by llleahhh

THRALL

The grass is dense with perspective,
but I don’t paint.
The lattice of green and brown reaches
to a forever point on the horizon,
lit perfectly for capture,
but my easel sits undisturbed.
Today I noticed stalks growing up its legs;
My own feet have become so enmeshed
in the network of roots
that I cannot walk.
Years pass like this.
I sit in the tall reeds and hide
from the field mice that are known
to carry plague.
I search the dirt for traces of gold
left behind by worthier pioneers.
I watch the wind toss the blade clusters
as if they were schools of fish
caught in the tides.
Eventually,
Night will rise; The light will fade.
And I will have my excuse
for yet another
blank canvas.

-Christine Cavalier

Thrall is a post from: PurpleCar

Last year a major clothing retailer used a reading of Walt Whitman’s poem, Pioneers! O Pioneers! in a TV ad. This sparked some renewed interest in the poem, published in the book Leaves of Grass in 1891.

The original poem is an ode to the early settlers of America and the American West. If you read the poem now, with the perspective that Whitman is writing about the early adopters of the internet, almost every single stanza still holds true. Whitman was one of those timeless writers that deftly uses a specific example to capture the general feeling of a universal truth, in this case, trail-blazing.

I re-wrote Pioneers! O Pioneers to show this point, and to pay homage to my online friends who have taught me much along the way. Rewriting the poem is my way of introducing you to Whitman’s original poem and its truly timeless essence.

My rewritten homage to Whitman and my ode to my early adopter peers is below. Whitman’s original poem, Pioneers! O Pioneers! is printed below that. You’ll have to click to see more (or come to the site if you are seeing this via an RSS reader) to see the poems.

My Fellow Pioneers!

homage by christine cavalier

COME my avatar children, follow well online, mobiles in hand. Have you your flaming fingers? Have you your sharp-edged tongues? Pioneers! O pioneers!
For we cannot drop off here, We must post my friends, we must bear the brunt of lost privacy, we the youthful early adopters, all the rest on us depend. Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you youths, Western youths, so quick to test, full of data, full of public pride and networks, Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping for the camera, Pioneers! O pioneers!
Have the elders shushed you? Do they tire of teaching dignity, wearied over the divide? We take up task of building bridges, and carry their worry alone. Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the past we leave alive, We dawn a newer, mightier world, varied world, New and ubiquitous the stream we generate, stream of life and our footprints. Pioneers! O pioneers!
We attachments steadily embed, Down the glass fibers, through packets, upload heave, Felling networks, mobbing, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways, Pioneers! O pioneers!
We media barriers damaging, We the data sharing, vexing we and exposing deep our minds eye, We the landscape net surveying, we the unused space filling, Pioneers! O pioneers!
All earth’s men are we, From the cellular waves and T3 lines, from the great doomed dungeons and the high moon seas, From the schools and from the streets, from the lonely trails we come, Pioneers! O pioneers!
From plain sight, from kitchen corner, an unending sea are we, from our phones, with the satellite link in between, All the keys of comrades clicking, all the polar opposites, Pioneers! O pioneers!
O coffeeful surfing race! O beloved race in all! O my fingers ache with tender updates for you all! O I miss you when I’m offline, Invisible rapture in electronic ties, Pioneers! O pioneers!
Raise the mighty copyright, waving high the delicate balance, over all the starry favorites, (open your readers all,) Raise the fang’d and warlike C&D letter, stern, impassive, weapon’d corporate dagger, Pioneers, O pioneers!
See my children, friended children, It’s those established media we must never stop disrupting, the Boomers and the Silents and WWIIs frowning but progress urging, Pioneers, O pioneers!
On and on with compact back-ups, with inaccessible sites waiting, with data of the dead quickly suspended in cyberlimbo, through dial-up, through power outages, uploading and never stopping, Pioneers, O pioneers!
O to crash while beta testing! Are there some of us to grow weary and fail? Is there one hour we share around the world? Then upon the lines we belong, soon and sure the miles are crossed. Pioneers, O pioneers!
All the signals of the world, they ping for us, with the social tech beat, holding a network, steady connection with laptop fronts, all for us, Pioneers, O pioneers!
Life’s honesty and varied opinions, All the online forms and channels, all the networkers at the screen, All the air travelers and broadcast surfers, all the masters of enslaved desktops, Pioneers, O pioneers!
All the secret internet lovers, All the students in the class, all the preached to and their preachers, all the egos, all the apathetic, all the voiceless, all the 5K walkers, Pioneers, O pioneers!
I too with my distracted spirit and body, We, a virtual trio, hunt and pecking, wandering from site  to site, Through these stories amid backlit darkness, with ghosts left in our retinas, Pioneers, O pioneers!
Lo, the animated glowing screen! Lo, the handheld games, all the platforms and science, All the missed sunlit days, all the nights never slept, Pioneers, O pioneers!
These are our thing, they are with us, All for primal validation, while our followers in silence wait for us, We to-day’s news feed wanting, we the route for neutrality paving, Pioneers, O pioneers!
O you daughters of the dead, O you community searchers! O you mommy bloggers and you military wives! You are divided, yet you must move in unity with us, Pioneers, O pioneers!
Independent labels, bootstrapping musicians, (Show Biz OldTimers, back away or host sketch comedy,) I hear your tunes, your a capella singing, soon your video will have 1,000 views, Pioneers, O pioneers!
Shop for delectations sweet, shop the gadgets and covers, disturb the peaceful and scramble the studious, the riches of distractions appalling, mindless shock for our enjoyment, Pioneers, O pioneers!
Do the narcissists self-indulgence show? Do the traditional media sleep? Have they laid off their writers? Rough pill to swallow with strange bedfellows, Pioneers, O pioneers!
What time is it? How did it become so late? Did I nod off? The passing hours I yielded to tracking you has made me oblivious, Pioneers, O pioneers!
Set your calendar alarms, even on the desktop in the basement, turn up the volume, AWAKE! Log in to your networks, Pioneers, O pioneers!

