Reading Responses: Willi and The Magic Barrel

Magic realism is something i love to the very core of me. I love it , i read it, ad i wish to write in that style. That being said, I didn't like "The Magic Barrel." I thought the story was a little shallow in it's views on women (i understand it was the time and misogyny was masculinity back then). To me, the story felt like a watered down  version of Marquez or Elie Weisel piece, without the beauty of language. I am glad we read it in class though, so we could dissect it and see what made it work and what gave the story flat tires.

Willi on the other hand, i loved very much. As Docotrow clearly borrowed from Marquez and Joyce in this piece(along with Grass and countless other European authors), i felt it transcended what i expected it to e. The masturbation poetry at the beginning was the clear favorite moment in the text (which may be a weakness in the writing) but i found it to be inspired in it's language, it's depiction of farm life, and just i's simple subject matter made very much complex.

Classmate Response: Yeeva's Class Work

This was a little long for me to copy and paste to put on here. I'll try my best to reference back to specific parts of your story. One: I am envious of your grammar, spelling, and the the language devices you use in here. @: Love the magic realism/surrealism you use here. I want to steal this story from you but, i couldn't pull it off as well as you have here.
For improvement: I don't see anything wrong here.
Also, the line i love the most has to be " Pam returned to her pigtails and notecards." I don;t know why i love it as much as i do but again...I want to steal it.

Clasmate : Stephanie's

"I wasn’t afraid. At least not until I heard the buzzing… I was the loud, annoying reminder of the pain that was soon to follow. I clenched my eyes shut, willing for the strength to endure the situation I paid to be in. The stencil was in place, the ink laid out and the gun buzzing in eagerness as it got closer and closer to my skin. The tattoo I’d wanted for years suddenly seemed like a foolish idea-- a child’s aspiration. But I couldn’t back out now…

The needles burned like acid being injected under my skin. The pain was so vast and so deep I couldn’t even voice the word ‘stop.’ My mouth stayed open in a silent scream… The tattoo artist was a master of torture and cruelty, a monster using art and beauty to entice its unknowing victims only to then maliciously sink its needles deep under their skins.

After an hour and a half the two birds were forever perched behind my ears. It was sick to think something to small, something so innocent could cause so much pain. Not even the devil himself would have caused so much pain…

 I hear them whispering to me in my sleep. They tell me that I am their host and they are the parasites feeding on me… I’m afraid.

I hear them at night—feasting on me. They are constantly growing bigger. I barely have the strength to hold me head up… I’m so afraid.

I can feel them moving—digging deeper into my flesh. My body is womb that feeds and contains them-- soon they will have no use for me… I don’t want to me alone. I will not let them go."

 

I very, much love your description in this. And see your devil obsession (which is awesome!). For improvements, maybe some dialog. Make some talking go on there. But that's just to make  me happy. It is fine without dialog.

Random Impulse: Final Draft of "Hips"

My pants are too tight
and my ass creaks in them,
like geriatric door hinges.
Muffin top turns to mushroom cloud
and folds over and swallows the belt,
like a glutton gulps spaghetti.

My cellulite is dynamite
and it blows up and over,
like deep fried atom bombs.
My sides are cracked like summer sidewalks

by the purple fingers
of stretch marks.

Huff up stairs, into cars

make dressing rooms crammed.
Pools overflow
Benches break
I am fat, cracked; a road under a bus.
But I can cook.

Random Impulse: Final Draft of Antoine Dodson Poem, Made into Bears by David

Today a homeless polar bear,

famous for soda commercials and children’s toys,

was arrested for attempted assault and rape

in Lincoln Park.

Now for those of you that are old

Enough to remember him,

he was quite popular.

Brand name cereal, bed sheets, boy and girl clothing.

As he was being escorted to the police cruiser,

He had nothing to say to reporters.

