Wile E. Willie's ol' Southern Boi Carolina Corn Bread 

Ingredients:

-2 cups all-purpose flour

-2 tablespoons baking powder

-1 teaspoon salt

-2 cups yellow cornmeal

-1/2 cup sugar

-1 1/2 teaspoon cayenne 

-1 cup milk

-1 cup no fat plain yogurt

-2 large eggs

-2 sticks unsalted butter, softened 

Preparation:

-Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit 

-Butter up a large cast iron skillet

-Throw ingredients all into a large bowl 

-Stir the crap out of it with a electric beater until batter is thin

-Pour batter into iron skillet

-Place in oven (after it has preheated) on the middle rack 

-Let it sit in oven for about 50 minutes (it should look golden brown at the end)

-Take out of oven

-Wait ten minutes to let it cool down

-Sit down for a spell 

My cornbread is not that healthy, but still it would be fine eating it in small portions. 

Analysis: 

Most of the ingredients are conventional and/or non-organic. This means that the food used to make this dish has either been made with GMOs, chemicals like pesticides, or both. 

For example, instead of using good-old-fashioned organic valley butter, I used Land-O-Lakes salted butter. This contains a lengthy list of ingredients ranging from partially hydrogenated soybean oil and hydrogenated cottonseed oil to artificial flavor and cream, which warns us about its’ trivial amount of cholesterol. I used two sticks of this, but hey, at least it’s USDA double A—not the worst thing for you, but not the best thing either. Along with this, I also used Indian Head Old Fashioned Stone Ground Yellow Corn Meal, which contains some organic compounds like Niacin and enriched thiamine mononitrate. I wished I used real corn, but oh well. It seems like I used the next best thing. Corn meal also contains a healthy dose of riboflavin (vitamin B2), and iron.

The ingredients aren't what I would call, locally grown. In fact, the corn meal came from Maryland, that’s for sure the most local I ever got. While the butter came from Minneapolis and the milk came from as far as Idaho. At least all the food came from America, right? The positive side to having a lack of organic food in a recipe is that it means it is very cheap to make. Cornbread in general is cheap to make, only costing five to six dollars in price. I’ll take it. 

The coolest thing about some of the brands I used is that some of them care a little about the world. Dominos sugar for a hundred years been organic. It comes from the pure sugar cane and is harvested and milled on the same day. It is a US company owned by American Sugar Refining Industry. Land-O-Lakes is a little more controversial (PETA released an undercover video of animal abuse of dairy cows), but their eggs are supposedly cage-free. That’s good enough for me. 

I would say that overall my cornbread is fine as along as it doesn’t act as a replacement for real vegetables like broccoli, carrots, and of course... corn. 

Self Reflection:

After doing some personal reflection I have concluded that I have a very small, yet essential role in the larger food system. My food decisions, whether or not to go organic or conventional, has an effect on myself (my health and well being), on my family (I could influence my family to go organic), and of course on the business I am supporting (Whole Foods versus Monsanto). As long as you want to eat, you have to support some business that will be making some capital, so you minus well research and find out the best business to support. Some conventional farms use chemicals and pesticides to grow vegetables and drug chickens and cows to make them grow fatter, faster. Is this really the business you want to support? On the other hand organic foods can be a rip off and your bananas will only last you a couple days—you would have to go shopping more often. I think that’s the biggest problem with our food system. There doesn’t seem like an obvious right and an obvious wrong. Unhealthy foods are cheap and convenient, which will easily feed a starving family of four, but most foods are highly processed foods that are killing Americans more than any other cause of death. Organic sounds nice until you look at the price and then you realize being healthy is for rich people. What a shame. 

I generally buy organic, but that doesn’t mean I’m living a healthy life style. They say to eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a jack, and dinner like a surf. I don’t eat anything for breakfast, I eat a apple and some bread for lunch, and for dinner I pig out with second helpings. Probably not healthy. I have already started to make changes. For breakfast I had fruit salad and a danish. If that’s not eating like a king, then I don’t know what is. It is important to remain healthy and eat right. I want to out live my parents. 

October 17, 2013

20th in the 21st: Literary Review 

The Beautiful And Damned By F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald always had potential. He was young, talented and a romantic believer in the American Dream. He was always looking through the windows of the rich, perceiving them for what they are and for what they are not. All eyes were on him now; on the new celebrity couple as their fans waited for Fitzgerald to produce his next masterpiece. In 1922 Fitzgerald released his second novel, The Beautiful and Damned. 

