the translation.

for all of you math buffs, no, it is not the sliding of something around in a plane keeping orientation the same and all. (bad joke, sorry.)

i really liked this story, surprisingly. the opening was a little weird and it took me a bit to follow and understand it, but i ultimately got it. which is really good. i don't think i've done enough analysis of the short while i read it to say anything about  joyce carol oates's personal style, but i think i agree with what she's saying--the fact that if we go to a foreign country with a translator, the translator becomes one of our senses. depending on who our translator is, we will have a good or bad experience, as shown by oliver's story.

the translation is a short story about a middle-aged man named oliver who goes to russia. i'm thinking that this takes place during the time period where russia is still the ussr because there's some underlying tension between oliver and the setting (though not exactly man versus nature...) as he seems amazed that people can be living so well behind the iron curtain. (this comes with the disclaimer from before, i don't know if this is soviet russia. actually, JK he said it was central europe. so somewhere in the ussr but not soviet russia.) oliver is first taken through the city by his first translator, liebert. liebert becomes oliver's mouthpiece and also his method of perceiving other people through their questions and the dialogue that happens between the oliver and his surroundings. oliver eventually meets a woman named alisa who he thinks he falls in love with. however, once oliver's translator is switched, the magic of the city vanishes, and everything (including alisa) is drab, uninteresting, hypocritical, and all sorts of other Things Made of Bad. now, for the analysis. that's the hard part. :(

musica: tswift! and how she's a great storywriter.

so andrea was All Sorts of Awesome and a Bearer of Good this morning when she lent me the new tswift album, speak now. all the songs are AMAZING (especially mean and better than revenge) and i wholeheartedly recommend them to anyone who would like things to listen to.

i think authors can learn from songwriters, because they have such a limited time to tell a story (OH MY GOODNESS LIKE IN COMMON APP WHERE WE HAVE ONLY LIKE 150 WORDS TO SAY ANYTHING GOOD) and they do it pretty successfully most of the time. in "speak now," taylor's able to address both the present, the past, and all the characters and their yearnings. same with "back to december." and... "mean." a little bit. i think the songs that she released as singles address the stories of the characters and just fill many of the aspects of story-writing that we've look at as a class. ke$ha, however, does not do this. woe.

abp#6: what insight, what wit...! why don't you say this normally. SOYMOO.

abp:
so. people are just Really Great sometimes over the interwebs. like they aren't afraid to open up and share their Nuggets of Wisdom with the world. i really recommend this person's blog because there is lots of incredible insight as well as just the general struggle of the artist determining exactly where to strike through with the truth, and where to cover up. also, this one is fun because the author just has hilarious things to say and it's awesome and Full of Win. lemme go blorp through the blogroll to see who else i stalk and if you are ever wondering what a story really means, go here because it's just up-to-date (mostly) and there's lots of wisdom there. also, POKEMANNNNNNN here and yeah. it's tons of fun. i think that's everyone who i stalk read on a super-regular basis. but in case you guys really wanted... just kidding, i'm lazy. go look at the blogroll and read some good posts. :)

also, since you have to verify your post on blogger, you have to type in a randomized letter code. i was doing this lately, and the code i got was "soymoo." just thought i'd share that with you guys.

EDIT:
one of my stalkers good good friends linked me to her blog. i thought it was interesting to read about her analysis of my writing--i think it's pretty accurate in what it says. you can see it here and read her wonder. :) also, her blog is just Things Made of Awesome and Wonder and Good. keep it up girl, i hope to see more from you. <3

edit2:
this post here is truly inspiring--one of the few inspiring posts that i have read. someone has said that i should be a motivational speaker, but i think the hidden words from this blogger should be used in a motivational speech from the person himself. keep it up, dude.