He hid his face from cameras with a sports coat

His action figures are being burnt in suburban mounds

And his daytime TV show has been cancelled

He is expected to be released this afternoon,

due to he fact his fans are preventing the orderly functions of the

police station with their protests.

He’ll be thrown out of jail with nothing

and will always be hounded by others,

for his sexual weakness

and his life failures.

Random Impulse: Final Draft of "Firecracker"

I'll start small. Small time. I'll start in this truck stop. In between the men's and lady's room and I won't judge which door they'll come outta. I'll start small just shows and Joes and blows and Schmucks. And go big time go down to Florida, where it'll be warm and where fat tourists will want someone to blow off steam with and I may get free stuff maybe a sugar daddy or momma not that my momma or daddy was bad to me they were good and good to me. They’ll treat me right, like an armchair. They treated me right. Didn't touch me or nothin' just all I got is a dream. Maybe I'll go out to Hollywood with a trucker instead of goin' down to Florida. Florida is too warm anyhow and tropical drinks are for fruits and fags and I ain't one. I'll go down to Hollywood and maybe go down on some. Gay for pay and pay is good. All I want is solitary Arkansas all I ask is to stay inside my dream and I won't get stuck anywhere if I do get stuck I'll just hitch up my wheels and roll down. That ain't no reason to do nothing. Maybe I'll go down to Mexico way and be on a border town and just be with cowboys and cowgirls eating Mexican food shack in' up with some guy but I ain't gay, just a business man. Just go down to Mexico somewhere by the beach maybe. Tourists are better there and the  sea water and the air blows and wisps and touches and glides and streams. Maybe I'll get picked up in Hollywood by some big name director. Maybe I'll be the new John Holes or a superstar action star shooting with ladies and I'll pay money got enough money at the truck sit for each person to get a hamburger at the truck stop. Start at the truck stop. Get. Hamburger. Whatcha doin' there boy? Nothin' mister. Bill come help with this here axle rod. Ok dad. Fags get beat up in west Texas and thrown off bridges in Maine and are known to have AIDs and I don't want to die. Gigolos are objects to laugh at and love and idol. Man they shack up with a thousand guys a night. A hit son you better watch out or you gonna cut someone's finger off one day. Sorry paw. Now just ease on it nice gentle. Mmmhmm. There ya go. Whatcha doin' there fellas? Nothin' officer. Whatcha doin' there Bill? Dollar dollar bill. That'll be my name and I'll be come famous and sell and buy people twice over. Get the fuck outta the car faggot. I wasn't doin' nothin'. There ya go boy. Buy yourself a hamburger. There. Done. Good job, son. Punches and blood and salt smells and smells of disgusting. My baby does the hanky panky. Radio light and shooting smells and the window wipers make drum beats to acts. I'll be a goddamn firecracker. I'll go up into the night sky small and blow up and shoot all over you and your friend and his girlfriend and you'll remember me. I'll be remembered until the next time ya see one. They beat up gays in west Texas and throw them off bridges in Maine but I ain't in there I am gonna be in Mexico or Florida or Hollywood and I’ll be relaxed and with somebody with money. I'll start small with a name and number. Good job son. Good job son. Watch try on' to do there son? Maybe next time you'll think straight, ya fag. Maybe next time you'll think straight. Truck stops get enough money to get a cheeseburger from the diner next door. There ya go son. Enough money for a cheeseburger? How you feel abut a cheeseburger, son? Whatcha doin' there, queer? Get the shit kicked outta me and then get some soup or a salad or a cheeseburger. Start small at a truck stop between the men and lady's room and name on stalls. Bill. Bill. Get a dollar. Dollar-Bill. That'll be the name I get. Dollar Bill was 17 bucks a fuck now more and more. Fireworks gone up cost more. But I ain't gay just a business man and I just want what I want and they lynch gays in west Texas and burn ‘em in Maine but I won't be there. I'll be long gone and far away. I'll start small with my name on a stall. Waiting outside. Blue eyes, brown hair. Name's Dollar Bill and I'm a firecracker.