His leading lady, Gloria Gilbert, modeled on Fitzgerald's wife, Zelda, is the heroine. She is the true siren, attractive to all men who pass her way. Her hobbies unfortunately, consist of drinking and self indulgence and her passion is celebrity. She is beautiful and naive, and as quoted in the book, “She was dazzling -- alight; it was agony to comprehend her beauty in a glance.” 

The novel takes off when Anthony marries Gloria Gilbert and their troubles start to come to light. Throughout the novel they have many arguments and quarrel constantly. It seems they are in love with the idea of each other, valuing this over actual love, ambition and health. Besides this, both of them drink alcoholic beverages constantly. A common theme found in modernist literature, is that the main characters drink to forget and escape issues that they have created due to their own faults and they are unable to acknowledge their own shortcomings. This is precisely what happens in The Beautiful and Damned. When Anthony and his friends say, “Here’s to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.” They mean that alcohol, for these characters, is life itself. In fact, Anthony drinks so much that he is unable to function without it. 

Essentially this novel is about beautiful people living ugly lives. What happens when an heir—born with immense wealth, who studies in Europe, then graduates from Harvard—has everything he needs to succeed and yet completely screws up? The result is Anthony Patch, the “D” in Damned. He, the main character, perpetually fails at everything he attempts. 

Fitzgerald's third person writing itself, is beautiful and damned. Parts of the novel reveal tiny bits of brilliance, truly showing why Fitzgerald is the Great American Author. His use of vocabulary in the book is beautiful and inspiring but perhaps too impressive for its own good. Fitzgerald writes densely, using many words, but there are times where it just gets a little too verbose. Contemporary readers could find this 20th century classic a little old fashioned, making it difficult for them to make connections. The long conversations between Anthony and his friends, Dick and Maury are humdrum and overblown— confusing and unnecessary to the plot. However, towards the final part of the book, when the setting transitions to times of “The Great War” and the book starts to pick up. You are instantly engaged in Anthony as he wanders through the southern countryside. This part of the book is a new experience for Anthony and the reader. 

Fitzgerald will always engage you into the world that he writes about and The Beautiful and Damed is no exception. When reading you will instantly feel welcomed even into Anthony’s world of futility. It will frustrate you to observe young Anthony's constant failures. The books general atmosphere is blankness yet you feel hopeful for Anthony and believe that he might eventually find success. Fitzgerald is cunning in his use of pseudo-realism, using his description of young marriage as a decoy. The Beautiful and Damned is more of an analysis of up-scale youth than an actual novel. Parties were numerous, people destroyed things and accidents happened. Aimless strolls through Manhattan, country drives and whiskey binges are some of the most common themes in this novel. 

This book may not surpass Fitzgerald's 1925 classic, The Great Gatsby, but it still belongs on the bookshelf of the truest of literary fanatics. The Beautiful and Damned deserves your patience. Its a heavy novel but a worthy challenge. Most people will get a lot out of this novel, especially those who are trying to enrich their knowledge of early 20th century literature. It also deserves a ton of street-cred from those on the intellectual road. Everyone will eventually read or already has read Gatsby, but how many people can say that they read this semi-masterpiece? The Beautiful and Damned is not for the casual reader— it belongs to the most devoted Fitzgerald fans and to those who truly admire his use of the English language.

Book Information: 

Title: The Beautiful and Damned

Publisher: Charles Scribner’s Sons

Date of Publishing: 1922

Pages: 422

Genre: Fiction 

Will Amari 

5/12/13

Silver 

To whom it may concern, 

I’ve been attending school for eleven years now and I’m proud to say that I still enjoy it. School for me is a symbol of education and with out it, there will be no sense of ideal order. I desire knowledge, not because my parents want me to, but because I choose to be an intellectual and I choose to help the world. I don’t plan on dropping out. I don’t plan on breaking the law. I don’t plan on becoming a DJ. I want to write. I want to write because I love art. I don’t care If I become famous. I don’t care about money. I’m not asking for that. I’m asking to study art. 

Art is the reason why I show up to class everyday, it is the reason why I get As, it is the reason why I’m not totally depressed or dysfunctional or discombobulated. In fact, if I am ever tired in the morning, it is because I stayed up all night reading, writing, watching Annie Hall, and playing music. I would like to study art all my life, but sadly this request had been threatened due to the possibility of budget cuts. I am scared and concerned, not just for my future, but for everyones future . I look around my classroom, and see nothing more then intellectual individuals, with passions different and similar to mine. Everyday I hope they succeed, as much as I wish for myself to do the same. I can’t even imagine school with no courses, clubs, or activities. The thought of it sounds like a nightmare. 