muse:static hearts

muse:
the soft, piano and stringed music rolls out of my speakers. a beautiful female voice sings of how math cannot possibly compare with an infinite love, and i find myself agreeing. as her voice vaults higher and higher into the star-laden night sky, the speakers fizz, static is the accompaniment to my whispered singing for a moment. my heart races, the metallic ruby splash comes to life--but only for about a second, merely announcing The Great Coming of Nothing. my heart falls, my face darkens to match the velvet heavens. my downcast stare is met by the blank gaze of my white desk. i ponder a moment before trying to turn my attention back to my book. the words don't leap off the page like they used to. i keep trying to tell myself that i don't need you to top off my night cap, but maybe i do. the static buzz that makes my heart race echoes again, and i glance at my phone. it's...

ep:if you snark and muse:record

so, i was considering things to write about for abp#5 and was thinking "douche" and along the lines of that is "let your lab partner collect data all by himself while you go out to lunch and totally don't help him at all." said person that is being addressed doesn't seem to really mind what happened, although i and certain others feel very inflamed and up-in-arms about it. why do people suck, seriously? when people pull their weight, things work. but when they don't people get angry. also, another thing that pisses me off is when people complain, but do not have a solution slash are not planning the stupid thing. homecoming planning for dinner was extremely difficult, people, SO DO NOT SNARK AT ME IF YOU DON'T ENJOY THE RESTAURANT. YOU MAY GO EAT DINNER BY YOURSELF AND THEN COME TO THE DANCE WITH THAT FABULOUS SNARKY ATTITUDE AND THEN DANCE BY YOURSELF IN THE CORNER. 


anyway.
a muse. once again inspired by the ending of bones.
muse:
i'd told her that he likes records, especially a certain one by a certain band. the record itself turned different colors when the light hit it at different angles, making for a rather psychedelic effect. i knew he'd love it, but it wasn't my place to give it to him.

that night, we were all sitting around in their comfortably cramped apartment, waiting for him to come home. wine glasses were on the table, and all of us (me, her, and our two friends) were sipping our drinks. white dessert wine, the type that is sweet and then kicks you in the mouth as a reward. the black leather couches were warm and comfortable, and i thought that i could never bring myself to stand up. as the door clicks open, our two friends stand up. they manage to mumble something before pushing their way out the doorway. it's just me, him, and her left. he notices the iridescent record on a table next to the couch.

"what's this?"

"oh, avery told me that you love records. especially this band, and it has your favorite song on it."

she stands up, padding her way over to his side.

"look, it even changes color when you move it around!"

he smiles broadly, winningly. i beam.

"thanks!"

"you're welcome," she and i both answer. they don't seem to hear me, and they kiss simply, but lovingly. i can almost hear my heart shattering on the ground, but this is not my place. i cannot cry here, this is not my place.

"i... i should go. i'll see you tomorrow, glass."

i pick my things up, and i'm almost out the door. his voice grabs my ears, stopping me.

"no, wait, you should stay for dinner."

"yeah," she agrees. "we have enough space for you."

"i'll make that lamb dish i know you like," glass says, his eyes showing something. somehow, i think he's on to me. but that's purely speculation. after all, i just deal with the facts.

"no thanks. you see, normally the first time two people sharing a domicile have dinner together, the person who doesn't live there leaves. so... i'll see you tomorrow."

i turn to face the door, push it open, and brush out without much ceremony. i haven't noticed that devon has followed me until he calls my name.

"avery!"

i whirl around, careful to plaster on an indifferent face.

"yeah?"

he's silent for a moment before mumbling, "see you tomorrow."

i try to smile, i really do, as hard as i can.

