kitchen poems

Friday, November 15, 2002

hello amigos. it's been a while. i thot i'd change my tenor this time and break that already unchained melody with some free
writes.
---
four in mourning. can't sleep can't type
casting fingers banging on keys that no longer strike letters like iron bits onto felt paper in black on white contrasts
reflecting what we whisper to ourselves
smeared but untouched glowing screens sublimating whispers into bits of all consuming E's
pre fixed and packeted binary bits where we get the negative in click and drag
inverting colors in drag,
in cliques.
no texture exists where narcissus is an entire people.
unfree writes in a flipped binary world blue box we only pretend
to understand.
[early draft of a new poem]
fatale femme:
she slides on me like a work of art
a world of feathered swirling colored motions
and breaths soft enough to chill porous skin
between neck and ear
where somehow feeling is consuming
melted into oblivion that’s less than one
uncertain quiverings like
opiate dream sensations expecting nothing
beyond death
a grin expressing more than it possibly could
waiting for the brush stroke to complete her
waiting for that other to color her in
painfully
guilt and hope rejected as less than one
unable to reject the beauty of
blood dropping as red swirls in toilet water
whores projecting the rhythmic empty faces of a lost love
baited breaths
apocryphal divining rods pointing to hope
if we only learn how to hold on, corrected
held crudely in thick fingers it points to a direction and we follow
and we follow where it goes
and it goes because we believe that he is somehow imbued with more than man

john park 4:32 AM

I love reading old blogs. it's like watching heavy glistening leaves on an autumn day--like today. some exquisite lines from that last exquisite corpse:
the candle wick is wet
But if you nurture it long enough there will be light.
If you drew me, would it make me chuckle?
If I painted sad clowns on your penis, woud it
get hard?
blue paint in toilet water
She is not a sheath, she is a quiver...

john park 3:32 AM

Tuesday, October 15, 2002

what up kitchen poemers. i miss the freewrites.
so i thought this post i just came up with because of a painful experience was kind of a kp-spirited piece. so i'll share it here. :)
------------------------------
this is how a girl in overdrive gear comes to a screeching halt:
you realise today's the day. it's three weeks late because you haven't been sleeping or eating regularly and you're on maximum level of stress. because you are always thinking about homework and projects, you don't even know you're stressed. so it's finally here and you go buy the necessary stuff. you think nothing of it, nothing of the fact that when it's this late, you usually need an advil or four. you don't even remember that you were supposed to eat healthy food because you're losing energy. you go about your day normally, do homework on computers, read while eating lunch that consists of coffee and whatever pastry thing you can grab from the deli.
you go and sit in a lecture and you start feeling that evil squeeze inside your lower abdomen. all of the sudden your energy is drawn from the top of your head, your finger tips, your legs, your bloodstream. your skin turns abnormally cold. you feel your face turn green. color drops from your eye brows to your throat. pen rolls off your fingers. notebook drops to the floor. it's getting harder to breath. your eyelids start to close against your will. there's not enough oxygen going to the brain. you yawn. you can't concentrate. you know you can't stand up straight until you start breathing normally again. you start seeing the room turns half black as if you're too far off the edge on the 3d plane in modeling mode. your neck is heavy. if you don't hold on to the chair, you were going to fall out of it. you're sitting in the smack middle of the auditorium and you can't possibly get out to the side. the lecturer is also someone you're working for. you realise you're just gonna have to wait. every other minute, the squeeze inside your abdomen starts all over again, sending the pain up your spinal chord, burning every other muscle along the way.
you sit through the lecture in pain, your neck supported by the back of the chair. you want to make a comment and ask a question, but you don't have energy to speak or even raise your hands. you wait until the lecture is done, collect enough energy to walk out, say goodbyes, and take a cab home -- something you would never do on a normal circumstance.
all of that because you are a woman and your body needs to get rid of an unfertilized egg.
three cheers for eve.