So don’t fund our schools for me. Fund our schools for us. We are the future, and there is nothing to be afraid of. Don’t make school a Kalfkaesque Experience. Make it an opportunity for me, my friends, or anyone to become the next Hemingway or Einstein. Make it an opportunity for opportunity. I promise you, education is nothing to be afraid of. Taking away education... now thats scary!

Sincerely, 

Anonymous Individual number 667-349 

Will Amari 

4/23/13

Silver

Benchmark Journals

4/24/13 Journal #1: 

Find a soliloquy in Othello when Iago might be addressing more than one of the possible audiences discussed today. Write out / copy and paste the soliloquy, and add your own "director's notes" indicating where Iago would switch delivery techniques to appeal to a higher power, and then to himself, etc. Indicate how his line delivery and physical movement might change to show he is changing audiences. 

IAGO

That’s not amiss,

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw?

Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,

A huswife that by selling her desires

Buys herself bread and clothes. It is a creature

That dotes on Cassio, as ’tis the strumpet’s plague

To beguile many and be beguiled by one.

He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain

From the excess of laughter. Here he comes.

As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad.

And his unbookish jealousy must construe

Poor Cassio’s smiles, gestures, and light behavior

Quite in the wrong.—How do you now, lieutenant?

Directors notes: 

Initially, it is clear that Iago is speaking to Othello. They are the only two people present at this part of the scene, and Iago is asking him to hide from Cassio. After Iago says, “Will you withdraw?” Othello hides and Iago begins to either talk to himself, to God, or to the audience. You know this because he starts using the word I with the phrase, “Now will I question Cassio of Bianca,” even though no one else is with him, It is most likely that he is talking to himself, because of Iago’s bizarre nature. He is the least sane person in the play, thus he is the antagonist. Iago has talked to himself previously in the play, and he will continue to do so later. When Iago says, “—How do you now, lieutenant?” He is now speaking to Cassio, who has just entered the stage. Shakespeare uses a dash, to show that Iago has stopped ranting on about his plans, has moved on to turn and greet Cassio, who is the lieutenant he was referring to in that sentence. 

4/25/13 Journal #2: 

Choose another secondary character from Othello (that is, not Othello or Iago or Desdemona) and investigate the play for his/her perspective. Answer the following prompts in paragraph format (150-200 words.)

Name a couple of important scenes that this character appears in. (You'll have to look them up, and include the act and scene numbers.)

• What does this character observer first hand? (What do they see personally?)
• What does this character observe second hand? (What are they told by other characters?)
• How can we understand this character's motivations better when we concentrate only on their scenes?

At the end of Act 1 Scene 3, from lines 343 to 425, Rodrigo and Iago are alone and have an important conversation. Rodrigo is in a deep state of depression and is planning to drown himself. He adores Desdemona, who is married to Othello and realizes that Desdemona truly loves the Moor, and has not planed to find another. Rodrigo truly trusts Iago because he is confessing his shame. He feels that killing himself is the only way out of torture. 

Iago convinces him that to kill ones self is a foolish act. He says he’d rather be a baboon. Iago claims that the reason why he feels love is because he feels lust. Essentially, he tells him to man up. He advises him to sell all his land and possessions and that Desdemona is unable to love the Moor. He tells him that Desdemona will dump the Moor for a younger man, and she’ll be looking for a man with money. Iago says that he’ll take the money that Rodrigo makes, and that he’ll keep it safe. 

This illustrates that Rodrigo is gullible and desperate. He truly believes that Iago is a safe and trustworthy man. He invests his faith in Iago and because of this his mood quickly changes from a dangerous depressed state to becoming immensely happy. 

4/29/13 Journal #3: 

Write a character background using your Character Sheet as a guide. Tell the story of the life of the character before they enter the play. Explain how these events influenced them to be the kind of person they are during the events of the play.