__________

Pioneers! O Pioneers! by Walt Whitman

COME my tan-faced children, 
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready, 
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes? 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
COME my iconned children, follow well online, mobiles in hand. Have you your flaming fingers? Have you your sharp-edged tongues? Pioneers! O pioneers!
For we cannot tarry here, 
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, 
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
For we cannot drop off here, We must post my friends, we must bear the brunt of lost privacy, we the youthful early adopters, all the rest on us depend. Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you youths, Western youths, 
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship, 
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you youths, Western youths, so quick to test, full of data, full of public pride and networks, Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping for the camera, Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted? 
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the 
seas? 
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Have the elders shushed you? Do they tire of teaching dignity, wearied over the divide? We take up task of building bridges, and carry their worry alone. Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the past we leave behind, 
We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world, 
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the past we leave alive, We dawn a newer, mightier world, varied world, New and ubiquitous the stream we generate, stream of life and our footprints. Pioneers! O pioneers!
We detachments steady throwing, 
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep, 
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
We attachments steadily embed, Down the glass fibers, through packets, upload heave, Felling networks, mobbing, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways, Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling, 
We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines 
within, 
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
We media barriers damaging, We the data sharing, vexing we and exposing deep our minds eye, We the landscape net surveying, we the unused space filling, Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we, 
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high 
plateaus, 
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All earth’s men are we, From the cellular waves and T3 lines, from the great doomed dungeons and the high moon seas, From the schools and from the streets, from the lonely trails we come, Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas, 
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental 
blood intervein’d, 
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the 
Northern, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
From plain sight, from kitchen corner, an unending sea are we, from our phones, with the satellite link in between, All the keys of comrades clicking, all the polar opposites, Pioneers! O pioneers!
O resistless restless race! 
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all! 
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O coffeeful surfing race! O beloved race in all! O my fingers ache with tender Tweets for you all! O I miss you when I’m offline, Invisible rapture in electronic ties, Pioneers! O pioneers!
Raise the mighty mother mistress, 
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress, 
(bend your heads all,) 
Raise the fang’d and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon’d 
mistress, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
See my children, resolute children, 
By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter, 
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
On and on the compact ranks, 
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly 
fill’d, 
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O to die advancing on! 
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come? 
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill’d. 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the pulses of the world, 
Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat, 
Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Life’s involv’d and varied pageants, 
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work, 
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the hapless silent lovers, 
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked, 
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
I too with my soul and body, 
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, 
Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions 
pressing, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Lo, the darting bowling orb! 
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets, 
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
These are of us, they are with us, 
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait 
behind, 
We to-day’s procession heading, we the route for travel clearing, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you daughters of the West! 
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives! 
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Minstrels latent on the prairies! 
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your 
work,) 
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Not for delectations sweet, 
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious, 
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Do the feasters gluttonous feast? 
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock’d and bolted doors? 
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Has the night descended? 
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding 
on our way? 
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Till with sound of trumpet, 
Far, far off the daybreak call-hark! how loud and clear I hear it 
wind, 
Swift! to the head of the army!-swift! spring to your places, 
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Pioneers! O Pioneers! Rewritten for the Tech Crowd is a post from: PurpleCar

