intially i was a bit lost attempting to gather constructive ideas for essay 4. i found myself thinking about possible eye/descriptive story that i can narrate. most of what i recollected were I stories rather than EYE stories. i came to a conclusion that i'm more susceptible to grapg personal stories than stories that doesn't focus on me as a central character. It became difficult, an i sought an advice from nashira who told me, "just get a piece of paper and start puting down anything that comes to mind. Forget about if they are connected. looking at what you have writting should and would set platform for or trigger a story of interest or relevence." After doing just that, i was able to come up with...
story/idea-- a story that dealt with a friend of mine getting robbed on christmas. His i went visting to exeperience a good christmas unlike what i usually experience at home. shortly fater i got there, his mother sent him to the store to get some grocery. i was stop by men in a oldsmobile who required direction. while giving the direction, he was robbed and badly beaten.
style-- i used my personal robbery experience to built the story in full, and also express my understanding of the pain he endured and to simply express sympathy.
the beginning of the story is set to a wintery december afternoon in Newark, NJ. I included what living in Newark amounts to and how christmas is celebrated.
A Moment in Time
4 Is the magic Number
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
essay # 3
Hamilton Marks, Jr.
Creative Nonfiction
Essay 3
October 29, 2010
Jerry Springer
I’ve long enjoyed the chaotic and demoralized dynamics of Jerry Springer, the television show that airs on channel eleven (11) at 11:00am. The ideas of infidelity, fornication and brute physical bouts magnets my attention. Though a shy character in the public eye, the reverse might portray me similar to entities conveyed on Jerry Springer. A psychologist might say the talk show warrants my inhibition in an outlet which is Jerry Springer, and set room for personal identification, hence my reticent personality suppresses my exhibition. Ten (10) years in the rough, violent city that is Newark has giving me liking to things I normally would shy from. I’ve had many intense arguments, and fists fights; some because of women and some due to gang confrontation or misidentification. Through careful consideration, one might say some aspects of my life exemplify the talk show.
I vividly recalled an episode that that centered on women promiscuity, infidelity and outrage. The producers titled it, Jerry Springer’s – Girls Gone Wild. Personally, I thought the title was condescending and unflattering. They are all women, why call them girls? I believe our behaviors as adults are tantamount to the respect and dignity we receive. To cut long story short, the end of the show presented frustrated, agonized and rebellious women who should instead represent womanhood, motherhood and intelligence. They had all been fighting over men who obviously did not care for them. Pardon me, but I see this as good material for writing, only for the sense of drama. However, why do women give in to men and loose themselves. I was once told “its better to loose a lover then love a looser.”
The shrill and irritating buzzing of my Toshiba alarm clock woke me up at 3:30am in the morning in order to prepare for work. I heard a distinct noise that obstructed my morning ritual of tooth brushing, showering and a glass of cold grapefruit juice. Still experiencing the effect of just waking up, I slowly walked toward the window, yarning and wiping my eyes. I pulled the curtain left, to the side and saw a view unlike no other. Directly across the street in front of the newly constructed house were a group of young women between the ages of 19-27. I estimated about fifteen, all involved in fierce arguments and fists fight.
I ignored the chaos outside my window and ran into the bathroom to prepare for work. Within twenty (20) minutes, I was ready to go to work with almost thirty (30) minutes to spare. Looking back on that day, I assumed it was my interest in the ruckus outside that encouraged me to hasten my preparation for work. With time to spare, I went back to the window and this time cracked it open. I could clearly see and hear what was going on. Amongst the crowd of women I recognized three of the ladies who live across the street in the new house. The few whom I recognized as resident from the new building were partially nude; wearing only panties and bras. As I sat by the window in my bedroom, looking at the scene, I could see, wigs coming out as fists being swung, legs rose in attempt to kick, handbags threw and etc. Honestly these girls around here fight like men. There was one that could throw a fist as good as Mike Tyson. Whomever she attacked seemed to retreat in fear and in a hurry as she was just too fierce.
