alicerants

[alicerants]

There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait. Just you wait.

“Hamilton” by Lin Manuel Miranda 

#Hamilton #AlexanderHamilton #lin manuel miranda #Disney+

[alicerants]

I Didn’t Know

I didn’t know I loved silence the air around it encapsulating you squeezing you so tightly all while also giving space. I didn’t know that there was more value in nothingness than there is in saying everything— in pauses, in breaks. At night the world honors this; it rests while I sit and watch.

I didn’t know I loved complacency. I always thought: chaos is so alluring; staying busy means happiness. I realize now that it is tiring.

I didn’t know that I loved melancholy. I recall being seventeen— So numb. Razors. Running. Pills. Writing. Writing so feverishly, just to stay alive.

I didn’t know I loved holding hands. At eighteen being pregnant scared me out of my mind, But pushing through the fear to be named “mom” meant that I got to hold her hand— got to keep her safe.

I didn’t know I loved safety.

#poetry #writing #free-verse #anaphora

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"Just a student"

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TRW: Officer Scott Kent

Dear Officer Kent:

I sincerely hope that you're reading this posting.  I feel as though you and I have known each other for so long now.  I probably am just a glimmer in your mind of children who were rotten to the core, but to me you will always be illuminated as one of the biggest things wrong with our system.

There are so many stories to choose from dear sir, but I think I shall start from the beginning.  I first met you when I was roughly 16 years old.  I was one of those "dysfunctional kids" from a "dysfunctional family" which you learn about in your trainings.  I find it hard to remember the details of that specific day, though I don't think that it was the day so much that mattered as much as the content of our interactions. 

My father, who called in to your dispatch saying that he had children who were "out of control" (which was a frequent claim of his) rang your line once more.

Do you know what happens to a child who has been abused physically?  Do you know what happens to them mentally I mean?  Think about it for a minute:  you're getting womped on by your father who while hitting you is telling you that the police will never believe you because you are just some snot nosed kid and they will obviously believe your mother and him over you.  You have no control.  You are meaningless in that moment and small.  Your life to that person is inconsequential at best.

So naturally you will understand me when I say that after someone has stripped you of your dignity and value it would be a perfectly normal reaction to get angry, especially if you tell a police officer your story and instead of believing you (like you had hoped beyond hope that they would because you just can't fathom living a life of constant torment anymore), they do exactly what your parents say they will do: they assume that you are lying because you are small.

Now imagine this happening over and over and over again.  I cannot count on two hands and two feet how many calls my father made to your department purporting that we were out of control.  You may be asking yourself why you, out of all of the officers who responded to my parents house?  Why did you make such an indelible mark on me? That answer is simple: because you are the only one who degraded me in the same manner as the people who were supposed to protect me did.

I remember our conversation clearly actually.  I tipped over a box of legos that was in my mother's living room after a heated discussion with you about why it even mattered that I give you a statement.  After all- why should I say anything to you when all you will do is leave me here?  It will only make things worse for me after you leave if I try to tell you the truth, so why?  With that I stormed away from you and kicked over a duplo box as I passed it.

But Officer Kent you couldn't just hear my words.  You demanded that I turn around and I pick those up.  When I protested you stated that you would have no problem taking me to Moorhead detention center.  I knelt down and did your bidding.  That was not good enough though, was it?  You made me turn and face the people who just got done hitting me moments before your arrival and say that I was sorry.  You made me, the child victim look my abusers in the eyes and apologize for some stupid freaking duplos.

And then you left.

You degraded me Officer Kent.  You said in your words and actions that I didn't matter.  I was just as inconsequential to you as I was to my abusers.

I bet you knew nothing about our family history.  I bet before you responded to that call you were blissfully unaware that my sister had previously been made a permanent ward of the state in a plea deal for my father to avoid being prosecuted for child abuse.  I bet you didn't know that my other sister's mother had fought to make sure that my father only had supervised visitation with his other daughter because of incidents which happened while she was in his care. I would like to think that had you known those things your reactions would have been different, but you didn't care enough to take the time to figure that out.

We met several times after that, but I will always remember that day because it is the day when life felt the bleakest for me.  In that moment your actions said I didn't matter, life wouldn't get better.

I am grateful to the countless doctors who saved my life when I attempted suicide several times as a teen, but please know that you are a major contributing factor in those decisions to end my life because you showed me that my parents were right: no one believes children over adults, even when the facts of a family situation so clearly say that you should.

I've seen pictures online of you standing with my father posing.  Abuser working hand in hand with the law enforcement officer who made his words come true so many years ago.  It's so ironic.

