excerpt from Mark Twain's "How to Tell A Story"

Mark Twain discusses the difference of a humourous story from comic or witty stories.

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"[...] Let me set down an instance of the comic method, using an anecdote which has been popular all over the world for twelve or fifteen hundred years. The teller tells it in this way:

THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.

In the course of a certain battle a soldier whose leg had been shot off appealed to another soldier who was hurrying by to carry him to the rear, informing him at the same time of the loss which he had sustained; whereupon the generous son of Mars, shouldering the unfortunate, proceeded to carry out his desire. The bullets and cannon-balls were flying in all directions, and presently one of the latter took the wounded man's head off--without, however, his deliverer being aware of it. In no-long time he was hailed by an officer, who said:

"Where are you going with that carcass?"

"To the rear, sir--he's lost his leg!"

"His leg, forsooth?" responded the astonished officer; "you mean his head, you booby."

Whereupon the soldier dispossessed himself of his burden, and stood looking down upon it in great perplexity. At length he said:

"It is true, sir, just as you have said." Then after a pause he added, "But he TOLD me IT WAS HIS LEG! ! ! ! !"

Here the narrator bursts into explosion after explosion of thunderous horse-laughter, repeating that nub from time to time through his gaspings and shriekings and suffocatings.

It takes only a minute and a half to tell that in its comic-story form; and isn't worth the telling, after all. Put into the humorous-story form it takes ten minutes, and is about the funniest thing I have ever listened to--as James Whitcomb Riley tells it.
He tells it in the character of a dull-witted old farmer who has just heard it for the first time, thinks it is unspeakably funny, and is trying to repeat it to a neighbor. But he can't remember it; so he gets all mixed up and wanders helplessly round and round, putting in tedious details that don't belong in the tale and only retard it; taking them out conscientiously and putting in others that are just as useless; making minor mistakes now and then and stopping to correct them and explain how he came to make them; remembering things which he forgot to put in in their proper place and going back to put them in there; stopping his narrative a good while in order to try to recall the name of the soldier that was hurt, and finally remembering that the soldier's name was not mentioned, and remarking placidly that the name is of no real importance, anyway--better, of course, if one knew it, but not essential, after all-- and so on, and so on, and so on.

The teller is innocent and happy and pleased with himself, and has to stop every little while to hold himself in and keep from laughing outright; and does hold in, but his body quakes in a jelly-like way with interior chuckles; and at the end of the ten minutes the audience have laughed until they are exhausted, and the tears are running down their faces.

The simplicity and innocence and sincerity and unconsciousness of the old farmer are perfectly simulated, and the result is a performance which is thoroughly charming and delicious. This is art and fine and beautiful, and only a master can compass it; but a machine could tell the other story.

To string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering and sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they are absurdities, is the basis of the American art, if my position is correct. Another feature is the slurring of the point. A third is the dropping of a studied remark apparently without knowing it, as if one were thinking aloud. The fourth and last is the pause."

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This one little excerpt makes me feel more 'American' than anything else I've known. I'm like a little ol' farmer.

a ghost

If I could only explain my awkwardness, I’m afraid it might make the skeleton within you jump out of your skin therefore leaving you lifeless due to my awkwardness. Goodness. I am simply unbearable. My physical body may be somewhere, but where the hell is my mind?

Oh do come back! I need you and I say stupid things without you! Ugh, I hate it when you play this game of hide and seek. I surrender!

I am just amazed at myself at times. Nothing awkward or bad happened to me today to be the catalyst of this post, yet a realization. A realization of how empty I feel at times, therefore weaving my own invisibility cloak.

I’m sitting with the nineteen year old’s friends who are really cool and really fun. Only I do not have a voice. I have a seat in the circle, but sometimes I wish for their sake I was not there and their circle could be perfectly tighter. Sometimes I wish the nineteen year old did not like me so that he could have a life of his own.