"yeah. good night."

as i turn around, i swear he's on to me. he's on to me, but for some reason, the door clicks shut behind me.

silver water, and communism.

so far, as of this moment (11:00 pm), i have only read silver water. i loved it. maybe because i love stories about the crazies, or maybe because i am one myself question mark.

agh2o (see what i did there? i'm definitely a dork.):
i'm not sure i really got why rose went crazy slash how she was crazy. she just seemed to not have any limitations on what she said slash did, thereby making her crazy only to society. also, bloom uses amazing metaphors, like the gold and silver voices, etc. i really super liked it! now, to address pov. 1st person. i'm not sure what else i'm supposed to say about pov... really. also, time passage on 78 is really really All Sorts of Wonderful. "watched the stars fade... and when they were invisible" and i was like oh my goodness, i wish i could write this goodly (that's not a word).

now, for communism. jay kay, communist.
(can't think of anything witty):
umm... what a weird story. i didn't like it. told from 1st person again, don't know what to do with that.

musica, and oh my goodness. oh, and how to become a writer and also a bit of you're ugly, too.

so addressing oh em gee first:
i stayed away from the blog the entire weekend! well... more like since friday. which is easily explainable really... i had internship and then got home, ate dinner, and then went to youth group. and then saturday i... actually did a whole lot of nothing and maybe some chem (and by some, i mean like none at all, for those who are super curious) but yeah. and then today, i went to work, got home and then cleaned my room for my new desk (yay! now while i don't have a new computer, it sure as heck seems like i have a new one.) and then finally started on my homework... blog, whatever. i should do hw. really.

musicas. yes. mui importante. (that's about the extent of my spanish knowledge, don't get your hopes up.) brooke fraser has a new single (well... relatively new) called "something in the water." it's really country-esque and i'm kinda addicted to it (diane can testify to this) and then taylor swift's album is coming out this month and it's just All Sorts of Awesome. really.

how to become a writer was just All Sorts of Hilarious and it was great. lorrie moore has just an amazing style and i love it because it's hilarious in a snarky way, and she's just really really great. and then you're ugly, too has some great lines. i think i texted them to kayla, and they were just really great non-sequiturs... as follows:

• i swear, if this fucking xerox machine breaks on me one more time, i'm going to slit my wrists.
• a painting like that, it just makes you shit. 

and yeah. :) i haven't finished reading it yet, so no spoilers plx. okay. i shall go study for psych now. D:

reflections, reflections, and ow my head hurts a TON.

so.
half skinned steer.
i didn't even finish reading it.
i can't do it, it's too hardddddd. because it just doesn't make no sense, and emus is bad for claws. (no seriously, i know what that means, but it's just so bad.)

also, if you are following my blog, i apologize for flooding your blogwatch with just a bazillion posts a day. i just realized that this is probably the case for all of y'alls and it's probably a bit ridiculous (and because i just have nothing better to do with my time, apparently).

also, a headache. ouch. pain. like since i got home (around 6ish) and i just took advil and pain. D:

additionally, for anyone who really cared slash noticed, my naming options was the one that wasn't read in class today for obvious reasons (being the fact that we are in high school and apparently we cannot ever ever ever mention booze or sex or drugs or what. seriously.) but i really really think that one of the names sounded super legit! the first one, cognac city, sure, not too classy. but it still does give an air of sophistication. and the second one, lagerton, sounded super legit. like seriously. but, of course, since lager is a type of booze, it can't be there. so, sadface.

ep:convoluted phonecalls.

tonight. confusing me a lot. mainly just me confusing myself.

ep:
my phone vibrates. i have a small inkling of who is calling me, and the phone screen confirms my suspicion. my heart and mind both begin to race as i try to decide whether to pick up or not. on one hand, i want to pick up because i know we have to talk things out. we really do. or... at least you think we do. i just want you to take back what you said, because it sure does make it hard to talk to you ever ever ever. but then, on the other hand, i don't even know what to say. we need to talk? i guess. maybe. and then the topic would get deflected to something mundane (which wouldn't bother me, monday night was great) and things would still not get addressed. i spend about 20 minutes afterwards fretting to a friend, who says that it shouldn't be a big deal. it's just dependent on how much you need me, she says. so, i ask, how much do you need me? on second thought, don't answer that. i'm not sure i could stand the answer.

pss:start, i don't want to live. stop, i don't want to die. (limbo)

another one.

this one i think is very applicable to teenagers--sometimes we just fall into a rut but we're too scared to take any definite action. if any of y'all need someone to talk to, please know that i am here for you.

