Review: The Man Without a Country

From: Classic American Short Stories

Mr. Hale’s story is long and rambling, and at times “getting through it” becomes a chore. As much as I hate to say it, this one in particular didn’t appeal to me outright. The character, Philip Nolan, is beset by an interesting set of circumstances. In his youth he slandered his country before a military tribunal, and as consequence his superiors saw fit to cut him off from all awareness of the country he slammed. He would spend the rest of his days under “lock and key” aboard various naval vessels in which he’d never see nor even hear mention of the country that he’d forsaken.

The premise is interesting enough. It is a kind of social experiment involving isolation and exclusion, but not neglect, so that the severe isolation could be maintained indefinitely. But the writing doesn’t fail at the premise.

First you have to understand that this is an older work, and that Mr. Hale wrote in the 1800s. When you consider that fact, though it makes the text no more palatable, it softens your bias. Here you will find the vivid prose of King or Eowyn Ivey, but you will discover, if you set your bias aside, that what you are reading is as much a time capsule written in just a few short pages as it is a story.
I do not know whether or not Mr. Hale was an abolitionist, but he did write in the later 1800s, and the mention of “the rebellion” and Abraham Lincoln. And this is where the story becomes interesting to me, because so often the only picture of the Civil War we get it dictated to us through High School History books and Hollywood adaptations, and here we get an author-of-the-time’s opinions.

There is a scene in which Nolan is called upon to translate Portuguese onboard a slaver-ship to some newly liberated slaves. What makes me think Mr. Hale is an abolitionist is his idealism in the scene. It is a very solemn scene, very respectfully crafted, and the slaves themselves, all black, are elevated to the point of near-sainthood in their suffering and their dignity. Now, while I appreciate his treatment of the subject matter, my suspension of disbelief ends at the point where they decide to waste more resources and time just to bring theses slaves back home. This is a point that shows the flawed-idealism of Mr. Hale’s time, because while acts of kindness and sympathy surely happened on the open sea, they were not devoid of racism.

So, while Mr. Hale’s idealism is problematic, and seems to seek the absolution of White Americans in whatever nebulous role they’ve played in developing the institution of slavery, it is interesting to feel his underlying guilt and to see the delicacy with which he treats the subject matter, and through what pains he suffers to make sure there is no mention of the slaver’s ethnicity or skin color. Also, the fact that slavery plays such a pivotal role in the story is telling as well. There are not too many authors I’ve read who’ve acknowledged the realities of an ugly thing, and here Mr. Hale shines light upon a subject that most would prefer to keep swept under the rug, especially of his day.

I would recommend reading this story as a survey of facts, events, and culture of the 1800s. In that capacity this story is a fantastic voyage. But be warned, though the subject matter is grand, you may get bogged down in the slow-paced prose from time to time.

Thank you for reading,
David

Thunder Clap

One more song for you guys. I don’t know if I’ll get to do too much more song writing, but I like the way this one turned out. hope you enjoy it.

Just a song for your Monday

Hope you enjoy! That’s me by the way!

Immovable-Me

The Promise in it’s primordial state

A restlessness, within me, grows
As sun is set, tomorrow is sown
Cries of friends and foes alike
Rain down on me, rain down on stone.

Stone still, immovable-me,
Yet a restlessness, within me, grows
Calling me across the void
The Crowded City of Eyes-Closed

And that restless breath, within me, moans
To their call, from eyes-pressed-shut immovable-me
My answer wept I know, I know, I’ve known,
And a Restlessness, within me, grows.

Plugged into the Narrative: One effect of the Military Industrial Complex on the American public

I have this page in my Sociology text that talks about members of the armed forces deployed overseas as being “Cultural Emissaries.”

“Wherever they serve, American Military personnel have the opportunity to learn about other cultures and to act as representatives of American Culture to the people they encounter.”

Basically the idea is that these men and women become ambassadors. They have the opportunity to participate in what we would consider foreign cultures, and the have the ability to share their own personal culture, to some degree, with the people they encounter as well.

This idea was something I hadn’t thought of before, though in reality it makes a lot of sense. It was just an idea that never occurred. Men and women of the armed forces acting as “cultural emissaries” makes so much sense, and yet we never hear about it in the news or anywhere for that matter.