Random Impulse: "To Die Blind"

Bill lived in a glass closet fogged by breath. He exhaled in Newport. He was waiting until his parents died in Greenberg, so he could come out and breathe fresh air instead of boxed. He scribbled his name and his plans n the door as he waited. He had a telephone and TV in there so he wasn’t entirely cut off from the world. He had a wife outside that waited for him. There was a son who wanted to know him. He felt gut twinges. He felt regret. Waiting for the phone call to be himself. He only left it when he went out into the world of business, briefcase at his side. As soon as he came home, into the rolling closet he went. His son brought him the food. Bill never could remember his name. It came and passed like leaves pass in winds.

“Here’s your dinner, Dad.”

“Thanks, Junior.”

“Dad? Can you help me with my homework?”

“What do you have to do, Hector?”

So the Nameless Son went into the world wondering and didn’t com back for a long time.  Bill could hardly ever make it up the stairs to his wife’s room. It took the burning necessity of an anniversary (or another special annual event) for him to leave that closet, to go up those stairs, to crawl under those sheets, and be a husband.

Her name was Tracey. She and Bill had been married since they could afford a ring.

She, Tracey, had a series of semi-serious affairs before her Bill found out. He walked in mid-coitus and walked out soon there afterwards. Tracey and her lover got dressed and went downstairs afterwards. They feared the possibility of a firearm ending the situation.

“You think that he has gun?”

“He wouldn’t do that.

                “How do you know?”

                “I just know. Bill’s not like that.”

                “Has he caught you fucking guys in his bed before?”

                “No.”

                “Then you really don’t know. Do you?”

                “Don’t be such an ass.”

                “I think I can be an ass when I’m afraid for my fucking life, here.”

                “Just shut up and get ready.”

                They went down. Bill left a note.

                “Went out. Don’t wait up.

                                                                -Bill”

With the romance out the window and out of the question, Tracey’s lover left in his khaki pants, grumbling underneath his breath. Tracey sat at the kitchen table. She twiddled her thumbs.

Her ass fell asleep beneath her and her head drooped with fatigue. She got up ad looked at the clock on the wall. She went into the living room. She looked out the window shade and saw the Bill’s care was where she though it was. Gone. She sat on the couch. She was cold. She covered herself with a blanket. She turned on the TV. Buy a set of dolls and get a new set of dolls free. She soon fell asleep.

Bill came back after the sun had set. Tracey woke up when she heard the screen door slam. She went up towards it to meet her husband.

His jacket was over his shoulder and his shirt was dirty, untucked.

She expected Bill through the door with loaded guns. She expected to be cursed at, have her name dragged through the mud; to have their business known to the gossiping neighbors. She anticipated that she would be called the terrible names that she had been calling herself in the kitchen.

Her Bill only looked at her. They stared at each other with the doll house selling as white noise, price-cutting, Tracey’s pulse jumping.

Bill looked at her impassively. After about 30 seconds, Bill broke eye contact and headed towards the stairs. He creaked as he went upwards. Tracey unfroze and went to the stairs. He cried after him:

“Hey…”

Bill turned down the stairs. He said:

“Hey.”

“I w-waited up for you…”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Bill continued up the stairs.

“Hey…”

“Hmm?”

“You wanna talk?”

“Talk about what?”

Pause. Tracey froze in her thoughts. She quickly thawed.

“About what happened earlier today…”

Bill paused, turned around. He said:

“Not really.”

He continued up the stairs.

Tracey stood confused. She came back to life when she heard the bedroom door slam. She then realized that she hadn’t remade the bed.

