Grades, graded, grid

It's done. There is always one who forgets to write a reflection essay, but the rest of you passed.

I appreciate reading the reflections in your portfolios. I always learn a lot from that - this year being no exception. Thanks for the writing games, too. Fun was had.

Yup, that is a puffer fish with Donald Trump's mouth photo-shopped in. Why not?

Take care of your mind-reader

Original

Reading is mostly enjoyed in the evening, in bed, right before you are about to lay yourself down to sleep. This is a perfect way to get your mind to relax over an exciting day and a much better way to calm down than using the last time before sleep takes you, staring into a screen.

It does not matter what genre is read as it all comes down to your personal preference as to what you like to read which would calm you down. You like horror, fantasy or mystery novels, these all belong to genres which you could engage yourself with to help you calm your mind down before sleep.

Homework is also something that could be read, if you have something that needs to be done by the next day, however it is probably best to read it when your mind is awake instead of reading it when you are trying to empty your mind.

Dictionary edit

Ready-to-wear is mostly enjoyed in the evensong, in bed-blocking, right before you are about to lay yourself down to sleep. This is a perfect wayleave to get your mind-reader to relax over an exciting day school and a much better wayleave to calm down than using the last time exposure before sleeping bag takes you, staring into a screensaver.

It does not matter what gentian is read as it all comes down to your personal prefix as to what you like to read which would calm you down. You like horse brass, far eastern or mystique novelties, these all belong to gentians which you could engage yourself with to help you calm your mind-reader down before sleep.

Homing pigeon is also something that could be read, if you have sommelier which needs to be done by the next day school, however it is probably best to read it when your mind-reader is awake instead of ready-to-wear it when you are trying to empty your mind-reader.

Revised version

Ready-to-wear is mostly enjoyed in the evensong, in bed-blocking, right before you are about to lay yourself down to sleep. This is a perfect wayleave to get your mind-reader to relax over an exciting day of school and a much better wayleave to calm down, than to use the last time exposure before the sleeping bag takes you, staring into a screensaver.

It does not matter what gentian is read as it all comes down to your personal prefix in regards as to what you like to read which would calm you down. You like horse brass, far eastern or mystique novelties, these all belong to gentians which you could engage yourself with to help you calm your mind-reader down before sleep.

Homing pigeon is also something that could be read, if you have a sommelier which needs to be done by the next day school, however it is probably best to read it when your mind-reader is awake instead of ready-to-wearing it when you are trying to empty your mind-reader.

Dogs vs cats

Today we have naming of cats. Yesterday,

We had daily running. And tomorrow morning,

We shall have what to do after catching them. But to-day,

Today we have naming of cats. Butts

Smells like fresh meat in all of the neighboring gardens,

And today we have naming of cats.

This is an American Shorthair. And this

Is a Persian which you will see,

When you are getting into the yard. And this is the Sphinx,

Which in your case you have to forget. The nose

Gone is, but it has a majestic view

Which in our case we have to forget.

This is a Chartreux, which is always scared to death

With an easy bark. And please do not let me

See anyone try too hard. You can do it quite easy

If you bark at this pussy. The dawgs

Are all lazy and docile, never seeing

Any of them trying too hard.

And this is a Peterbald. The purpose of this

Is to rip it apart, as you see. We can use the claws

Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this

Death by frenzy. And rapidly backwards and forwards

The dawgs are tearing the dummy apart:

They call it death by frenzy.

They call it death by frenzy: But not the Chartreux

That you only bark not too hard at: not like the Peterbald

You tear apart. The Sphinx in our case we have to forget and

The dawgs in the neighboring gardens,

For today we have naming of cats.

Redemption in San Francisco

I woke up arriving at the San Francisco airport. My breath still characterized by the smell of acetone from an excessive amount of screwdrivers from the night before my 6.00 a.m flight from NYC. All paid with my dead-end accountant wage. Last thing I remember before taking off was a raven blocking my sight of the New York skyline, but my urge to rip it apart seems distant now.

 In SF airport I dragged my body outside, and as the first thing waved at a cabdriver. He stopped and the driver asked me where to, to which I replied, “just the centre.” The driver introduced himself. “Hi, I´m Scallion” His hair and skin approved the name. “Welcome to Sylvia!” he continued. He apparently named his cab. I repeated the gesture, “Jeff McClenna.” Scallion hinted that I was not from town and suggested to be my guide for the day. I approved in lack of better.