Transition and Effect

Through a writer’s lens
*not my original image

For the last couple days (Since Sunday truthfully) I’ve been preparing my chapter for this week’s NCN meeting last Monday. It was my day to read, and it was the first reading I had this semester. This is one of the most difficult transitions I have to make between break and the start of the semester.

During the summer I’m a writer, and during this time my group usually is impressed with the “improvement” to my writing. I’m able to become absorbed in my story in a way I’m not always capable of during the semester, because as a student I’ve got a thousand other things all vying for my attention.

Usually the quality of my writing dips at this point, especially for my first chapter written during the semester, but what I produced over the past two days actually surprised me. My characters were real, my world was alive with pulse and heart beat, and the danger was a constant and present threat. I went into the meeting wondering how I’d fair, and surprise-surprise NCN responded well to the chapter.

John even finally hit me with the gun I always unload on him when he finally said something along the lines of, “for a 10 page chapter this was a good show, the only thing I can tell you is that I’m not always clear on the connective tissues and how each individual story links up with the next.” Fair enough.

To you that might sound harsh, but a comment like that is music to my ears, because the chapters I write are starting to soar more often than they crash and burn. This is great news! If I can hold an audience for 10 pages, with a bit of work I think I can hold them for 300, and I never would have gotten to the place where I am this confident in my abilities if it weren’t for NCN.

So it seems I can write, and I can write well during the semester. I think what has made my writing flatline in the past during this “transition period” was my own mind. I was thinking oh man how can a juggle being a student and a writer at the same time, something has got to give. That’s a very negative outlook instead I should have been thinking, naw man you’ve got this! I’ve proved to myself that school doesn’t have to hinder my writing if I don’t let it… now the question remains if I can maintain this outlook.

Thanks for reading,

David

PS- About Orandamned. As you may have noticed I didn’t post a continuation of Orandamned this past Friday. I apologize. I was working on my latest chapter for NCN, and couldn’t change gears… I’m afraid I have a one track mind when it comes to storytelling. That being the case I’ll make it up to you guys this week. I’m in the middle of a deep edit for Orandamned (going through the chapters and polishing the story up one paragraph at a time) and when I’m finished I’ll begin writing a double length chapter that I’ll post this Friday. Thank you for your patience, thank you for reading, and thank you for listening. I appreciate it.

PPS- So what’s going on in your lives. If you’ve been paying attention you know a lot about me, but I don’t know you very well yet. If you feel like chatting hit me up in the comments below! Love to hear from you!

Groups we Live in, and that Live in Us

All the connections both unseen and unheard

Recently in my Sociology class we were asked to brainstorm a list of groups we were a part of and how those groups affect us. Well these are some of the groups our proff asked us to consider. My answers were quick and spur of the moment in class, but I thought it might be interesting to share, and perhaps something for you to consider.

Q: What groups are you a part of and how do those groups shape who you are?

Here’s mine

Family- I’m an only child. My parents and my aunts help me out financially quite a bit, and I suspect when I’m older I’ll be helping them just as much. In that way we have a bit of a symbiotic relationship we both give and take. My dad introduced me to two things that have significantly shaped my life, Star Trek and the Lord of the Rings. My mom is maybe a little more realistic, and I can definitely see more of her realism as opposed to my dad’s more idealistic views of the world.

Religion- I’m not in this group, but it’s hard not to be affected by organized religion. for example because Religion plays such a huge role in what society deems acceptable/appropriate behavior we at Burger Hut only get to listen to BOBFM (top 40s station) on the radio… and that’s just one of the many unseen ways Religion affects my life every day.

Friends and peers- This is one of the most important groups I’m in. Some of my best friends and peers are ambitious. We push each other to do better and go further. I worked hard to make sure my closest friends do anyways.

Government- This effects every level and facet of my life maybe almost as much as organized religion does. Gov. determines how much I get paid, how many classes I have to take before I can apply for the jobs I really give a  damn about, they affect who I can marry, and so many other things that are just as important… but Religion is one of the biggest things pushing for government to enforce their sense of morality.

Economy- I’m part of this group sure. I’m a consumer… although maybe I’m not a very good one at the moment. Most my income is designated to monthly bills and groceries… but the world seems happy with me right where I am.