misery chick 9:21 PM

Tuesday, August 06, 2002

(exquisitely corpsed)
I'll do it...for you.
for you, for you, for you my bitch!
The night light needs a new battery
the candle wick is wet
But if you nurture it long enough there will be light.
"light of my life so brignt I can't see not,
Who's that girl...who's that girl..."
I see so much of me in her that it freaks me out
Do it for me
Is that Snoopy on the roof?
If you drew me, would it make me chuckle?
If I slammed my hairy knuckles into your
teeth, would that make you chuckle?
If I painted sad clowns on your penis, woud it
get hard?
Pure in a Purina Purina Pure
I want chicken, I want liver, I want Meow Mix
Please, for the love of GOD!
Shit it out. push. push. squeeze, shake grab knees.
push. push. slap thighs. shake. slap back.
grip legs. grip seat. drop. drop. drop.
blue paint in toilet water
She is not a sheath, she is a quiver...
And if you look at her funny, an arrow is going
squarely into your right butt cheek.

Sam del Rosario 1:25 AM

Sunday, July 28, 2002

In a fit of pure reading rainbow on crack, i scoured the net and made
some of the greatest, dirt-cheap on-line purchases ever.
i'm a monster. somebody stop me. needless-to-say, i have my
summer reading list. although i've read some of the books already,
it's nice to have a "slightly worn, tight spine, near perfect" copy for
esguerra, aaac and yawpers alike. (note: average price per book, including
shipping ~ 4.50) woo hoo! aaac library, here we come!!!
Monkey Bridge
Cao, Lan
Gunga Din Highway
Chin, Frank
Chickencoop Chinaman And The Year Of The Dragon
Chin, Frank
Troublemaker And Other Saints
Chiu, Christina
The Rice Room: Growing Up Chinese-American
Fong-Torres, Ben
Memoirs Of A Geisha (.99 cents!)
Golden, Arthur S.
Snow Falling On Cedars (booo...but it was 5 cents!)
Guterson, David
When Heaven And Earth Changed Places
Hayslip, Le Ly
Volcano, A Memoir Of Hawaii
Hongo, Garett
Farewell to Manzanar
Houston, Jeanne Wakatsuki
Paradise Of The Blind
Huong, Duong Thu
M Butterfly
Hwang, David Henry
Typical American
Jen, Gish
The Woman Warrior
Kingston, Maxine Hong
China Men
Kingston, Maxine Hong
Obasan
Kogawa, Joy
Interpreter Of Maladies: Stories
Lahiri, Jhumpa
One Hundred Years Of Solitude
Marquez, Gabriel Garcia
Love In The Time Of Cholera
Marquez, Gabriel Garcia
Red Azalea
Min, Anchee
Bone
Ng, Fae Myenne
The English Patient
Ondaatje, Michael
The Satanic Verses
Rushdie, Salman
Midnight's Children
Rushdie, Salman
Roots : An Asian American Reader
Tachiki, Amy
American Knees
Wong, Shawn
Porcelain And A Language Of Their Own: Two Plays
Yew, Chay
Picture Bride
Uchida, Yoshiko

marlon esguerra 12:17 PM

Tuesday, July 09, 2002

(Tagalog lesson. Work in progress. -- sdr)
YES-NO QUESTIONS
This type of question in Tagalog is easily identifiable because it is marked by the particle BA, referred to by many grammar books as the yes-no question marker. It also has a rising intonation just like question patterns in English.
The Particle BA
The particle BA usually comes after the first element of a sentence. BA works about the same as a question mark. It lets the speaker know that you are asking a question. Please note that BA is only used for questions that must have a yes or no.
Example (based on a true story):
Two people are on an elevator in a hospital. One is a Filipina nurse (Cora), the other is a doctor -- non-Filipino, non-Tagalog speaking; I'm not going too far out on a limb by assuming he's non-Asian and non-Hispanic. Hell, let's just make him from Schaumburg. Anyway, the elevator door opens on a floor and there is another Filipina nurse (Mila) who is not sure which direction the elevator is travelling.
TAGALOG
MILA: Ba baba, ba?
CORA: Ba baba.
Let's play this scene back in English.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
MILA: Is this elevator going down?
CORA: Yes, it is.