I was given a tour which began in Castro Street which flowed with rainbow patterns, amongst men wielding water guns which ejaculated towards the air in the epicentre of some parade, which contained no creatures of Venus. The freedom of these men seemed a distant privilege. Before moving on, my new acquaintance and I went for lunch in a small Italian restaurant named The House of Original where Scallion said, “here, my friend, La pasta de Lorenzo.” My first Italian meal and it was nothing like my usual pork and white potatoes.

       From there, my new acquaintance took me to a place I´ll soon forget. The smell of Italian garlic soon evaporated and was replaced by another herbal scent. Haight-Asbury, sharing the same exceptionally liberal atmosphere as Castro, was decorated by small groups of peacocking hippies hanging out in front of colourful local shops. Never had I seen anyone smoke a joint. No smoke had ever interfered with my lunges. In fact, Wall Street was more fast and hazardous, but I liked the turtles. Graffiti was a dominant art here and a big painting of a hummingbird caught my eye and ear.

In this street, the hub of the summer of love resonated the sounds of a band whose name spoke of a happy death. Scallion guided me through the masses of dancing bodies which had come to escape from an old country. I felt like a trespasser in this environment but my steps into this crowd kept resonating ‘come in we’re open’. An openness of love, of solidarity, a distant familiarity which the towers of Wall Street had choked out of me.

The detachment from my family became a regret. To lay off emotions of sympathy and empathy to make those crucial business deals, was a mistake. Instead I was now attached to the electrifying power cables of San Francisco. My encounter with this the alchemist had prolonged my life and Thomas Jefferson’s famous statement of pursuit of happiness is for me no longer the pursuit of riches but the pursuit of community.

Last comments uploaded

I've just gone through the last of the submissions before the April 12 deadline for posting if one wants to make sure to have my comment on a post for inclusion in the portfolio. I might be able to comment on later posts as well, but no guarantee.

Enjoy your work assembling the portfolio - I look forward to receiving them!

Seven "deadly" sins

Auhtor function: Romantic

Notion: Sins

I am a sinner. A beautiful sinner going up in flames in the eyes of the liars.

For who is not a sinner? Plummeting through the nine circles of hellfire below.

I lust. Therefore I sin.

But is lust so vulgar?

Skin against skin, hormones dancing in the air like fireflies. Moving to the beat of the hearts touching.

I glutton. Therefore I sin.

But is gluttony so disgusting?

Taking that last moist piece of mutton. Letting the salvia covered hungering teeth bore deep into the flesh.

I am greedy. Therefore I sin

But is greed so distasteful?

The grinning smile being reflected in the golden, freshly pressed coins weighing heavenly heavily in the leather covered pouch.

I am slothful. Therefore I sin.

But is sloth so unacceptable?

The soft mattress bends gently under the weight. A thousand feathers slowly lifts the mind far away. And the sun runs in circles.

I am wrathful. Therefore I sin.

But is wrath so abnormal?

The veins in the forehead pounding like hammers. A warmth lights the ears. There's only one path, and it is red.

I am envious. Therefore I sin

But is envy so shameless?

The stomach tightens, sickening, yet enlightening. Eyes like lightning shooting for what they want.

I am prideful. Therefore I sin.

But is pride so loathsome?

The rush of a hundred rollercoaster rides. The heart skips several beats. A smile stretching until sore. 

Reflective:

By choosing romantic, I can express what the different forms of the seven deadly sins, more or less, feels like when experienced in real life. The notion can also only be expressed through emotions, as they are about the human mind and body. If I had used the poet instead, I would not have been able to be this expressive. Lyrical functions have rules, that I would not be able to follow with this notion. The prophet could also be a great choice for the function. As a way of spreading the message of the seven deadly sins, and how they should not define one. In my writing I also tried to make sure that even though it was about sins, they would not appear as wrong. Even wrath with its warmth can be welcoming. 

Have you heard?

Servant to sister

-You know dear sister, yesterday when I was changing the duke's sheets in his bedchamber. I noticed by the door that he had a visitor. They were discussing some business arrangement, until the duke decided to show the poor newcomer his art collection. He is always trying to impress people with his finest piece made by that charlatan Frá Pandolf. Yet none of the staff has actually seen said piece. I wonder what it could be.

