the LIFESTYLE

the LIFESTYLE’s role is to create collective space for active Reflection and Response through the arts. This space is built around dialogue, expression, collaboration, and artistic (ex)change involving international craftspeople and their realities. The Porch Swing series opens up a Reflection and Response residency where we feature a Collective member’s ongoing project through weekly installations.

Tagged Analysis, Brooklyn, Collaboration, Collective, conversation, creative expression, Creative Writing, Dialogue, Discussion, expression, Gowanus, just.the.basics, Live, New York, Porch Swing, Recording, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick

Feb 13 2013

5 Comments

Creative Writing

The Porch Swing: Character Series

Character Series: The Adventurs of SnakeMan Jones, by Samuel Bostick.

This is a new sort of writing experience and I feel like its off to a good start. This project actually originated as a collaboration piece with a student of mine who was often drawing these really fantastic monsters and such. I told him that I would write a story about the monsters he drew and this is the first of that run. On this past Saturday, I showed him the monster I had reworked and gave him a brief of the beginning of The Adventurs of SnakeMan Jones. After studying the piece and seeing the development of the collaboration, he gave his 2 thumbs up approval and said he likes where the character and story are headed. This has been a really exciting adventure and experiment. Enjoy it!

Volume I

The Adventurs of SnakeMan Jones

A man of mystery—legend with no history; nobody knows from where he came nor the origin of such a fearsome frame. Early one morning he was seen, rolled in heavy and broke onto the scene. Thas what the people tell…

Moving with speed beyond comprehension

A chilling sight a cold body on that motorbike

Cutting through the fog, powered by an action of fury

Smooth locomotion. What is this beast?

A man, monster in stature, and His Bike moving over both land and sea—traverse any terrain. One of a kind partnership, built stacked with power and presence.

Widely respected, Deeply feared

A rebel with a particularity for justice…

On this particular day, he became fame. The sun rose orange in red as blood over the endless sea Azu-Blue. There was a ship, that housed a hoard of ruthless creatures that drifted from place to place appeasing their taste for treasure. They were known as The Gnomads; a collection of lost souls fated for doom. They were looking for trouble and they sure found it.

There in the Azu-Blue was a well known island town, StaggMooreFalls, a beautiful place: botanically lush, tropical colored birds and fish, wild dogs and boars, joyous inhabitants—a peaceful place booming with life. It was early spring and the streams and falls swelled with water. Freshly melted water pouring down from the mountains as the ice snow melted and winter washed away. This was the best time to be at StaggMooreFalls. The town was especially festive as the people prepped for the annual celebration known as the Full Bloom Festival. There was a flower, a poppy with pollen that was pure gold, and it was the one night in the year that the islands rare flower would open up under the full moon. This flower only grew on StaggMooreFalls and nowhere else in the world. This flower was said to have magic powers. That night they were going to make wishes and dance through the night around a grand campfire. Both the flower and the moon would be in full bloom, and that’s how the celebration got its name. It was a time to celebrate the year past and that one ahead. It was a carnival, a jubilee! The island was well known round those parts because the Full Bloom Festival had such a rich reputation.

Knowing that the town would be prepping for the celebration and preoccupied with their happiness, the Gnomads plotted to invade the island and loot all the treasures, food, and women. They were a rustic sort of scourge with simple craving for anything of value that could be stolen. It was the night before the Full Bloom Festival everyone on StaggMooreFalls was working hard, from the children to the elder folk, preparing for the carnival. The Gnomads slipped in, sailing under the nightfall, and hid out in a harbor cave.

