An Evening With Holden Caulfield

It was a dark, foggy night. I was walking back to my apartment on 66th street, though hurrying as it was quite late. Some streetlights were even broken, casting parts of the pavement and surrounding underbrush into eerie, quite darkness. Abruptly, I heard a crash from behind me. I spun around, and couldn't believe who I saw. It was Holden, my old roomie from Whooton. Although, I would've rather had met a psychotic serial killer, than him. He was sprawled on a now broken bench, wheezing and muttering about ducks and a lagoon. Even at a cursory glance, I could detect quite a heavy air of depression pervading him. I knew he wasn't hurt, having personally witnessed his resilience when he picked fight after fight in Whooton. I walked over, and ducked down to his level. I greeted him, but the only response I received was a grimace, and a foggy, blank stare. I was as an anonymous person to him.

I tried to converse with him, but he was quite irascible, and even tried to take a sock at me. He was shaking like a tremulous wreck, and still seemed like he was haunted by something. Same old despondent Holden I remember. Always was something profoundly amiss with him.

I abhorred to see him so reclusive, and so I entreated him to go with me to this bar on 61st street. He assented, even though he probably still didn't know who I was, and I gingerly dragged him across 2 blocks, from 59th to 61st. He was so far gone, he probably didn't even notice. I tried to talk to him when we got there, but all his answers were either brusque and concise, or snide and demeaning, whilst he waited for his glass of water.

When he finally did get it, he drank it all down in a second, then he got another one, and another, and another, and so on. If I hadn't found him the poor dehydrated sonuvabitch would've probably dunked his head in that one frozen pond in Central Park. Then started the tirades. First about phonies, then innocence. After that, intellectuals, and then his plans for running away to Canada, or Colorado, or Mexico. He always knew a friend, or had a guy who owed him a favor. His behavior always evoked pity, rather than annoyance.

Holden, being an avid drinker, started ordering scotch and soda, not to be deterred by being underage, or even the waiter flat-out rebuffing him. I was feeling quite conscientious, hanging out with him, and started wondering if it was prudent. For affability's sake, I stayed with him.

In an effort to start intelligent conversation, I started talking to him, of all things, about the weather. It was looking promising, until he did a Holden Caulfied converational pivot, and starting talking about his sister Phoebe. The spontaneity in his disposition was actually quite annoying. My conversations with him were always one sided. After a while, I was instilled with a quite impelling desire to leave. I did just that and walked out. I don't think Holden noticed, he just kept talking.

He was  a quite lonely, slovenly guy. I preferred serenity in solitariness, to chaos with Holden Caulfied. He was quite a despicable human being.

Inspiration

What is inspiration???

A bolt of lightning,

pilfered from a

mental storm,
igniting the lackadaisical mind.

The poem that I write,

attempting to depict

the proverbial lightbulb,

hanging over your head.

An idea, in a moment

when you have no inkling

of what to do, a conscientous idea

amid the profusion

of slovenly thinking.

Inspiration: a ship,

audaciously, embarking into the unknown,

exploring the realm of

"outside the box".

A mutiny from the usual thing,
deviation from the serenity and prudence,
when you confiscate the pedestrianism,
a hot-headed new undertaking.

A rankle, at the back of the mind,
pushing in new directions, with
encouragement and rebukes alike.

Catcher In the Rye Poem

Who is Holden? You might say.

Holden is a person, like any other,

and yet unlike any other. Holden is

a liar, bending the truth for

convenience, spinning tales taller

than the Sears Tower.  

Holden has given

up, has to force himself

to feel regret. The sarcastic and the goof,

whose overdramatized life spills over to

his speech. 

The one you’re not sure is

trustworthy, the one who hates what he can’t have,

like “The Fox and the Grapes”.  Impatient, and as two-faced

as Harvey Dent.

The one who

relates his story from rehab,

who admires a brother turned prostitute.

That one liar, unforgettable, one of a kind,

Holden.

Book Review: The Hunger Games

                    The Hunger Games

          Author: Suzanne Collins

Review by: Giovanni Ferrari

When Katniss Everdeen is chosen for the Hunger Games, she knows exactly what she’s getting into. And it’s not good.

In the post- apocalyptic ruin of North America, lies a dystopian society called Panem. Similarly to the Colosseum, and the myth of Theseus and the Labyrinth, every year a boy and a girl from each of the 12 districts of Panem, are “reaped” in a ceremony, similar to a raffle, except the name drawn out is the one who goes to compete in the bloody games that are the Hunger Games. Katniss and a boy named Peeta are chosen to go. First they have to go to the Capitol, but once there, they realize that while they are poor and always hungry, the Capitol is the height of wealth and gluttony.

The Games begin, and kids start dying for the Capitol’s entertainment.

Separated from Peeta from the beginning, and fleeing from the Career Tributes, people from the wealthier districts, that are trained for the games, Katniss must use all her skills to survive the Games. Only one “tribute” as they are called, can survive and win

                                   

Katniss is quite a character, skeptical and surly on the exterior, and possessing a fierce determination, as well as an urge to take care of her family, which she sustains by hunting, even though it’s illegal.

