Love Up Above

Is a ball of water round

I bring some down

And splash it around 

Not too much, won’t drown

Love is a ball of water 

That follows us through town

Weather-Wise

  Weather-wise, it was a great day. Mid-January in California is late march in Tennessee. There I was, sitting on a stoop that did not belong to me smoking some grade-A that did. Four grams for $20. As far as street prices go, that’s insane. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that weed is legal over here. But anyway, there I was, sitting, smoking, when this cat walks up. He looked at me and I him. In that moment our individual appraisals brought forth a mutual animosity towards one another that was at once palpable and oppressive. From the way he gazed I could deduce nothing but thoughts of ill intent. I watched him and he me. After half a minute of this sizing-up he decided to move along. I was content.

   Ten minutes later a white sedan creeps past. Instinctively I make my personalized cigarillo less visible. The lady inside seems as if she’s looking for a pet. Out the window I see a hand shaking a can of catnip. She’s calling out to a ‘Mittins’ to ‘come back home’. The sedan passes from view. Not a minute later I see the cat from before, moving in the same direction as the sedan. I hope he missed his ride.

We Tried. Really.

     We wish we were in it till the death of us. We wish we had something to die for. 

We pretend like we're in it till the death of us. We pretend we have something to die for. 

Because you my nigga. Because I'm yours. Because the music tells us so. 

I'm not pussy because I'd fight for you. You not pussy because you'd die for me. 

But what does that mean if I can't prove myself? What does it mean if your hood ain't a hood at all?

I know we both ten toes down but when have we ever had to put down all ten toes?

We say "Fuck 12!" but when has 12 fucked us really?

I want to die for my niggas, or at least kill for my niggas.

What does it mean to be a nigga in suburbia?

Nothing at all. C'mon. Let's go rob some shit. 

or pretend to anyway.  

Bonafide Sweetener

    What is this place anyway? When I think about it I see you at the table across from me. We’re not thinking of what to say but we’re talking still. There’s no topic of conversation yet we talk all the same. I see the light shining through the window on your eyes and am lost in the green and brown. Lovely, that’s the word for it. Before the coffee gets cold, Margret, our waitress, fills our mugs again. She’s earned her tip. 

Where’s this place anyway? It need not be anywhere but here and now. Why talk of the future when we’re here? Why think of the time when we wouldn’t be together? This is what they mean when they speak of forever. I know it now. 

Miles stretch between us but I see your smile nevertheless. I take my coffee black. Maybe black’s too bitter for you. Need a little sugar? I’ll sprinkle it in. She brought the creamer too. It’s all for you. I’ll drink mine as is. Down to the bitter dregs. You’re sweet enough for me. Pure honey. 

Where They Breathe

    We lived our lives on paper before we knew what any of it meant. We lived easy, simple. There was time for everything. Thats all we had was time. Conversations were light and easygoing. Heated arguments happened rarely. Everyone was cordial with one another. Then He came to town. 

No one knew His name or simply did not speak it. Some chose to call Him a god. Others called Him a demon. Either way, everyone knew what He was about. He preached to us. He preached to us a world higher than or own. He preached to us the words ‘paper’ and ‘life’. He introduced to us the phrase ‘dimensional’. He told us the lives we lived were merely drawings, copies of real life in the ‘third dimension’. That our bodies, buildings, landscapes were nothing but lines on paper. 

He told us of the other world, the world of mass and volume. The world where people breathed. He told of water that was wet, of heat that made you sweat. He told of places that were so cold you’d shiver all over, of heavy clothes you’d have to wear to protect against this bitter cold. He told us of tastes and smells. He told us of light, of love. 

There was a lot He told us. He preached every day. A crowd would gather. Not everyone would go. He turned away no one. People would ask questions. Some would try to argue. Most would listen attentively, drinking in the words spoken by this One who seemed to know all. There were those who would stay after the crowd dispersed to speak with Him directly. They came to Him with their doubts, their praises. He spoke with them all. He turned away no one. 

Not long after He came to town He informed us of His impending departure. He invited those who were willing to leave behind what they knew to follow Him. When asked where He was headed He’d reply thus: “From whence I came.”

Call Her Ted

  Do you have that one friend? You know, that friend who's been your friend longer than you can remember. That friend you always sat next to in class. That friend who made you laugh with just a look. That friend you felt special to be called their friend. Do you have that friend? That friend you call just because. That friend you can talk to for hours because there's so much to talk about. That friend who's siblings are friends with your siblings. That friend that comes over after school. That friend everyone always asks if you date. Do you have that friend? That friend who your parents love. That friend who loves your parents more than you. That friend who makes you feel terrible for not recycling. That friend who introduces you to music you never knew you'd like. That friend who dyes her hair. Do you have that friend? That friend you used to wrestle until you accidentally kind of hurt her, so you don't anymore. That friend who knows so much about you, enough to help you through the hard times. That friend who'll never stop being your friend. Do you have that friend? That friend you had a crush on for the longest until she turned you down in the sweetest of ways. That friend you just feel blessed to be around. That friend you love as much as you love yourself, and more. Do you have that friend? I do. She has a name, but I just call her Ted. 

