Greenel’s Weblog

“The minutes gathered into hours, but still she sat motionless, a disdainful smile or an angry frown passing now and then across her face. Somewhere in the room a little clock ticked time away. Somewhere outside, a whippoorwill wailed. Evening died. A sweet smell of early Southern flowers rushed in on a newly-risen breeze which suddenly parted the thin silk curtains at the opened windows. A slender, frail glass vase fell from the sill with a tingling crash, but Helga Crane did not shift her position. And the night grew cooler, and older,” (Larsen 3).

This paragraph explores Helga’s journey as a whole. Though she hasn’t yet begun at this time, the fact that she is so restless and aware of her surroundings at the time suggests that she is not one to stay in one place forever (“but still she sat motionless, a disdainful smile or an angry frown passing now and then across her face”). The reference to the clock in the room ticking “time away” and her heightened senses making her so aware of it alludes to her need to leave Naxos and all of the old and stale there that she feels is holding her back.

Stating that “evening died” rather than describing night is more of a suggestion of Helga’s perception of the world around her. Night is dark and closed, and to her feels more like a death than a continuation of time (although time already is passing her by, so the fact that night feels like death to her only adds to that sense of desperation). Even something as sweet and pleasant as the scent of flowers coming in with the breeze turns negative as it knocks over a “slender, frail glass vase.” The vase itself, fragile and easily shattered, is a symbol of Helga’s existence in Naxos and the way she feels her life exists in her current world. The vase’s shattering is symbolic of her impending journey, since it no longer exists in Naxos as it once was. Her reaction, or lack thereof, to the broken glass on the floor only further represents her no longer existent connection to Naxos and her need to leave.  “And the night grew cooler, and older.”

What is an estuary?
It’s past noon on a Wednesday, and that’s
not Friday, but I hear estuaries are
the mix of salt water with fresh so maybe
Thursday is my estuary.
I imagine home this way:
my room so colorful that sleeping is
difficult. My mother
smiling, and that is happy.
I would like to be on Crabapple lane, or
any other lane, but I’m
closer to Spring Street.
I don’t like Spring Street.

And Crabapple is sunsets and sunflowers and
wind across the lawn like silky summer nights.
And I am waiting for when I lie there again. Always
waiting. The northern lights don’t come down this far.

Why is that my worry?

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/18/nyregion/18semicolon.html?ex=1204002000&en=b14bbc682199dfb4&ei=5070&emc=eta1

My mother found this article and thought that it would be entertaining. I assume she thought it would be more applicable for expository, but here’s the deal…
Man rides 5 train. Man sees grammatical error. Man boldly corrects said grammatical error. There is a semicolon involved.

So here’s what I want to pose to you all.  Of course his intentions were good… but could it be construed as graffiti? Let’s take this guy into consideration.

http://www.villagevoice.com/news/0805,tucker,78874,2.html

 So where’s the line, do you think? Because to be honest, I think it’s strange that the man who for all intents and purposes tagged a subway is commended while the man who draws in chalk on the sidewalk (isn’t that why it’s called “sidewalk chalk?) is harassed by police.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for Sir Semicolon…

If Joe had been played by Tom Cruise, would the movie have had the same effect? What if it was a musical? Or set in Chicago?

And here we are, trying to figure out if it’s sad or not that a character as seemingly criminal and hopeless as Ricco died on the bus right when he’s about to achieve his one dream… But of course it’s sad. This man had spent his entire life knowing that he would never have a single thing come easily to him–his father shined shoes (and the pride on Ricco’s face when telling his story is immense) and he can’t even walk down the street without effort. He wanted nothing but a moment of success and contentment with himself. He wanted respect. So once he finds someone who he can rely on to never judge him and to always be there, once it seems like he’ll finally have his moment of contentment… he dies. It’s like saying to the world that it doesn’t matter whatsoever–that if you have to put in that kind of effort in every little thing in your life, you’ll fail no matter what. It’s tragic. How could it not be sad?

The thing is, you have to know that when the camera is tight on one character during a dramatic monologue scene and excludes another character, something will have happened to that other character when the shot pans back out. It was a strange choice, but it was predictable.

I still wonder how Tom Cruise would have portrayed a cowboy…

My internet’s been down lately… or just really slow, depending on how it feels at that moment… either way, my posts have been slow in coming.

I feel like I should be a Buddhist or a painter to live here. My hair looks out of place without dreadlocks or blue dye. Sure, I have a tattoo… but they can’t see it, so they don’t know that it exists.

***

I have been here before, but I’ve never seen so much of it. It was an accident, really. My friend wanted to go shopping on St. Marks… we got the 4 train to Union Square and walked… past the movie theatre, around the Strand, past the gothic costume shop until the giant spinning cube was ahead. I saw the St. Marks hotel to my left. He told me that he swore the place he was looking for was to the right. I imagined that he knew what he was doing so I followed.

“Justin, aren’t you looking for St. Marks?” Five, ten, a thousand blocks later and we were still walking. “Yea, I think it’s up here somewhere.” But it was in the other direction, I’m sure of it. Giant billboards for movies I wanted to see, even more for ones I wouldn’t. A small park with one metal sculpture that looked more like a blob. It was starting to rain. He asked me why I would want to live in a city like this. “For this exact moment,” I told him. I find the most random things that are somehow beautiful.

We turned around and walked in the other direction.

***

Brownstones that look too old to be shops called “Search and Destroy.” Every other building is a tattoo and piercing place. Sex shops, costume shops, comic book shops… It’s beautiful, in a way. I could stand in the middle of the road and not worry about a car turning the corner straight for me. It’s where you walk, not where you drive. The head shop is masked by signs claiming “for tobacco use only,” though it seems like a perfunctory declaration.

Yellow Fever spread through the city in 1822. Residents moved to the less-infected Village. They stayed. Lenny Bruce used to live here. Thelonius Monk played at The Five-Spot. Abbie Hoffman lived in the basement of number 30 in 1967. Ted Berrigan lived at 101. Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti has cover art depicting 98 and 96. Music videos were shot there. There were theatre premiers.

It’s not the same as it used to be. The artists have moved to Williamsburg…