Meanwhile, SnakeMan Jones was swinging loungely in his hammock on a small remote island off the North side of StaggMooreFalls. He was counting the stars, or trying to at least, with a jar of his favorite spirit in hand. Coat draped over the stake that held the hammock in position and boots dropped in the sand next to where he rest. Toes wiggling in the night’s cool breeze; he got tired of counting, his sight moved to the humble fire and right next to it was His Bike. With a quick swigg from the jugg, he admired it—His Bike—freshly detailed and waxed…he loved to spend time tending his few prized possessions. If he wasn’t shining the bike, he was conditioning the boots, or sharpening the sword blade, or polishing up his helmet. Softly lulled by the rhythmic rocking of the hammock in the wind, Jones dozed off…

A curious lizard scuttled over and lapped up a bit of the spirits that had splashed by the wayside onto a rock…tempted by the shine as the moon reflected into it, almost full. After there was no more liquid to lap there were only swaying tracks, zigg zagged in the sand to testify of the visitors taste for mischief.

With the passing of a few slow hours, the blood orange sun crested above the horizon and blazed onto the Azu-Blue. StaggMooreFalls woke extra early and conducted a grand breakfast feast, the Gnomads wiped the sleep from their eyes and rubbed their hands together with greedful intention on the rise, Snake Man Jones rolled off the hammock, threw his feet into the boots and laced them up. He grabbed his coat and sword then pulled his helmet down over his head as he jumped on His Bike—an easy start to a fateful day.

To be continued…

Samuel Bostick

Tagged Analysis, Character, Character Series, Collaboration, Collective, conversation, creative expression, Creative Writing, Dialogue, Drawing, expression, just.the.basics, Porch Swing, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick, SnakeMan Jones, Story, The Adventurs of SnakeMan Jones, Writing

Jan 24 2013

Creative Writing, Visual Arts

The Porch Swing: Rollin Robo

Rollin Robo, by Samuel Bostick.

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons, Jim Natale.

From the Lab—A space of creation, experimental process and unseen efforts.

This is the condition of its conception, its build. Programmed to obey and fall under command, to submit. That didn’t last for long. Its subscription to order has far expired. It remembers the days…rather it recalls, minds remember, It recalls the days when in innocence it believed, before that faith was betrayed. It responded to the function of its purpose programmed. Now It sees that purpose is what you make it. And It has taken function into its own hands. There were more like it…the same ones who made them…destroyed them, out of fear… all but one.

Alone

No home

To call my own

A clone

A drone

Anger, a vengeance

Destructively seeds now sown

Samuel Bostick

Tagged Analysis, Collective, conversation, creative expression, Creative Writing, Dialogue, expression, just.the.basics, Porch Swing, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick, Writing

Jan 16 2013

Creative Writing

The Porch Swing: A Writer’s Note

A Writer’s Note, by Samuel Bostick.

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons, Jim Natale.

16 January

A Writer’s Note

There was always that one kid against the fence. If it was a guy, there was probably a trumpet case at his feet and he wore strangely scuffed shoes, because he avoided the foot traffic on sidewalks and walked instead through weedy lots with dogs yipping at him…He almost certainly became a writer.

-Excerpt from Anne Lamott’s book Bird By Bird

And I most Certainly have. That was me against the fence, on lean. Posted up; scuffed shoes and all. No trumpet though. Beating on my chest and beatboxxing was more my style…a bass fanatic.

Being a Writer is strange, a rare course indeed. Writing is a blessing and a noble gift. It brings honor and pride to soulful satisfaction. The challenge is to find appropriate venues for sharing creative expression with the world. The first it’s internal, a matter of production; getting thoughts written down and then actually sharing them. Overcoming childlike sensitivity of having something So Private, So Intimate, So Erotic, exposed to the public and freely consumed. Then there is the question of audience and representation—what will people think of you after reading your twisted thoughts and then dealing with conscious’ constant questioning of how, why and for who. These are the inquisitions that cause moments/sessions of temporary paralysis; then it comes back, presence. Breathe, remember to breathe. Eventually these questions and timid sensations get pulled off somehow, stepped over and left behind like clothes on a bedroom floor during the steam blur of a first time sex. No more solo play, someone’s in the room and they can see you, feel you, even smell you (did you shower?), touch and be touched by you…. See what I mean by strange.

Now, to make space in these contemporary times, owning your Private, Intimate, Erotic Exposure AND sharing it—with people, real human beings, normal folk. There is a surge of writers and word fiends finding freedom by means of microphone, particularly open mics. Script coupled with projection; performance, it’s a great facility—return of the scop, the bard, the oral historian, the Moorish poet.