pss:alternate title:limbo
drake wasn't sure about anything, ever. he was one of the most indecisive of people. his hair was cut strangely because he decided halfway through his haircut that no, he didn't want his hair cut like that. people don't cut him any slack for it, especially since the "people" are just every day high school students. the shirts he wears are always draped over his shoulders haphazardly--a strong wind could shake them off. he walks slowly in his tight jeans, head down and not really taking in any information. his right shoe is black, the other is orange, simply because he can't decide which pair he wants to wear. but they're both the same size, so he just puts one of each on. people make fun of him for that too.

drake doesn't have any headphones to drown out all of the outside noise. he just shuffles around, eyes staring holes in the ground, and always by himself. he never lets anyone get too close, because drake has a secret (or so he thinks): he's going to commit suicide one of these days. he doesn't want to hurt anyone, so he doesn't talk to a single soul for fear of pressing the stop button on his plans.

but drake can't really ever fully go through with his plan--he always chickens out. each night, as he stands facing his lopsided reflection in his dirty mirror, he takes the pills out of his cabinet. he's pressed the start button, and it's just such a habit. he takes out double the dose recommended (they're painkillers) and the small milky orange-red pills spill into his hand. he's about to down them all when his hand involuntarily slaps the stop button repeatedly. it's almost as if he's just spelling out a message for himself: i don't want to die, i don't want to die, i DON'T WANT TO DIE. it's cryptic and it's scary, and the little bits of death fly out of his hand onto the floor. he collapses in a tearful heap on the tiled bathroom floor to be heard by nobody. his mother has long since left his family, and his father is never home.

i don't want to live, he always says to himself. but i don't want to die, either.

muse:breathe

wow, this is the first muse in a while. oops? inspired by breathe by taylor swift.

muse:
i really never intended to ever break up with him. ever. so naturally it shocked both of us when saturday found us standing in the rain saying our tearful goodbyes.

i don't even remember what i was thinking. i just remember what we did. that's about all i can remember. i recall stepping into his arms, and we just stood there for a while and we were both crying. we couldn't really tell though because there was just too much rain, but we were. in retrospect, it's kinda ironic that we ended this way--it's full circle. we had gotten together during a dance in the rain, now we break up in the rain.

but here we are.
i'm standing in my jeans, getting totally soaking wet and i'm trying not to look him entirely in the eyes. he's doing the same. instinctively i reach for his hand, and because we've just been together so long he doesn't pull away. i want things to stay like this forever. when we finally separate, i find that i can't breathe. the air is caught in my throat. the rain is coursing down my face in rivers, but i can't really tell if it's rain or tears. as i walk back into his arms, i rest my forehead on his shoulder. i can breathe again. he murmurs my name, and i whisper his, and we step apart again. and my breath is gone again. i can tell it's almost the same for him. his face is contorted into a tortured mask. but we have to leave. we have to walk away from each other. i mouth a goodbye and start to walk away.

each step gets harder and harder. my black canvas shoes are getting my socks just soaking. stepping in puddles isn't really helping the situation either. there's no inviting glow off the pavement tonight, just dull throbbing darkness. i turn around, and see him walking slowly towards his car. i nearly say his name, but catch myself.

i've gotta learn how to breathe on my own.

my hair is really wet. it feels like i'm in the coldest shower ever, but i'm getting nowhere near clean. the rhythm of the rain splashing on the pavement is almost muttering, turn around, go back, you're right for each other.

but we aren't, i almost answer. almost. 'cuz i still can't breathe without him. facing my car is now the hardest thing i've ever done. with each step i take, living gets gradually harder. but once i swing the door of my car open and sit down on the comfortable chair, breathing gets slightly easier. maybe i'll get through this. i slam the door shut, start the car, and turn on the windshield wipers. and then i get a glimpse of him, and air is just all gone. i close my eyes, rubbing them.

i've gotta learn how to breathe on my own.