Alexandria Police Department's Website has your mission statement outlined:

"....... It is our goal to maintain professionalism with pride, enrichment to employees, fairness and consistency to the public, and maintain an environment to which every citizens' rights will be protected and reserved in the quest for peace and safety for all."

I hope you hear my words so that more children won't be made to feel that their lives don't matter.

-Alice

[alicerants]

Thirteen Reasons Why

I read this amazingly powerful book tonight.  I started with a clear mind, but obvious judgement.  How could a book be good when it is written about the stories that a dead girl shares.  Suicidal yet speaking from the grave? 

It. just. seemed. so. grim.

I clicked the download button, but only because my professor assured me that it was an amazing read.  I would have never thought to read it on my own.  I would have glanced at the synopsis and tossed it aside.  I would have passed it over for the latest courtroom drama if I was paroozing in a bookstore.

It was there in those electronic pages, illuminating my room as I trudged on through that I saw a younger me.  It was there that I watched myself trying to overdose again, that I began to connect my own dots and make my own reasons.

It's a miserable thing writing a suicide note really.  You can go about it in one of two ways:  You can sympathize with those left behind and offer words of hope for their future or you can demonize them for the mistakes they made which led you to where you are.  Sometimes with the pill bottle, razors or gun in hand, it's much easier to choose the latter.  I like to think of myself as a bit ecclectic in that regard though, my suicide notes were usually a mixture of both.

The more I thought about it though, the more I realized that there were definite signs in my story.  There were tells that should have been caught that people simply walked away from.  Many of those people who almost let me die as a teenager, are public service officials, some have even moved up in the ranks since the likes of me.  But what if...... what if those people knew my reasons even though I didn't die?  So, I lay my story bare.  My thirteen reasons why.

-Alice

#thirteen reasons why #novel #response

[alicerants]

Children of the Land

                As a mother lay beside her child and snuggles him to sleep there is some sort of deep bond that they share.  She runs her fingers through his hair and gets lost in the rhythmic sound of his breathing.  The hot air, which puffs silently out of him, soothes her soul and she is contented in the beat of his heart.  She bore this being into the world; carried him in her womb and felt each movement of life along the way, and she is intertwined with him in a way that no other person in the world could ever be.  The child though does not feel this admiration for the mother.  While the child loves the mother immensely and is comforted by her embrace, he cannot fathom at the ripe age of 3, dying for her.  He could not envision the world without her, and yet he cannot ever feel the beauty in each breath of hers as she does in his.  We are the children that the land bore.  The land reaches out to us and provides sustenance and life to further us, and yet we trample all over it.  We embrace the beauty of it but not the simple things which truly define it.   When we turn a blind eye to the world which surrounds us we miss so many things, but we also put ourselves in danger.  While we probably needn’t fear imminent death, we should fear that if our technologies fail, if we don’t change policies and if we don’t change our way of thinking and being, we will ultimately kill off dear mother in our pursuit of progress. Social reform of our ideals in relation to our geography need to manifest themselves or we will be doomed in everything that we seek.  Lopez’s article on the geographical knowledge of Americans or lack thereof, inspires yet fails to recognize the serious problem that persists:  we are but children who have lost their mother.  We cry out at the heavens for her return, yet do not search for her.  There is complacency with her absence from our lives.

Geography is elusive to us as a whole. “It has become commonplace to observe that Americans know little of the geography of their country” (Lopez 1).  It is completely incomprehensible that the land, our mother, is such a foreign concept in our lives.  What should be a celebration of the grandeur she doles out, is simply an ambivalence towards her offerings.  The rise and fall of the countryside or the beautiful natural fountains which she scatters about for us to bear witness to are all but missing in the scuffle of our own lives.  Our problem is not that we don’t know the world as a whole though, it’s that we know nothing outside of our front door.  It is common knowledge, according to Lopez that we fail to grasp the fragility of our environment because we cannot even understand the fields outside of town.  We don’t bask in the glory of that which cannot make the cut for a calendar spread and sadly there are serious implications of our generation turning its back to our geography.  These implications are exemplified through the attitudes of youngsters.   "’Young Americans just don't seem to have much interest in the world outside of the U.S.,’ said David Rutherford, a specialist in geography education at the National Geographic Society in Washington, D.C” (Roach).  That’s it, isn’t it? The biggest issue revealed: through social interactions we are creating a culture which is surviving the test of time.  On this current trajectory we are likely to continue our ignorance for years to come.  We are on the cusp of losing an admiration for the land entirely.