He likes me, he tells me. I tell him “shh.” I know he does not like me. He likes what I tell him and he likes how I make him feel, but were he to know me, I’m oh so sure he would not like me. A truth that I only wish I could make him swallow so he would leave me and return to his life. Yet, the selfish part of me is drawn to his sweetness.

His mind has strength that I admire and envy. A strength that only drugs and years of abuse and mental questioning can develop. It is crazy to think of how drugs and abuse have made him developed in a way that my tender mind craves.

I can’t get over how wrong I feel being in his life and how he cannot see it. Maybe he is seeing it and choosing not to, yet this part of me wants him to push me out. Wants him to tell me that you are not right for me. I can only know that this will not happen, but hanging out with his friends today, I felt like a ghost.

They were not mean or rude, they were only themselves. Which made me realize ever so much more, that I do not belong. Oh New York City, embrace me.

Miami Beach Blues

cheessszzzy title. yum!...it was titled and didn't save and then when i tried to publish, i discovered i was logged out and...and then, when i was writing, well...

i'm sitting at a different starbucks in miami beach, the one across from whole foods. i park my car in the whole foods lot so i can see it at a particular table from inside starbucks. i'm at that table. i keep glancing up at it to make sure it's not towed, awkwardly making eye contact with the people sitting immediately on the other side of the glass, between the car and me.

I actually originally posted this with no title because in a moment of panic at seeing a tow truck on the street between people sitting on other side of me and my car, I immediately clicked "post," shut my laptop, and ran to my car. the tow truck only drove by and i safely escaped...but when i told my friend she said i was lucky because the same thing happened to her except they had put the thing on her car nd charged her $60 to unhook it all...so she had made it ontime, but not ontime enough for it to be free. phew for me!)

and then i keep turning my head back (just did it!) looking around in starbucks, while i continue typing my thoughts. i've been feeling overwhelmed and hopeless and doubtful and lost this morning. i hate that i'm here and i feel trapped or stuck. ideally i want aj to walk through the door pack up my computer for me and take me home (either to my house in naples or her house in houston) and let me curl up and cry while she makes me feel better; i want to be a fat kid and eat chocolate chocolate chocolate with no consequences on model body. i want aaron to call me, explain his disappearance for the past six months, and come to me wherever that may be. but these things won't happen, so i keep looking around starbucks, looking back at everyone for some sort of fucking comraderie. someone i can spill my guts out to that will mop them up or something weirdly fantastic like that. but looking around there is no one i want to spill too. no one that can magically become any of you girls or aaron or brandon or my mom.

however, with that thought i've now talked to two people here.

one is a random guy that looked at me and said he remembers me sitting in the exact same spot in the exact same way two weeks ago. He went on to ask me if I was, by chance, at CoCo last tuesday. I looked down and did this kind of cringe/laugh/are you serious?miami is ridiculous kind of thing--whatever that means and whatever that was--and replied that, yeah, i was there. He said he offered my friends and I drinks and asked if he could get my number to hang out. I gave him this look and sort of nodded my head back and forth and said it's not a good time and he doesn't want to hang out with me. I broke up with my boyfriend the day before yesterday and am moving out of miami the day after tomorrrow. i said i'm boring and don't like going out or drinking, and that whole night i drank water. somehow we talked a little longer and he lamented that he wish he could get a hold of me sometime so i said if he wants to hang out as friends he can have it, sure, but it's nothing exciting. I'm boring. I made sure Omar knew that.

i texted elizabeth, a girl i immediately liked and admired and got along with who quickly trusted me into her crumbling existence and false facade because she realized we are both smart, broke, and beautiful--or something like that. I don't know, I just know that she really does like me to the point of kind of collecting me like a trophy or something...or someone she needs right now in her life. which i love but at the same time i wonder why i admired/wanted to be like her. maybe it was that facade, hmmm. anyway, i texted her about the omar thing and how small miami beach is and how this guy has now seen me three times and i don't think i could recognize him if i saw him, still.