While this was going on, the boyfriend of one of the nude girls of the three, whom I have befriended sat on the hood of his car as his girlfriend and sister-in-law wrestle and tussle in the middle of the street. He sat there enjoying the spectacle with a smoke in his mouth showing little interest in stopping the fight and vast interest in finding pleasure from it. I must admit, men love to watch women fight, hoping to see a bit of or total nudity. When one of the girls breast was revealed during the fight, I look back at my girlfriend who was sound to sleep. Then I checked the time on the Toshiba alarm clock and drank a bit of my grapefruit juice. It was time for me to leave for work as I took my bag pack and airport id before heading out of the house.
Outside, in front of the house, before taking my last step off the porch, the police siren alerted the troublesome crowd that quickly disbursed. Still on the scene, I was stopped and questioned by the police about my knowledge and involvement in the incident. I first identified myself before telling them that I was simply on my way to work with my airport id at hand.
There are episode of Jerry Springer that arises on occasions in our lives. Depending on whom we are, the incident can escalate to something harsh or otherwise. Recently, my mother and my girlfriend got into a heated argument whilst I was out running errands with my friend. There has been a building tension between my mother and my girlfriend for the past year. My girlfriend sees my mother as overly nurturing, whilst my mother claims my girlfriend has no respect for me and doesn’t treat me properly. To cut long story short, names were called as impulses went high over dear Hamilton. Honestly, it rips a man apart to know that his mother and his girlfriend don’t get alone. Who do you side with and what do you say?
We all have experienced our own Jerry Springer. It is that argument you have had with someone that annoyed or wronged you. It is your first or tenth fight with a friend or an enemy. It is that moment that you look back on saying, wow I can’t believe I did that. Well you can definitely count me in regard those moments. I’ve lived and seen a few, baring scares and memories as evidence. Ladies and gentlemen: Jerry Springer.
Creative Nonfiction
Essay 3
October 29, 2010
Jerry Springer
I’ve long enjoyed the chaotic and demoralized dynamics of Jerry Springer, the television show that airs on channel eleven (11) at 11:00am. The ideas of infidelity, fornication and brute physical bouts magnets my attention. Though a shy character in the public eye, the reverse might portray me similar to entities conveyed on Jerry Springer. A psychologist might say the talk show warrants my inhibition in an outlet which is Jerry Springer, and set room for personal identification, hence my reticent personality suppresses my exhibition. Ten (10) years in the rough, violent city that is Newark has giving me liking to things I normally would shy from. I’ve had many intense arguments, and fists fights; some because of women and some due to gang confrontation or misidentification. Through careful consideration, one might say some aspects of my life exemplify the talk show.
I vividly recalled an episode that that centered on women promiscuity, infidelity and outrage. The producers titled it, Jerry Springer’s – Girls Gone Wild. Personally, I thought the title was condescending and unflattering. They are all women, why call them girls? I believe our behaviors as adults are tantamount to the respect and dignity we receive. To cut long story short, the end of the show presented frustrated, agonized and rebellious women who should instead represent womanhood, motherhood and intelligence. They had all been fighting over men who obviously did not care for them. Pardon me, but I see this as good material for writing, only for the sense of drama. However, why do women give in to men and loose themselves. I was once told “its better to loose a lover then love a looser.”
The shrill and irritating buzzing of my Toshiba alarm clock woke me up at 3:30am in the morning in order to prepare for work. I heard a distinct noise that obstructed my morning ritual of tooth brushing, showering and a glass of cold grapefruit juice. Still experiencing the effect of just waking up, I slowly walked toward the window, yarning and wiping my eyes. I pulled the curtain left, to the side and saw a view unlike no other. Directly across the street in front of the newly constructed house were a group of young women between the ages of 19-27. I estimated about fifteen, all involved in fierce arguments and fists fight.