Social problems between people and the land in which they live dominate everything that defines who they are.  If we are not social with the land, how can we possibly create memories to share?  How will we share a love for our world if we do not engross ourselves in it and learn all that there is to know about it? How are we able to defend the beauty and appreciate the majesty if we cannot overcome the simple fact that we are losing our stories through time?  “In 40,000 years of human history, it has only been in the last few hundred years or so that a people could afford to ignore their local geographies as completely as we do and still survive” (Lopez 2).  Lopez highlights the problem that we face.  Our technological advances have caused a rift between us and the mother who carried us throughout our lifespan.  We have become comfortable because of the security that we have in our technological safety blanket.  We only ever miss what we no longer have, but shouldn’t we steadfastly work to protect our sweet, sweet mother so as to not lose her?  The only logical solution is that we confront the problem head on and forage our way into a different outlook on the geography. 

                The breath of our mother in and out can be seen throughout her body.  Her sighs are the mountains, and the rolling hills are her lullabies of inhales and exhales. We see the stony, crimson colored cliffs and the sputtering geysers; we hear the crash of waves from the ocean meeting land, each swoosh of the river as it drifts lazily or mercilessly along and we are enchanted with only the spotlight attraction.  We ignore that which does not jump out and smack us in the face with its presence.  We take the rarities in her form and we exploit them for the country to stomp upon. Lopez remarks, “… but I think sinister and unsettling – the packaging and marketing of land as a form of entertainment” (Lopez 3).  We look at the land as something to enjoy, not something to learn from.  Ultimately, in this process of selfish indulgence, our social skills are compromised with people and with our geography. Though it is important to appreciate the land and experience it, it is another thing entirely to build an enterprise upon that which is aesthetically pleasing.  In our pursuit to find beauty we are over-extending the resources of a region for our own selfish gain.  We show our children that parks which were constructed to protect the land are simply an outing to see.  We don’t explore or discover the area and we don’t embrace it for what it is.  Through our actions we show the next generation that it is okay to take the land, our geography -- for granted.  Why then would the younger population have an interest in learning about that which is just another piece of dirt on a map?  Change only comes about through empowerment and when we don’t emulate that we should respect the land or the geography we cannot possibly embolden the children of tomorrow to make better use of her than we do.

                Fear not though, because we are not without hope.  We still have time to learn and grow.  Just as you would tenderly nudge your child along through this world, so too could you change the thinking of the next generation.  “It is through the power of observation, the gifts of eye and ear, of tongue and nose and finger, that a place first rises up in our mind; afterward, it is memory that carries the place, that allows it to grow in depth and complexity” (Lopez 5).   Memories don’t form through a textbook or the study of a place, memories happen when we choose to engulf ourselves in something and absorb its complexity.  The proper thing to do in order to stimulate change is to encourage exploration and observation in our own offspring and embrace it in our lives.   Shed the cloak of domination and destruction and transcend our culture’s selfish exploitation of the land.  Education is imperative to this transformation!  Each area of study in schools should embark on a voyage to show children the roots of our landscape and the stories each ripple in her body holds. 

                Lopez ends his article on American geographies by saying, “I would ask for the stories, the voice of memory over the land” (Lopez 5), but this is only half of what we need to do.  While stories of times before are true, Lopez forgets his own statement that in the last few hundred years we have ignored the geography which surrounds us.  If we have ignored it, how then will stories of it be of benefit to the future? By his own admission, we should have no stories of our own. His article is provocative because it does embrace the idea of going out and being a part of the geography to learn about it, but it fails to recognize the value of being fully immersed in it.  We are a culture of advancement and to change our way of thinking we need to also change the way that we teach younger populations.  We should encourage them to be involved with the land not simply through stories of it, but by incorporating it into every facet of their lives.  A mother is not a story that you hear about.  A mother is someone who is there to snuggle you to sleep as a babe, to wipe your tears of sadness at your first love lost and to cheer you on when you are triumphant.  The land is our mother, and to fully appreciate her kindness we need to find a place in her arms and develop an intimate relationship with her.  Without doing so, we will never learn her geography.

            Works Cited:

Lopez, Barry. "The American Geographies." Orion Magazine (1989): 52-61. Rpt. in Ecocriticism. By Dr. K Meiners. N.p.: n.p., n.d. 1-5. Print.

Roach, John. "Young Americans Geographically Illiterate, Survey Suggests." National Geographic. National Geographic Society, 2 May 2006. Web. 03 Oct. 2013.

