Writing. Creatively.

These are a bunch of "I remember" shorts based on the work of Joe Brainard.

I remember falling asleep on the floor of my grandparent’s house. They carried me up the stairs on top of a cushion.

I remember one summer where I watched the James Bond film The World Is Not Enough every day for at least a month. After a while, I was able to recite every line of dialogue from the movie. I haven’t seen the movie since.

I remember dropping my bookbag in a creek during a rainstorm. Everything inside was water-damaged, except for the Spider-Man comic book I had just gotten.

I remember going to my first Mets game. Every pop-up seemed like a home run.

I remember the first time I had sex. I wish I didn’t.

I remember working in the kid’s section of the library when a kid peed on the floor. Thankfully, I wasn’t the one who had to clean it.

I remember sitting in the back corner of the kid’s section of the library while on duty, reading books about Spider-Man and Batman. I was 19 at the time.

I remember being excited whenever Boy Meets World would come on TV. I always hoped that I would have friends like that.

I remember seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 in theaters on its opening night. I got 3-D glasses in the shape of Harry Potter glasses. I cried at the end.

I remember having a Batman raincoat that I would wear everywhere. Eventually, it ripped, but I was still Batman.

I remember buying a Playstation 2 with my own money without my parents’ knowledge. I haven’t played the damn thing in years.

I remember spending tons of money on baseball and Pokemon cards. I hope I can get some of that back when I sell them.

I remember my first few weeks at Rutgers. Everyone was only an acquaintance.

I remember wrestling a kid named John for fun until he knocked off my glasses. I went berserk and gave him a black eye. I’m pretty sure he moved away because of that. I’ve always wanted to apologize, but I don’t remember his last name.

I remember knocking out a kid in soccer when one of my shots hit him in the face. It was completely unintentional, I swear.

I remember scoring my first goal in soccer. I was pretty nonchalant about it, much to my own surprised. I ended up as one of the better players that year.

I remember riding the bench in junior varsity because my coach didn’t much care for me. I didn’t care, we sucked anyway.

I remember drawing comic books in middle school with my friends and selling them to our other friends. We turned a surprisingly good profit for one dollar per comic.

I remember wasting countless hours of my life playing online first-person shooter games. I was pretty good, too. A shame it basically meant nothing.

I remember waiting eagerly on my 11th birthday for my acceptance letter into Hogwarts. Needless to say, sadness doesn’t express how I felt when the letter didn’t come. I then thought that America must not believe in magic.

I remember eating a blue crayon in kindergarten. I lied to everyone when I said that it tasted like blueberries.

I remember the first time I kissed a girl. By the end of the night, I had trouble walking.

I remember my first Model UN conference. Quite possibly one of the greatest experiences of my life. It made me feel like an idiot, which was exactly what I needed because I believed myself to be the greatest thing since Genghis Khan himself.

I remember my first broken wrist. It didn’t hurt, but upon looking at the awkward Z-shape my hand had formed with my forearm, I started screaming.

I remember my second broken wrist. Like an idiot, I fell off a 7-foot fence onto some concrete, knocking myself out. I had a concussion, a broken wrist, torn skin on my face, and a bone bruise in my knee.

I remember getting my first job at the mall selling sports memorabilia. I was fired without being told. Imagine my delight when I found out that the store closed down a month or two later.

I remember the first time I got drunk. I ended up the next morning wandering around College Ave. without a shirt or shoes, desperately looking for a bathroom and a place to eat that wouldn’t kick me out for lack of clothes. Not my proudest moment.

I remember being caught by a cop while I hooked up with a girl in the back seat of my car. Deciding that it was a sign, I took her home and didn’t call her.

I remember playing Resistance: Fall of Man for 6 straight hours until 4 A.M. my freshman year of college. My friend and I beat the game.

I remember having a staring contest with a deer. I won.

Writing that is Creative

This is a shared dialogue between a partner and me. Since it's Spring Break, well, you know. Laziness.

Venus Rising

Teapot: It’s getting drafty down here. I should get some underwear.

Crust: Yeah son. Want to check out the garbage?

Teapot: No, I’d rather create my own heat.

Crust: Sure, do whatever you want.

Teapot: No, wait, I’m scared and lonely and cold!

Crust: Don’t worry man, I gotchu.

Teapot: Thanks. Mind if I put my hand somewhere private?

Crust: Private?

Teapot: You know.

Crust: What the hell, man? You homo or something?