i open my eyes, grasp the firm steering wheel, and pull onto the street. he's in his car and driving away too. as we pass each other, we both drive extremely slowly, not wanting to move forward and away from this moment. but surprisingly, it's me that accelerates away first.

i've gotta learn how to breathe on my own.

pss that i want to write... someone do it?

ok, i swear this is the last post from me today. 
maybe.
i'll try? 


i want to do a pss for this, but... yeah. that'll be for tomorrow. or something. 
someone can take it if they want?

a temporary matter (of life and death?)

wow.
that's all i have to say about this story. (in case you can't hear my tone of voice through the typed characters, i like this story.)
lahiri is so talented at crafting settings, it's a little ridiculous. now i couldn't picture the characters, but that's not the focus of the story. until baltimore was mentioned, i pictured shukumar and shoba living somewhere in new york city, in more of the suburb-ish areas in a house just like the one from the stuart little movie. i could picture it all, and it was thanks to all the tiny details and nuances of setting that lahiri chose to include. it was pretty freaking amazing.

also, lahiri did a really good job at describing her characters--the way shoba sleeps, the way that shukumar knows how his wife looks like even in the dark... it was done extremely well. i'm thinking that one of the reasons why i liked all these details so much is because that's what i want in a significant other (which makes perfect sense)--i want someone who can tell how i'm feeling not by what i say but by my eyes, i want someone who just knows me inside and out (don't go places with that comment).

the darkness in the story was used so well to just show secrecy... and even when the lights went back on, shukumar and shoba still felt the need to confide to each other their final secrets in the dark. and i guess sometimes we need that separation, whether it's over the internet, through the phone, or just sitting together in the dark.

emotionpile (ep):forgiveness

you've told me about yourself.
you've risked yourself, and put yourself on the line, telling me these things.
you've also told me about me.

i know you've taken some things back.
you've denied some.
but there's that one you haven't taken back that keeps itself buried in my heart. like a dagger.

someone said to forgive you.
and i can't tell you enough.
i forgive you.
i do, i do, i do.

please, just come back and make things right.
i miss you.

two kinds (of cheese?)

so. amy tan. the instant i saw that, i was like this is guaranteed to be good. which it was. i've read this story by her before (in 7th grade) and i remember the general gist of the story. but it was fun to read it again.

the narrator's yearnings change throughout the story. she starts off wanting the same thing as her mother: prodigy-dom. (that's so not a word.) she tries with her whole heart only to find that she cannot succeed in the shirley temple fashion. as her mother continues to pull this prodigy out of her, her yearnings change. she wants her mother to accept her as she is. this leads to a bitter argument, although things are slightly reconciled before the narrator's mother dies.

as for my personal connection to the story, i found it resonating a lot with me.
there are many times that i just want to scream at my parents "i'm this way because of you!" when they rag on me for something. i also want to yell "sorry that you can't have that perfect child you were expecting" because... quite frankly, i feel like i'm always striving to do what is "best" in their eyes. when things don't go according to their plan, they fuss. it's annoying. i'm not good enough for my mom, because apparently i don't "talk about the right things" with my friends. the "right things" being "where are you going to college?" or "what did you get on the sat/act?" or "what are you doing over the summer?" those things, while some are okay to ask, i feel are off limits. some people just don't like others finding out what they're doing as it is some sort of invasion of privacy. which would explain why i don't really know anybody very well, i just know lots of people at a superficial level. and to my dad, i never do anything right. driving, it's "you parked horribly!" or "that turn was way too sharp!" schoolwork, it's slightly less but more "why didn't you get an a? do we have to go in to talk to your teacher?" or "why don't you get this? i could do this in like 10 minutes!" (and then he goes and takes forever on it.) i think i'm slightly able to be more myself at school. i let loose my craziness (although it's slightly less now) and people see me for who i (kinda) really am. whew. that was a rant. definitely.

those three we had to read over the weekend?

