Pidgewidgeon.

*the title is only random, as most of mine tend to be.
FOR THE FIRST WEEK OF THE 2ND QUARTER:


So while I was taking the unit 7 vocab test (which I completely failed, cos I didn't have the wkbk), I was sitting in one of the places in front of the bookshelf. One caught my eye: The Words of Every Song by Liz Moore.

I suppose, I chose it because:

I

love

Music.

I don't know what I'd do without it. Actually I do-- my loving mother has just confiscated my ipod (in response to me failing to clean my room properly, psssshhh.) and I am simply dying inside. Especially on the bus. In the mornings, the immature underclassmen (I assure you, I was never remotely like them) laugh, shout, talk as if it isn't  seven in the morning. It's vexing, and they continually try my patience. I mean, if I'm not able to listen to the music on the bus, then what is the next most likely thing to do on a dark, recently heated bus, early in the morning? Sleep of course. BUT I CAN'T EFFING SLEEP IF THERE'S STUPID LITTLE KIDS SCREAMING ALL OVER THE GODFORSAKEN PLACE. I swear. I won't last long without my beloved ipod.

Anyway, let me go on to explain what drew me to this book, as well as what draws me to music.

A lot of people use music to concentrate. To relax. To vent. To escape. To lose oneself. As inspiration. As comfort. I am one of those people. In fact, I'm hooked up to the media player on my computer right now, as I write this. Music doesn't affect my writing. It allows me to ignore everything else in the room, and to focus on my thoughts and the beat simultaneously without one or the other competing to drown out the other. It's delicious.

Yeah, I use weird words to describe music sometimes. If I could taste music, it would taste pretty damn good (yay for teenage vulgarity!). Like rainbows and unicorns, and iron-y like blood, and a little dark like shadows, and a little chocolaty-- because chocolate is heaven, as is music. At least in my world. Ignore me, I go off on a tangent sometimes, as you can see from my little taste bud analyzation of un-taste-able objects (not even objects, more like ideas that please the ear).

So back to the title of the book. The Words of Every Song. I find that when I am in a happy-go-lucky mood, not particularly caring about anything at all-- I don't care about the exact words or meaning in the songs I listen to. It's all about the beat, the tune, the overall mood that the song puts me in. It could be about grinding, about money, about sex, about unrequited pathetic love (yeah, I just listed all the songs popular today) and I wouldn't care one bit. As long I'm in that particular mood.

However, if I am in a frustrated, depressed, worrisome, angry, or any sort of unwanted, vile kind of mood-- I care about the context of the song. The words have to match; they have to mean something personal, and something worth actually listening to. Those lyrics have to be able to reach into my soul and magically relieve me of the symptoms of my plight. It's like medicine. The tune doesn't have to be good. The beat doesn't have to be spot on, although, if it's actually a lyrically good song, then the beat, tune, and words are usually of the same quality. Just 'cause it was probably made by someone who was not an imbecile, and who has been in my position before and therefore, is eloquently expressing his views.

Man, as soon as I slam on those ear buds, it's like there's a stopper to every bad feeling I've ever had the misfortune of feeling. It's like I'm suspended in time, and I find myself closing my eyes, and losing my breath and my life and myself in that moment as soon as it starts. Oh, and if the singer's voice is deep and grumbly, godddd it's like I'm dying from the perfection.

 It's overwhelmingly wonderful. It's exactly what I need.



ANYWAY, on to the actual book.
I'm not going to say it's wonderful, or especially well-written, but it is.... different. In it's own way.
It's a collection of short stories-- most of them are depressingly depressing--and the main characters of each story are interlinked in a massive tangled web of messed-up lives and screwed-up love, and none of them know it. It's also all about music. As in, some of the stories' main characters are employed at a music corporation, and some of the main characters perform for it (they're clients).

One story: Siobhan In Love struck me as . . . I don't even really know. Let me explain. Siobhan (a young punk rock female) is the lead singer of an up and coming band called The Burn.