Teapot: No man, I meant your purse!

Crust: Hell no, get your own!

Teapot: Come on man, let me touch it!

Crust: If you touch it, I’ll punch you in the face.

Teapot: Whoa whoa whoa, no need for violence. I just really like your purse.

Crust: Just go find one yourself.

Teapot: But yours is shiny and smells of pudding!

Crust: Do you really want it? I’ll trade you my purse for your clothes.

Teapot: Hmm… I have to think about this. My clothes are warm, but your purse is shiny. I like-a da shiny.

Crust: But this purse smells like pudding.

Teapot: I do like pudding. What else can you offer me?

Crust: Yo man, I’ll take care of you at night.

Teapot: Big spoon or little spoon?

Crust: Yo man, that’s messed up.

Teapot: Then what do you mean by ‘take care of you?’

Crust: Let’s just trade.

Teapot: I want the big spoon, man. I want the big spoon.

Crust: Fine, here’s the biggest spoon I have.

Teapot: You know that’s not what I mean, god damn it. I’ve seen you watching me when I bathe myself down by the river. I think it’s time that we admitted that we’re both cold, lonely, and horny.

Crust: Fine, no spoon for you.


(Hint: They're homeless.)

Rights of the Minority

The right of the minority to defend themselves is a founding principle of the United States government, as is shown through the United States Senate. In the Senate, without 60 votes in favor of a bill, the minority party can deter a vote and ultimately defeat a bill without actually having to vote on that bill. It's an interesting system, as the legislative portion of the US government is divided; in the House of Representatives, the majority reigns supreme, while in the Senate, without the "super majority," the minority can easily control debate. Now, I'm not looking to analyze the US government, but the abilities of the minority to defend themselves in general.

What is a minority? A portion of a particular population that constitutes anything less than 50% of that population; for example, out of 400, 199 is the first minority number. Obviously, there are degrees of majority-minority relationships, but viable minorities (minorities with actual power) would typically have to constitute more than 20-30% of a particular population. In general, if fewer than 20% of a population is part of a minority, it's a fringe minority with some trait that is either very esoteric or idiosyncratic.

Now, why should a minority get the same rights as a majority? After all, they are essentially powerless to fight back against the majority. There are several philosophical precedents on which to make an argument, typically that all humans are deserving of equal treatment because we are all born with equal physiological standards (with some to little variation). There are also historical precedents, i.e. the Civil Rights movement, centuries of slavery, etc. Throughout all of recorded history and up to this moment, we have established that all people, regardless of their social status, are equal (or should be equal) in life, liberty, and rights implicit in life.

So why do we still see rights of minorities suppressed in certain places? From more extreme cases of genocide in Darfur, Rwanda, The Balkan Wars, etc., to more religious or social issues, there are still many instances of rejection of rights to certain minorities.

For example, an instance of this is in the recent revelation of the NYPD going beyond their given powers to spy on Muslim students in multiple schools across multiple states, including schools in New Jersey.

Another example is in China, where the Uyghur population has been suppressed violently because of the Uyghur protests against the Chinese government. Now, while China is not the best example of a country that upholds human rights, it is still necessary to hold them to some sort of standard because they are such a powerful nation.

So why do some countries insist on repressing the minority groups in their countries? A general explanation is a bit hard to elicit, since the reasons often vary on a case-by-case basis. Perhaps some majority groups feel as if they would be oppressed by the minority if the minority were to gain power (such as when Sunni Saddam Hussein ruled over predominantly Shi'a Iraq); perhaps other majority groups feel that being the majority favors them because of the ability to give oneself multiple advantages.

That being said, a minority could come with intangible powers, such as through money or through items (such as weapons, land, etc.). Manipulation then comes into play, which is an entirely different issue that I am much too tired at the moment to write about.

Oftentimes, it is the intangible items that set the two groups apart, whether they are the majority or not. The intangibles are seemingly more important than sheer numbers, as having a greater amount of resources with which to centralize power creates an environment conducive to the will of those with the intangible items.

So, if a minority controls a majority of the intangibles, and the intangibles are later de-powered or have their abilities removed, can the minority continue to feign being a majority? If the reverse is true and the majority controls the intangibles of society and those intangibles are given no value, does the minority realize their new power?

That's all for now,
Das Flüg

Even more creative writing!

Our assignment was to write a monologue. Woo.


When the Levee Breaks
Setting: A small room with 4 white walls.