So I have these massive folders on my laptop. I really should back them up… Anyway, every once in a while I’ll try to clean them out, streamline, organize, etc.

Well, I came across these few paragraphs today, and I thought, at first, it wasn’t my writing. I thought perhaps someone had sent me a story excerpt to review (which happens all the time between us writerly types). Perhaps that illusion that it wasn’t my writing let me read through it with interest (I tend to be a bit self-critical… another common occurrence in us writerly types!).

After I read the few paragraphs and thought for it a bit, I realized it was in fact my writing. It was a quick exercise when I was thinking about writing a short story for a Halloween contest for Apex Books last year. I never got the story off the ground, so don’t read this excerpt if you feel you need closure. But the theme of the short story contest was something about Aliens and Urban Legends, and I remember thinking that I was going to write the story from the perspective of the alien who inadvertently and haphazardly caused the majority of urban legends in Philly while he was in the very volatile process of maturing to adulthood. Interesting concept, right?

Well, it may have worked out if September, October and November … and December, for that matter, aren’t crazy months for me. No writing gets done then (in fact, in 2010 I’m going to make a concerted effort to make sure I don’t shut down in the fall and fall prey to the constant activities scheduled for kids and family.)

Anyway, here’s the excerpt sans editing, for your enjoyment.

Sci-fi excerpt from the archives is a post from: PurpleCar

Right now I’m sitting in a cloud of old-book smell. I checked “Critic’s Choice” out of the library today. (No ISBN. Library of Congress Catalogue Card #55-10113)

This book contains the full texts of all the New York Critic’s Circle Prize winners for the years 1935 through 1955. There were no prizes granted for the seasons of 1938-39, 1941-42, 1943-44, and 1945-46. The Great Depression and World War II dominated those years, so I’m sure there is some interesting story behind those absences.

I checked the book out for its possession of The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams. I am researching character for my own novel and I wanted to also study the dialog in this play (plays, for obvious reasons, are wonderful for examples of effective dialog).