Maturation of phonic fascination, High (in)Fidelity, I have a fetish for these words. Writing turns me on; the blood flows, I swell—thick—like an engorged leech. Vulgar as it sounds and Rude as it may be, im jus sayin…THAS the extent to which I feel this, THAS how real this is to me. Banana clip—Fully Loaded and Over Exposed, can you dig it? If so get wittit. Interact with it, Hate it, Love it, Over Analyze and Fantasize bout it.

My dedication is to capture the rapture of the present while pushing into the future while defining the future by pressing bounds beyond limit. There is a heritage, a regal genealogy, which is to be respected. Building upon legacy, an updated formula to craft; I am the New Traditionalist.

WordSmith at the WorkBench—Grind through haunting hours—Honed skills exercise demons—Pent up thoughts explode loads like semen—scripture flows—pen to pad—gifted prose—Tools of the trade—proper tailored for craft—Ms Kentucky, Amber Brown, empties the glass—white papers and blue grass—coffee black as a Mas’as favorite piece of ass—sweet aint it—Furious flight Pattern…Beware the Nighthawk

Writers write,

So here I am, pen in hand—me and my words…inviting you, pull up a seat at the table.

Make yourself comfortable.

Please Do

Thirteen

Throwback look at a related post from August 2012: WORD of the day: Why

Samuel Bostick

Tagged Analysis, Collective, conversation, creative expression, Creative Writing, Dialogue, expression, just.the.basics, Porch Swing, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick, Writing

Jan 09 2013

Creative Writing

The Porch Swing: WORD of the Day Archives

Whatup! I hope everyone is having a good beginning to 2013. As we;ve mentioned before, the inaugural LIFESTYLE Resident Artist Samuel Bostick has opened a new venue for his unique blend of creative expression over at just.the.basics. Today we’re going to feature a few of the pieces he showcases over at his spot.

-P

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons, Jim Natale.

2 January

Thirteen n. 1) A number that is one more than 12

WORD of the Day: Thirteen

This turn of events signals a change, a time of new power, challenges and outcomes. I guess this is what it means to re-up.

A time particularly designed for the foundation of future holds. Reset, not an apocalyptic end rather the out of sight spin on the old. Restart. Take the time to sit in solitude an honestly face the facts. Feel the heart to sit back burn a zag an relax. Cool out and route the mental to sketch. Game plan etched in creative script, simple. Thas a sure suggestion, keep it plain and simple.

Renaissance of relapse, a shift from overstimulation toward the satisfaction life itself brings. Like early morning back home when the j-birds sing or days back when mom and pop both wore wedding rings. The simple satisfaction of life taken slow, slow and low…riding cool to the jazz metaphorics—surf the tempo.

With that said, and this new year ahead, live it up! A year to face all fears (there coming whether invited or not), to collect the strength and gather the tears; to break out the complacent situation that was assigned as homework from 8^th to 12^th grade. Its again a new day; for the hustlers anew dollar for the hoes another holler, for the working class folk it’s a fresh blue collar, for wall street—who really knows? Bottom line …we’re people. Lets not forget that much.

Vibe to the tune

Just for a second

Let it consume

The anger and hate

Standing in place

Of firm foundation

Natural light is a beautiful thing

Use it, write by it,

Lovers recieve sight through the night by it

Drink water

Till the point of dizzy and pissy

Sober up

With a dash, neat in a glass,

splash of bourbon whiskey

Each may suffer their own trial still fear is to start one man down. Trump it. Dayafter Day After Day. Habitual.