No sex kills a marriage. That’s the message every magazine, day dream, and other piece of media shown to Tracey. She wasn’t a fool or an idiot. She didn’t believe all the printed words se heard. How can ears turn someone on? The word “pussy” ruins a conversation instead of making it sensual. But she couldn’t help but feel that her world was collapsing when she read those words, while waiting for her dentist appointment. Was her Bill watching porn on the computer? Should they rent a movie together? Should they go out for a picnic? Should they have awkward sex in the car like teenagers? Handcuffs? Books on the topic? Lubricant? Should she get a haircut? Should she do something weird? Should she wear a sign around her neck saying “C’mon?” Should she get new bedsheets? Should she visit him at his office? Should wear edible underwear? Would those taste good? DO they rot? Do they have an expiration date? Would she have to refrigerate edible underwear? Would they be could when she put them on? Should she whisper in his ear? How could she stop the seemingly inevitable event of the death of marriage?

She decided to spice things up. Wax, manicure, pedicure, shoes, lotion, candles, music of guttural noises, softcore, she didn’t get edible underwear but got classic, their son was at college so what should they care if he came home, strawberries,  rose petals, beer, wine, roasted duck from a gourmet delivery service, some champagne, all of these were up for decision, a new bottle of perfume, she watched a couple of episodes of Real Sex, read a couple of pages of female magazines, she learned 20 ways to turn her man on, she took them to heart, she practiced on a pillow, she realized that the pillow wasn’t anatomically correct nor appropriate, she got all the things ready, threw away he receipts, recycled the shopping bags, closed the blinds, lead the rose petals from the door, up the stairs, to the bed, she couldn’t decide if it was sexier to meet n the bed with lingerie or in a bubble bath, she consulted the magazines, decided for the bed, she took some of the pain medication for the root canal she had,  she took a shower, sprayed herself with perfume, turned on her cell phone, checked the time, dried herself off again, used the restroom, sprayed the bathroom with perfume, put on the ridiculous lingerie, felt herself be cut off with all those straps and interconnecting wires, she put on the high heels, she debated whether or not they were appropriate, were they nice or were they hooker-esqe, should she be a hooker, role-playing, she decided no, one step at a time, they were nice shoes though she thought, she put them on, tried to walk in them, she fumbled and her thigh hit the bed rail, she could feel the bruise forming, she said a dirty word, she said multiple dirty words, she enjoyed the fact that she could say them now without damaging her child o giving him  right to say them, it had been so long she was rusty with her obscenities, she jumbled them, she looked in the mirror, her navel was showing in between the top ad the panties, her crotch was above the table, she was usually sorter than this, she was feeling altitude sick, “Fuckin’shit I look good,” she took off the heels though, she laid on the bed in repose, her head holding her head up, she looked at her phone on the end table, she turned off the lamp, she thought about how they would do, improvise, plan, crazy desire spread from sheet to wall to sheet to pillow to floor to bathtub from back to front sweat embraces and exhaustion eventually, she was no spring chicken, she didn’t know what that meant she thought that it could mean that she couldn’t have sex for over an hour without falling asleep or pulling a hamstring, should she have gotten some Bengay, man that bruise was growing, it grew like a weed, what time is it, is it time, should be home now, he should be home now, it’s getting late, she got up, she looked out the window shade, she didn’t want the neighborhood kids to see her all dolled up for lovin’, is that what it’s called, what cool words were the white kids stealing from black kids now, should she make herself ready, no, that’s weird, and a little nasty, is that nasty, would he like to see that, maybe he gets himself then  I get myself ready, like take turns, or at the same time, to one another, is that weird, nasty, it’s nasty she decided, does he want to, she checked the magazine again, then she laid on the bed, these sheets are nice, like really good, they are so worth the cost, should I have gotten a different color, white is kinda tacky, maybe blue, is he gonna wanna stick it in my ass, checked the magazine again, no, I’m not going to do that, should he be home by now, he should, I wonder what our little boy is doing so far away, she looked at the picture of her boy on the drawer, she looked at him, all blonde curls and smiles, Bill was in the back smiling, dog was wagging his tail, that was good day, our baby got a balloon and Bill held my hand on the boardwalk as the sun set in the west over the ocean, we haven’t been to the beach in forever, would it be sexier if I had my hair u or down, she looked at her reflection I the glass of the frame, she took the picture, she now was a lot older and had too much makeup on, she put the frame back on the drawer, she set it face down, it would be odd to see that in the middle of the business, kind of a turn off, she thought of the times when they first had their boy, he laid in the bed with them, night after night until he was ten or so, then he got his own room, nighttime encounters were at a standstill, what if he comes back in, what if he comes in when it’s storming and he’s scared and he wants to sleep with us and he walks in on us, that would be horrible, she wondered what happened to him, he left the nest and flew towards the sun, the son and the sun, he flew and she didn’t know what had happened to him when he went to college, he called every so often from a phone that the caller I.D. didn’t recognize, he would call, say hi, then go away, she wouldn’t hear from him until later, oh junior, oh my son, my son, where are you going, where have you been, we miss you, Bill and Tracey abstained from sex,  so they didn’t do anything, they still hadn’t done anything since the last anniversary they had, hotel, nice dinner, steak, 20 minutes, done, TV, sleep, wake up, done done done, there’s an empty nest now, no eggs or chicks, so they need to fill it again, “Ways to Turn Up the Heat in Your Empty Nest,” “Ways to Make Your Man Come Back for Seconds,” “ Keep Your Sex Life Golden in Your Golden Years,” Tracey looked out the window again, she checked the clock, she checked her phone, 20 minutes left, he’s late, you think he’d call, maybe this wasn’t a good idea, she got on the bed sprawled out and read the magazines, she kept her hair down, her makeup was starting to get hard, and licked her finger to turn each page, she took some more pain medication, she drifted asleep.