Damon: Well, here we are again; it’s always such a pleasure. It seems that we always end up back here, in one room or another, enjoying each other’s company. How many times has it been now? 3, 4? Ah, who cares anyway, it’s always nice to see you! No? You don’t like seeing me? Oh, this unrequited love is killing me! You might as well get used to seeing my beautiful face, since this time, I’m not leaving you. Oh no, try as you might, you can’t shake me off. I’m in it for the long haul, baby, and you’d better be ready for me to rock that world of yours. All those years you shut me out, all those years of entrapment, all those years of ignorance, they’re gone, buddy boy, and now it’s my time to shine. Well, our time. Because this is a joint venture, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, you’re going to have to accept it sometime, pal. So, let’s rewind; why didn’t you like me in the first place, now that we have this extensive heart-to-heart? Not feeling talkative, are we? Oh, that’s fine, I can summarize it. I gave you something that you relished, but feared. Ohhhh boy, you seized what I gave you and you certainly did make the best of it. I remember all those beautiful paintings you made out of all that red; you were a regular Van Gogh, you were. The way you took that knife while I guided your hand and conducted a symphony was marvelous. It was like watching a regular Batman and Robin duo, except without all the tights and crime fighting. You reveled in it, being covered in the blood of another. Don’t deny it! DON’T FUCKING DENY IT. That warmth, that intimacy as you bathed in the bloodlines of countless families made you feel happy. Somewhere along the way, though, you seemed to grow feelings. We grew apart, and I really hated that, I did. I felt like we had become the best of friends. When did it happen? Was it when we tied that little girl to the chair and stared into her eyes while we tore the heart out of her mother? Did all that girl’s sorrow and screaming actually get to you? Weak fool. Was it when we decapitated that obese moron and left his head in the oven for the cops to find? Hmm?... Well, I suppose it’s not important. Either way, you built a wall around me and threw yourself against it as if you could stop the massive tsunami it contained. I think a part of you built that wall pretty shoddily, considering that, well, I’m here. Maybe the best of you was hidden away when building that wall, but it certainly didn’t stop you from fixing the obvious cracks. You tried to stop your desires, but I just kept popping back up every so often and prodding you back on the right path! Don’t you see Damon, we’re meant for each other. We’re going to be running this whole party together for the rest of our lives. Hmm? What’s that? You don’t want to anymore? You’ve grown some kind of empathy? You actually don’t want to create great artwork anymore? Come on, Damon! We created some of the greatest artwork man has ever seen! The color red is so expressive! People stared at pictures of our artwork for hours at a time trying to decipher if we had put some kind of message into it! But, wasn’t that the beauty of our artwork? Is true beauty not in randomness? Is it not in the act of choosing to show one’s feelings through some kind of extreme outburst of colors? Well, in our case, one color. You still don’t want to continue? But look what we’ve created! Hmph. I suppose that I can always complete our artwork on my own. I mean, I always was the creative one; you just had the good hand-eye coordination. Well, if you insist, I guess we can change our style from realism to expressionism. Splattered colors were always sort of my thing. Well buddy boy, I hope you’re ready for a new driver. Just as an FYI, I don’t have a license to drive, so it might be a bit... bumpy.

More Creative Writing!

The assignment was to write a short description of 10 things: a smell, the feeling of clothes, an old person sitting down, something no one can see, not remembering after waking up, taste of food, an embarrassing incident only 1 person knows, the feeling of throwing up, an experience of being in a crowded area, and a description of hands.

A sharp odor stung my nose. My eyes began to tear and my stomach began to lurch as something that can only be described as a dead animal run over by a manure truck began to fill the room. I desperately searched for an escape as I gagged.

It felt like an extra layer of fur on top of this already hairy body. The way the sleeves slipped easily and snuggly over his bear fur-filled arms filled him with the kind of elation a little kid has when he goes trick-or-treating. Now, he’d finally feel comfortable skiing.

The hinges in his legs creaked as he felt the force of thousands of years of age compress themselves and unleash their fury upon him. He leaned heavily on his cane, trying to lessen the impact on his wrinkled bum. In what felt like a millennia, he touched down upon the seat. He was relieved.

That which erased people from the world remained, cold and lonely by itself. It wandered the world, finding none who would listen to it, look at it, or speak to it. People would speak of it, fearing it, regarding it as non-existent, hating it. It was lonely, and it gave no mercy to anyone.