0.2 seconds later, i see her strolling by, out the window in the same peasanty beach dress she tried on yesterday in cool glasses with her ipod. We waved she came and ordered a triple shot of espresso on ice and added milk. she found it ironic, like me, that i just texted her about how small miami beach is. she said this is why she cares so much about her image and what people think about her. she works hard to be hard to get, aloof, single, a player, etc. She was on her way to Wilhelmina because Ford doesn't get her work. 

Fuck starbucks and this internet connection...i finished and titled this post, and it didn't save (somehow!) and made me sign back in.



Basically, she asked if I wanted to go to the beach with her and I had offered yesterday to drive her up to the 50s (we're at 10th) to drop off a pair of shorts she borrowed from some girl. But I'm hungry, and vaguely make plans to go to lunch with this guy who just texted me, so I made the plan. I feel like her hangover and problems mixed with my own problems isn't what I need right now.

So the light purple highlighting is today (wednesday) the regular text was original, and the dark purple highlighting was sometime inbetween. this post was a pain in the ass..like broken or popcorn poop in shades of purple.

Cunty

At our friend's house last week, I told Andrew he was acting "cunty," and our friends laughed.
Through dinner, he barely looked at or talked to me.
Afterward, he was outside, sitting down by himself, looking at his phone. I went outside to apologize, and he said, "It's okay," in a way that meant it wasn't really okay. And I kept apologizing, and he kept only half-looking at me, and I couldn't stand it anymore. So I told him I was going for a walk and immediately lit a cigarette as I started to walk away.
I didn't want a cigarette. I didn't want four cigarettes. I felt sick to my stomach, and smoking just made it worse. Maybe that's what I wanted-- to feel worse. I couldn't remember the context of the conversation or why I said what I did, and of course, I didn't actually think he was acting cunty. I mean, Christ. "Cunty"? It's a joke of a word, meant in a joking way. But I felt ill, thinking that he believed I meant it.
As I made my way back to the house, I saw that he was walking toward me. We met halfway. It was awkward, quiet, painful. My eyes were leaking. My nose, too. And all I could say was, "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," quietly, over and over again. I needed him, almost desperately, to see that I meant it. And he put his arms around me-- wrapped me up-- and I told him I didn't want to lose him over something stupid I said that I didn't mean and couldn't even remember.
We went back in the house through the side door so I could slip away into the bathroom to wash my splotchy face.
Later, he said that he just didn't know why I would say something like that, why I would embarrass him in front of everyone for no reason. I was awful all over again. The rest of the night was tense and strange, and even the next morning, until he held onto me and said he was sorry for getting so angry. I apologized for the leaking eyes and nose and acting like a girl. And then we went back to being our foolish, hopeless selves, confessing secret romantic things and conspiring like children to love each other as long as we could.
Everything-- not this, but everything-- with him happened so quickly. But for the first time, I think I want a future with someone, and that doesn't make me want to run away or cringe and cower. Dogs and an apartment and cooking and running and sleeping and sexing in perpetuity, with him. I want to plant my feet somewhere and wrap my spindly branches around this and make it happen. It's a gross sentiment, I know. And so... out of character, at least for me. But I want it. I don't know what else I could possibly want.

Right Thing

Dearest Melting Wheel of Cheese,

You did the right thing. You let go of a boy who you will never love as much as he loves you. You did the right thing. You let go of a boy who you will never love as much as he loves you.

Love,
Circle Girl

P.S. V you are making my day with your posts.

brandon grayson

I broke up with my boyfriend. And all the reasons to break up piled up and kept piling, but I couldn't say them and I can't think of them right now. I broke up after one of the best nights we've ever had followed by one of the most petty fights in the morning. But it made me cry, again. And now I've made myself cry. I've made myself sick, my head hurts. I really care about him and I feel like shit. I picture myself calling him or running back to him telling him I change my mind, it was stupid, I do want it all and can handle it--and I know that is what he is waiting for. The more time that goes by and I don't make a move...(I can't make it.)...the more real it is.