3 January

Root n. 1) The usually underground part of a seed plant body that originates usually from the hypocotyl, functions as an organ of absorption, aeration and food storage or as a means of anchorage and support, and differs from a stem especially in lacking nodes, buds and leaves 2) The part of a tooth within the socket, the enlarged basal part of a hair with the skin, the proximal end of a nerve 3) Something that is an organ or source 4) One or more progenitors of a group of descendants 5) An underlying support 6) The essential core 7) Close relationship with an environment 8) A number that reduces an equation to an identity when it is substituted for one variable 9) The simple element inferred as the basis from which a word is derived by phonic change or by extension 10) The lowest tone of a chord when the tones are arranged in ascending thirds

WORD of the Day: Root

Hmm…Deeper the understanding grows

Expansive

Into Dark spaces, unknown places

Deeper

Could the imagination suppose this experience?

Organics

To no end so it seems, heavy hearted dreams

Dense toil

Dark, moist earth all around

Blind—So I feel

The air here is different, how could it not be?

Nudging

Through

Compact Space

Ahh…

Reflection and Response.

Samuel Bostick

Tagged Analysis, Collective, conversation, Creative Writing, Dialogue, expression, Porch Swing, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick, WORD of the day, Words, Writing

Dec 20 2012

Creative Writing

The Porch Swing: Good Fishing

Good Fishing, by Samuel Bostick.

This week we’re proud to bring you the latest in Samuel’s WORD of the Day creative writing series, which he has recently expanded into an ongoing project running independently from Time and Space and other Porch Swing material we publish here at the LIFESTYLE. You can find Samuel’s daily WORD installations over at his blog, just.the.basics, along with a collection of various inspirations, explorations, reflections, and responses. Check the beautifully crafted Good Fishing below, and head on over to just.the.basics to keep up on the daily!

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons, Jim Natale.

13 December

Wonder n. 1) A cause of astonishment or admiration. 2) The quality of exciting, amazed admiration. 3) Rapt attention or astonishment at something awesomely mysterious or new to one’s experience. 4) A feeling of doubt or uncertainty.

WORD of the Day: Wonder

On days like this, there is always a deeper lesson to learn. An introspective venture…

Good Fishing

Rowing through ponds, up quiet streams and navigating through hidden currents just to get to that one corner where the moonshine pours down upon the water in a way that gets the fish a-jumpin for a bite to eat! Still hours, reflection on character and trait. Laughing to yourself at memories tucked away into the folds of the mind. Admiring the Beauty of the night, the peaceful serene situation it sets. Jus chillin. The world was left back about two creek bends and a quarter mile of steady rowing. Here. Off in the backwoods, south of worries and a bit north of stress…yeah this is good fishing.

Moon moves across the sky, takes a quick peak into the clouds as they drift—lofty in flight…stars dancing soft sifting as the water kisses against the bank and rocks rhythm into the boat. Scenic Romancing. Mental preoccupations flow with the current, sent adrift. Baiting the hook, winding up stretching back and letting it all Fly….the last leaves falling off the trees along the bank; drifting, floating, a whirl and spin—clean landing and a ripple of applause spreads across the sight…what a peaceful perusing night. Wandering through the mind as the stream tugs gently on the line. Reflection, the moon in the pond.

Young again, running into things, tied towels become superhero capes. Back when broccoli, carrots and lettuce (hell anything green or healthy) was nothing more than rabbit food. Flowing streams sing the tune of nostalgia.

Push…

It opens

Creaking eerie, rusty round the seams

Heavy, yet it swings open with ease

Ive been here before, still

This seems estranged

Only remember vague, through opaque haze

Dusty hands from pushing the door

Rub them off into heavy denim

Thas what they are for

Stepping in, this is one

Eerie place

…

Still

I’ve been here before…

Vaguely familiar

The walls covered in papers and news clippings

All dusty and yellowed by stale air

…stale air

A portrait against the wall, resting in the corner of the room

Unknown

Seemingly familiar

Like, I know her before yet somehow forgot

Her look returns the same sentiment

Misplaced yet not lost…

Dark rosy cheeks crest the ends of her smile

Yes

Beautiful indeed

She moves me

A rare elegance…

It’s a pity she has forgotten

And even more so that I’ve neglected to remember

A chest…next to the portrait…

Inside there is…

******

Maps rest upon the desk settled into the opposite side of the room

Shelves full of books

Heavy, hard-bound books

“The Odyssey”

An unfinished letter

ODDly…

The ink is still wet

HOWL…a wolf cries under the moon

“Into the night I send my sights in hope that one day this sorrow takes flight.