i never did a reflection post on them! although... maybe that's 'cuz i didn't really like/get/whatever any of them. MAYBE. or i just slacked. that too.

a good scent from a strange mountain:
this story was... rather interesting. butler ties the smell of sugar on ho's hands throughout the story to weave a semi-consistent motif (if you will) kinda showing the fluidity of time in the narrator's mind. in relation to yearning... hrm. dao (the narrator) yearned for unity in his family while ho yearned for unity in his country. the line that really sticks with me is the very ending, where dao finally realizes that ho came maybe not only to say goodbye, but to understand him as well. dao knew that "you had to understand everything or you would be incomplete forever." i addressed this point in class, but i'm not so sure how well it got across. so... here we go. life is a giant kitchen. everything you come in contact with is one of the smells. dao came in contact with ho. he "got" him for awhile, but after they parted ways, not so much. ho became one of the smells dao no longer understood, and he was incomplete. before dao passed away, ho appeared to try and understand their time apart and their time together, thereby making the ho-smell (um... that didn't come out well) understandable to dao. since he was finally complete, he was able to pass away. but that's my perspective?

robert kennedy saved from drowning:
i personally didn't like this story. i know it shows bits and pieces of the main character through many different situations, but... i think i like a character that is gradually revealed to me (not like this though?). when it's bits and pieces, i have to do the hard work of piecing them together to get the whole picture. like i said before, i'm a big-picture guy, fitting together many little pictures doesn't work so well for me.

fiesta, 1980:
this one, although it was by junot diaz (finally realized i was spelling his name wrong, ops) i liked this one. it wasn't quite as coarse as nilda, and also we saw a return of some of the same characters (i love it when that happens!), letting us see another facet of them. in nilda, we saw rafa as just kind of this dude who got the chicks, was compassionate in his own way, and then... that was it. i felt like i liked the characters better in this short than in nilda. i'm not exactly sure what the main character yearned for... maybe a stronger stomach?

abp#2: pulling myself from between the letters.

lemme say in short that i tend not to pay a large amount of attention to people.
i'm a big-picture guy, and the little details (unless hilariously creepy or just utterly funny) don't stand out to me. i know people's mannerisms, but only slightly. if someone were to do something, i could probably say, "i knew that they'd do that." and now you want me to answer this about my skills at recognizing styles? um.... it doesn't get any better. i can pick out diaz's style, only because it's so unique--he never really uses quotations, he italicizes, he has his own individual voice (which i like, i think) and... that's all i can really think of. to phrase it badly, "i know it when i see it." butler's style is harder--i don't think i know how to pick it out as well. i would feel safe saying that i probably don't even know how to pull it out from between the letters.

as for my writing... i myself cannot distinguish a certain pattern. ask more little-picture people about my writing, and maybe i'll say, "yeah, that sounds about right." i know that mostly in my muses, it's been a sad portraiture of my inner landscape, and maybe that's my style. i never seem to be able to write well when i'm happy--just in the midst of sadness or heartbreak, that's when the ink flows. well... that or when i'm feeling creative enough. when that is, i don't really have any idea. also, adding on to my big-picture-ness, if you've read any of my muses, you'll notice that there's no exact setting--i'm horrible at constructing a setting. make me an architect of a dream, and you'll just find yourself in a generic somewhere generated from a memory of mine (sorry, the connection had to be made). i miss small details of the setting, i give just barely enough to get by. why i do this, i don't really know. my signature, i guess, is... that's a good question, actually. what do you think?

cs3

this one is based off the fact that today at youth group, my cousin said i looked "very seductive" with my blue button-down shirt open. which made me crack up. honest opinions? seductive with the shirt open?

