100 words – Sundays

I wake up on Sunday.  Maybe I’m hung over, maybe I’m freshly awoken by a singing mother, or maybe I’m sweating – worried about an unbelievable amount of home work.  My Sundays have changed over the years now that I am away from home, on my own.  Do I like Sunday?  I can’t tell.  I like reflection, but do I like being alone?  Do I like who I was on Friday and Saturday night?  Maybe my conscious is overpowering…I should tame it, hide it, forget about what’s done.  What should I do with my day of prayer?  I do nothing.

notes for the FINAL

I’m going to expand my braided essay about Sundays.  Right now, I have many different images, tones, and themes to work with, and the essay does have a stream of consciousness (or memories) kind of flow – I don’t want to take that away.  Rather, I would like to still be able to drag the reader through different scenarios, but have a recurring theme (maybe just a small, minor theme) just so the reader doesn’t get fed up with what I’m writing.  I also want to work on some reflection in my piece because at the moment, it is more of an in the moment, in your face type of essay.  I don’t want to be too obvious in my reflection(s) (that’s not my style), but I will try to use them as a way to loosely glue the pieces together.  Maybe I’ll make the sections have a smoother flow too…who knows. 

another wanted ad

Reggae Music wanted.  No Marley(s).  Mostly new – dub, dance hall, etc. Also, Peter Tosh wanted.                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Link to original                                                                                                                          No Woman No Cry (live) by Bob Marley

Wanted Ads

Mandolin Wanted: Any brand. Whatever age. Preferably cheap.  973-839-2928Link to original page                                                                              Song: Learnin’ to Love by Ween 

100 words

Looking up.  I can see the ocean of white algae floating, directionless, in its white habitat.  It has no direction – defying gravity, wind driving motion.  This ocean is free-moving, no water can hold things still…  The tips of my feet start to feel cold, numb.  Something is massaging them, relaxing them to a point of no motion – they disappear.  My face is leather.  It is smooth, raw, slick.  Ice finds a home on what little facial hair I have.  The snow coats my body – suspended in the air – and weighs me to a point of surreal calmness.  No more motion. 

First Draft of Multimedia

http://ia360633.us.archive.org/3/items/MyFirstMultimediaStory/MyGreatMovie.movSo I may need to add more images…editing for my first time got kind of frustrating.  Also, it may sound like I say “damn shirt” instead of “damp shirt,” but I assure you it is damp shirt. It takes place in Costa Rica. enjoy