She has only ever loved one thing (or rather, person) in her short life, and that person is Kurt Cobain. The day he died was the day she had gotten her first period. It was embarrassing-- standing up at the end of class, only to see a red spot on the chair, leaving it safe to assume that "it's twin was probably blooming across her plaid covered ass."

Later she would reflect-- inaccurately--upon the idea that she and Kurt Cobain might have started bleeding simultaneously. . . . .

That night. . . . Siobhan had lit candles . . . by the statue for the Blessed Virgin in front of St. Jeremiah's. She fumbled under her bed for a copy of Rolling Stone that she had borrowed from her friend.

Siobhan, looking for an appropriate tribute to the life and death of Kurt Cobain, was working away at her inner ankle with the pocketknife. She was carving 'K.C.' just below  where her sock would end. It hurt, but not eh way the tampon had hurt her and not the way the shot would hurt. She closed her eyes and dug the knife in far enough to really hurt but not bleed too much. She multiplied by a thousand: Would that be death? Would that be a bullet in the mouth?

Kurt was watching her from the magazine. He was beautiful, really beautiful, angelic and blond. Painful to look at.

And then the story ends with:  And here's Siobhan: in love with a dead man with desperate eyes, a man she's never met, a man she bled for twice.

Enough said. It's pretty self-explanatory, pretty shocking. Pretty sad.

. . . . .

Omgz, I'm so behind. I promise I'll make it up--- I'll do, like, exxxxtra long ones in the future, Mr. Hill. Get ready.

Close Reading Bingo.

"Nicholson Baker's dull, clear, and low diction creates a common and dull tone." by  Lori.
It violates the no redundancy rule. Not that there is one, but there should be.

 "The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker has a somewhat straightforward diction. The description is precise and has a somber bitterness to it. The rubber handrails "wavered slightly" and had a "black luster." by Running in Circles. Too general, violates rule numero tres. I feel like everyone is describing Nicholas Baker's piece as dull, but.... I thought it was rather sophisticated. Whatever.

"He presents words like "if you really want to know" and "if I have to" that explains his boring life as the average teenager. " by Amanda. She used a quote introduction, which is in direct violation of numero uno. Aw.

"Baker said the lobby was filled with "towering volumes of marble and glass.
Oops, Mariah forgot to put quotation marks at the end of her quote, making it violate rule numero ocho.

and THIS ONE WINS MY VOTE: mostly 'cause it's longer than, like, tres sentences, so props to you,
Mr. Viking Death Metal

J. D. Salinger is an author who uses very low and denotative words to write his stories. This is evident in his story “Catcher in the Rye”, which is written as if it were a personal account of the author's.  In “Catcher in the Rye”, his low, denotative words express a very blunt, down-to-earth nature of the narrator’s tone, while the fear of acting out against his parents’ wishes, not wanting them to have “two hemorrhages apiece” should he tell the reader “anything personal about them” surges through his mind. The narrators makes comments of his parents like “They’re nice and all-I’m not saying that-but they’re also touchy as hell” and says “I mean that’s all I told D.B. about, and he’s my brother” about his brother. These selections suggest a withdrawal from his family and possibly that he feels insecure about who he’s related to and that he does not wish to make his parents mad at him. The use of such words may reflect Salinger’s opinions on other writers at the time and their use of large, figurative language and words. Salinger’s works are not the most image-inducing, but while they don’t drip out of the reader’s mouth with luscious figurative language, they do have a certain tone and different sense to them then found in other author’s works.

PDA (not public display of affection, it's rather practice diction analysis.)

The highly descriptive and scholarly diction, the almost philosophical and appreciative tone inserted into Nicholson Baker's connotation, and the harmonious flow ringing throughout the first page of his novel, instill dreamy, practically romantic admiration for the mezzanine Baker speaks of, as this first page is read. Define Mezzanine: [mez-uh-neen, mez-uh-neen] the lowest balcony or forward part of such a balcony in a theater, or in this case, an office building (perhaps, I have not read this book). Baker elaborates on the mezzanine, the centerpiece of his novel, with a subtle passion, as he begins his journey to his office. He observes a "needly area of shine . . . [fall] against their brushed-steel side-panels" and the "long gloss highlights" waver on the black rubber handrails-- and he is amazed.  He adores these simple flecks of beauty that he comes across in his office building (?) and he watches them with fanciful amusement, absorbing each simple elegance with the a happy heart.