Tis My Opinion

S.M. Jones

Professor Lutz

ENGL 2030

12-1-2018

Murder: A Phenomenon 

            To many, the first murder to ever be committed was that of Abel by the hand of his own brother, Cain. As the story goes, both Cain and Abel were commanded by God to give an offering their Creator. Abel offered up the firstlings of his flock for he was a keeper of sheep and the Lord was pleased. Cain, on the other hand, was a tiller of the ground and thus thought the first fruits from the land would be a sufficient offering, to which the Lord had no respect whatsoever. Because of this, Cain hated his brother and promptly killed him. Though there was much hate between Frankenstein and his Creation, the question of whether or not Frankenstein’s hypothetical act of killing his Creature could be considered murder cannot be as easily answered as if one were to pose the same question to the killing of Able by the hand of Cain.

            Murder: 

1      noun

Law. the killing of another human being under conditions specifically covered in law. In the U.S., special statutory definitions include murder committed with malice aforethought, characterized by deliberation or premeditation or occurring during the commission of another serious crime, as robbery or arson (first-degree murder, or murder one), and murder by intent but without deliberation or premeditation (second-degree murder, or murder two).

2      Slang. something extremely difficult or perilous: “That final exam was murder!”

3      a group or flock of crows.

4      verb (used with object)

Law. to kill by an act constituting murder.

to kill or slaughter inhumanly or barbarously.

5      . verb (used without object)

to commit murder.

The word ‘murder’ has many definitions and connotations. For our discussion, we shall focus on the first and/or fourth/fifth in the process of coming to a coming to a conclusion pertaining to the morality- or lack thereof- of Frankenstein’s desire to extinguish the flame of life he so fervently kindled within the inanimate body of his Creation.

            The first definition of the word ‘murder’, as seen above, is “the killing of another human being under conditions specifically covered in law”. With this definition in mind, as well as the fourth and fifth, we must then contemplate two follow-up questions in order to come to a rational conclusion: “Can Frankenstein’s Creation be considered human?” and if so, “By what law must this Being abide?”

            What does it mean to be human?

adjective

1.     of, pertaining to, characteristic of, or having the nature of people: human frailty

2.     consisting of people: the human race.

3.     of or relating to the social aspect of people: human affairs

4.     sympathetic; humane: a warmly human understanding

noun

5.     a human being  

When we look up the word ‘human’ in the dictionary, we find that it has more than one definition. To answer the question of the Creature’s classification we need only to consider the physical form of said Creature. Presumably, Frankenstein constructed this Creature’s body from the remains of unburied human corpses. Grotesque though it may be, by the very definition above, this Creature is, in fact, thoroughly human. 

            Okay. You are not convinced. All the more reason for us to dive deeper into what it means to be human. Two synonyms for ‘human’ are sympathetic and humane. The Creature shows evidence of sympathy and humane feelings during the first few days of his observation of a small family of cottagers: “They were not entirely happy. The young man appeared to weep. I saw no cause to their unhappiness; but I was deeply affected by it.” (113, emphasis added) If the origin of the Creature’s physical composition wasn’t enough to establish in you a since of humanity then surely this display of such genuine affection and sympathy will suffice as proper evidence. 

            Having thus classified the Creature as a member of the species Homo-sapiens, let us return to the matter of lawful action. Though it is evident that this Creature is capable of benevolence, we mustn’t forget his immense capacity for malice and destruction. Throughout the novel this Creature commits three separate- but deliberate- murders.  Because of this, one would be correct in accusing the Creature of unlawful activity. In many countries during the time period in which this novel takes place, capital punishment is a just procedure in law. With this in mind, it would be safe to assume that a jury would indeed find it necessary to put this Creature to death for his repeated crimes. Being that Frankenstein is alone in his knowledge of the existence of his abominable Creation, he alone must bear the responsibility of enforcing law as his judge, jury, and executioner. So, in the hypothetical event of Frankenstein’s killing of his Creation, we must consider the fact that, in so doing, Frankenstein is enacting a just punishment and thus cannot be said to have murdered his Creation. 

            So, you have read this far and still disagree with the above argument on the basis that you don’t believe said Creature deserves the right to be called human. There is yet another path of reason we can consider in answering the question of whether or not the action of Frankenstein killing his Creation could be considered murder. 

            As stated above, there is a yet another definition of the word human: “of or relating to the social aspect of people.” By reason of this definition, this Creature himself is painfully aware of his lack of human status. He eventually separates himself from the human race all together: “[F]rom that moment I declared everlasting war against the (human) species…” (138) Thus the Creature himself answers the question of whether or not he belongs to the human race. 

            “So,” you ask, “if the creature is not human, then what would you call the result of his demise by the hand of his Creator? By the hand of Frankenstein?” Frankenstein, in this case, could be considered a nefarious artist who works with human remains as his medium. As an artist dissatisfied with his work might toss the product of hours of intense concentration into a wastebasket without a second though, so too must Frankenstein be allowed- neigh, obliged- to kill hiscreation if it so displeases him. That is if he is, in fact, capable of such a feat. But alas, whether or not he is capable, to find this out you must read the book.