Here are the plays and years that are in the book:

1935-36: Winterset by Maxwell Anderson
1936-37 High Tor by Maxwell Anderson
1937-38 Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
1939-40 The Time of Your Life by William Saroyan
1940-41 Watch on the Rhine by Lillian Hellman
1942-43 The Patriots by Sidney Kingsley
1944-45 The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams
1946-47 All My Sons by Arthur Miller
1947-48 A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams
1948-49 Death of Salesman by Arthur Miller
1949-50 The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers
1950-51 Darkness at Noon by Sidney Kingsley
1951-52 I Am a Camera by John van Druten
1952-53 Picnic by William Inge
1953-54 The Teahouse of the August Moon by John Patrick
1954-55 Cat on a Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams

The book also contains a lengthy Introduction, titled “Twenty Years in the American Theatre” and an Appendix with the guilty parties, a.k.a. Roster of the New York Drama Critic’s Circle from 1954-55, Presidents of the Circle and the list of Pulitzer Prize plays from 1935-55. I won’t be reading through any of that because I’m not a historian or fan of the upper crust of NYC, and please don’t try to engage me in debate about any controversies that may have surrounded this seemingly incestuous prize awarding. I’m just here to pick up some tips from the dead white men who dominate the list. Next I’ll move on to some modern literature, because I feel quite disconnected from any authors in this book. Unfortunately or fortunately American literature classes are still dominated by these dusty classics, and I only know how/what to study the way I’ve been taught.

If you have any great modern examples (let’s say, after 1980) then I’d appreciate the suggestions greatly. Thanks.

NY Critics’ Circle Prize Winners 1935-55 is a post from: PurpleCar

The painting by Norman Rockwell that depicted Ruby Bridges’ first day of integration:

The Problem We All Live With.

49 years later, it is now a President’s daughter that gets the escort, and a more joyous walk:

Sasha's first day

1960 Norman Rockwell. 2009 CNN photo. Ruby Bridges and Sasha Obama. is a post from: PurpleCar

Are you in my “reader community?”

Some bloggers use sidebar widgets that show the avatars (or pictures) of recent visitors to the blog, along with the reader’s name and a link to the reader’s account (see picture).  These are reader communities, and I’m not a big fan.

I did use one of these services on Purplecar.net about a year ago, but I took the widget down.    2 things about it  disturbed me:

1. Not enough readers.  Only a few early adopters had registered at the one particular service to be in my community.  I stared at the same faces for weeks because the registered readers in my community came and went, and anonymous/unregistered users either didn’t show up in the timeline or a random blank icon showed up with the word “YOU!” and “JOIN MY COMMUNITY.”  Which leads me to reason 2.

2. Privacy.  What if the people in my reader community don’t want to be seen in the timeline as a recent visitors?  Am I really going to make them go to the service’s site, log out, then come back to PurpleCar?  Am I going to make them subscribe to PurpleCar via RSS?  Why would I want an unregistered surfer feel just the tiniest bit unwelcome?  Why would I make roadblocks like these for readers?  Let them come and read in peace.  If they want me to know they were reading, they can leave a comment or email me.

I can’t help but have a sinking feeling when I see reader community widgets on my daily travels on the ‘net.  Now they have community member counts at the bottom of the widget.  It screams “popularity contest.”   I can just picture the conversation between two social media friends:

MediaSnacker:”Oh did you see PurpleCar’s post?  I know you did, the one about auto DMs?”

Employee: “What?  You know I don’t have time to read blogs.  Come on. I thought you didn’t like her blog anyway.”

MediaSnacker:”Oh, yeah, I wouldn’t be caught dead reading that drivel, I just called to tease you.  You’re still reading it!”

Employee: “And how would you know? Did you hack my history?”

MediaSnacker: “No, I saw your icon on the reader community as a recent visitor.  BUSTED!”

Employee: “No, YOU’RE busted.  My avatar was last clocked there months ago.  You must have been there TODAY.”

While I’m a big fan of share-your-bookshelf type sites, I don’t share everything I read.  The public library is supposed to protect your borrow list, so I feel like I should protect my readers.  Let them read in peace.  Your reading material is sacred.  Seriously.  Drama aside, reading is a private endeavor.  I respect that.  I won’t expose my readers.  They can *ahem* expose themselves.

What do you think?  Do you use reader community widgets?  Why?  What do you think of them?  Do you know of any pros?  Please expose yourself by commenting. 