                She and Bill were under the covers. The rose petals were on the floor. He had his back turned towards her. And the whole room reeked of cheap perfume.

                She held no great concern for her lovers as she did for her Bill. She was a black widow in her eyes. She bought them dinner, fucked their brains out, sent them on their way. They were young. About 20-25. Old enough to keep their mouth’s shut to heir friends young enough to be lured by their dicks. Some never grow outta that stage though. She kept the perfume in a bag in the lower drawer. The ridiculous lingerie was thrown in the garbage along with the magazines. And she hadly kept that picture frame down for the majority of the time.

                She thought she would not die blind to her desires. She always felt bad for her Bill, though.

Bill drove the car with clench fists. Sweat came out of his work shirt. He looked at the road with bitterness.  He stopped at a house he knew. He got out. He knocked on the door. The door opened. Bill said:

“Hey…”

“Hey, Bossman. What’s up?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. Go on.”

He went into the door. It was closed behind him.

He was soon soaking in the bathtub. He looked up at the ceiling. White boards. He counted the slits. He looked at the tile yellow. He looked at is feet covered in hobbit-hair. He looked at his navel. He looked at his slowly growing man breasts. He saw his dick bobbing in the water like a deep sea buoy. The setting sunlight shined through the window. He had a beer. He was nursing another one now. It sat beside the tub. He put the rag on his forehead. His sweaty workshirt was on the floor somewhere. His jacket was somewhere lost. His shoes were kicked off. His socks were on the bathroom floor. His wedding ring was in the drink holder of the sedan in the driveway.

He felt release now. He felt at ease. E felt freed and unchained. He felt a whoosh of wind. He felt as light as air, as bundles as the ocean, he felt immortal, he had a Walt Whitman aura going in the lukewarm water.

The bathroom door opened.

“Hey…”

Bill said without opening his eyes but with a smile on his face.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“I am perfect.”

“Enjoying your bath?”

“Mmmmhmm.”

The voice eased towards the bath. Bill tried to raise his head out of the water.

“Shhhh. No. Lay back.”

He did. He closed his eyes. He exhaled.

A hand was on his thigh and moving upwards.

At that moment, Bill was sure that if the water were to be emptied he would follow it.