thinking for the sake of thinking is a skill anymore. Open warfare is the norm, while people starved of food and knowledge roam. Prosthetic limbs are what define america. Quiet as the night, they pull the puppet strings tied precariously around each of us. Rustic families and groups of power have always and will always rule. Some of us realize the truth and do nothing about it, while others try and fail, and still more are none the wiser. Trusting no one will cripple your chances from the start, yet trusting everyone will almost certainly suck you dry before your time. Under it all is a sense of foreboding pleasure, the ease in which individuals draw blood from others to get their way. Virtually unopposed, the few who seduce their way to power can tie a knot of deception round just about anyone. Without batting an eye as to what they have done, these, succubi feed on the energy of others, often praised for it. Xenia-like phenomenon covers the passers by. Youth are always affected first and foremost, they are more spongy after-all. Zooming from place to place, these individuals command attention, and are likely here to stay.
ReplyDeleteAdorable children have been running around the swimming for the last two hours. Birthdays are so hectic for Hank the lifeguard. Completing these five hours of work has been tedious and excruciatingly painful. “Do I really need this Job?” Even if he leaves right now there are 6 other lifeguards. Finally his shift is almost over! Games started to become louder and louder. “Help someone is drowning!” Immediately the public pool became quiet. Jumping headfirst was the inattentive lifeguard. Kids started to stand at the edge of the pool. Looking for the kid that was drowning hoping that it wasn’t one of their friends. Moans and whispers started to hide the silence. Now the lifeguard was at the boy throwing him on to the floater. One of the women started screaming from the edge of the pool. Propelling the boy straight to land was the only thing the lifeguard could do. Quickly people started to form at the edge to help anyway that they could. Reaching for the boy was an old man trying to help reel him in. Softly lifting him from the pool and placing him on the cement. The lifeguard jumps out of the pool and next to the boy. Urgently the lifeguard was trying to see if the boy was still alive. Veins in the boy looked darker and thicker than normal. Without a second to lose the lifeguard realizes that he has seen what has happened to before, on his own body. Xarelto is the only thing that could save his life. Yelling for someone to throw his bag seemed illogical so he got up and ran for it. Zooming around the pool he got his bag and came back to the boy, hoping that he was in time to save his life.
ReplyDelete“After all,” she said, “it’s not like you really meant it.”
ReplyDeleteBegrudgingly I declined to respond.
Contritely I could have answered somehow showing her that I did.
Different from the other times.
Every other one of them never made me mean it.
“Fuck you,” I said.
Gather together your wits.
“Have you ever stayed with someone for more than a year?” I asked.
“I’ve never wanted to” she said.
Jennifer was such a tramp.
“Know that I meant it when I said it, and I still mean it because at this point I don't know how not to.”
“Love is a lie,” she said.
“More than that, It’s utter delusion; it is purposeful and negligent insanity.
No one ever means it the way that they think that they do.”
“Observe that I meant it as best as I could, as best as I knew how to when I was in love.”
“Peter…”
Questions always arise right after they ought to be asked when its the last chance you’ll ever have to ask them.
Removed from myself I stood there and watched her.
She looked me too closely in the eye.
Trains roared only softer than her leaving footsteps.
Understatement.
Vexed I looked into my hands.
Wind blew me through the station.
Xanthic light buzzed static overhead.
Yesterday I was in love.
Zenith stars were poking through the sky as I left.
Monotone Joe
ReplyDeleteI was in the S bus. There were a lot of people. It was rush hour. Being touched makes me uncomfortable. I looked at this young guy. He had a pretty felt hat. It was cool. The young guy gets mad at another young guy. He doesn’t like to be touched either. He moves to a vacant seat. Two hours later I see him again. We were both at the Cour de Rome, in front of the gare Saint-Lazare. It was pretty. He is with another man. The other man says “You ought to get an extra button put on your overcoat.” Other man shows young man where he can get this done. He looked nice.
Adolescent
ReplyDeleteThe bus was full af today. This weird dude was wearing a felt hat with a cord and he started yelling at this other dude for bumping into him. So awk. He eventually just sat down though. Then I saw the weird felt hat dude later on in front of the gare Saint-Lazare and his friend was like freakin out because he thought the weird dude's coat needed an extra button. Like wtf, I can't even, I hate people.