Breaking down the Tagalog. In Mila's line, the word "baba" (pronounced ba-BA) is a verb form meaning "it is descending". The first "ba" transforms the sentence into a question so "it is..." becomes "is it...?" Because of the context, "elevator" is implied. A rising intonation also supports the sentence as an interrogative. The last "ba" makes the question less formal as well as supporting the sentence as an interrogative and is translated roughly as, "...isn't it?"
Cora's answer is in the affirmative which is just the root form of Mila's question, without the last "ba". A downward inflection makes it more of a statement.
Hope this was not as confusing as it was for Dr. Shaumburg, MD.

Sam del Rosario 1:46 AM

Monday, June 24, 2002

I feel really fortunate -- guilty almost -- that I like my job. Maybe it's out of emotional necessity but I really think it's a good fit. (Note: I'm a social worker by training and I work as an Elder Abuse Investigator covering the south side and west side of Chicago.).
There is this picture in the Columbia College Magazine "Gravity" I came across which showed a senior lying down on his couch, his shoes kicked off revealing well worn bare feet, and the lines on his face and jowls implied that things weren't really that easy over the last fifty or sixty years but he was getting by. He was doing alright. Above his couch were a couple dozen framed pictures of his family and friends which were arranged in no apparent configuration other than they could all be seen at once.
He was watching Oprah.
This is what my motivation for my work boils down to: "Here, sir, just lie down and take a rest. Maybe take your shoes off if that'll be more comfortable. Do you want me to turn on your TV? What do you want to watch? Are you sure? I think the ball game is... OK, Oprah it is. I'll be here if you need anything. If not, that's OK but let me know if you need anything."
I don't know if this, in the long run, is a healthy reaction to the work I do or if it's the first step on the road to burnout but what's going on is -- for those of you up on your psychodynamic therapeutic concepts -- a textbook case of countertransference. Basically, looking at that picture I'm standing there in that room with my Lolo who passed away in '93 when I was in college and feeling all of my shortcomings as a grandson flood over me. All the times I should have been there for him. Talked with him -- let him tell me his stories over and over again. Laughed with him -- over what, I was never sure; maybe just because he was laughing, I, too would laugh. That even though I was away at school (not even a half hour away, if that), just to let him know that I was still with him.
My fear is that he did not feel that. My fear is that I may be lying to myself; that he felt abandoned because he was -- by me.
(My Lolo loved watching Jeopardy!, although I'm not sure how well he understood the game which he knew as "the...the...pardy!").
At any one point, my caseload is between 35 to 40 people. Some cases get closed for various reasons but I'm constantly getting assigned new people. But each one is an opportunity where I can try to make it up to him and maybe after I do this for a few years, I will. Or maybe I'll come to terms with it fifty or sixty years from now while I'm lying on my couch with my shoes off, thinking back on my life with the TV on in the background.