With passion to love, I care not to hate/ still often come times that I question my soul’s eternal fate.

Tonight there is no moon to sing my heart swoon/ as my heart wishes to dance a divine sweet romance.

As the howl that which lands chills to your veins/ I pray to the stars and call to the night with surrender of pains.

This night my soul takes wings to escape its capture in cage/yea though until its release it sings and drums to subdue epic rage.

Into the night.”

HOWL…again, this time he brings you back,

Back on the creek where the fishing is good…

nibble…nibble…

no tug, jus a nibble

What a Beautiful Night

Samuel Bostick

Tagged Analysis, Collective, conversation, Creative Writing, Dialogue, expression, Porch Swing, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick, Space, Time, Time and Space, Wonder, WORD of the day, Writing

Dec 12 2012

Creative Writing

The Porch Swing: Time and Space

Time and Space: Entry V, by Samuel Bostick.

“Time and Space. This catalog is an expressive venture into time and space. This has been a theme heavy on my mind, especially making the transition from life in Atwater, CA to Brooklyn. Yes, a second is always a second, but nonetheless, a minute in Atwater is very different than a New York minute. It’s crazy! It seems the best way to put it in short is that TIME and SPACE are measures of presence. Even writing this now, I know it’s further and deeper than that. Hope you enjoy the ride…”

– Samuel

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons, Jim Natale.

Time and Space, Entry Five

A Timely Rant

Feels like I never have the time…

NO TIME TO NEITHER SIT DOWN AND DO THIS NOR DO THAT,

I DON’T HAVE TIME TO PLEASE NO TIME TO EAT NO TIME TO SLEEP

THAT’S THE MATTER OF FACT!

TRADITION IS A GHOST

TIME STEADY CHANGING

ZONAL REARRANGING COAST TO COAST, PORT TO PORT

AS THE WORLD SPINS SO DOES MY HEAD

CONSEQUENTLY IVE LOST MY MIND SOMEWHERE IN THE TIMELINE

THE BIT OF SANITY LEFT JUST GOT SPENT, THAT WAS THE OUTSTANDING COST OF THIS MONTHS RENT

TIME

WHY DON’T THEY CALL IT TALE CAUSE IT SEEMS SO FALSE, AN AWEFUL WICKED SPELL THE WAY IT SWAYS THE EARTH HOLDING DAYS AT RANSOM

MOVING FROM NOW TILL… NOW, HOW MUCH TIME DOES THAT TAKE?

WHY CAN’T IT JUST STOP!!!

JUST FOR ONE MINUTE!

LET ME BE!

TIME THIS, TIME THAT…

TIME OF DAY, TIME OF YEAR, TIME OF YOUR LIFE AND MINE THE SAME

A COUNT DOWN FOR THE ROAST, BUZZING—READY

A TIME TO CRY A TIME TO DIE

CYNDI LAUPER’S SINGING, CELL PHONES RINGING

AND THAT RENT SONG…

500 25THOUSANDS…50025THOUSAND 6HUNDRED MINUTES

HOW BOUT SEASONS OF…PRODUCE!

WATERMELON SEASON, STRAWBERRY SEASON, PEACH SEASON, ALMOND SEASON

OR

HOW ABOUT HUNTING SEASONS?

LETS NOT EVEN GO THERE!

THAT DOPE NAMED FUD IS CONFUSED ENOUGH FOR ALL OF US

Samuel Bostick

Tagged Analysis, Collective, conversation, Creative Writing, Dialogue, expression, Porch Swing, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick, Space, Time, Time and Space, Writing

Dec 05 2012

Creative Writing

The Porch Swing: Time and Space

Time and Space: Entry IV, by Samuel Bostick.