Iago: Iago was born in the small town of Todi, Italy. His father, Lorenzo was a blacksmith and his mother Adriana, taught Iago at the young age of four to read and write. Iago, because he grew up in a small town, didn’t know a lot of people so he didn’t have many friends. Lonely and bored, he would often play by himself in the foothills of the countryside. There he found contentment by spending time chasing rabbits, climbing trees, and watching clouds drift by in the sky. Due to his lack of nourishment, Iago was very skinny and smaller than many other boys his age. When his father died of a heart attack, he moved to Venice at the age of sixteen to live with his aunt and uncle. His uncle Bruno was a wealthy banker and took good care of Iago.  He was allowed to attend school and then became Bruno’s apprentice. Iago did quite well for himself and eventually married his second cousin, Emilia. They were both in their mid-twenties at that time. One day, Iago was challenged to a duel against a man named Hassan, a Moroccan Moor who claimed to have loved Emilia first. When Iago refused this challenge, The Moor called him a coward, and further insulted him when he proclaimed that he had slept with Emilia the night before Iago married her. Iago angrily walked away and began to plot a plan to kill Hassan but, before he go through with it, Hassan was arrested for the rape of two sisters. Iago feeling satisfied, began working as a banker, but because of his love for the city of Venice, he quit banking to join the army.  

4/30/13 Journal #4:

• What specific actions, movements, and tone of voice are you bringing to your character during your performance?
• What PROP and/or COSTUME item is your character going to have? (It is your job to brainstorm one item that you are responsible for.  Some props are clear, like a handkerchief or a wine glass. Others will take a little more creativity!)
• What is going to make your group's presentation stand out? What have you worked on and agreed on as a group for your scene?

My character is Othello, and in this scene he is stressed out, sick, and tired. I am going be sitting for most of the scene. He has a pain at his forehead, so I will rub it, to show that I have a headache. I have been practicing my best Moroccan accent, and I will speak in low and heavy tones. Othello seems like a big guy so I’ll try spread out my body. I want to bring a bandana as the handkerchief, and a blanket as a cloak. I think the blanket as a cloak is a nice touch. Then I am going to memorize my lines and try to sound as convincing as possible. Hopefully everyone’s acting skills will be in top condition. I believe if everyone memorizes their part, knows when to come in and out, and brings in a prop, then we’ll be fine, and we’ll stand out for sure. My scene is a very important part of the story. This is the scene when Iago finds the handkerchief he is going to use to frame Cassio. 

5/1/13 Journal #5:

• Analyze one of your lines from your scene. Quote it directly and then explain why it is important to the play, and how you showed its importance in your performance. How did you deliver this line?
• Did your group's performance go as you expected and planned? Now that it is over, what are you proud of? What would you have done differently in your performance?
• How did performing the play change your understanding of it? 

I played Othello, and although my lines were short, they had a lot of meaning, and had an huge influence on my overall performance. I had three lines, and out of all of them, the one that said the most to me, was the one when I stood up and said, “I have a pain upon my forehead here.” It doesn’t seem very important at first glance, but Shakespeare did write this line for a reason. He wanted to show the first step towards Othello’s downfall. The “pain,” is arguably foreshadowing that could hint at greater pain for Othello in the future. He is stressed and sick and it will only get worse later on. This is also when he loses his special handkerchief, which causes him to lose his sensibility and he is mentally conquered by anger and jealously, the green-eyed monster. If Othello wasn’t sick, he wouldn’t had been angry, which means he wouldn’t have thrown his handkerchief onto the ground. If he hadn’t left his handkerchief out there in the open, Emilia never would had been able to steal it and give it to Iago. If Iago was never given that handkerchief, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to frame Cassio. The handkerchief is the most important item in the story. Without it, there would be no plot, thus my scene where Othello loses the handkerchief, is the most important scene in the story. 

My performance went very well. I actually think we were one of the best ones. I memorized my lines and stayed in character. Sure I wasn’t expecting a Tony/Oscar performance, but It did go the way I expected. It could’ve been worse, but it wasn’t, so I’m happy. If I had to do anything differently, I would encourage my group members to memorize their lines, but over all I thought that my (excuse me) our performance went well.

Performing the play was an interesting experience because I could now witness Shakespeare's words come to life. So I guess seeing the action helped me understand the visuals a little better. To be honest when we were reading, we discussed, wrote about, and analyzed this book so many times, that by the time we performed, I had already understood Shakespeare's language as if it was my own. Recently I saw a Shakespeare comedy called Love’s Labor’s Lost. I’ve never read or heard of this play before, and when watching it, I was surprised by how well I could keep up with the plot. I understand Othello, and I understand Shakespeare.

Will Amari 

3/18/13

310

Reflection 

1. How does this project relate to the real world?

If I ever want to figure out the height of the Statue of liberty, I will be able to figure that out, or at least get a reasonable estimate. Although I do not understand the value of this information, one can assume its just nice to know how to find the heights of random objects. I guess if I wanted to be a geometry teacher or a engineer or a blue collar construction worker, this information would come in handy. 