Culture- Hard not to be a part of this group right. Culture does affect who I am, what kind of conversations I can have at a cafe, what activities occupy my time, where I spend my time and at what times during the day too. Culture affects the way I dress and speak, and even how I prioritize my goals.

Writing group- Northern California Novelists is one of the most influential groups I’m a part of right now. I’m trying to become a professional writer, and this group meets once a week on Monday nights to take two people’s stories and talk shop and hone skills. This group will be a part of me wherever I go in life.

Work- Burger Hut def. affects me. My manager has the lowest opinion of me out of all my coworkers (shift leaders included). He thinks I’m dumb and that I can’t see past my own nose, but I’m aware of it and I can see right through him… that being the case I can’t ask him for a raise. But it is a job I can keep as long as I want, I just won’t be moving up. So it’s a job that is emotionally degrading, but one that’ll put me through college. (To honest? :P)

Education- This has been huge for me. Butte specifically has been both a curse and a blessing. Through Butte I’ve found my writing group, I’ve helped put together WordFire two years in a row, I’ve been president of both the GSA and the Literary Arts Club, and I’ve accompanied the GSA to the Western Regional Queer Conference.I hate how long I’ve been at Butte (people judge you for that you know?) but through butte I’ve collected some amazing experiences, so I’ve got to be grateful at the end of the day.

Forget Me

 

The Shores of Forever, where “Forget Me” was written

She stood over the tank, their jailer, and tisked. Genuine concern creased her face, and if he was honest with himself Cliff knew her alarm was valid. In the past 24 hours both he and Rudy started feeling a little more than just fishy… like something was wrong. For Cliff he felt out of breath, tired, and his thoughts came to him slowly.

He saw the cat staring at him from above, literally inches from his position and felt no alarm at its inquisitive eyes staring right at him. A moment later he came to his senses. A gasp of air choked him as flash of white-tipped paw plunged in to the tank to snatch at him and he descended down as fast as his body would allow him.

That was the first sign that something was wrong.

He felt a shower of fish pellets assault his backside but he did not stir. For some reason his appetite was lost to him, and he preferred to let the light current of the tank drag him in easy going circles along the bottommost pane.

“Come on little guy, perk up.” Their captor tapped at the glass trying to get Rudy’s attention, and even though she was glistening wet having just come out of the shower with a towel wrapped snuggly around her ample bust, Cliff saw his friend could only manage a half-hearted salute. Cliff admired the kid’s efforts but from where he was drifting it seemed like a lot of work for a weak smile.

Next there was an itching and a bitting in his neck. He knew he was in no position to overexert himself, and yet the itching was driving him mad! On instinct he spun in half circles trying to outrun the irritation but deep down he knew it came from within. Try as he might, he would not be rid of it by running alone.

When he felt something move and wiggle beneath the skin he tried to ignore it… surely there’d been some mistake. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. He dismissed a bump here, a slither there, but when the wiggling became more constant he had to know the truth. He found Rudy in the corner humming to himself.

A song he could almost remember from his life before.

Cliff squeezed in beside Rudy until he could see both their reflections in the water. It still hurt to see a fish in the glass where there should have been a human face staring back at him. “What’s that?”

“What Mr. James?” Rudy’s voice came out faint and his eyes were unfocused, uncaring. Has he given up then?

Cliff coughed. “What’s that you’re humming”

Rudy gulped a big breath of air. They both knew they had no lungs and the old way of oxygenating wouldn’t work… still it felt good to try it all the same. “It’s something my mom taught me. Well she didn’t teach me, but she use to sing it, and I learned it Mr. James.”

The words were on the tip of Cliff’s tongue but just beyond his grasp all the same. “Can you sing it.”

“Sure.” Rudy’s eye fell on Cliff and he saw the fish, the man, was in pain.

Forget about your clouds and your troubles

Forget about the waves an’ rain

Wash away what’s down in a dark haze

because it, keeps you from seeing me

Let go the fear and the heart

That aches and aches and aches all day

Oh, let go, and let’s run away

Forget it all but don’t you dare

Forget about me

Cliff was lost in an old memory then. He was three years old, and his little sister was in the child-seat next to him. A song came on the radio, and it was Rudy’s song. There was a band playing, and a feeling of ease and laughter washed over him as his mom and dad took up the tune and started ad-libbing. Adding lines about forgetting work, and even a line about forgetting Cliff back at the hotel while they all went off without him to have fun. Three year old Cliff knew they would never leave him still he screamed and laughed until his stomach split.

Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap.

And then the sweet memory was cut short and once again Cliff was faced with the reality of his situation, and the threat of the blue eyed devil down in the deep red. If they died in the tank he knew, somehow he knew, they’d both be going to see that vile demon. He knew very little about the rules of this game he’d found himself in, but he knew he didn’t want to find out what the demon was capable of, and knew also that the demon very much wanted to meet him.

Cliff caught his friend’s eye. “Tell me, do you feel something moving? …beneath the skin?”

He saw panic in Rudy’s eyes, and they bulged out his head in fright. “I do Mr. James. That’s why I was humming. Because while that song was playing in my head I could pretend I felt fine, and that nothing was out of the ordinary. But you can feel it too can’t you?”

Cliff nodded. “It feels like there’s something in my neck. Can you take a look?”

Rudy swam in a wide arc and floated beside Cliff. “I don’t see anything”

“Hang on.” Cliff found an edge and pressed it into the spot on his neck where the itching was coming from. Instantly he felt squirming and for a second he thought he would choke but the wiggling died down, and he used the edge to peel back a flap on his neck. He’d seen that same slit on Rudy’s neck and guessed that what he was peeling back must have been a gill-covering. “There, do you see anything/”

“What…” Rudy gasped in horror. “What the hell am I seeing Mr. James! There’s a lot of them, to be sure. A Whole lot!”

“What!” Cliff let the covering close, and raced around to face his companion. “What did you see.”

“Worms, Mr. James, worms.” Despair turned his friend a deeper shade of blue. “Little black ones.”

They were both silent for a moment. Cliff had only just decided he hated fish when Rudy spoke up at a whisper, “We’re done for.”

Suddenly a hand was down in the tank swishing the water about violently. At first Cliff thought it was the cat, but cats didn’t have flakes of paint on their nails, nor skin for that matter. The jailer had gone mad and was trying to grab them. Perhaps the evil black cat had finally worked some satanic spell on the woman to make her do the cat’s biding.

Her cold fingers tried to trap Rudy, but he squeezed free. Cliff’s heart was racing as a second hand formed a cup with its fingers and forced Rudy back into the original. They trapped him in a wall of flesh. So that’s it, she’ll crush us! 

Cliff could hear muffled screams from with in the clamped hands, and he knew he had to do something. He swam at the hands of their jailer as fast as he could and bit. He bit and bit but the woman’s skin was tough, and his bites were no deterrent.

“Ow,” screamed the jailer, “well I’ve never seen a fish so defensive of another fish before.” She whispered that’s interesting to herself, and whisked Rudy away across the living room, he could hear Rudy’s panicked screams the whole way. What was she doing to him?

He saw the cat take off after them. “Hey! Hey cat!” The little black cat stopped and tilted it’s head in contemplation. “Yeah that’s right! You can hear me, I know you can. You leave that fish alone, you hear?”

The black cat took a couple steps toward Rudy’s tank and stopped to lick its’ slender cat arms. “And what are you going to do about it, little fish. This is my domain.”

“The Jennifer Lawrence Controversy” and Rubbernecking

This is what we do to celebrities, right? Now a days, with social media, everyone is a potential target.

So if you haven’t heard, a slew of actresses have had their private nude images stolen, or hacked, and the images have been made readily available on the internet. When I first heard of the story I’ll admit a moment of cro-magnon brand male lust. I’m a fanboy from time to time, sure, and I crushed on Jennifer Lawrence as hard as anyone.

I was close to following the rabbit hole when finally my super ego, or my conscience kicked in to stay my hand. I didn’t know Ms. Lawrence and I didn’t owe her anything more than I would another human being. That being the case I didn’t follow the links… not because I’m a good man, but because in this case I felt it was the right thing to do.

I’d been faced with similar choices before. For example when Saddam Hussein was publicly executed, I think he was hung, the broadcast was made available worldwide. I know what he did to his people, and he deserved what he got… but did I deserve to gawk? It seemed barbaric to participate in his death as a viewer, something akin to watching gladiators fight to the death in Roman times. We made a spectacle of the man’s death, and the only profit a viewer hoped to gain was, at its core, entertainment.

I didn’t want to be the kind of man that was entertained by real death.

