Author: lwilliap

Hegirascope—— I DO not understand the stories, however, I am intrigued to find out- to find out the intent of the creator; to find out what the connection is between this piece of artwork/literature and the meaning of textual media…..

hey all!!!! okay about the comic book……………….."And all that’s needed is the desire to be heard, the will to learn, and the ability to SEE."  A qutote taken from Understanding Comics, The Invisible Art, I find that this last statement made by the artist/the writer/the creator is- although very simple- very profound. This message speaks for all genres of art, of creating and expressing oneself- whether this is through literature, composing, painting, et. I enjoyed the book, it included a number of insights that i had never thought of prior to reading it

Galatea is tripppieeeeeeeeee…. ummm… it’s confusing, really: how should you construct your questions? what should you ask next? It’s all about word play, and the composition and structure of your phrase… like the work of a good detective, you must ask the right questions to get the desired response.

-lindsey

ahhhhhhhhhhh yes, and yet another lovely piece of literature analyzing the odds and ends of this clashing realm of literature and technology- a realm in which we’ve come to call ‘textual media’. And, as sarcastic as this may sound, I actually did enjoy reading, finding rather, pieces of this paritcular reading assignment to further understand textual media.   

Both, "Swimming Through A Sea of Defiance", and the story brought to us by Wes, provide interesting links; that is, links that hold or maintain the readers interest in the outcome of the story. Everyone chose to use the power of imagery as their tool for linking story to emotion; emotion to thought. In all, the links of both writers reveal a part of them, as shown by the particular sites or images each writer chose to take the readers to. And yes, such choices do add to the development of their stories.                               

   

***Through visual aid or web sites that seem to have no relevance at all, I simply wanted to capture the significance of particular words or phrases of the story. The power of these words linked to a certain website, or images that may appear on screen lend to the development of a specific thought or emotion. In essence, I knew the right set of ten words that would not only capture the reader’s attention, but also capture the intriguing elements of the story. I also wanted to be funny, if just a little light hearted in the process. Readers will notice that I placed particular sites that are not exactly what one would expect in the process of reading the story.
*** Immediately, when you click on the word ketchup, you are taken to a site that pictures the image of a ketchup bottom. (I simply wanted the reader to have the image of a ketchup bottle in their mind…. Signifying that you are in, the reader is in, the character is in a diner). Secondly, the term diner takes the reader to the image of a 50s style diner. Again, I simply wanted to convey the scenery, set the stage for where I am telling the story. The term dealer is linked to the site for art dealers. This was simply ironic; funny, in a way, due to the illegal involvement of dealing that the character has been thrown into, and the obvious simple nature of dealing pieces of art work for galleries. Lastly- the lovely Camero link. I just wanted readers to have the image of the car the female character was in during the story. That’s all. Imagery was important to me- but a tone of sarcasm, perhaps an element of, “what in the world?” was also something that I wanted to bring in. Every aspect of the story works out well, I feel- I hope.   

The Drawn Pavement of October Nights

Briefly, you question why he’s even sent you to such a place. Without an interpreter to aid or guide you, you silently pray that your instincts have proved you right. The coffee table remains cluttered from previous travelers. Your hand sticks to the counter, picking up the residue of day old ketchup stains, and Lord knows whatever else could possibly land on the counter of an abandoned diner in the middle of no-man’s land.

          It doesn’t make sense to you. It shouldn’t. You’ve managed to make it thus far in the game. But still, no leads to what you’ve been called for- why they’ve sent you here. They came rushing, with an army of green men and walky-talkies; the smell of rust and dried apricots trailing behind them that one October night. Already confused as to how these men have found you, you let go of the intriguing trace of apricots wafting into the room of your still and odorless city loft, and focus on the present scare. With swift and heavy feet, they assemble you into the bolts of green jacket. This, of course, is installed for their security from yet another outburst. Your heart beats, fluttering beneath the skin of your chest.

          Why have they done this, you ask reader? Well, perhaps the proper question would be, for what do they have to gain as a result of your kidnapping?

          You pass by an old warehouse. You remember its dingy doors, heavier than its appearance should allow. And yet, this very passage, where deals and transactions were executed; where dealers, courted by your wittingly priceless charm, landed you in the very position you presently face. You’re at the mercy of a handler you’ve never met, and perhaps will never meet.