I ignored the chaos outside my window and ran into the bathroom to prepare for work. Within twenty (20) minutes, I was ready to go to work with almost thirty (30) minutes to spare. Looking back on that day, I assumed it was my interest in the ruckus outside that encouraged me to hasten my preparation for work. With time to spare, I went back to the window and this time cracked it open. I could clearly see and hear what was going on. Amongst the crowd of women I recognized three of the ladies who live across the street in the new house. The few whom I recognized as resident from the new building were partially nude; wearing only panties and bras. As I sat by the window in my bedroom, looking at the scene, I could see, wigs coming out as fists being swung, legs rose in attempt to kick, handbags threw and etc. Honestly these girls around here fight like men. There was one that could throw a fist as good as Mike Tyson. Whomever she attacked seemed to retreat in fear and in a hurry as she was just too fierce.
While this was going on, the boyfriend of one of the nude girls of the three, whom I have befriended sat on the hood of his car as his girlfriend and sister-in-law wrestle and tussle in the middle of the street. He sat there enjoying the spectacle with a smoke in his mouth showing little interest in stopping the fight and vast interest in finding pleasure from it. I must admit, men love to watch women fight, hoping to see a bit of or total nudity. When one of the girls breast was revealed during the fight, I look back at my girlfriend who was sound to sleep. Then I checked the time on the Toshiba alarm clock and drank a bit of my grapefruit juice. It was time for me to leave for work as I took my bag pack and airport id before heading out of the house.
Outside, in front of the house, before taking my last step off the porch, the police siren alerted the troublesome crowd that quickly disbursed. Still on the scene, I was stopped and questioned by the police about my knowledge and involvement in the incident. I first identified myself before telling them that I was simply on my way to work with my airport id at hand.
There are episode of Jerry Springer that arises on occasions in our lives. Depending on whom we are, the incident can escalate to something harsh or otherwise. Recently, my mother and my girlfriend got into a heated argument whilst I was out running errands with my friend. There has been a building tension between my mother and my girlfriend for the past year. My girlfriend sees my mother as overly nurturing, whilst my mother claims my girlfriend has no respect for me and doesn’t treat me properly. To cut long story short, names were called as impulses went high over dear Hamilton. Honestly, it rips a man apart to know that his mother and his girlfriend don’t get alone. Who do you side with and what do you say?
We all have experienced our own Jerry Springer. It is that argument you have had with someone that annoyed or wronged you. It is your first or tenth fight with a friend or an enemy. It is that moment that you look back on saying, wow I can’t believe I did that. Well you can definitely count me in regard those moments. I’ve lived and seen a few, baring scares and memories as evidence. Ladies and gentlemen: Jerry Springer.
brainstorming - essay #3
I've decided to have a correlation of stories. the first one will introduce the main story or idea. the second story, which is the middle story will be what the essay is centered on. the third and last piece will support and conclude the essay.
for the central idea to the essay, i chose to look at a scene which i saw peeking through my bedroom window. it was a group of about fifteen young ladies involved in a fierce brawl because of a man.
I related this story to the television talk show, Jerry Springer. if you have seen Jerry Springer, you will know that it has nothing to do with solving problems as some talk shows do. instead, it showcases, infidelity, promiscuity, and brute physical strength such as my main story (the girl fight).
some themes that will be prevalent are; love, respect for oneself, and how media wants to look at women in contrast to how reality portrays women.
this essay set home, close to my heart. recently my mother and my girlfriend got into a heated argument on the account of me. i was put in a situation were i had to pick between my mother and my girlfriend. i hint a piece of this drama in the essay, as means to identify with those who has went through a so called "Jerry Springer".
for the central idea to the essay, i chose to look at a scene which i saw peeking through my bedroom window. it was a group of about fifteen young ladies involved in a fierce brawl because of a man.