Sam del Rosario 6:16 PM

Friday, June 14, 2002

June 19, 1982
My soon-to-be wife,
I know I ‘m placing a great strain on you, having to worry, and a week before our wedding day. I am very excited to present my factory ideas to the plant managers, and teams. I am positive that my presentation will bring a manufacture solution to the automobile production industry here in Detroit. My mother was very skeptical about me flying out here, away from you, and chanting her Chinese superstitions of bad luck before our wedding day. I feel very safe and lucky with the jade pendant you gave me before leaving. Every time I place my fingers on it I am always thinking of you, and how anxious I am to get home to you and start our new life together.
It was very hot today and the people of Detroit seemed to be sad and gloomy. I don’t blame them considering half the people lost their plant jobs. I read in the paper that these lay offs are now being described as Detroit’s “new poor.” I have a lot of sympathy for them passing by in the streets with a look of despair. It is as if the city has lost its friendly welcome smile.
I passed a lot of laid off individuals on my way to the Chrysler plantation. I had a big smile when I met with the managers and the teams. The plantation was enormous and full of power with rising smoke from the stacks, welding and rivet noises, and forklifts hustling about. The machinery on the inside was very old, and had looked like they had not been replaced since World War Two! Imagine that. I tried to display a positive attitude with all the workers, but felt intimidated by their stares and silence toward me. It felt cold and uninviting. It felt as if they did not want me to be there at all. The managers and teams were collective, and reserved, and wanted me to get right to the point. So I did, and gave them the layouts, designs, and production statistics that will improve a rapid production, and higher percentages. There was no reaction. They thanked me for my time and I excused myself leaving the plant. I did not know whether to smile, cry, frown, or laugh. I felt a weird confusion engulf me that I could not grasp.
After the meeting, I met with Harold and Pete, my old school buddies, and we went to a local bar. The bar was unique with a serene welcome to it. It was exactly what I needed to take my mind off the reaction of the teams at the factory. Unlike our bars back there, this one had pool tables, fancy dancing lights that lit up the corner ceiling, cool neon lights, velvet chars, and even a small room you can smoke cigars in. I noticed a huge painting of Henry Ford standing next to his Model T automobile above the bar blending in with the dim afternoon light. He appeared to be confident, strong, and very well groomed. I started envisioning my face replacing his and feeling a great sense of resemblance. I was starting to believe that with my hard work and effort could help the city’s people find their smile again. I could make the difference with my ideas and produce more employment. I suddenly came back to reality by the distant laughter from children outside reminding me of that glorious day when we can hear our own children laugh. They also had a jukebox playing classical jazz that released saxophone tunes orchestrating with the laughter. I started to sway with the amplified sound and pictured us dancing to such sounds on our wedding day. I watched the bartender clean his wine glasses with his towel and place them carefully next to each other forming a little army within ranks. They sounded off with pleasant “pinggggg” noises.
Harold and Pete treated me to more drinks as we laughed and talked about old times and new times. They were so happy when I told them about our engagement and our wedding date. Harold suddenly jumps up and says, “What are we waiting for, we have a bachelor party to start!” They grabbed me and started dancing. My confusion, intimidation, worries, and impressions had left me. I might have been drunk, but was excited again. We made plans to go to Highland Park for my last night, and bachelor party. Don’t worry; I’m in good hands with Harold and Pete. They will take good care of me. Besides, I have your jade pendant around my neck to guide me and bring me good luck. Until that day we are finally forever, I always love you.
V. Chin