          This memory is brushed away by a torn hand stained by day-old condiments. Sweeping it across the back of your head, you’re hoping that your memory fails you. It doesn’t. You stretch your hand in hopes of the pain escaping sharp cuts and bruises; you continue wondering if the plotted memory of its abuse will ever escape your haggard mind. Sure, you hit him hard, but he hit you even harder- and still, it feels good to conjure that sudden scene of personal retaliation, an outburst that should’ve been prevented by brass nuts and bolts of a stray jacket.

 The diner clock reads 11:56 pm. She’s always late. She should’ve been here 56 minutes ago- and still, you wait. Do you love her? Possibly. Noooo. You would never wait for anyone this long. Does she love you? I don’t know. Reader, I’m not sure. Should she love him? What kind of love purposefully allows the one you adore waiting center stage in a danger zone?

She does, I have decided. She makes you wait for the purpose of testing you. Do you love her? Then you’ll continue waiting. If not, you would have left an hour ago, or perhaps would have never even showed up. She watches from the cold window of a ‘72 rusty green Camero. She rubs her hands on her thighs, warming them, she hopes; out of anticipation even, she rubs them. But fear keeps her caged in even longer.

The car mirror flips open. Painted lips become even deeper. The heavy door slams. Green paint from the car flickers off of the wet pavement, as her black boots march beneath her.  “Hi ma’am, do ya’ need a seat?” You’ve spotted her.

She’s always so mysterious- that’s what annoys you about her. But then again, that’s what mystifies you, intrigues you, even, to stay. As she takes the seat across from you, you get a whiff of her perfume- she’s wearing your favorite. “So what- you take three showas again?” She doesn’t answer, but moves her head right to left. She smiles and you smile back. Wow, you really love her. “Why did you want me here?” she asks. Her hands are pink from rubbing them. They’ve been mounted on the table, mocking the same rubbing motion committed during stake-out. It’s a sign— she’s nervous. “Want you here!… I was ordered to meet here at 11… I follow orders Cammi……. I just—-follow—–orders.”

What you don’t interpret is the sarcastic tone in her voice. Unaware, you’ve also failed to realize that this mysterious handler you’ll never meet, the very handler, that has assumed the position of decisively turning your quaint life of journalism completely upside down, tangles you in a web of deceit through the scent of her body and neck- your favorite perfume on a woman.

Again, I must say that I am actually coming to understand the writer’s repertoire. I have even begun to anticipate his next move, his next form of bizzarre antics, a kind of personal banter that only he truly understands; it’s interesting really, because initially I had concluded that I would never truly enjoy, or find in any way, this book some what entertaining. But, I must confess, I have traded this annoyance for a new form of an inquisitive detective-like instinct, attempting to figure out Calvino’s next move. ~ lindsey ps: I’ll come up with a question to ask in class :)

Alright guys…. I’m actually beginning to enjoy this novel. Calvino’s mind, an interesting and bizarre place to explore. At times, it has been quite confusing and rather annoying; that is, up until I have been able to appreciate and perhaps, UNDERSTAND the style of his writing. Finalmente! I have come to appreciate it… however, there is still a part of this section, from pages 91- 131, that need further decoding. Okay… here comes the question: "Are multiple stories merely taking place from pages 116 to 131?" just a thought.. :) -lindsey

It intrigued me, really, to find that there is such a distinct difference between cybertext and the obvious, linear text. Aside from the clear comparison of engaging one’s senses through the screen of a computer, (where limitless possibilities await an artisist, designer, or writer) as opposed to reading between the lines of a bounded paper back, I hadn’t taken much thought to distinguishing the two genres of print.

One thought that came to mind is simply that, although the use of interative digital media is becoming widely attractive for the use of communicating, I still feel that reading and interacting through the simplistic style of a book and piece of literature is valid in today’s market.

HERE’s A LITTLE QUESTION- what did Aarseth mean when he stated,
“… while they focused on what was being read, I focused on what was being read from, ” ? (p. 3, Ergodic Literature).

alright, that’s all!

Lindsey