Perhaps it was wrong to start off so spontaneously. Words exchanged; were they of merit? What truths did hers hold and why did I oblige so meaninglessly? Nonetheless I continued. And I would promise art; but what value would these lines-drawn-upon-lines have when it was done?
What of the outreach? To make something out of something so very insignificant at the time? Why interfere in something that was not fated... or perhaps it was? One can never be so sure. There was no turning back in those words but it was done. To go out on a limb, to get to the fruit. This gamble, this risk, was it all worth it?
And so it was set, maybe not in stone, but in the moveable slate of time. A day of promise and a day of reckoning. This was glad news at the time and so it reflected upon character. The risks continued but in such insignicant manner: coffee and perhaps more words built upon these. And they were met with open arms, the suggestion not shot down in pre-flight for once. The happiest days of life.
The words of such days were so very profound. The etched promises in the compromising slate of time. Of future, her words echoing the sentiment that could never be said. This future, this good future, set out in what seemed to be stone. No wrenches in these plans, only the finality of wishful thinking. Shared drinks and shared meals and to return to normality, only until the next day.
Oh, to be rendered null by the visions that were seen! To have requests shot down in pre-flight, following the context that coffee had laid out! And to see that these words were quiet lies in the fabric of her weaving. To see the coffees and the talks and the meals thrown to nothingness! To see them whittle away to the nothingness from which they were drawn. And conclusions were drawn in this haze of words said and unsaid.
So the inevitability of it all came crashing down, with profound force. This was the end and yet hope for a better future was considered. Perhaps a rough patch or perhaps just distance but, as they say, absense makes the heart grow fonder. And so the week was left and nothing came about. No words were exchanged.
The promised Saturday came about. A promise of hope and of bonds sat on the threshold in wait for those few simple words. But there was no return now: the guess of inevitability would be correct. Though the words did take flight, they were rendered null by her own. And that was it.
It had gone as quickly as it had come.
Oh, spontaneity.
Thursday, 9 October 2008
Monday, 15 September 2008
Nostalgia: September 22, 2007
From Chocolate Reign. A pretty early entry.
The Final Cut
The threshold stood in front of him, ajar with a glittering promise. It was hope; hope from which it was found and hope by which the future would be shaped. His proxy delivered messages of neither intent or expression, though implicit thought would have deemed such to be true. It was quite the novel situation: in through the out door.
Ironic, however, that this door would shut. And with it the hope diminished. He trembled, quivering with silent words. Nothing could be thought, no coherent speech could be uttered. Ever slightly he moved about the shut door. It was not locked; it left only a bleeding of light to deliver an infintessimal glimpse. It was not much. It was not enough.
Options debated within his mind. A few options sought to disturb the door, but none would avail. They never could. A distant beat echoed beyond the portal. It was foreign, now, and could not be retrieved. A trail of consciousness was strewn upon the ground and disappeared once it reached him.
And so he abandoned it.
The Final Cut
The threshold stood in front of him, ajar with a glittering promise. It was hope; hope from which it was found and hope by which the future would be shaped. His proxy delivered messages of neither intent or expression, though implicit thought would have deemed such to be true. It was quite the novel situation: in through the out door.
Ironic, however, that this door would shut. And with it the hope diminished. He trembled, quivering with silent words. Nothing could be thought, no coherent speech could be uttered. Ever slightly he moved about the shut door. It was not locked; it left only a bleeding of light to deliver an infintessimal glimpse. It was not much. It was not enough.
Options debated within his mind. A few options sought to disturb the door, but none would avail. They never could. A distant beat echoed beyond the portal. It was foreign, now, and could not be retrieved. A trail of consciousness was strewn upon the ground and disappeared once it reached him.
And so he abandoned it.
Nostalgia: December 17, 2007
I found this on the Chocolate Reign blog that I used to co-author.
Crank Dat Roosevelt: A Literary Analysis of one of our Generation's Masterpieces
In the modern world, we look for meaning within the media and entertainment convolution of the world. In Soulja Boy's "Crank Dat", one finds meaning in the deliberate repetition of certain phrases and words. This enlightenment is divided into three phases: the repetition 0f thought, the exposition of ideas, and the inhibition of explicit meaning. All three are effective in relaying the message of the song: that one's life should be not be hindered by the obstacles placed in pursuit of suppression.
Within the refrain lies the focal point of the song; it is a repetition of one's own desire to "crank dat", "roll," and "Superman dat hoe." When simply reading the lyrical content of the song, one cannot simply discern what kind of ideals that these words achieve. "Crank dat," within the context of the refrain, is repeated six times. Now, if one were to simply place that in the refrain without context, it would make no sense. This ideal is contrary to the message of the refrain. To "crank dat", to "roll", to "Superman dat hoe;" these are all key concepts that serve as a constant reminder of a willingness to persist in ideas. In layman's terms, this refrain serves as lyrical genius; it affirms Soulja Boy's belief to never compromise.
