TTWA: Plath on Xanex

TTWA Assignment:  Write a poem by Sylvia Plath on antidepressants.  

Ha, okay.  So, this one’s a bit of a challenge for me, as I’ve never read much of Plath’s poetry.  In fact, that which I do know stems from her feminist roots, daddy issues and depression-induced suicide — which I might be able to glean from the assignment anyway.  Providing antidepressants to tortured artists has always intrigued me every since I saw that Dr. Who episode with Van Gogh (Watch it, yourself.  It’s excellent.).  Imagine Van Gogh happy and successful, but the world without Sunflowers or Starry Nights.  Which is more important: human life or immortality?  

Anyway, I based this poem after Plath’s ‘Daddy,’ which after reading it seems poor taste considering it’s Father’s Day here in the States.  Then, I thought . . . well, if a young troubled Sylvia received treatment at a young age, then she might think more kindly of her father.  We might turn this poem into a Hallmark card . . . 

Dear Daddy

You do not buy, you do not buy
Any more, black shoes, dad.
They do not fit, the wrong size
For thirty years, you buy my clothes,
In this dress, I can barely breathe.
This fabric makes me sneeze
Achoo. 

Daddy, I’m gonna kill you,
if you keep buying sweets.
Chocolate, cakes, Thin Mints.
I feel heavy, a bloated bag, God.
Oh, this diet ruins my life.
Feelin’ big as a circus seal. 

Did you hear, Daddy?
There’s a big dance in the town
In a flat, that got me thinkin’
Of boys, boys, boys.
Even though we have so little in common.
I hope he calls soon, my Polack friend. 

The black telephone rang near the root
of my bed, just as I thought, ‘Screw it.’
He asked. And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through waiting.
You warn me to be careful and sober.
But your voice just can’t worm through. 

Post-dance, Twilight movie.
Monster killed one man, then killed two——
Ew, the sparkle vampire watched Bella sleep.
I’d let Edward drink my blood for a year.
Seven after ten and home, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back in Lazyboy now. 

There’s only one man in my big red heart
And if the whole village hates you.
If the world dances and stamps on you.
I will always be there for you.
Daddy, daddy, with this poem, I’m through.

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TTWA: World Peace or Toilets

Waterfall City, from James Gurney’s Dinotopia

 TTWA Assignment:  Briefly but convincingly, state why world peace is better than indoor plumbing.

Imagine you are one of the last man or woman on Earth.  Mother Nature has finally conquered mankind, our cities, our roads, our airports, and our ice cream parlors.  Despite the loss of internet and ice cream, the planet has ascended into a new Eden: wars died out with much of the human population, parasitic organisms and their resulting diseases died with the world’s population of Homo sapiens, fruit and the few remaining livestock provide ample food, and land is plentiful.  In fact, humans — those that still remain — choose to live wherever they feel at ease — that is as far from one another as possible.  In such a world, where competition and infighting no longer exists, where the multitudes of the human population can no longer pollute the planet, indoor plumbing is no longer a neccessity.

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TTWA:  Email to parents

TTWA Assignment:  Part 1) You are a coach who has just cut an 11-year-old girl from the team.  Write an email to her parents, explaining why.  Part )  Now you are the school principal.  Write an email to the coach who cut the girl from the team, explaining why he is being fired.

Emailing parents is a necessary but irksome job for teachers.  The risk to upsetting someone is rather high.  I once used the word ‘generosity’ to describe a bumping a deserving student from a C+ to a B-.  The parent then replied a day later that her child ‘worked hard’ and did not need any of my ‘generosity.’  Sometimes you learn the hard way.

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TTWA:  Yelp Review

 TTWA Assignment: Imagine you are on Yelp.  Write a review of the restaurant everyone is talking about.  In the fourth paragraph, admit you’ve never eaten at the restaurant, but argue why your misinformed opinion is still more important than the other reviews on the site.  

I based this story on a girl I once worked with at the National Institutes of Health.  Most of the story is true to a point.  She was my first real ‘love’ I guess you could say.  As is the way with these things, you tend to romanticize the past a bit, an error I’ve tried to remedy by mixing in a little farce.

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First World Problems or Summer Vacation with No Beach

First World Problems or Summer Vacation with No Beach

True adventurers have never been plentiful. They who are set down in
print as such have been mostly business men with newly invented
methods. They have been out after the things they wanted–golden
fleeces, holy grails, lady loves, treasure, crowns and fame. The
true adventurer goes forth aimless and uncalculating to meet and
greet unknown fate. A fine example was the Prodigal Son–when he
started back home. — O. Henry, “The Green Door.”

Jumping into the car on the last day of school terrifies me.  For teachers, summer vacation can prove a daunting enterprise particularly if you happen to be single.  “Balderdash!” you may shout in a Victorian accent.  “I have a 9 to 5 job throughout the entire year.  You teachers have it lucky what with this summer vacation nonsense.  Pip pip cheerio.  Fish and chips.”

Well, let’s field that common misconception first.  Imagine you have trained your entire life as a scientist or a writer.  After graduating with your Masters degree, you find jobs in short supply due to . . . let us say because of a ‘recession.’  You take a job as a teacher in a high school, which slowly consumes your entire life.  You teach all day, and on nights and weekends, you plan new lessons, create tests or grade grade grade until your fingertips are permantly stained red with misplaced commas and imbalanced chemical equations.  This is your life.  These kids, their needs and their dreams, become your life.  Tunnel-vision within a textbook.

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Identity Crisis

Identity Crisis

“So picture this, Murph: a death metal concert in the heart of Amsterdam.  Me and Jason disguised in leather, fake beards, and goth t-shirts . . .”

“I for one do not need to imagine any man much less Rodney in leather,” Sean sighed next to me.

“The beard I can get behind, though . . .” Ryan added.

We all agreed that a man with a beard is a man to be reckoned with.

“If Batman had a beard, he’d be unstoppable,” I considered aloud.

“Man, enough about Batman.  I’m talking about real heroes,” Rodney shouted.  “I’m talking about Jason Borne!”

I chose not to discuss Matt Damon’s heroics or what constituted a imaginary character. Frankly I didn’t have the time.

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Ode to a puzzle piece shuffled under the rug

Ode to a puzzle piece shuffled under the rug

They say ignorance is bliss

Brother, you should try it.

I’d rather savor the taste of loathing

Seeped in spicy Hatred, tangy Loathing

Ah, savoring that revolting reminder

Sour sensation

Seared in another’s thought

as the inky center

of a pastel landscape;

the oil-paint reproduction

by David Winter

with the crack in time and space.

Instead of fading into obscurity

Rotting in the dust-flavored dark.

Time and fragile memory hastens

my end

No, my one satisfaction

is that I must not be seen

Forced imprisonment

under shaggy wool

promises the fragment

of memory

that one day I may be remembered

as a wonderful failure

when the picture is complete.