jeremy policarpio 2:43 AM


about it's fresh. it's raw. it's kitchen poems freewrite.
prompt "write where it hurts" archive connects reading list memento excercise the collective aa writers workshop - nyc mikekim miserychick	Friday, November 15, 2002 hello amigos. it's been a while. i thot i'd change my tenor this time and break that already unchained melody with some free writes. --- four in mourning. can't sleep can't type casting fingers banging on keys that no longer strike letters like iron bits onto felt paper in black on white contrasts reflecting what we whisper to ourselves smeared but untouched glowing screens sublimating whispers into bits of all consuming E's pre fixed and packeted binary bits where we get the negative in click and drag inverting colors in drag, in cliques. no texture exists where narcissus is an entire people. unfree writes in a flipped binary world blue box we only pretend to understand. [early draft of a new poem] fatale femme: she slides on me like a work of art a world of feathered swirling colored motions and breaths soft enough to chill porous skin between neck and ear where somehow feeling is consuming melted into oblivion that’s less than one uncertain quiverings like opiate dream sensations expecting nothing beyond death a grin expressing more than it possibly could waiting for the brush stroke to complete her waiting for that other to color her in painfully guilt and hope rejected as less than one unable to reject the beauty of blood dropping as red swirls in toilet water whores projecting the rhythmic empty faces of a lost love baited breaths apocryphal divining rods pointing to hope if we only learn how to hold on, corrected held crudely in thick fingers it points to a direction and we follow and we follow where it goes and it goes because we believe that he is somehow imbued with more than man john park 4:32 AM I love reading old blogs. it's like watching heavy glistening leaves on an autumn day--like today. some exquisite lines from that last exquisite corpse: the candle wick is wet But if you nurture it long enough there will be light. If you drew me, would it make me chuckle? If I painted sad clowns on your penis, woud it get hard? blue paint in toilet water She is not a sheath, she is a quiver... john park 3:32 AM Tuesday, October 15, 2002 what up kitchen poemers. i miss the freewrites. so i thought this post i just came up with because of a painful experience was kind of a kp-spirited piece. so i'll share it here. :) ------------------------------ this is how a girl in overdrive gear comes to a screeching halt: you realise today's the day. it's three weeks late because you haven't been sleeping or eating regularly and you're on maximum level of stress. because you are always thinking about homework and projects, you don't even know you're stressed. so it's finally here and you go buy the necessary stuff. you think nothing of it, nothing of the fact that when it's this late, you usually need an advil or four. you don't even remember that you were supposed to eat healthy food because you're losing energy. you go about your day normally, do homework on computers, read while eating lunch that consists of coffee and whatever pastry thing you can grab from the deli. you go and sit in a lecture and you start feeling that evil squeeze inside your lower abdomen. all of the sudden your energy is drawn from the top of your head, your finger tips, your legs, your bloodstream. your skin turns abnormally cold. you feel your face turn green. color drops from your eye brows to your throat. pen rolls off your fingers. notebook drops to the floor. it's getting harder to breath. your eyelids start to close against your will. there's not enough oxygen going to the brain. you yawn. you can't concentrate. you know you can't stand up straight until you start breathing normally again. you start seeing the room turns half black as if you're too far off the edge on the 3d plane in modeling mode. your neck is heavy. if you don't hold on to the chair, you were going to fall out of it. you're sitting in the smack middle of the auditorium and you can't possibly get out to the side. the lecturer is also someone you're working for. you realise you're just gonna have to wait. every other minute, the squeeze inside your abdomen starts all over again, sending the pain up your spinal chord, burning every other muscle along the way. you sit through the lecture in pain, your neck supported by the back of the chair. you want to make a comment and ask a question, but you don't have energy to speak or even raise your hands. you wait until the lecture is done, collect enough energy to walk out, say goodbyes, and take a cab home -- something you would never do on a normal circumstance. all of that because you are a woman and your body needs to get rid of an unfertilized egg. three cheers for eve. misery chick 9:21 PM Tuesday, August 06, 2002 (exquisitely corpsed) I'll do it...for you. for you, for you, for you my bitch! The night light needs a new battery the candle wick is wet But if you nurture it long enough there will be light. "light of my life so brignt I can't see not, Who's that girl...who's that girl..." I see so much of me in her that it freaks me out Do it for me Is that Snoopy on the roof? If you drew me, would it make me chuckle? If I slammed my hairy knuckles into your teeth, would that make you chuckle? If I painted sad clowns on your penis, woud it get hard? Pure in