The verses are subtle reminders of Soulja Boy's beliefs and ambitions. He, in his young age, aspires to "crank dat Robocop, super fresh" as well as "lean[ing] to the left and crank dat dance." These are not the ambitions of the everyman. Rather, they are dreams of the elite dreamers, those who aspire to lead the world in revolution. His beliefs go opposed, yes, but he refutes his detractors saying that he will "jock on yo bitch ass" as well as "cock on your bitch". This hatred, stemming from his possession of "bathing apes", is not justified in comparison to Soulja Boy's infallibility: "they look at [his] neck, saying it's the rubberband man,"; they "can't do it like [him]." He reminds them of this through reaffirmation: "I see you tryna do it like me; man that shit was ugly."
However, Soulja Boy does not achieve his spread of ideals through explicit statement. Rather, he relies on subtleties that must be interpreted by his audience. His "bathing apes"; what are they? The literal meaning of such a statement is that they are apes submerged in water to clean. Is this what he is truly trying to convey? Rather, what is this jealousy that is felt towards his bathing apes? They are not made to be interpreted literally; their meaning is made to be extrapolated in conjunction with the lyric placed in its series. Further proof lies within this masterful lyric: "crank dat Roosevelt." How does one "crank" Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 32nd president of the United States of America? Is one expected to find his remains and crank them, literally? No. This name is merely a platform by which ideals must be hoisted on the banister of liberty. Soulja Boy's subtle phrases and words achieve much more than the greatest orators could ever hope to dream.
Soulja Boy achieves much more than the so-called "literary greats" of recent times. His works are much better than those of Harper Lee or William Shakespeare or even Ernest Hemingway. The one pinnacle of modern triumph, "Crank Dat", relies on much more than explicitness to relay thoughts. He achieves transcendency of literature through repetition, exposition, and implication. These, much more relevant than dated English writers, are words that speak only one ideal. This is an ideal of truth.
Crank Dat Roosevelt: A Literary Analysis of one of our Generation's Masterpieces
In the modern world, we look for meaning within the media and entertainment convolution of the world. In Soulja Boy's "Crank Dat", one finds meaning in the deliberate repetition of certain phrases and words. This enlightenment is divided into three phases: the repetition 0f thought, the exposition of ideas, and the inhibition of explicit meaning. All three are effective in relaying the message of the song: that one's life should be not be hindered by the obstacles placed in pursuit of suppression.
Within the refrain lies the focal point of the song; it is a repetition of one's own desire to "crank dat", "roll," and "Superman dat hoe." When simply reading the lyrical content of the song, one cannot simply discern what kind of ideals that these words achieve. "Crank dat," within the context of the refrain, is repeated six times. Now, if one were to simply place that in the refrain without context, it would make no sense. This ideal is contrary to the message of the refrain. To "crank dat", to "roll", to "Superman dat hoe;" these are all key concepts that serve as a constant reminder of a willingness to persist in ideas. In layman's terms, this refrain serves as lyrical genius; it affirms Soulja Boy's belief to never compromise.
The verses are subtle reminders of Soulja Boy's beliefs and ambitions. He, in his young age, aspires to "crank dat Robocop, super fresh" as well as "lean[ing] to the left and crank dat dance." These are not the ambitions of the everyman. Rather, they are dreams of the elite dreamers, those who aspire to lead the world in revolution. His beliefs go opposed, yes, but he refutes his detractors saying that he will "jock on yo bitch ass" as well as "cock on your bitch". This hatred, stemming from his possession of "bathing apes", is not justified in comparison to Soulja Boy's infallibility: "they look at [his] neck, saying it's the rubberband man,"; they "can't do it like [him]." He reminds them of this through reaffirmation: "I see you tryna do it like me; man that shit was ugly."
However, Soulja Boy does not achieve his spread of ideals through explicit statement. Rather, he relies on subtleties that must be interpreted by his audience. His "bathing apes"; what are they? The literal meaning of such a statement is that they are apes submerged in water to clean. Is this what he is truly trying to convey? Rather, what is this jealousy that is felt towards his bathing apes? They are not made to be interpreted literally; their meaning is made to be extrapolated in conjunction with the lyric placed in its series. Further proof lies within this masterful lyric: "crank dat Roosevelt." How does one "crank" Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 32nd president of the United States of America? Is one expected to find his remains and crank them, literally? No. This name is merely a platform by which ideals must be hoisted on the banister of liberty. Soulja Boy's subtle phrases and words achieve much more than the greatest orators could ever hope to dream.
Soulja Boy achieves much more than the so-called "literary greats" of recent times. His works are much better than those of Harper Lee or William Shakespeare or even Ernest Hemingway. The one pinnacle of modern triumph, "Crank Dat", relies on much more than explicitness to relay thoughts. He achieves transcendency of literature through repetition, exposition, and implication. These, much more relevant than dated English writers, are words that speak only one ideal. This is an ideal of truth.
Friday, 1 August 2008
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