1. What was the most exciting portion of this project and why? What was the least exciting portion to this project and why?

The least exciting portion of this project was a tie between making the blue print and trying to figure out all the math. More specifically the ratio part. I don’t like making ratios because I’m not very good at it. I understand ratios, but the mirror method didn’t get me a reasonable conclusion to the height of the building. I did all the measurements and the math part correctly, but the conclusion didn’t seem accurate. I got 26 feet. A ten story building is no where near 26 feet. I did the mirror method twice, checked my math numerous time, and I still got the same result. It was very frustrating. I didn’t like making the blue print because it was very time consuming and it was annoying trying to get the right ratios to fit the final presentation. I enjoy actually going outside and constructing the mirror method. It was a good change in pase. 

1. What did you learn from completing this project?

I learned that these projects take more time then expected. I really wanted to get at least a B and shoot for an A in this project, but I don’t think this is going to happen because I think my project has the wrong math, I’m probably missing something, the presentation could be better, and I’m turning it in late. I need to focus on every aspect of this project and not wait so long to decide to aim for an A. I wish more people in this class would aim for As so that way I have more of a reason to aim for it myself. When people step up their I get inspired to step up mine. I honestly don’t see this happing in this class. I’m going to sign up for standard retakes now, because right now I have a 82 and I want this to rise.  

Will Amari 

3/5/13

Silver

This is a podcast about a man born under a strict environment, and how he managed to stand up to his father. Despite his fathers expectations of him becoming a doctor, he realized he wanted to become something different, forcing him to stand up for himself, and follow his heart. 

Crossing Boundaries Reflection

At first I was a little worried. I didn’t think I knew anyone who had ever crossed a boundary with anyone or anything, no one close to me seemed to have an interesting life. I thought about making some story up. Literally— I could had just pretended that my sister was some skanky alcoholic, say that she crossed the boundaries of innocence, recorded it all in fifteen minutes, then call it a day. This was before I realized that someone close to me, did have an interesting life, did cross boundaries, and he lived right under the same roof as me. I’m talking about my dad. 

I’m glad I interviewed my dad because he had an interesting relationship with his father, also he told the story so well and he very so specific. I loved all the detail and actually learned a lot about him, that I didn’t know before. He also didn’t get emotional, and I’m happy about that. It would had been uncomfortable to see my dad cry. 

Audacity is not my favorite, and I had some trouble uploading it. I had to wait until I was back in school to have some one show me how they did it. It was very hard to control the volume especially if you had music and dialogue playing at the same time. Not to mention how frustrating and time consuming it was to move all the recordings around. All the tracks looked the same, it would had been better if they were color coated, but whatever, it was fine over all. It got the job done. 

I was surprised how much everyone liked my podcast, no one seemed to have any real complaints. They seemed pretty entertained by my dad, which is weird, because I don’t see how you could relate to some old white man in his fifties. Also my dad talks about being an artist a lot. (I don’t see this class as a very artistically interested stream.) I which my music could fade better but my effect amplifier was weird and difficult to use. Next time (If there is a next time) I’m defiantly using I movie. Honestly, this project was kind of stressful, I’d rather just right a ten page essay (yes I said ten) on telling my fathers story, instead of making a pod cast. 

Will Amari

1/3/13

Silver

Wordz.

During the murky early mornings I am a man of very few words. My thoughts are focused on my dreams which I miss intensely the instant I wake. My eyes are towards the ceiling, and my back lays flat on the cushion of my nice soft warm bed. The darkness is a clown which fools with my mind. He bends the fine line between what’s real and what’s only fantasy. Which is why I lay silent trying to figure out the clear difference. 

“WILL!” That’s my father yelling from downstairs. I’m still in my dream phase thinking about women and riches. I flop over sideways facing my bedroom door and try to respond to him with a happy hearty “Good morning,” but before I can, my true feelings break loose, and I respond by saying a depressing, miserable, “MmmmWha?” 

“Oh.” He says surprisingly. There is a short pause, then he continues, “I think it’s time you start thinking about getting up.”

“Mnnn Kay— one minute.” I fall out of bed and quickly get dressed, walk my dog, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, pack my bag, and then I go to school. It all feels like one movement.