Currentlay.

The Words of Every Song  by Liz Moore

This week: 150 pgs

Favorites in the Style mapping thing-a-ma-jig:

*note: my reasoning is in bold italics, the quotes are in regular font.

Phyllis:
 A Million Little Pieces by James Frey is written with crude diction that portrays the author's critical struggles and a repetitive flow that allows the reader to understand his thinking.

I need to read this book. Heard he faked it, but it's still supposed to be a good one, right?

The Lost Message of Words:
Contrasting the opening of The Guns of August , Tuchman portrays a sophisticated view of regality that harmoniously prescribes a session of kings. The precise diction glorifies the seasoned May morning of 1910. The author further distinguishes the morning, "So gorgeous was the spectacle on the May morning of 1910 when nine kings rode in the funeral of Edward V11 of England that the crowd, waiting in hushed and black-clad awe, could not keep back gasps of admiration."

"sophisticated view of regality that harmoniously..." I like it. I don't know what regality is, so props to you, you Lost Message.

That One Guy's blog:
The low, musical connotation of "Blood Meridian" is revealed by the diction in which there are no sophisticated words or those used simply for there pretty sound. There is plenty of imagery and poetic description as he describes the sun as "the color of steel" and his shadow falling for "miles before him." 

This curving pathway of thoughts evokes a discordant mumbling in the mind as the story continues.

I find him eloquent, especially with the above sentence.

As Told by Ginger:
 In comparison to these two books, Charlotte Brontë's novel Jane Eyre reveals Brontë's denotative sense of style. Her literal and straightforward descriptions as well as the almost journalistic style as if she were reporting back the actions of the other characters reveals the way in which she observes and describes language.

Ugh. Jane Eyre. Bleeeechhhh. My mother had to literally force me to read that book the summer before junior year. I agree with the journalistic style that Ginger speaks of. It bored me to tears, no offence (but really, take offence), Jane Eyre.

Stylishly Mapping, a weenie bit overdue.

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (spelled right, this time)

Scholarly, ornate-- overwhelmingly so. His language is ridiculously high on the y-axis, and it reeks of elegance. Nabokov's diction is sensuous and provocative when describing his beloved Lolita, but he never manages to lose the formality of his voice. He paints murals, oodles and oodles of them, his words so imagistic and figurative-- but how else are we to know love, both physical and emotional, as he knows it? He defines prose with a sweet melodious rhythm and sound, but entwines it with the heart of a perverted cynic and a lustful soul.

The Words of Every Song by Liz Moore

This is middle ground. Or rather, it is all over the place. At times, there is swearing, at others, there is deep emotional analyzation. It is straightforward, but not completely blunt, and it is somewhere in between harsh and harmonious. I've no idea. It's rather mediocre writing, but I like it all the same. The stories are extremely interesting, but I wouldn't go as far to say that they are elegantly written. There are seldom images that come to mind when reading this. There are, but not really. It is more made up of literal diction, with no imaginative connotations or hidden meanings. These are more just stories of figurative people and what happens in their somewhat sad, mediocre lives, connected by musica.

Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma

This book is spilling over with emotion, which makes it imagistic and picturesque and figurative. Depression, fear, solitude, infatuation, love-- are all explained in depth, as the main characters feel them accordingly. Wouldn't say it's elegant, or scholarly, but it's well-written. A bit better written than The Words of Ever Song but, they're are both on the same level of goodness. The only vulgarity I come across is the swearing. I would say there's a lot, but the situations in the book call for it. I'll settle with middle ground, with a strong splash of picturesque and suggestive connotation.


Eschuchar musica.

Lightning Crashes by LIVE.









I could live off of this song. Don't feed me, don't shelter me
just let me breathe in the melody and the words and the voice
I can soak it in, I already have
I've digested it as well.
Yum.

It would do you well, proverbial (nonexistent) blog reader, to look it up.