You might think it is a stretch to compare the two situations. One is a “harmless nude photo” and the other the deserved death of a dictator linked to America’s 9/11 disaster, but to me there is a similar spectacle frenzy. Come watch this man be punished for his crimes and feel good that we have done justice in the world, this was the message for Hussein. Click on this link, see the nude photos you’ve always wanted to see, and take part in the greatest tragedy that has ever befallen one of America’s most beloved stars… after all she’s a celebrity and that means her life exists only to entertain you, right? I’m not so sure.

For Hussein, I was aware on some level that it was wrong for me to profit on his death, even if that profit was just “innocent fascination” or “justified satisfaction.” We should not celebrate execution. For Ms. Lawrence, she is completely undeserving of this breach of privacy. So yeah, in her case what you are feeling you might be able to convince yourself is just “innocent curiosity,” but the only justification you’ll be able to name is that she is a celebrity, and that doesn’t give you the right to profit from her plight.

Now let me be clear, just because I have shown restraint and respected one actresses’ privacy does not make me a completely enlightened man. I do watch porn, and even though I’m in a serious relationship I have fantasized about other women, and even some of my closest friends… what can I say? I’m a complicated man. But I think there’s a difference.

When I watch pornography I’m watching women who have consented to be filmed (and I use sites that have definitely paid their “performers,” none of that revenge filming bullshit). So there’s consent there. The women in that industry know they are creating a product. The actresses who have had their pictures stolen have given no consent, and Ms. Lawrence at least has made it clear that for her this is a nightmare. And my fantasies are my own, no one hears about them because i know what kind of damage that would do to the people I care about, and I’m mature enough to know the difference between fantasy and reality. I for one will not add to her nightmare, and I’m certain I am not the only one who feels this way.

I don’t think there’s a term for what’s happening here, but it’s like rape in that these women have had no choice in whether or not people view their images, and there are people who forced this situation onto them. It’s like rubbernecking too in that the “crash” is someone’s personally tragedy, and here we are hitting the breaks to get a better look. We don’t care if we’re slowing the people behind us because sure enough they’ll want to take a peek and see if there’s any guts on the road too.

I’m not Christian, or religious, or anything of the sort… and I wish we were a more moral country and society.

A Fish, But Still a Man!

Morning Writer Frizz!

That first week was pretty rough. As unusual as it was, it wasn’t cruel and unusual. Sure there were a whole slew of new sensations and needs to get use to. There was a time where a strand of excrement hung from his sphincter like he’d broke some fecal-tether and the length that remained attached to him just drifted behind him. His humiliation lasted for hours, and Rudy wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. So sure there was many new sights and sounds to get use too, but by the end of the week the grueling truth of it finally sunk in.

Monotony was King in this realm.

There were very real dangers too. Always Cliff kept in mind the man in the black suede shoes, the blue-eyed devil, and his minion. The cat was always slinking about near by, and whenever he had a mind to look for her, eventually he’d find her somewhere sneaky and hidden just staring at him. Sometimes the girl would come by with her strip of paper and frown. She’d say, “your pH is a little high.”

This comment was connected to some vague “badness” coming down the road. Apparently if the pH remained high death would come on swift wings to collect his soul, but Cliff found it hard to believe. When he was a human he never even went to get his flu vaccination, and even when he did catch a cold he’d be back on his feet in in just a couple days. Still part of him was uneasy. He’d never kept fish before, but he thought of those ten cent goldfish he’d won at the fair, and he hoped his new keeper was better at keeping animals alive than he’d been when he was twelve. But besides the danger, which was more of a constant presence and an irritant than something that he really had to worry about. Cliff found his days filled with aimless drifting, odd movements of gas and muscle within his body, and conversation with his tank-mate, Rudy.

On day two Cliff had studied his surroundings. The world outside the tank was small, but homely. There was a large bookcase across from where he swam and it was filled with an odd assortment of fantasy, sci-fi, and educational texts. From that fact he gleaned that his captor was a student of some sort. There was a desk beside the bookcase made of black metal, not exactly pretty but expertly crafted. Metal legs twisted in on themselves and supported a flat top of melted and welded together washers that had been tinged the color black, as if burnt.The book on top of the dest was Introduction to Logic, and from that he guessed his captor was a philosophy major.