Her determination, her hunting skills, and her desire to see her family again, are great assets to her, physically and emotionally during the Hunger Games. She will have to overcome her distrust and work with Peeta to survive.

The other protagonist is Peeta, Katniss’s partner in the Games, who is almost the opposite of her. He grew up in a baker’s home, where he always had food, and never had to worry about going hungry. He is possessed of a soft disposition, and is a dreamer, as opposed to Katniss who is a realist. Peeta has to compete in a sport with a long and bloody history, with no skills except being able to frost cakes.

The antagonist is two-fold. The most obvious one would be the Career Tributes, from Districts 1 and 2, in particular the one who appears to lead them, a barbaric boy named Cato, who swears to kill Katniss personally. The thing is, the real enemy as most of the tributes know, is the Capitol. It is them who force tributes from the Districts, they who rule the Districts with an iron fist.

                          

I found the first 50 or so pages hard to get through, as they only detailed life in District 12, and aspects of the Capitol, but I found that as I read more, the book began to draw me in, combining suspense, action, and hints of desperation at some points, which made it a page-turner. Also the author stopped the book at a suspenseful point, to make you want to read the next one.

I would really recommend this book to everyone, because it’s got a bit of everything, and once it got down to the action, it’s hard to put down, because you want to know what will happen to Katniss and Peeta, since Collins make them so easy to identify with and so likable.

Collins really made a masterpiece when she wrote this, and for anyone who is interested the saga, it continues on in Catching Fire, and Mockingjay.

                          

My Father

My Father is the Don
the head of the family,
the Boss, the Godfather.


He unleashed the Flood.
And he is the Ark.
He is Noah,
and God as well.

He is a ghost,
a golem, a gargoyle,
he is the ram.

He is the preacher,
pastor, and priest.
His own confessional

A runner;
He is the repairman,
the undertaker,
a symphony conductor.

He is the microphone,
the speakers,
a slow and steady beat,
a one-man band.

A compass,
an astrolabe,
a detailed map, and a GPS.


Because of him, I pick up pennies, when others discard,
because of him, I know how to say what I mean,
because of him, I don´t panic when the lightning bolts strike,
because of him, I know who I see in the mirror.

Confessions on Tuesday(Confession Tuesday is so cliche)

1. I hate the computer I'm writing this on, it just has the USB port, the charger port, the earphone port, and a little weird one. Its like they were making the computer, and then when they sold it, they were like "oh shit, we forgot to put everything else on it!" So what did they do? You have to pay more money to buy the attachments, like for the Ethernet, or just to play CDs on it. The only good thing the Macbook Air has, its that its light, nothing else.

2. Have you ever noticed that in the States, you have all these wannabe gangstas, who are like 16 year old, wearing huge baggy clothes, and the people who are in an actual gang, dress normally. (and no a gang isn't when you and your friends hang out after school and throw rocks at cars, that's  called Down Syndrome) Its makes a kind of sense, since they wouldn't want to stand out, though I think they don't have to worry, as the 16 year olds in huge purple winter jackets draw all the attention.

3. When I go to a restaurant in another country, I make sure NOT to try the delicacy, cause usually its some weird thing like "baby squid tentacles, marinated in goat's milk cheese, with fresh snails on top".  I don't care if the people around are eating it up, like they're chocolate chip cookies, I'm not eating it! Although I guess I can't really talk, because over in the States, they serve meals that are completely genetically modified, and they're proud of it.

4. I believe my computer is posessed, it's the reason I'm writing my confession on this Mac Air. Last weekend, on Saturday when I got home from the mall, I lifted up the screen and it was covered in water, the keyboard was wet too, and water was welling up from beneath. I closed it, so I wouldn't have a scene from "The Ring" when the girl pops out of the TV. I swear when I closed it, I heard a little grunt of disappointment, they are getting it fixed, but I think they should send it to a voodoo doctor first!

5.  I don't mind having to use this computer actually, because it's better than my old one, it looked like it was fought in the last Gulf War actually, from all the scratches, and dents in it. It's was more of a bulletproof hat by the time I got it than an actual computer.

Family Ties

I wish I wouldn't have to depend on my brother every time I wanted to go to the mall. I have to call him and tell him when the movie's ending, and in turn have to listen to him ordering me around, and telling me where I have to be at this time. Last weekend when I went to the mall, the movie I was watching ended 10 minutes after it said it would. I had to put up with him, calling me 100 times, yelling obscenities at me, because I was late, as if his losing of 10 minutes would seriously mess him up. When I get into the car, I have to listen to his interminable tirades, all because he had to lose 10 minutes or so of his time. What, killing ogres and trolls on his computer can't wait? I abhor his feeling of superiority over me, when he doesn't get out with his friends almost at all, except to go play more computer games with them as a group. Its a vice, and his usual haunt, getting home, and getting on the computer, and then nothing can impel him to leave his computer alone, and when he has to leave it, he gets all irascible and impatient.
If the Internet goes down, his despondent curses reverberate around the house, now just a recluse with nothing to do. But that's alright, to each his own I guess, i'm not perfect either. I hate having to depend on him because my other brother, the cool one, has to go study for his mastery, or go out with his girlfriend, or go out with his friends, and generally lead a  life that's not completely cybernetic.