#barry lopez #ecocriticism #writing class #dialectical anlysis

[alicerants]

Ecocriticism -- Journal 3

                Children have always been my favorite variety of the human race.  There is such wonder and awe inside them, they are naturally inclined to question EVERYTHING and accept nothing.  They explore, create and modify the world around them, without much thought as to who they will ultimately impress or disappoint.  They feverishly fight for causes which are bigger than themselves all in the name of justice.  It is through children that we can see the world in a new way and find ourselves appreciating the things which we previously took for granted.

                I sat at the park today with my children and watched as they explored.  Very simply put, I was amused at their attitudes toward the world around them.  Their feet thudded with each stride against the blades of grass beneath them and they were oblivious to their mark on the world, they thought only of getting to the slide, or swing or whatever was on their mind next. 

                It was in this watching that I began to wonder if we are all of this mindset, this stomping through life without the slightest care to what we are affecting with our journey.   We go through the motions of life without a single thought to the creatures and environments that we mold to our liking.  A lawn mower can exemplify our indelible mark on society.  The operator of such a machine walks or rides in this metal encased gas monger and whizzes around a piece of land.  Blades mercilessly circulating and decapitating every shred of something beneath it and in its journey, there is no remorse.  There is no conscious thought from us or from the mechanical parts of the damage that we are inflicting upon our world.  The grass weeps and we find beauty in its pain. 

                What would the land be like if we left it untouched, if it was unscathed by this hunk of metal?  Why do we regard such unaltered beauty as hideousness?  Take a moment and drive through your neighborhood, all the while trying not to cringe when you see an unkempt lawn or garden.  We pay no mind to a yard which has been mechanically devastated, but have EVERYTHING to say when it is in its purest form. 

                What happens to the ground when we alter it as we do? I don’t want to be redundant here in quoting just Lopez’s article, but I think that it truly pertains to this thought.  He says in one part of his article, American Geography, “I think it sinister and unsettling – the packaging and marketing of land as a form of entertainment” (Lopez). We do this packaging in our everyday lives though, and I think that is ultimately where Lopez missed the boat.  In little ways we alter the land and package it to be pristine and aesthetically pleasing to the eye.  We shudder when it does not conform to our ideal of what beauty in the city really is.  We fail to embrace nature in its purest form, unaltered and free flowing.

Barry subscribes to the mentality of dualistic nature, which is defined by our packet handout as, “Nature is what is not human or cultural, or not disturbed by humanity and society” (Barnhill).   Barry fails to address that we alter our geography in even the slightest ways in our daily lives.  We produce the world which surrounds us.  We talk about the implications of humans to the wilderness in other text like The Trouble with Wilderness; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature, but we fail to address our implications as close to home as our own back yard.  It’s interesting to me that we have thus far examined our actions away from home, but not at home.  I wonder to myself, how can we change the world, if we don’t address our attitudes toward the landscape on the other side of our door?

  Works Cited

Barnhill, Dr. David. "Nature." Meiners, Dr. K. Ecocriticism. 2013. 86-87. handout.

Lopez, Barry. "The American Geographies." Orion Magazine 1989: 52-61. magazine.

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Ecocriticism - Journal 2

              I know that we are encouraged to write in a space which is new to us, and that we are pushed to write off campus, but this place is so new to me.  As a transfer student who is also new to this area, I am taken by all of the beauty that this campus holds. I sat outside today in between classes and I was struck by the grandeur of the area, the subtle things, the pervasive elements and ultimately the people which were encompassed in this small chunk of our universe.  Students shuffle along sidewalks, oblivious to the world around them.  They are more caught up in finding their cars, listening to music, responding to texts and Facebook posts than in the natural wonders.

                No attention is paid to the smallest details.  The crow which barks above them falls on deaf ears.  The bees which gracefully float alongside them in their journey, the perfectly manicured flowers and shrubbery which lines the doorway; everything is ignored.  Do they recognize that leaf print that is pressed into the pavement on only a few bricks of sidewalk; the gentle breeze that flutters through their hair;  the sway of leaves in the wind, dancing along as if they are floating to some unheard melody.  I cannot fathom that they are just so unchanged by the beauty which surrounds them, and yet every step they take towards their destination reaffirms that they don’t see the things that I do, they don’t feel the wonder and awe which I experience with each step around this pristine campus. 

                I’m entranced with this notion while watching the students.  They pay no mind to the wonder which wraps around them like the arms of a mother and it makes me think of Barry Lopez’s article, “American Geography.”  Lopez says, “In 40,000 years of human history, it has only been in the last few hundred years or so that a people could afford to ignore their local geographies as completely as we do and still survive” (Lopez).  Academia and “progress” have taught us that pursuit of knowledge trumps our need to notices the subtle beauty which we so brazenly stomp through. 