“RECENT VISITORS” Invades Privacy and Is Creepy. Reader Community: FAIL is a post from: PurpleCar

I never enter contests, especially not writing contests.  It’s usually too much trouble. Sitting around last night watching TV, I wrote up an entry for super-geek Chris Pirillo’s contest.  He’s giving away a bunch of major HP swag.  The entry with the most comments wins.  It’s as simple as that.  Pretty fun.  My entry is fun, but it isn’t controversial nor tech heavy enough to elicit enough comments to win.  Chris is also value-rating the comments, so silliness doesn’t count.  It was a productive exercise though. I joined Chris Pirillo’s GEEKS! social network several weeks ago.  It’s an active community, albeit too large and disproportionately male.  You should check it out.  It’s got a good open source vibe. My entry is entitled “How to Raise Kids and Propagate the Geek Species 201.” It’s a tongue-in-cheek syllabus for a “Geek University” course where I use geek terms to explain “five main guidelines on how to properly raise geeky spawn from pre-alpha stage to formal launch and Initial Public Offering.”  Check it out.

Entry on Geeks! is a post from: PurpleCar

Today I was hit by the cold, hard fact that my kid will be an infinitely better writer than I’ll ever be.

You can go on about how it is impossible to compare writers, how it’s like comparing people, everyone has different strengths, blah blah blah.  I know.  But there is such a thing as natural ability, and when it comes to painting images with words, my kid is miles ahead of me, or, at least where I was at that age.  My kid will just continue improving at an astounding rate, whereas I will trudge on with what I’ve got.  I will improve, hopefully, but not enough to even compare with my kid’s raw talent.

Take the following poem for example.  The imagery is rich.  This is a first draft.

My Daddy
By L.C.P.

When my Dad gets home I see
his fun glowing eyes
It makes me beam

I love my Daddy.

When my Daddy gets home he
smells like colorful candy.
Then he gets into his home clothes,
he becomes a piece of the house.

I love my Daddy.

When he throws me up in
the air I close my eyes and
fly.

I love my Daddy.

“Home clothes” and “becomes a piece of the house” bits had to be the best for me.  No way I was writing stuff like that in 3rd grade.  I was definitely writing; My 3rd grade teacher said that she will be taking my novel off the shelf one day (I never forgot this, thanks Miss Chaya!).  But I didn’t have the insight into imagery and symbolism to be able to write like that.

As I said, my kid is just going to keep improving.  People will remember my kid’s writing far more frequently than they will remember mine.  I guarantee it.

This is ok.  It’s the way it should be.

Unfortunately talent doesn’t inherit up. is a post from: PurpleCar

Jonny Goldstein put out a challenge on Utterz for a Haiku-a-Day. I managed only one. You can go to my account, PurpleCar, on Utterz or here to listen, but here is the text:

 

Endless messages,

A desperate search, I swear

you said you loved me. 

Social Media Haikus is a post from: PurpleCar

Since attending podcamp philly, I’ve come upon a bunch of cool new sites lately, like BlipTV, Viddler, Upcoming and Twitter. One in particular is quite fun: StumbleUpon. Stick in the types of websites you’d like to surf to, download a toolbar and click. “Writing” is a category, “Poetry” is a category. How cool is that? I wrote this poem at isnoop after “stumbling” upon it. I call the poem “Weaving.”

It reads:

as the first build

changes

your world,

grow one country on the net:

write words

ripe and needy and

stand with every

sentence

in life two.o

(my little nod to the phenomenon we all call Web 2.0)

As most of you know, fridge poetry must be constructed out of a very finite amount of pre-set words. Instead of restraining creativity, this actually brings out extraordinary inventiveness, sometimes producing great poems. There have been entire books published in the regular mass market with amateur poets’ submitted fridge work.

I’m not saying my poem is publish worthy, but making it was fun! StumbleUpon’s “directed” surfing can bring you towards your creative center, be it fridge poetry or free code. Don’t waste time, spend it!

-PC

New web stuff, fridge poem “Weaving.” is a post from: PurpleCar