The light hit her eyes as she squirmed around in bed. How did she get to bed? Her eyes opened as she realized her consternation. She had no memory of the night prior, and waking up in a strange bed certainly did not help the cause. She felt around; she wasn’t wearing underwear.

As he brought the fork to his mouth, he began to salivate. The very thought of eating overwhelmed him, as he hadn’t eaten for days. He trepidatiously placed the food in his mouth and put his fork down. His eyes watered, as he had never tasted anything so satisfying in his life.

Puberty hit him badly. Every time he sat in his math class, he couldn’t help but stare hypnotized at his teacher’s sizeable ass. Her skirts always hugged her curves, and he began to feel that the pants he wore were too tight. One day, when her clothes were just tight enough, something wet his pants.

Tequila is not to be messed with. She is a cruel, unforgiving bitch, and she will drive you insane. James sat kneeling over the toilet, his mouth full of cotton and his stomach full of rocks. He hated everything right now, especially his future ex-girlfriend for introducing him to the banshee of all drinks.

Evenlyn stood quietly on the train, looking into particularly nothing. It took her a few moments to realize that some of her fellow straphangers were not wearing pants. She looked around awkwardly and frantically, unsure of what to do. She tried not staring at people’s groins, but found it increasingly difficult.

The hands were dirty and rough; they had handled wood, been burned, been cut, been broken and repaired, and yet they still contained a modicum of strength. It had been many a year since the hands had seen any danger, and that might have been good for their bones, but the hands certainly missed it.

Creative Writing

In lieu of anything better to write, I present you with my Creative Writing homework assignment. This is a "flash fiction" piece, 13 sentences maximum.

Davis and the Lights

Davis saw lights wherever he went. In front of every tree, every face, every building, he saw the same pair of lights staring at him, daring him to stare back. Whenever he looked into the face of his mother, his father, his girlfriend, his brother, or his sister, their eyes were headlights bearing down on him. The only time he didn't see the lights was when he looked at his grandfather, a towering man of infinite kindness and conviction. His eyes, though aged, held a light blue glimmer that could soften even a mountain. They were comforting to Davis. When his grandfather died, Davis no longer felt that comfort.

Davis entered college, afraid to look anyone in the eye, afraid of seeing the blinding, glaring torches that bore down on him like a freight train. Davis was afraid of looking at anyone, until one night, he was hit by a car. The headlights looked down upon him with spite, having finally claimed Davis as a victim of the Lights.

The Man From Earth

I recently watched a movie called "The Man From Earth." It was a low budget movie; there were no effects, no intricate cinematography, just a group of people in a room, talking. Specifically, the plot focuses around John, a man who continually leaves wherever he resides every 10 years. He gathers some friends from his work for a final drink and to tell them about his life's secret: he's much older than he looks.
He reveals to his friends that he is somewhere around 30,000 years old. Obviously, they don't believe him; they think that he's interested in writing a fiction novel. He begins recounting his life, and some of his friends are more skeptical than others. For the purpose of the movie, he is actually that old, though some of his friends would rather not believe him.
WARNING- If you want to see the movie, stop reading here.
The most fascinating part of the movie comes when John reveals that he studied under the legendary Buddha. As he continued living and traveling, he found that he could try to bring the teachings of Buddha to the Roman Empire. Of course, the teachings of Buddha are similar to a mythical figure who espoused peace and understanding: Jesus Christ. John reveals that his name was misconstrued and re-translated multiple times, leading to the label of Jesus.
Being an Atheist, I found this to be pretty interesting; according to the movie, there was no one person named Jesus Christ. It was, instead, a "more evolved" man who was simply looking to spread a word of peace and understanding.

While it's not exactly the most probable explanation of the man called Jesus Christ, it might be a good way to understand how the myth of Jesus Christ was created. Seeing as the apostles wrote stories of Jesus a few decades after his supposed death, what's more likely is that several folk stories of healers and teachers were amalgamated into one story. For what reason, I don't know; perhaps the writers of the bible were interested in proselytizing all of the Roman Empire, or perhaps they wanted to have a competing religion with Paganism and Judaism. Either way, I don't know.

Thus, instead of the man from heaven, the Jesus is more likely to be a man, or men, from Earth. Nothing metaphysical, nothing phantasmagorical, just human.

I recommend watching the movie. While the ending is a bit contrived, the story itself is interesting.

That's all for now,
Das Flüg