cs:
he walks in to the building confidently, a slight bounce in his step. his swagger although self-assured, shows a hint of humility. some of the girls there already turn and look at him. they blush when his smile flashes there way. his dark-washed bootcut jeans loosely constrict his legs, showing an ipod in his right pocket and a cellphone in his left. he tosses his head, running his hands through his hair. he has an earbud in, his open hand tapping against his thigh in rhythm to the current song playing. his white shirt hugs his torso, revealing a somewhat slim build. the navy blue button-down is left completely open, blowing slightly behind him as he walks. he greets his friend easily, waving in a small manner and grinning slightly. his face flushes as the friend comments on his shirt, fidgeting with his headphone wires nervously. he answers slowly, cautiously, and then waggles his eyebrows. it's the friend's turn to blush and chuckle. he claps his friend on the back, and saunters on over to the ladies.

cs2

well, why not do another one. to practice details.

she brushes brusquely into the classroom, her serious demeanor betraying nothing but the sentiment of, "let's get down to business." (whether she wants to defeat the huns or not is another question.) her stern steps have a slight bounce to them, giving her a confident swagger. she pushes her hair back behind her ear with a small, careful hand before sitting down. she greets her friend, a smile lighting itself on her lips. it's contagious, and spreads to her friend's mouth as well. the teacher starts class of with a joke, and she throws her head back and laughs without restriction. but below the surface, she squirms. the joke pokes fun at people in relationships. fresh out of one, she's a little uncomfortable with it. she tries to hide it with her beautiful smile. her phone buzzes, indicating a text message from a friend. she looks at the message--it's one of her best friends.

u alrite? u didn't look so great yesterday.


her smile falls, and for an instant, the world is only her. she enters her response into the phone quickly, avoiding the teacher's sight.

i guess so... long story tho, can i tell you latr?


she closes her coffee-colored eyes and sighs softly. the vibrating of her mobile makes her jump. not noticeably though. her seat in the back of the classroom hides her enough from the attention of others that she doesn't have to worry about the teacher calling her out in the middle of class. not that he would, anyway.

sure. i'm here for you--call if you need me. <3 ya


the corners of her mouth turn slightly upwards. best friends rule.

reflections on jealous husband the parrot, and muse:fallen

so. this is also another one of my favorite stories that we've read so far! mainly because i could imagine the bird doing all of these things, and it brings back bittersweet memories.

butler did an amazing job of putting things into the bird's point of view--and now it makes me want to write a story from the point of view of a pet. it'd be really interesting to do, as well as just plain fun.

favorite lines:

• "i flap my wings and i squawk and i fluff up and i slick down and i throw seed and i attack that dangly toy as if it was the guy's balls, but it does no good." (i can just picture a parrot doing this. and while we would think that the parrot was only restless and wanting to play, this gives insight on what might've been going on in the animal's mind. it's quite funny, actually. the throwing seed part made me laugh because i remember one time we tried to feed my bird lettuce. he kicked it.)
• "even though i know there is something between me and that place where i can be free of all these feelings, i will fly. i will throw myself again and again there. pretty bird. bad bird. good night." (this was my favorite but not in like a happy way or anything! it just made me heartbroken that the narrator could do nothing really to express his love for his wife. additionally, i can relate to this because sometimes life just hurts too much and i just want things to just go away so i can live in peace. or die in peace. whichever one, really.)

muse:

he had decided that morning that everything he did would be to impress her, the girl of his dreams. he could explain math problems to her, share insight in english class, the list went on and on. and last of all, before she left, she would see him getting into his car and drive away like the cool, mature person that he was. 

he didn't expect it to all backfire. the insight-she had seen it already. she didn't even pay attention when he opened his mouth, letting loose the new knowledge that he thought was so revolutionary. but it didn't stop there. math problems-he couldn't even begin to explain them. he knew the concept, but he didn't really know it. so when questions arose for her, all he could do was blink in frustration at feeling so helpless. after school had brought about even more failures-he couldn't even catch her eye, summon the courage to talk, walk the same direction as her, look in her direction without feeling failure. and as he swung the car door shut in the parking lot, he didn't see her waiting on the sidewalk as she usually did. he slumped in his seat. his hopes were dashed, he was crestfallen. but tomorrow was another day, another try, another time to just build up that courage to talk to her. just to fix things up.