I related this story to the television talk show, Jerry Springer. if you have seen Jerry Springer, you will know that it has nothing to do with solving problems as some talk shows do. instead, it showcases, infidelity, promiscuity, and brute physical strength such as my main story (the girl fight).
some themes that will be prevalent are; love, respect for oneself, and how media wants to look at women in contrast to how reality portrays women.
this essay set home, close to my heart. recently my mother and my girlfriend got into a heated argument on the account of me. i was put in a situation were i had to pick between my mother and my girlfriend. i hint a piece of this drama in the essay, as means to identify with those who has went through a so called "Jerry Springer".
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
essay # 2
What is Love?
Imagine waking up to the sounds of grenades and rapid fire from AK’s, berretta, M16’s, RPG’s and Pistols. The mere recollection or this nightmare shivers my skin and causes me to perspire peculiarly. Frankly, I find it easy to face my fears of height, water and dogs than revert to the days when the vacuousness and misplacement of rights as free citizens amounted to the greatest catastrophe in my nation’s history. The nation in reference is Liberia, a small country on the west coast of Africa, bordering north of the Atlantic Ocean. Once a peaceful nations, she soon became disturbed by multiple of individuals inquisition for power and wealth. The talks of war became an article when a soldier in the Liberian Armed Forces, Samuel K. Doe, marched in the Executive Mansion with commandos and killed the president at the time, William R. Tolbert. From here on things began to shift from good to bad. Security became a massive failure. The economy was in a horrible shape as education dwarfed. With Tolbert dead and Doe now in charge, the country submerged into a state of chaos and unrest. Soon, other entities felt sure and willing to revolt against the government in uncivil manners. Their revolting soon escalates to the bloodiest and most destructive war in Africa’s History.
We had no cause to celebrate that night. We dined our supper the usual time after which we retired to the living room to telling stories and make jokes as we often do. Oh how I loved when the family is together to have moments like this. It is quite jubilant; especially when you’re as stuffed a turkey on Thanksgiving. I was about twelve (12) years old at the time. The boisterousness of that moment drowned the sound of Hardaway’s “What is love”. I wasn’t the dancing type to keep pace with such a fast tempo song, yet my two steps with a snap seemed to satisfy its rhythm. I wasn’t far from the old AM Radio that sat in the corner of the room, on the table which daddy usually leaves his ashtray. The artist’s strong powerful voice - WHAT IS LOVE, caught my attention as I leaned over to increase the volume. For about three (3) seconds, everyone became quiet with only a strong look toward me. Suddenly, my father got up and took my mother by the hand and started to dance with her; not like what you see on dancing with the stars. They are “old school”, don’t expect anything spectacular. Soon everyone began to rise with excitement to dance the night away, as if we could. I’m sure that was my junior brother’s intention as he did just that. After the song ended, I sat back down in the corner and washed my brother dance the night away. He seemed captivated in something beyond the music that persisted his dancing. I thought he was crazy seeing that he still danced when there wasn’t any tune to jam to. Now the only person on the dance floor, he kept dancing till two (2) in the morning. By then he was tired and couldn’t dance anymore. We all went to bed hoping to have good dreams as we sure did have a good reality.
The next morning, around seven, mother began to indecorously knock on our doors, screaming “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! Do your hear that? WAKE UP!” I woke up to the sound of rapid gunfire and heavy grenades. As we sat there thinking of what to do, I became drowned in fear, wondering if we were going to die. I was twelve (12) what do you expect when a child hears gunshots and grenades. Father looking out the window saw people leaving their houses with all the belongings. We quickly joined the crowd, looking to seek refuge at an unknown place. As I walked from one street to the next, I could see people with radio, suitcases, and mothers carrying their babies tied to the back with traditional African cloth. The streets were filled with great number of people. I swear I haven’t seen that much people anywhere at anytime. During this chaos I could see and hear a lady crying for her missing child. She knew not what to do as she sat there in tears. I guess we were heading the wrong direction as we could see rebels hanging from jeeps and pickup trucks with guns waving in the air. They were easily identified by their red t-shirts with red scarves or red bandanas. We got to a checkpoint where I saw people standing in three separate lines. The lines were men, women and children (boys and girls). One of the rebels came toward us beating everyone to get in the lines that belong to them. Proper formation, he said. As I stood in the line, to the left of me was a huge pit full with bodies of people they’d cool heartedly murdered. I could see men with missing genitals, women and men with missing arms and legs and children with bullet or knife wound that ended killing them. Seeing a decapitated body lying feet away from you is something hard to swallow. That alone can bring out the cowardice out of any man.