In the classroom I am a mouse, even though I’m totally there, I’m quiet and I speak with my eyes. Sometimes words are as meaningless as a Thrush who cannot sing. However, sometimes, if the right words are used by the right person, they can save a life. In the end, some words are beautiful works of art, like the pieces that are admired in museums and some words are stupid and are only meant to be used for The Mindless Small Talk of everyday life. 

“Sup Will.” Someone says.

“Sup man.” I say plainly, and with a sarcastic crescent-shaped smile glued on my face, I shake their hand. That to me is as low as it gets, the words I use for small talk have no personality or charisma. They’re boring and dimwitted, and there is no art or true beauty to them. There’s just that sort of, “I say this, you say this feeling”, you get when your talking to someone you don’t know and or care about. I feel like a social robot, until I get to lunch. 

At lunch, with my friends, I am Out Going, I am Free Spirited, and I am Happy— which is not a word I use often. Do I speak out art? I don’t know, but its eccentric and natural and my words mirror my personality— and that’s all that matters. 

“Will.” Tom says to me.

“Tom.” I reply. 

“Amari.”

“Sawyer.” I joke.

Tom throws a fake punch at my face. And I pretend to get hit in the eye, and start to grow fake tears while crying out a fake sob. 

Then someone says, “Yo. Guys we should definitely go bowling.” 

“I know, we really should.”

“Whites versus Asians again?”

“Hell yah bitch.”

“Were gonna kick your asses back to Viet-Nam.”

“Oh my god. You guys are so messed up.”

“You’re the one who can’t say one sentence without saying the word fuck.”

“Fuck you.”

“He looks like Hitler.”

“Lamborghini Muci Damn deez chicks are thirsty...”

“Shut the hell up.”

“Wait hold on I like that.”

“You see me rollin...”

“Oh my god. Will. Play that country music you like.”

“Its not country. Its folk man. Bob Dylan. See country is like yeee-haaawww grab your partner round ‘n’ round. Folk is expressive and sad like blowin’ in the wind and stuff. I like folk a lot better cause it’s like real poetry made into song.” There is a brief moment of silence. “Plus its fun to play on my guitar.” 

The conversations I have with my friends are valuable because they are so natural. The words from my mind, spill out of my lips, like the water that runs out my faucet. It’s a time where my words reveal the most of myself and the mouse in me becomes a lion. I am my own jungle. I roar instead of squeak. I swear instead of shake and I am not alone. 

I’m alone on my way home, I’m a shadow, and although I am happy, I am not me. As I walk through familiar streets and smell the familiar smells and hear the familiar sounds, my shadow grows. By the time I get to my door— no, by the time I get to my street, I grow my flesh and bones. I walk into my house, fully skinned and fully clothed. What you see of me is enough for you to know— I’m there. Dragging along my book bag, I parade up the stairs, and walk into the living room. There sitting on the couch is my mother. I am not a lion but I am also not a mouse. At this point, I don’t know what I am. However, I know what I follow. I follow a behavior and manner owned and invented by the house I live in and the roof I live under. I ask questions, instead of answering. I don’t declare or claim anything. I am innocent and ignorant. 

“Sup mom.” I said. “What’s for dinner?” I asked. 

“Well. Why don’t you look on the counter and find out for yourself.”

“Oh yah.” I turn around and...

“But wait, tell me about your day.” Demands my mother. 

I answer her in a few words more than one. I speak, but like the robot I am before lunch, I do not tell. I follow the rules and act as I am supposed to. The world inside the tower which I live in revolves around a small round table. Together we call it the dinning room. We sit and eat and speak and drink. 

“I got a eighty five on my spanish test.” 

“Thats good.” My mother admitted. “How are you doing on all your other subjects?”

“Pretty good.” I reply.

“Yah, you keeping up on all your assignments?”

“Yes.” I say emotionless and calmly. I finish up my meal and head up to my room. 

All through the night, until early in the morning, I’m alone in my room. Once again I am speaking, but not through my eyes or mouth, but within the inner roots of my body. I speak with my heart, soul and mind. These words, they are different than the ones that I say out loud and to me and me only— they are truly beautiful, a masterpiece made out of letters and vowels. Art. These words come from a big bright cabinet located in my dark dreary mind. These words, which I ponder all day keep me occupied and I become excited. These words have personality, style and grace. My heart is finally speaking and my soul is finally free from the tower I am forced to live in. There is no better way to use these words, so why use them at all. Words that are said out loud aren't special, they are wasted, wasted on something that is soon to be nothing. Nothing more than a memory, not worth being memorized. 

