Thomas Agee ENG 363 Final Manuscript:
3 December 2013
ESSENCE
AGEE 1
Pedestal pastiche: “Ivy Crowne”
3 December 2013
AGEE 2
Pedestal pastiche: “Ivy Crowne”
To be in your web of lies, at least you still cling to truth. I am not enough. If I was not anymore, would I even know? Your heart’s deep pockets entail constant pursuit that buys happiness. Some would die for this, to be loved. For you, I would live. Just once.
3 December 2013
AGEE 3
Eye Boogers
19 November 2013
AGEE 4
Eye Boogers
My view of the universe changes each time my ticking eyes squint at 4:30 AM; the world just seems to be at peace this early, in the what some might call, day. It is like the whole world calms the winds, worries, and wonders so that the few birds awake may welcome the coming day, or perhaps welcome me into the secret society of those who dare to see this hour. Waking early enough to catch the evaporative odor of my prey, idling in the morning dew; I finally open my eyes enough to make sure we don’t lose the boat along the way, and then, in the truck, lose them both just as the night starts to smile. Not much can compare to the stench of an old carburetor stuttering up a wake--adding to the clouds too fat to float to the sky. Propelling through the oasis of the water vapor nebula, seemingly at the speed of light, but not faster than the sound. Crickets roar from the islands inbetween the red markers as the fish-o-meter 3400 tries to keep up, and fetally, I avoid the brisk air as we glide through it. Only inches of liquid molecules stop us from flying. All of this just to reach our spot, where only the faint roars of a Mercury can be heard, but never quite placed. As the wakes continue our storm to the shore, they bristle up the twigs of critters who thought they were alone, and we puff our chests to the crane who stands statue in the water, which deceitfully portrays the height of his stature. Trolling through the cove I ready our gear for an all out assault, confidence casting forth into the desolate shore where no one can even see, all holds climax to the first cast---bird’s nest.
19 November 2013
AGEE 5
The Man Who Sits Still
12 November 2013
AGEE 6
The Man Who Sits Still
Ample terms might be spoken of a man that loudly speaks of his own strut, peacocking. And that is what one would want in terms of tyranny. What of the man sitting still, all alone, who humbly swallows the park bench in dismay. Body crossed in the cold. Keeps him from moving, from his big toe all the way to his spotless, stare. Facing south to the sun, maybe his poor, passionate eyes can no longer perceive the pursuit. His pinched face fixed on a spot in the Earth doesn’t budge, not even for those pretty legs, peripherals perhaps? Feasibly pondering his baffled hatred of the world he lives in, or his inability to understand the one behind him. Is he at liberty to spend half the day merely thinking of its wonders, or is there no other choice? Maybe it is just the recollections mocking his memory that demand him frozen here in life. When I sit still, something must be wrong, from OCD to ADHD, how could a blank focus become of me? A statue to the seat, he stays glued upon his glazed premonition, making still who watch, and me. Why under any circumstance would I be still---here? The man who sits all day waiting to cry.
12 November 2013
AGEE 7