a Purina Purina Pure I want chicken, I want liver, I want Meow Mix Please, for the love of GOD! Shit it out. push. push. squeeze, shake grab knees. push. push. slap thighs. shake. slap back. grip legs. grip seat. drop. drop. drop. blue paint in toilet water She is not a sheath, she is a quiver... And if you look at her funny, an arrow is going squarely into your right butt cheek. Sam del Rosario 1:25 AM Sunday, July 28, 2002 In a fit of pure reading rainbow on crack, i scoured the net and made some of the greatest, dirt-cheap on-line purchases ever. i'm a monster. somebody stop me. needless-to-say, i have my summer reading list. although i've read some of the books already, it's nice to have a "slightly worn, tight spine, near perfect" copy for esguerra, aaac and yawpers alike. (note: average price per book, including shipping ~ 4.50) woo hoo! aaac library, here we come!!! Monkey Bridge Cao, Lan Gunga Din Highway Chin, Frank Chickencoop Chinaman And The Year Of The Dragon Chin, Frank Troublemaker And Other Saints Chiu, Christina The Rice Room: Growing Up Chinese-American Fong-Torres, Ben Memoirs Of A Geisha (.99 cents!) Golden, Arthur S. Snow Falling On Cedars (booo...but it was 5 cents!) Guterson, David When Heaven And Earth Changed Places Hayslip, Le Ly Volcano, A Memoir Of Hawaii Hongo, Garett Farewell to Manzanar Houston, Jeanne Wakatsuki Paradise Of The Blind Huong, Duong Thu M Butterfly Hwang, David Henry Typical American Jen, Gish The Woman Warrior Kingston, Maxine Hong China Men Kingston, Maxine Hong Obasan Kogawa, Joy Interpreter Of Maladies: Stories Lahiri, Jhumpa One Hundred Years Of Solitude Marquez, Gabriel Garcia Love In The Time Of Cholera Marquez, Gabriel Garcia Red Azalea Min, Anchee Bone Ng, Fae Myenne The English Patient Ondaatje, Michael The Satanic Verses Rushdie, Salman Midnight's Children Rushdie, Salman Roots : An Asian American Reader Tachiki, Amy American Knees Wong, Shawn Porcelain And A Language Of Their Own: Two Plays Yew, Chay Picture Bride Uchida, Yoshiko marlon esguerra 12:17 PM Tuesday, July 09, 2002 (Tagalog lesson. Work in progress. -- sdr) YES-NO QUESTIONS This type of question in Tagalog is easily identifiable because it is marked by the particle BA, referred to by many grammar books as the yes-no question marker. It also has a rising intonation just like question patterns in English. The Particle BA The particle BA usually comes after the first element of a sentence. BA works about the same as a question mark. It lets the speaker know that you are asking a question. Please note that BA is only used for questions that must have a yes or no. Example (based on a true story): Two people are on an elevator in a hospital. One is a Filipina nurse (Cora), the other is a doctor -- non-Filipino, non-Tagalog speaking; I'm not going too far out on a limb by assuming he's non-Asian and non-Hispanic. Hell, let's just make him from Schaumburg. Anyway, the elevator door opens on a floor and there is another Filipina nurse (Mila) who is not sure which direction the elevator is travelling. TAGALOG MILA: Ba baba, ba? CORA: Ba baba. Let's play this scene back in English. ENGLISH TRANSLATION MILA: Is this elevator going down? CORA: Yes, it is. Breaking down the Tagalog. In Mila's line, the word "baba" (pronounced ba-BA) is a verb form meaning "it is descending". The first "ba" transforms the sentence into a question so "it is..." becomes "is it...?" Because of the context, "elevator" is implied. A rising intonation also supports the sentence as an interrogative. The last "ba" makes the question less formal as well as supporting the sentence as an interrogative and is translated roughly as, "...isn't it?" Cora's answer is in the affirmative which is just the root form of Mila's question, without the last "ba". A downward inflection makes it more of a statement. Hope this was not as confusing as it was for Dr. Shaumburg, MD. Sam del Rosario 1:46 AM Monday, June 24, 2002 I feel really fortunate -- guilty almost -- that I like my job. Maybe it's out of emotional necessity but I really think it's a good fit. (Note: I'm a social worker by training and I work as an Elder Abuse Investigator covering the south side and west side of Chicago.). There is this picture in the Columbia College Magazine "Gravity" I came across which showed a senior lying down on his couch, his shoes kicked off revealing well worn bare feet, and the lines on his face and jowls implied that things weren't really that easy over the last fifty or sixty years but he was getting by. He was doing alright. Above his couch were a couple dozen framed pictures of his family and friends which were arranged in no apparent configuration other than they could all be seen at once. He was watching Oprah. This is what my motivation for my work boils down to: "Here, sir, just lie down and take a rest. Maybe take your shoes off if that'll be more comfortable. Do you want me to turn on your TV? What do you want to watch? Are you sure? I think the ball game is... OK, Oprah it is. I'll be here if you need anything. If not, that's OK but let me know if you need anything." I don't know if this, in the long run, is a healthy reaction to the work I do or if it's the first step on the road to burnout but what's going on is -- for those of you up on your psychodynamic therapeutic concepts -- a textbook case of countertransference. Basically, looking at that picture I'm standing there in that room with my Lolo who passed away in '93 