Without internet for several weeks, I haven't been able to post anything recently. And on an incredible sad note, my favorite modern poet/spoken-word performer/punk rocker died and I grieved the only way I know how. I wrote. Now, since I'm back online I thought I'd share as he is a writer I think everyone should aquaint themselves with. He's raw, he's vivid, and his soul seemed to bleed through and spill over in his writing. Jim Carroll author of the Basketball Diaires, Forced Entries, and Fear of Dreaming died on 9/11/09. I think it's interesting to note the significance as Jim Carroll's background was always the pulsing city, whether it be his high school ball games or his next score or rocking out a list of people who died in his city (see video). I found this paper I wrote when I was a freshmen in high school. This was the time of my life I was determined to move to NYC and become a Village bum and hang out with Jim Carroll and the likes. Never made it to NYC but I still promise myself I will someday. It's sad now-as youth evaporates we see our dreams shriveling up due to circumstance. And now meeting Jim is one of those dreams deterred. I re-read my paper; I had wanted to share it on here but have decided against it. If this is the first time you've read anything by him, I don't want it to be tainted by my analysis. The thousands of dollars in student loans I pay on ever month for my schooling and the one lesson I've learned in my studies as an English major: Who gives a %#^@ what someone else's take on the work is? Enjoy it. Make it your own. Perhaps I've become a solipsist in my old age, or maybe I'm just over the "only one way to skin a cat" approach my school took and applied to all things literature, but I want you to read this and think of your own dreams, not jilted by mine... Make this one yours. RIP Jim Carroll.
Little Ode On St. Anne's Day by Jim Carroll
Your growing up,
And rain sort of remains
On the branches of a tree
That wil someday Rule the earth,
And that's good
That there is rain
It clears the month
Of your sorry rainbow expressions
And clears the streets
of silent armies
so we can dance
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