After standing in the line for a while, one of the rebels recognized by father. As it turned out, my father was his instructor at the police academy. He told his group that he can vouch that my father is a good man. He insisted they let us go. Reluctantly, the group give us passage to the other side of the city.
Recently, out of my busy schedule, I found myself watching television. I’m tuned in to TNT; watching Law and Order while having a box of chicken and taking down a couple of bottles of Heineken. At commercial break, after the Geico commercial came a Pepsi commercial. The Pepsi commercial accompanied a very familiar song. “What is love, baby don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me; no more”. The moment I heard the song, tear sat in the corner of my eyes as my hand began to shake. If I had looked in the mirror that instant, I’m sure I would have discovered that my eyes were past red. It’s quite funny how as a child I was able to repress those emotions. Now as an adult, those emotions seem to come out easily.
I look back on my life knowing that I’m indeed blessed to have made it this far. There was a good chance of me involuntarily becoming a child soldier or end up lying dead in one of those pits, missing some body parts. What is love? Love is that helping hand that God sends our way when he realizes we need one.
Imagine waking up to the sounds of grenades and rapid fire from AK’s, berretta, M16’s, RPG’s and Pistols. The mere recollection or this nightmare shivers my skin and causes me to perspire peculiarly. Frankly, I find it easy to face my fears of height, water and dogs than revert to the days when the vacuousness and misplacement of rights as free citizens amounted to the greatest catastrophe in my nation’s history. The nation in reference is Liberia, a small country on the west coast of Africa, bordering north of the Atlantic Ocean. Once a peaceful nations, she soon became disturbed by multiple of individuals inquisition for power and wealth. The talks of war became an article when a soldier in the Liberian Armed Forces, Samuel K. Doe, marched in the Executive Mansion with commandos and killed the president at the time, William R. Tolbert. From here on things began to shift from good to bad. Security became a massive failure. The economy was in a horrible shape as education dwarfed. With Tolbert dead and Doe now in charge, the country submerged into a state of chaos and unrest. Soon, other entities felt sure and willing to revolt against the government in uncivil manners. Their revolting soon escalates to the bloodiest and most destructive war in Africa’s History.
We had no cause to celebrate that night. We dined our supper the usual time after which we retired to the living room to telling stories and make jokes as we often do. Oh how I loved when the family is together to have moments like this. It is quite jubilant; especially when you’re as stuffed a turkey on Thanksgiving. I was about twelve (12) years old at the time. The boisterousness of that moment drowned the sound of Hardaway’s “What is love”. I wasn’t the dancing type to keep pace with such a fast tempo song, yet my two steps with a snap seemed to satisfy its rhythm. I wasn’t far from the old AM Radio that sat in the corner of the room, on the table which daddy usually leaves his ashtray. The artist’s strong powerful voice - WHAT IS LOVE, caught my attention as I leaned over to increase the volume. For about three (3) seconds, everyone became quiet with only a strong look toward me. Suddenly, my father got up and took my mother by the hand and started to dance with her; not like what you see on dancing with the stars. They are “old school”, don’t expect anything spectacular. Soon everyone began to rise with excitement to dance the night away, as if we could. I’m sure that was my junior brother’s intention as he did just that. After the song ended, I sat back down in the corner and washed my brother dance the night away. He seemed captivated in something beyond the music that persisted his dancing. I thought he was crazy seeing that he still danced when there wasn’t any tune to jam to. Now the only person on the dance floor, he kept dancing till two (2) in the morning. By then he was tired and couldn’t dance anymore. We all went to bed hoping to have good dreams as we sure did have a good reality.