The words that are meant to be memorized have a true meaning that shows who you really are. Not as a human, but as a individual. Its poetry, art, truly beautiful, Bob Dylan and blowin’ in the wind, eccentric, natural, or whatever you want to call it, it doesn’t really matter, as long they reveal your true self.

“It is the most vivid and crucial key to identify. It reveals the private identity, and connects one with, or divorces one from, the larger, public, or communal identity.” James Baldwin typed that.

“My words depend on my personality, my personality depends on my attitude, my attitude depends on who’s at the door. For I speak out my own creation and my creation is nothing more.” I typed that.  

Dropbox: 

Will Amari

11/19/12

Silver 

“She Whispered In My Ear or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Weekend”

And I never saw her again. She was the light of my life and she truly loved me...

I named a damn album after her. You remember that? It was my biggest hit. I was at the prime of my career. Definitely the golden age, but I feel like I never really truly made it. I never really truly had that chance to bask in the limelight. 

I was huge. I mean there were The Beatles, The Stones, Dylan and then me.

But I was as big as I was forgotten— they all out shined me. It was a tough business. It wore me out and I wanted a simpler life. Sure the movie business was tough, but it just felt more steady. Less sex, more respect, that’s what it was. And writing was a good thing to lean on. I feel like this is what got me out of my...um... heroin addiction. 

I didn’t have much of a childhood but there were weekends where I thought I was going to go insane. Childhood memories— what a life to live. I grew up in a small town right next to a big city. I lived in this tiny house and there really wasn’t a lot going on. There were no kids my age. I didn’t have many friends, and my parents were... well they were parents, but It was a peaceful neighborhood. Though I struggled socially in school, I don’t blame myself. I blame my surroundings. You know who lived next door? No one... I didn’t have neighbors. My parents where jackasses they didn’t care. Instead I had imaginary friends and radio. The Masked Rider and The Adventures of Daniel Queen were all I needed to keep me calm and busy. I remember they came on once a week at 5.00 P.M. I came running home every Thursday after school to finish my homework, just to listen to the radio before dinner. Now-a-days you got the TV, the video games, and iPods and... what have you. It was a good life except weekends were quite lonely. I just sat there in my room thinking too much about the world. I always thought that it was going down the drain. And my parents always wanted me out. But, I had no one to go out with. So I just lay there on my bed until I practically convinced myself that nothing mattered and that we as human beings were nothing more than a bunch of self righteous animals or... better yet savages that were crazy enough to... (shakes head) 

I was pretty depressed but... whatever. Life is depressing. (pause) It wasn’t always that way. There was a time I had friends. Real friends. 

Eighth grade is the final stage of childhood. Your bodies are changing as fast as your life. You start to notice more, ask more questions and take more chances. It was easier to get in trouble and your innocence slowly begins to fade away into the past just like the crisps Autumn leaves that fall from their branches. Theres a metaphor in there somewhere. Anyway what was... I’m sorry I lost my train of...

Oh yes... um, so one weekend I was out walking my dog. There was a park I always went to and I found a kid, a girl my age who had several small dogs. I had one big dog. I walked up to her. She wore an orange coat and a black skirt. She was a short haired blond and her face was dressed in rose pink. I forgot what I was wearing, what I looked liked, or anything else but it didn’t matter. Anyway I decided to engage in pleasant conversation.

I flirted with her.

I asked her out.

Well, not really. I just helped her with her math homework. She seemed like a nice girl so I knew it was safe. Turned out she went to my school all along and I never even noticed her. We were ounce like fleeting shadows passing in the halls and now we were friends. A week later I came to her house to listen to some local radio programs. It was a rainy lazy Sunday. I walked outside with her to go through the park where we spent the whole day playing in the rain, splashing each other, going down the slide, playing on the swings. It was just the two of us, no little kids, and no grown ups to tell us what to do. We played freely with out any fear of consequences lingering in our pure young minds. When the sun went down she asked me to come back to her house where we dried off and listened to the radio once more. I remember her room and how everything was done up in pale lavender. Her bed was silky and soft. She had this huge crush on Frank Sinatra, and it bothered me a bit, but overall I didn’t mind. The room began to feel warm and my cheeks became red. She had moved closer to me until we were practically one person. That evening her lips met with mine and I began to shake. She whispered in my ear and softly said that I could do whatever I wanted to do to her. 

It was dark by the time I came home. Almost dinner time and I knew my mom was going to freak out. As I walked down my block I became inspired. The beauty of the night along with lights which glimmered through the air is something to this day forward I will never forget. I knew that these moments would soon just become memories and nothing more. To this day I think of that weekend and more and more, every time I think of it... it becomes less of a memory and more of a fantasy.