                It’s appalling really, that no one stops to take note of their environment and to not only notice the beauty, but to observe for any imminent danger.  We are comfortable, and that comfort could ultimately cause us to miss the tranquility which blankets us, or to even hinder our survival.    We are immune to the wonder, the awe, the danger and the peace which envelops us completely and the ultimate travesty is that we are too preoccupied to care.  We don’t see the mighty Red River as an awe evoking splendor, but rather as a burden to our lives; a threat to the homes that we have made and the simplicity of our normalcy. We don’t find spiders which crawl along sidewalks of any comfort.  There’s no acknowledgement that they provide us with relief from pesky bugs like the mosquito, there’s no thankfulness for the fact that they are part of our ecosystem and that they help to naturally balance things.  There’s no love for the birds which sing us sweet melodies as they flutter along.   There’s no awe in watching a herd of geese make their journey south right above our heads, simply disdain for the fact that they defecate on our beloved vehicles. 

                We miss so many things due to our lack of knowledge and our selfishness, which even in the upper Midwest, a place where we have the coin, “Minnesota nice,” still seems to seep in.  We are a product of our own doing and ultimately we suffer from our own delusion that we are the most important species on this planet.

    Bibliography

Lopez, Barry. "The American Geographies." Orion Magazine 1989: 52-61. magazine.

[alicerants]

Free write- suicidal

"you'll never know the heat of this cold, my fever burns me deeper than I've ever shown, to you"

I don't think people understand the depth of this song.  My family would probably hear it and think back to the night that I tried to kill myself for the first time.

My fingers ran over each piece of clothing that I owned that night.  My mind was reeling at the thought that this may be all that there is to my life.  Failure abounded and not one believed who I was or what I said.  They all surmised that I was troubled and that nothing was happening.  The controller was great at putting up appearances and making it seem as if I was more crazy than even I thought that I was.

My fingers though, they were different.  They knew each piece of clothing that I had.,  They memorized the lines and knew the depressions.  This was more than I could say for even those who claimed to be closest to me.

I wept.  I kept thinking that there had to be something more to life, there had to be some way that life would get better. But I knew that not to be true. People kept sending me back to this place.  Sending me back to the public shows of affection and sanity and when the door swung closed, the monster emerged.  They didn't realize the girl who was lashing out at the world, was dying inside.

"My feelings swell and stretch, I see from greater height"  This song has spoken to me for so long.I put it in and just play it over and over.  I feel as though she knows the feelings that dominate my soul.  You don't know who I am, and I'm not sure that you care anyways.  I am just a scapegoat, a play doll to toss around at your whim.  You don't care about how I feel or who I want to be.  You don't believe I can amount to anything.  You are the reason I have made this exit strategy. 

My fingers fall on an outfit hanging and I decide that it is perfect. It seems to elude me right now what I should be thinking as I thrust my legs into the black skirt.  I am completely at peace with myself.  I would have thought that it wo0uld feel worse than it does right now, but I am ready to go . The purple shirt is frilly and while I don't wear it often, I feel that it is one of the nicest things that I own.  I want to die in something that makes me look good.  And why wouldn't i?  I have been suffering for so long that I deserve to die in a piece that suits who I wanted to be.

Never is a promise is on repeat in the background.  I sit down on the edge of my bed.  It shifts underneath me and the water splashes back at my rear.  Finally settling a couple of seconds later.  I sigh deeply and look around.  Life has been okay for the most part.  I have friends who love me.  I have a family who sometimes seems supportive.  I have a father who I love dearly, despite the fact that he hits me so often and with such vigor that I wonder to myself if I am a bad child.  I have a mother, whom I adore.  This adoration should not exist because she would sell me in a heartbeat if she thought that it would benefit her relationship with my father.  Sometimes I wonder if she loves me at all. Much of what i do, I do because I love this woman, and yet she so constantly sweeps the problems under the rug.   A sister whom I finally have back in my life after years of radio silence. A nephew whom I adore immensely.  And a brother, who at times is my best friend and at times is my worst enemy. 

I let out a breath and pour the bottle of pills into my house.  I have a bottle of water in my hand and I take a long, slow drink off it of to wash the pills down. 

I think back to all of the things that have been said and done over the years.  This hatred that I have boiling inside for my parents is at an all time high and I cannot fathom having to live one more day in this hell on earth.  How can people who claim to love you, hurt you again and again?

I begin to panic.  What if I didn't take enough, what if it doesn't work?  What if I need something more?  The med closet upstairs has random bottles of pills, so I decide to go up there and get some more out to ease my fears.

-unfinished