The next morning, around seven, mother began to indecorously knock on our doors, screaming “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! Do your hear that? WAKE UP!” I woke up to the sound of rapid gunfire and heavy grenades. As we sat there thinking of what to do, I became drowned in fear, wondering if we were going to die. I was twelve (12) what do you expect when a child hears gunshots and grenades. Father looking out the window saw people leaving their houses with all the belongings. We quickly joined the crowd, looking to seek refuge at an unknown place. As I walked from one street to the next, I could see people with radio, suitcases, and mothers carrying their babies tied to the back with traditional African cloth. The streets were filled with great number of people. I swear I haven’t seen that much people anywhere at anytime. During this chaos I could see and hear a lady crying for her missing child. She knew not what to do as she sat there in tears. I guess we were heading the wrong direction as we could see rebels hanging from jeeps and pickup trucks with guns waving in the air. They were easily identified by their red t-shirts with red scarves or red bandanas. We got to a checkpoint where I saw people standing in three separate lines. The lines were men, women and children (boys and girls). One of the rebels came toward us beating everyone to get in the lines that belong to them. Proper formation, he said. As I stood in the line, to the left of me was a huge pit full with bodies of people they’d cool heartedly murdered. I could see men with missing genitals, women and men with missing arms and legs and children with bullet or knife wound that ended killing them. Seeing a decapitated body lying feet away from you is something hard to swallow. That alone can bring out the cowardice out of any man.
After standing in the line for a while, one of the rebels recognized by father. As it turned out, my father was his instructor at the police academy. He told his group that he can vouch that my father is a good man. He insisted they let us go. Reluctantly, the group give us passage to the other side of the city.
Recently, out of my busy schedule, I found myself watching television. I’m tuned in to TNT; watching Law and Order while having a box of chicken and taking down a couple of bottles of Heineken. At commercial break, after the Geico commercial came a Pepsi commercial. The Pepsi commercial accompanied a very familiar song. “What is love, baby don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me; no more”. The moment I heard the song, tear sat in the corner of my eyes as my hand began to shake. If I had looked in the mirror that instant, I’m sure I would have discovered that my eyes were past red. It’s quite funny how as a child I was able to repress those emotions. Now as an adult, those emotions seem to come out easily.
I look back on my life knowing that I’m indeed blessed to have made it this far. There was a good chance of me involuntarily becoming a child soldier or end up lying dead in one of those pits, missing some body parts. What is love? Love is that helping hand that God sends our way when he realizes we need one.
brainstorming (essay #2)
the second installation of the "I Essay"
for essay two i write about my experience during the first day of a 14 years civil war. I give background of where i come from before talking about the war and my feelings about it. the background introduces the story.
I included other characters and voices as they were present for that ordeal. other characters include; mother, my junior brother, and i found a way to present music as a motif and in a way an circling charecter to all that transpired.
Music=hardaway, what is love
i used the the pit scene as a recognition of growth (from child to adult).
when the rebel recognized my father, that became the climax of the story, eventhough it comes at the end.
lesson to be learned, God is always in control, and strange things happens, and somtimes happiness brings sadness.
for essay two i write about my experience during the first day of a 14 years civil war. I give background of where i come from before talking about the war and my feelings about it. the background introduces the story.
I included other characters and voices as they were present for that ordeal. other characters include; mother, my junior brother, and i found a way to present music as a motif and in a way an circling charecter to all that transpired.
Music=hardaway, what is love
i used the the pit scene as a recognition of growth (from child to adult).
when the rebel recognized my father, that became the climax of the story, eventhough it comes at the end.
lesson to be learned, God is always in control, and strange things happens, and somtimes happiness brings sadness.
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