And I never saw her again. She was the light of my life and she truly loved me.

After she moved away from my neighborhood, I soon came to realize that there was never going to be another girl like her. Allowing her to live on in my songs is just my way of thanking her for all the times we had spent together. Young love is the best love because everything happens so naturally. I guess its true what they say... you will never be young again. 

But you can still be happy (pause) and you can still be happy. 

La casa

La casa no tiene baño.

No tiene cuarto.

Hay una nevera

Hay dos sofás

Tiene una

No tiene escaleras

¡La casa es mu bonita!

Negative space is the opposite of an object that is drawn. It is all the space that is around your drawing. For example if you draw a lamp all the negative space is around the lamp.

In my stool drawing I found negative space where there wasn’t any stool. For example, I found negative space between the legs of the stool. The rest of the negative space was basically in the background of the stools. In my cut out, all the negative space was found in all the light areas of the picture.

Negative space helps artist draw the shapes for each drawing. I do think it enhances drawings because it makes positive space stand out. Also I think it looks cooler. 

Dora la Exploradora

Lunes:

Almuerzo un sandwich, una banana, un vaso de agua

Martes:

Almuerzo una manzana, el arroz, un vaso de refresco

Miércoles:

Almuerzo una ensalada, las papas fritas, un vaso de agua

Jueves:

Almuerzo un vaso de té, una sopa, los frijoles

Viernes:

Almuerzo un vaso de leche, un sandwich

Sábado:

Almuerzo una toronja, el pan, el arroz, un vaso de té

Domingo:

Almuerzo los frijoles, un vaso de refresco, una ensalada

El Secreto del Cuy

Hay cien familias en el rio de Cananda. Hay un el primo y una tia. ¡Mi tio es muerto! La famila tiene un puma numbre señor Mc Noodles. La famila tiene un cuy numbre Belzabar. Del cuy es muy stupido. Del cuy es muy gorda. Del cuy comer mi primo. Mi tia quera venganza.

¡Hola, mi nombre es Will Amari! Tengo quince años. Todos los dias escribo, dibujo y leo. Por lo tanto nunca ver la tele. Mi toco guitarra. Asi que escucho musica. Soy a veces practico deportes. Es pore so que yo soño. Mi encanta mi escuela. Por lo tanto ir a la escuela.

SLA

   ¡Hola amigos! ¿Como esta? Mi escuela, SLA es mas o menos pequeño, de costumbre bobo, y mucho entretenido. Nosotro principal es el Sr. Lehman. Es el muy intelligente. SLA estamos en Filadelfia. Natenamos de un café, mucho clubes, y mucho deportes. Hay quinientos estudiantes y profesores. Los profesores es mucho inteligentes. ¡Me encanta SLA! SLA es muy interesante y diversión.

Clase: Ingles

Tengo la clase de: martes, vienes, miércoles, jueves, 

Profesor: Señor Kay

Actividades en la clase: Leer, escribir, tomar apuntes,

Responsabilidades: Prestar atención, tomar apuntes, participar, trabajar duro

Materiales: Unas lápices, Las hojas de papel, Mi computadora, y Mi libro, Kindred.

Opinión: Me fascina porque es muy interesante, difícil a veces.

¿Te gusta tu clase de: Ingles?

Clase: Bioquímica

Tengo la clase de: lunes, martes, jueves, vienes

Profesor: Señor Sherif

Actividades en la clase: Leer, escribir, hacer investigación,

Responsabilidades: Prestar atención, tomar apuntes, hacer investigación

Materiales: Unas lápices, Las hojas de papel, Mi computadora,

Opinión: es muy interesante, mucho diversión

¿Te gusta tu clase de: Bioquimíca?

Queried Elvis Valero,

   ​¡Hola, ¿Como estas? Me numbre es Will Amari estoy tango 14 años. ¿Cuando es tu cumple? Soy de Filadelfia, pero un poquito loco. Es una ciudad bastante grande ¿Que tiempo hace? Es Filadélfia mas o manos hace frio. Me gusta escribir y ir al cine. Tambien escuchar musica sin embargo no me gusta nada correr ni leer y hablar por telefono. ¿Qué te gusta hacer? Soy caracteristicas bobo tambien bobo y muy lindo. ¿Como eres? Bueno, me voy porque tengo platicar con amigos. ¡Adios! 

con cariño,
Will Amari