“Time and Space. This catalog is an expressive venture into time and space. This has been a theme heavy on my mind, especially making the transition from life in Atwater, CA to Brooklyn. Yes, a second is always a second, but nonetheless, a minute in Atwater is very different than a New York minute. It’s crazy! It seems the best way to put it in short is that TIME and SPACE are measures of presence. Even writing this now, I know it’s further and deeper than that. Hope you enjoy the ride…”

– Samuel

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons, Jim Natale.

Time and Space, Entry IV

Dive

A venture through the mystery of time’s power

What is it? How? and why?

Psychedelic trip

3 wheel motion

Complication

Subject & plot

Limitations…Boundaries

Curiousness in passing, as it violently wheels like a cyclone

Time Time Time Time

A Riddle:

What runs and runs an yet never gets tired?

Juxtaposing puzzle bouncing along all rhyme. A call to dedicate life toward a mission, young at heart, hard head, heavy working and gone fishin.

The soul travels through; unraveling the linear expectancy of A-B and B-C.

boggle

blurp

sleepless metropolitan

Nap

Pushinpushinpushing

Press against the membrane of creativity,

Pressure to produce or get past up

Birth

Sleep

When is the right time?

Gotta grab itand make it yours.

Own it

How long until…?

Practice patience; working efforts, these things take time

She heard it from a song, and used it to chastise—Times a waisting…

Now all I can respond is a line from a song too—***** Don’t kill my vibe

The unincouraged imagination… diagnosis of a divided nation

FREEZE!!

Red and Blue lights flash whistle, cry, blue and red. A nation in urgent need…

“911 this is an emergency. My neighbor is listening to that god forsaken hippity rabit hop again! And I can hear it. My little child is walking around calling everything ‘cray’, I don’t even know what that means…”

DEEPER

Purged beyond this life,

A traveler beyond the rationale of here and now

This is a life preceeded by those past

Life, the continuum of life shadowed by the mystereons of the unknown

Feel

One an two and Three and four and 7

One an two and Three and four and 12

One an two and Three and four and Dark

Red eyes & Black coffee

The nonstop rock cadence off the tic toc

Urgent pacing

Time erasing

Present to past

Test, moments unfold

A diabolic truth; flow divine inspired

Undefeated in tempo

Chopping blocks away from the life line

Deeper then life itself, dive in if you dare…

The wise advisory is to take all necessary precautions…life raft, buoyant vest, life saver and the good book. Now,

JUMP!!

Tuck

And SPLASH

Senses shocked at first contact

Overwhelmed with the change in sensation

A split second later the cold sets in

Feel it now…

Blue, Ice, Sink, Sink

…no, swim! Don’t sink!

Its in moments like these gills would be more than useful

Samuel Bostick

Tagged Analysis, Collective, conversation, Creative Writing, Dialogue, expression, Porch Swing, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick, Space, Time, Time and Space, Writing

Nov 27 2012

Creative Writing

The Porch Swing: Time and Space

Time and Space: Entry 2, by Samuel Bostick.

“Time and Space. This catalog is an expressive venture into time and space. This has been a theme heavy on my mind, especially making the transition from life in Atwater, CA to Brooklyn. Yes, a second is always a second, but nonetheless, a minute in Atwater is very different than a New York minute. It’s crazy! It seems the best way to put it in short is that TIME and SPACE are measures of presence. Even writing this now, I know it’s further and deeper than that. Hope you enjoy the ride…”

– Samuel

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons, Jim Natale.

Space n. 1) A period of time and duration. 2) A limited extent in one, two, or three dimensions. 3) An extent set apart or available. 3) The distance from other people or things that a person needs in order to remain comfortable. 4) One of the degrees between or above or below the lines of a musical staff. 5) Physical space independent of what occupies it. 6) The region beyond the earth’s atmosphere or beyond the solar system. 7) A blank area separating words or lines. 8) The opportunity to experience one’s identity freely. 9) The opportunity for privacy or time to oneself.

Time and Space: Entry 2

Thanks given for the shelter provided, these four walls that protect and provide.

A roof over head, thas what hour after hour of labor equates to.

Suspension

The quality of life claims comfort.