It's the right thing for me. Just right now, at this moment, it is the worst.

music of the moment:
Shark in the Water by VV Brown

in starbucks #2 (at lincoln road and pennsylvania avenue)

I had told ajna about this day. I was walking along Lincoln Road, high off of going to a casting for a Milanese agency.( Now, my highest highs come from anything to do with modeling; I've remodeled my mind.)

While I was walking, this kid asked if he could take me to lunch. I didn't realize he was speaking to me. I was on my way to do some school work at Starbucks, but a free meal to celebrate for myself was welcomed enough. So I agreed, and we walked together, looking for a place to snag a bite. He asked what I wanted and I said sushi or ceviche seemed perfect; Lincoln Road is strewn with places that have both. He pulled out an envelope, looked at the twenty inside, looked at me, and suggested coffee.

This was awkward. I do eat more than a side salad. Whatever.
I conceed that starbucks sounded good, that's where I was headed anyway but this whole thing was becoming unnecessary and rather painful. What the fuck had I been thinking?...accepting a free meal from some seemingly poorer (and cheaper) than me.

I ordered an grande iced black tea, unsweetened. He asked for the same, proudly (!) informing the barista he'd be paying for mine as well. While we were standing there, he was talking about how he hangs out with friends on Lincoln Road. We turned around and, in fact, one of his friends was sitting right behind us. In a wheelchair. With colored pencil portraits laid out on the table in front of him. I was introduced. The kid asked his friend if he would draw me and the friend said he can only draw from pictures, so I was asked if I had any pictures of myself.

I do! I do! A whole 9x12 bookful, sticking out of the top of my purse. But I said I had no pictures and I said I did not want is friend to draw me.

We sat down and struggled through a conversation. I struggled to hold onto a conversation I was trying to let go of. He struggled, well, because he struggled. I said I wanted to go to Milan and after a while (five minutes later?) he said something like, "Milan is in asia? Right?"

No! I'm not talking about the fucking Disney movie with the asian cartoon, dumb fuck. I'm talking about the city. I didn't actually say that but it ran through my mind while I delicately corrected him.

He apologized for being a bad conversationalist. I said everyone has moments of feeling like they said or did the wrong thing. It happens. It got quiet and I said I needed to start working. He asked me if he could sit there (Starbucks has a booth with tables in front. He was nextto me in the booth, one table over.) I said sure, if he wanted to continue sitting there, he could do that. I put on my headphones and tried to start working but it didn't work so after a couple minutes I took them off, turned to him, and asked him to leave because I felt awkward and couldn't start writing a paper with him just watching me.

He went outside and joined his all too familiar group of weird street cat friends. I got up and asked a girl to watch my computer and stuff while I went to the restroom. When I came back, Ajna called, and I told her about the kid and how weird and painful and akward it all was. About how I thought he was a good person but definitely missing something. I don't know what I said.

A little bit later, an old man sitting on the other side of me turned to me and asked me where I was from and if I'd watch his computer while he went outside to smoke. He then told me that he thought I had a good feeling about _________(I forgot the kids name by now, obviously.) He nodded his head reassuringly, gave me a wink, and said that he's said enough. He got up and walked out.

What? When does this happen? It felt like a weird conspiracy.The girl on the other side of old man shrugged her shoulders and gave me a sympathetic look.

I could't work. The kid came back in and gave me a starbucks card for some reason. I tried to give it back to him but eventually, kept it, used it, and shipped it off in my portfolio to Steve Ross. (He doesn't know the story.)

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It's been maybe a month since that happened. I've seen the kid a couple times and pretended I didn't see him and he hasn't come up to me since.

Today when I walked into the same starbucks the old man saw me and gave me a wry wink and smile again. It took me a second to realize this was that old man. He looks strikingly like the portrait of Walt Whitman I had just looked up for English.

Oh god.


I'm cold, sick of this stupid story, I dragged it on too long for myself to still be amused by it.

It started raining and I biked here. I just called my roommate Carlos; he's coming to pick me up. My hero!