when I was in college and feeling all of my shortcomings as a grandson flood over me. All the times I should have been there for him. Talked with him -- let him tell me his stories over and over again. Laughed with him -- over what, I was never sure; maybe just because he was laughing, I, too would laugh. That even though I was away at school (not even a half hour away, if that), just to let him know that I was still with him. My fear is that he did not feel that. My fear is that I may be lying to myself; that he felt abandoned because he was -- by me. (My Lolo loved watching Jeopardy!, although I'm not sure how well he understood the game which he knew as "the...the...pardy!"). At any one point, my caseload is between 35 to 40 people. Some cases get closed for various reasons but I'm constantly getting assigned new people. But each one is an opportunity where I can try to make it up to him and maybe after I do this for a few years, I will. Or maybe I'll come to terms with it fifty or sixty years from now while I'm lying on my couch with my shoes off, thinking back on my life with the TV on in the background. Sam del Rosario 6:16 PM Friday, June 14, 2002 June 19, 1982 My soon-to-be wife, I know I ‘m placing a great strain on you, having to worry, and a week before our wedding day. I am very excited to present my factory ideas to the plant managers, and teams. I am positive that my presentation will bring a manufacture solution to the automobile production industry here in Detroit. My mother was very skeptical about me flying out here, away from you, and chanting her Chinese superstitions of bad luck before our wedding day. I feel very safe and lucky with the jade pendant you gave me before leaving. Every time I place my fingers on it I am always thinking of you, and how anxious I am to get home to you and start our new life together. It was very hot today and the people of Detroit seemed to be sad and gloomy. I don’t blame them considering half the people lost their plant jobs. I read in the paper that these lay offs are now being described as Detroit’s “new poor.” I have a lot of sympathy for them passing by in the streets with a look of despair. It is as if the city has lost its friendly welcome smile. I passed a lot of laid off individuals on my way to the Chrysler plantation. I had a big smile when I met with the managers and the teams. The plantation was enormous and full of power with rising smoke from the stacks, welding and rivet noises, and forklifts hustling about. The machinery on the inside was very old, and had looked like they had not been replaced since World War Two! Imagine that. I tried to display a positive attitude with all the workers, but felt intimidated by their stares and silence toward me. It felt cold and uninviting. It felt as if they did not want me to be there at all. The managers and teams were collective, and reserved, and wanted me to get right to the point. So I did, and gave them the layouts, designs, and production statistics that will improve a rapid production, and higher percentages. There was no reaction. They thanked me for my time and I excused myself leaving the plant. I did not know whether to smile, cry, frown, or laugh. I felt a weird confusion engulf me that I could not grasp. After the meeting, I met with Harold and Pete, my old school buddies, and we went to a local bar. The bar was unique with a serene welcome to it. It was exactly what I needed to take my mind off the reaction of the teams at the factory. Unlike our bars back there, this one had pool tables, fancy dancing lights that lit up the corner ceiling, cool neon lights, velvet chars, and even a small room you can smoke cigars in. I noticed a huge painting of Henry Ford standing next to his Model T automobile above the bar blending in with the dim afternoon light. He appeared to be confident, strong, and very well groomed. I started envisioning my face replacing his and feeling a great sense of resemblance. I was starting to believe that with my hard work and effort could help the city’s people find their smile again. I could make the difference with my ideas and produce more employment. I suddenly came back to reality by the distant laughter from children outside reminding me of that glorious day when we can hear our own children laugh. They also had a jukebox playing classical jazz that released saxophone tunes orchestrating with the laughter. I started to sway with the amplified sound and pictured us dancing to such sounds on our wedding day. I watched the bartender clean his wine glasses with his towel and place them carefully next to each other forming a little army within ranks. They sounded off with pleasant “pinggggg” noises. Harold and Pete treated me to more drinks as we laughed and talked about old times and new times. They were so happy when I told them about our engagement and our wedding date. Harold suddenly jumps up and says, “What are we waiting for, we have a bachelor party to start!” They grabbed me and started dancing. My confusion, intimidation, worries, and impressions had left me. I might have been drunk, but was excited again. We made plans to go to Highland Park for my last night, and bachelor party. Don’t worry; I’m in good hands with Harold and Pete. They will take good care of me. Besides, I have your jade pendant around my neck to guide me and bring me good luck. Until that day we are finally forever, I always love you. V. Chin jeremy policarpio 2:43 AM