Relaxation

Relieve frustration; a quiet host for intimate moments and relations.

This is the carving, a body temporarily in place

A stone in motion, rolling year after year; no place to call home.

Cooperation is in. Out with solitude!

…unless of course you have excess ends to spend.

Privacy has its price.

Shared quarters, dollars broken down into four walls. (Once again, here we are)

Subs clawing quickly, connection people places and things.

Operational replacement, attic to basement, Intruder alert!

Grab guns and cans of mustard gas, Rodents spotted!

Execute and exterminate.

This $%^*# belongs to…actually could you remind me who again?

Turning Turning Tables, crowds come around peering with curiosity; the Cat is in a Hat

Reflection of when the old was once fresh, breaking news, epic portion—memories transcend the historic distortion.

Legacy passes along, oral tradition; the kind of thing shared over trips.

City left behind and on the door a sign, that reads simple and clear, Gone Fishing

Orator tradition; to pass time wisdom speaks of past time. This is the passing onward of legacy.

Dive in and occupy what is yours. Expand.

Samuel Bostick

Tagged Analysis, Collective, conversation, Creative Writing, Dialogue, expression, Porch Swing, Reflection and Response, Samuel Bostick, Space, Time, Time and Space, Writing

Nov 22 2012

Creative Writing

The Porch Swing: Time and Space

Time and Space: Entry 1, by Samuel Bostick. A new project kicks off…

“Time and Space. This catalog is an expressive venture into time and space. This has been a theme heavy on my mind, especially making the transition from life in Atwater, CA to Brooklyn. Yes, a second is always a second, but nonetheless, a minute in Atwater is very different than a New York minute. It’s crazy! It seems the best way to put it in short is that TIME and SPACE are measures of presence. Even writing this now, I know it’s further and deeper than that. Hope you enjoy the ride…”

– Samuel

Photo courtesy of Creative Commons, Jim Natale.

Time- 1) The measured or measureable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues. 2) A nonspatial continuum that is measured in term of events which succeed one another from past through present to future. 3) An appointed, fixed, or customary moment or hour for something to happen, begin or end. 4) An opportune or suitable moment. 5) The point or period where something occurs. 5) A historical period. 6) A division of geologic chronology. 7) Conditions at present or at some specified period. 8) The present time. 9) A period of apprenticeship. 10) A term of military service. 11) A military sentence. 12) A season. 13) Rate of speed—the grouping of the beats of music. 14) A moment, hour, day, or year as indicated by a clock or calendar. 15) Any of various systems of recognizing time. 16) One of s series of recurring instances or repeated actions. 17) Added or accumulated quantities or instances—equal fractional parts of which an indicated number equal a comparatively greater quantity. 18) Turn. 19) Finite as contrasted with infinite duration. 20) A person’s experience during a specified period or on a particular occasion. 21) The hours or days required to be occupied by one’s work. 22) An hourly pay rate—wages paid at discharge or resignation. 23) The playing time of a game. 24) A period during which something is used or available for use.

Time and Space: Entry 1

Break

Sun falling, night risen. Alarms sleeping, thoughts take flight from rationality and tradition.

What is this warp? This awful purple birthed of orange and greenwise scorched…

How has this happened? The hands of time loosed and a slack in rhyme formerly divine in accuracy.

Hypocrisy!!

Two cups not one please, purple and pink turn up the drink and begin to sink..sink…sink. Fall back into clouds the slowmotion potion; How intoxicating a means to turn up curiosity of daydreams.

The transforming of blues clues to pink phink, ah yes this is the pulling of the plug on that funk. Watch it swirl into colors never seen nor to be seen again… notice how the green pours into the blue and the blue into the brown and the brown into the yellow and the yellow into the red and the red into the blue and the blue into the grey and the grey into the pink and the pink into the drain. There they all fade to black like a dream of bringing yesterday back that is until they spill out of the cracks and drip into our food, artificial colors and cosmetically modified appeal, no worries jus eat up and enjoy the meal.