Well that figured, didn’t it? It had to be a philosophy major that found herself running an afterlife detention-center and not even know it!

Beside the desk was the vent of a heater and a hallway leading at one end to his captor’s room and at the other a big question mark. Because Cliff was an orange goldfish he was limited to the vantage afforded by his tank, and no more. To his left was the door, and the world beyond where presumably his family was mourning his death. Had they held a funeral yet? The thought, whenever it visited him, filled him with sorrow and regret. He sunk low until his belly hit the glass bottom and let the light current push him around until he found the solace of sleep.

To the right of his little tank was the big tank, and if he and Rudy ever lived through what the captor called, quarantine, they’d be allowed to join the general population in the big tank. There they’d be allowed to mingle, and Cliff and Rudy had a mind to speak with the black fish… the way it floated above their tank, one eye peering down. It was like the black fish knew something about them, perhaps the black fish with the bulbous eyes was just like them, a sentient being stuck in the body of some mutated fish! Whatever happened they had to know.

There was also a patio through which Cliff could see the light of day filtering through, and somewhere behind the wall with the bookshelf was a kitchen, for he had seen his captor disappear behind it and reemerge with a box of cereal, milk, and a bowl. Whenever she did wake up to a slow morning she would stumble out of her room with sleep crusted eyes, yawning, and to his surprise she often wore only a tank top and panties. This had become the highlight of his days.

While he knew he was her prisoner, he also knew that while he was a fish he was still a man! Through her tank top he was a hint of pink areola, and that had become the closest thing to religion he’d ever come. One day Rudy caught him staring.

“I know, Mr. James. They’re nice, being breasts and all. They’re really a nice pair…” He hovered just above Cliff and tracked her as she made her way to the kitchen. “But I’m not sure this is the way we were meant to atone for our sins, you know? Ogling women and such.”

If Cliff had had arms or just a fist he would have hit the little blue runt right between the eyes for robbing him of the one thing that made the afterlife bearable. “Listen, There’s not much to this life is there? No, I didn’t think so.” Cliff let the current turn his body set him sailing for the hum of the filter. “Let me have this one thing. Just this one is all I’m asking.”

Rudy, keeping on eye on their girl floated a little too close to the surface of the water. He screamed a wild yell that only the two of them could hear, and Cliff wheeled around. “He’s trying to get me!” A rush of blue came at a blur down to the depths of the tank, and up above them a white socked paw was dipped into their water, its claws outstretched and reaching for them. Two green eyes peered down at them over silver talons, and a shiver ran down Cliff’s spine.

Cliff kept an eye on the menace up above. “When you were crossing.” He turned to Rudy. “When you were crossing, did you see the man…”

Rudy whispered feverishly, “I don’t remember any man. What man?”

Cliff circled around so he was facing the ridicules blue fish that was his friend and cell-mate. “The man in the deep red!”

He watched his friend’s eyes go wide. “I saw him… I’d nearly forgotten Mr. James, but I did see him.” Rudy sunk a little lower. “I don’t like to think about him Mr. James. Not one bit.”

Cliff felt something in his great mass moving, clenching up at the thought of the blue eyed devil. “Well I saw him too, and I think…” He’d never said it aloud before. “I think this cat’s in league with the bastard.”

Shock colored Rudy’s face a lighter shade of blue. “What makes you say that Mr. James?”

The words stuck in his throat as he tried to force them up. “Well you know how we think the black fish knows something about what’s happened to us?” Rudy nodded, following along so Cliff continued, “I get the feeling that this cat’s in on our game.”

“No!” Their captor hissed the words at the little cat. Cliff looked out and saw the woman grab a bottle, a squirt bottle. She shot a stream at the cat and made contact. The little devil leapt from the tank and disappeared into the bedroom at a sprint shaking water off its feet with every step.

Rudy was right beside Cliff. “Well we know one thing Mr. James. Whatever the truth is about that cat, the one thing that’s certain is that she don’t like water none too much.” And as far as Cliff could tell that was true. His gaze shifted and once again he spotted the black fish with the bulbous eyes staring down at him and Rudy. What do you know black fish? Are you friend or foe?

-to be continued-

 

PS-

Fishy Poems #1

A new place
A new time
Without hope…
or a rope
Orandamned if I do
Orandamned if I don’t