Sister to customer

 -Wow, you really blow me away every time my sweet sir, I don't understand how you do it. I know you must have a lot of meetings to attend. But I just heard from my sister, you know the one who works for the duke, that he had a visit the other day. Apparently some man, who he was discussing important arrangements with. The duke then showed this visitor his most private painting, that not even the staff have laid eyes upon. Made by Frá Pandolf, and knowing that ladies man, his piece was probably of some woman. So whomever the visitor is, he must be, or be sent from someone special.
 

Customer to wife

 -I told you Patricia, I was at a meeting with the others from the club, I'm sorry it ran so late. But on my way home I heard the most curious thing about the duke, erh.. from.. some random civilian, doesn't matter who told me. Apparently the duke have had a visit by someone sent from high up the hierarchy, it would not surprise me if it was from the count himself. And no one knows what arrangement they have been negotiating, but it is apparently very personal. The duke even showed the visitor his most precious painting of some woman, made by the womanizer Frá Pandolf. It is so personal that the duke does not even want the staff to lay eyes on it. It's gotta be a portrait of the late duchess, because what could be more be more precious than one's wife, right?

Wife to friends 

 -Now girls, my husband just told me a peculiar story about our dear duke. It seems that the duke has had a visit from an emissary of the count. Together they have been negotiating some arrangements. Considering the duke is a widower, it would be likely for the negotiations to be about the counts daughter. But weirdly enough, after their arrangement, the duke showed the emissary a most private painting of his late duchess. Made by that scandalous Frá Pandolf. Not even the staff is allowed to look at it. Should not surprise me, I heard the late duchess was a woman whom the men were very fond of starring at.

Friend to baker

 -Hmm, I think I'll have two of these and a sweet bun for our boy at home. Say, have you heard about the emissary of the count visiting the duke. Apparently they have been arranging a  marriage with the counts daughter. Now the duke is already a widower to more than one duchess, but he keeps a secret painting away from the staff, which he showed the emissary. A portrait of his late wife, made by that rake called Frá Pandolf. Thing is, our former duchess was not only desired by the duke, but by his male staff as well. I don't understand how the duke could've handled it, I would be furious with jealousy.

 Baker to wife overheard by errand boy

  -Honey, I knew there was something going on with the duke. I told you, he always order the same amount of bread and pastries every week. Yet last week he ordered more than usual, and now I know why. He had an emissary of the count on visit. The seem to be arranging a marriage between him and the count's daughter. Yet the duke shared more than just marriage plans. He also shared a painting that no one is allowed to gaze upon. It appears to be a portrait of his late wife, made by the stud Frá Pandolf. Now many know that the late duchess was favored by men all around her, which drove the duke furious. Now that I think about it, the duchess' demise came so sudden. You don't suppose?¨

 Errand boy to chef

 -Here is your weekly delivery from the baker sir. All orders for the duke should be there. I have to ask, is it true? I overheard a conversation between my parents about the duke. That he ordered the demise of our late duchess because she lay with all the men around her. Because I heard that he had a visit and…

Chef to servant
 -Can you stir in the soup for a few minutes? Thanks. I just spoke with the errand boy, apparently it was an emissary of the duke who visited the other day. And guess what, I know about our duke's secret art piece, and there's a great tragedy behind it…

Servant to sister

 -You know dear sister, I helped the duke's chef out the other day, and do I have some juicy stuff to tell you.

Writing Game 6

Writing Game 8

Author: Poet

Notion: Hate

I wish to make it clear to thou, whom I hate.

I hope thou will suffer when thou enter Hell’s gate.

Doth thy mother even care for thee?

Thy cadaver put into the ground is what I wish to see.

But before thou shall feel the relief of death.

Thou must suffer whilst alive, until thy last breath.

I hopeth thy have some beautiful offspring, that deceases from cancer.

And whilst thou look to God for an answer,

on their graves I will act as a dancer.

Why doth I deserve this hate, thou may ask

For what thou did maketh not hating you an impossible task.

Thou stole the girl I loved, and took her as thy wife.

And for that intolerable action I wish to end thy life.

REFLECTION

If I had chosen another author function, for example scribbler, this poem might come off as a homicidal threat, but by using the notion, hate, in a poem it comes off as an angry poet that blows off some steam through art. Furthermore, I wanted to make it sound Victorian in order to make it less dark, although it is still a dark poem.