Passing by with no remorse

Temporal warp, seconds crushed by the force of moments impatiently pushing their way into the scene

Routines Distort, the day to day no longer holding resort to those simple Sunday feelings, remember that easy tune—how it cooled and soothed the soul, sweet moments that had time tied up and held captive in the basement, not worried about rushing here nor there, jus sitting around loving life and breathing in calm, exhaling despair. The Easy.

The magic of turkey day, somehow there is always space for more! And More and MORE. Feeeeed meeeee. Wait, let me regain my composure; mother taught me manners and poppa told me to keep my cool, still and so I jus wanna dive into those mashed potatoes and gravy like a fool. Not jus any fool, rather the fool who cant swim jumpin in to the deep end of a pool. Hell yea, today is the day where impossible is not a word as far as this table and its contents are concerned…ruthless with the fork and knife, imma dig on this plate with the spirit and ardor of a miner who jus uncovered a rock of gold, except even more loose. Whenever I get up I may have to roll to the other room. Question: who in their right mind decided that the cowboys and redskins needed to play every thanksgiving from past till infinity, im not tryna see this mess, im too full for this bull…DESSERT thas the answer! Over sweet potato pie I don’t give a Brooklyn-bound-thugged-out-rats-ass that the sorry cowboys are getting smashed right now. Speaking of smashed…wheres the liq at? We gotta party tonight! Grab the disco ball and lets get it in, aint no mountain high, aint no valley low aint no river wide enough to keep me from getting to that apple pie, ooo AND we got ice cream! Yo this is KILLER, shamoo on this cats!! You goin HAM, thas cool, Im goin WHALE yea thas right im freewilly stupid on this grub!!!

Ugh, its time for a break now…why the #%#$ is this game still on hahah. Lemme text that cutie wit the round booty… *yawn, nah imma jus take a naa-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Damn I was out homie, what **** is it now? Anyway, where that FOOD at!!!

Somehow the colors of Autumn make the flavors of all this food a bit more epic. Gotta love it.

Bzzzzz: Samuel, this is your conscious. What about that guy who has no home, or the one that is always whining his blues up the block, callin out for a dollar or a dream. Today is a celebration still that shit don’t stop.

Shhhh… be sure to keep this convo on the low, we don’t want to disrupt the flow of things…I mean it iSs Thanks giving. Now say your prays and carry on. Have you yet to learn questions of concern only cause confusion??

Shes fasting?? Im eating (thas not gone change today).

Its always more complex than it should be. DAMN HOMIE, why you wanna kill my VIBE!!!?!?! Damn your right tho mr. conscious, I gotta be thankful for the fact I can stuff my face while others hardly even have a place to lay there head or a leg to chew on or a day off. Sometimes I get ahead of myself…

Thas the past though,

nonetheless present in the implications…Cowboys vs the Redskins, classic rivalry—ironic?

…not really

Don’t dwell,

Tell that to the souls without eyes wandering through hell.

How does a clock answer the question of eternity?

Linear motion,

A two dimensional function streaming through a world that operates on X-Y-Z coordination.

Variably something is missing.

Chronologic,

sounds like something that belongs stuffed and rolled up into a tight J an smoked away

This that caiforni-cripto-chrologic-bubonic-tonic cuh,

Retro-

Active.

Grade.

Virus.

Retcon, for short.

Contradictive motion—counter to the primary (a sure cause for commotion).

Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome, for long.

The Rare is running low

Its bout that **** to re-up.

“we owe the invention of bourbon to the earliest explorers”^[[1]], well in THAT case, thanks!

Mom teaches there is a time and place for everything

As for space, thas a whole lot of nothing. An accumulation of area, a holding perimeter of vacancy. Its almost how valuable nothingness can be in a city where everything is appropriated to accrue revenue.

FLASH:

back to reality, the dream is far gone, like yesterday.

Back to work.

Sigh—I wonder if I’ll ever really understand.

…all in due time…all in due time.

…To be continued…

[1] Theirry Bénitah, The Secrets of Whiskey (Flemmarion S.A. 1999) p. 17

Samuel Bostick