Request

I deleted without intention,
A chapter named "Hood"
If you have this chapter and could send me
I'll be very glad because I'm trying to redefine dialogue lines.



Clarissa Lake - Request

Situation

I would like to introduce this line saying a few words over error. This phantasm of creation which declares itself King of our spirit, commander of all rules. The universe it's an absurd sequence of errors. How common became to speak you are wrong. 

I write to deal with mistake and delusion. My aim is to commit a series of grammar and syntax errors. The text has a purpose. It wants to communicate a message. To get the code of this message, the other person must know what is wrong. 

Communication is only possible because of mistakes. Reading a text is like filtering its errors. Significant. How do we get this magical significant? How one can certainly assure that what is written is this or that?

Hence we all have knowledge of English grammar we are playing the same game. If I dare to say "Go fuck yourself", you know I'm offending you directly. 

How do you get this significant, how do you extract an iconic symbol of a simple sentence? By having the words carved in your heart? Perhaps because we were through school system? How do you get the signs of the text for yourself and claim to be the master of interpretation? Because you know error. 

How can I judge error? Making a lot of mistakes is the best part of the creativity process and free intellectual production. Since I'm not a candidate to lord Sith, what I meant is there no one to guide me in the purpose of making mistakes, I take the chances and consequences and eventual risks.

Life is a constant risk. The error. The essence of this dramatic point of view. A few more lines and we still do not understand each other. Most of my errors are debt of my inaccuracy with English language. 

To do what I wish it's necessary to commit errors. Errors is the part which forms the whole system. Every system without rules is faded to be destroyed. Discipline arises freedom. Grammar is the best example. From a couple of rules I can speak with anyone who knows it. It's a system forged by rules and sustained for them. The laws of language give me liberty to speak in a manner I never thought it was possible. I never thought I could write without thinking in my own mother tongue. 

Sometimes I'm thinking I'm going insane, because I really think in English, specially when I am writing. I can make mistakes and not feel guilty about it. The process of learning is formed and shaped on errors. In this matter of speaking, of course. I do not feel guilty of making syntax mistakes.

This is an original communication, of a very original person. A person which had learned and growth under mistakes. The mistake of love. The fatal perfume of friendship.

It's one ability I own. I do not care for mistakes. To make mistakes is to be human. I like to feel human. I like to feel that I'm going to die someday, and I wanna do more than simply produce for others. Produce to the family, produce to the institution, produce for profit, produce for care, produce for love. I am out of this freak and competitive game. 

I want to produce something which can change the world. It begins changing myself. Changing my way of thinking and my perception over the nature and the world. Sensitive. 

The one who started writing this text is dead a long time. He had a sick obsession for a woman. He died because he had hope she one day could call him. I will not grief this ancient writer. He deserved everything that happened to him. Even more pain. 

It's easy to keep talking "I love you", when he had the chance he was very violent. He was trying to forget but a woman never forget this kind of violence. Writing is a way to denounce. A way to make things clear. 

One day, this poet fevered in love, push his flower and she almost felt on the ground. That day she tried to break with him, because he deserved go to jail for such action. Yet, it was not enough.

The Shakespeare in love told her one day he was going to put a bullet in her head if she dare to stay with another guy. Very lovable. For an artist everything seems dream. For a woman the situation is serious. There are errors we must not forgive. Errors that exist beyond the lines and the meaning of a text. It doesn't matter how sheep one might appear or look like, it shall not be treated as one of a kind. You know a wolf when it show its claws. They can hurt and they are not poetic. They are not lying cool and smooth beneath the violin caprice.

My error was to love you. I will not forgive myself for that. Consequently, I will never forgive you. You hurt when we were together. I write to forget the pain. I try to make mistakes which cannot cause physical pain. I write to breath under my errors. I look to them as small statues flowing in the sea. A new life is possible. One brick at a time, one word at a time. One mistake can change everything. I am able to recognize error. I was not a perfect woman. But no woman deserves violence and this is not an easy thing to erase. 

It's not a syntax matter. It's not a lion hidden on the lines. 

Clarissa Lake - Situation 

Playlist III

1 - Dmitri Shostakovich - Symphony No 1 in F minor, op. 10

2 - Dmitri Shostakovich - Symphony No 2 in B major, op. 14 (To October)

3 - Dmitri Shostakovich - Symphony No 3 in E flat major, op. 20 (First of May)

4 - Dmitri Shostakovich -  Symphony No 5 in  D minor, op. 47

5 - Dmitri Shostakovich - Symphony No 7 in C major, op. 60 (Leningrad)

6 - Dmitri Shostakovich - Symphony No 10 in E minor, op. 93

7 - Dmitri Shostakovich - String Quartet No 5 in B flat major, op. 92

8 - Dmitri Shostakovich - String Quartet No 8 in C minor, op. 110

9 - Dmitri Shostakovich - Suite for jazz orchestra No 1

10 - Dmitri Shostakovich - Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District, op. 29 (Katerina Izmailova)


Clarissa Lake - The best of music

Playlist II

1 - Sergei Prokofiev - Violin concerto No 2 in G minor, op. 63 

2 - Sergei Prokofiev - Cantata Alexander Nevsky, op. 78

3 - Sergei Prokofiev - Opera War and Peace, op. 91

4 - Sergei Prokofiev - Symphony No 5 in B flat major, op. 100

5 - Sergei Prokofiev - Piano concerto No 3 in C major, op. 26

6 - Sergei Prokofiev - String quartet No 1 in B minor, op. 50

7 - Sergei Prokofiev - Ballet Romeo and Juliet, op. 64

8 - Sergei Prokofiev - Peter and the Wolf, op. 67

9 - Sergei Prokofiev - Symphony No 1 in D major, op. 25

10 - Sergei Prokofiev - The Love for Three Oranges - Satirical opera, op. 33


Clarissa Lake - Sergei Prokofiev 

How to read a book III

I - THE ANALYSIS OF A BOOK'S STRUCTURE 

1. Classify the book according to kind and subject matter.

2. State what the whole book is about with the utmost brevity.

3. Enumerate its major parts in their order and relation, and analyze these parts as you have analyzed the whole. 

4. Define the problem or problems the author is trying to solve. 

II - THE INTERPRETATION OF A BOOK'S CONTENTS

1. Come to terms with the author by interpreting his basic words

2. Grasp the author's leading propositions through dealing with his most important sentences.

3. Know the author's arguments, by finding them in, or constructing them out of, sequences of sentences.

4. Determine which of his problems the author solved, and which he did not; and of the latter, decide which the author knew he failed to solve.

III - THE CRITICISM OF A BOOK AS A COMMUNICATION OF KNOWLEDGE

A. General Maxims

1. Do not begin criticism until you have completed analysis and interpretation. (Do not say you agree, disagree, or suspend judgement, until you can say, "I understand.")

2. Do not disagree disputatiously or contentiously.

3. Respect the difference between knowledge and opinion, by having reasons for any critical judgement you make. 

B. Specific Criteria for Points of Criticism

1. Show wherein the author is uninformed.

2. Show wherein the author is misinformed.

3. Show wherein the author is illogical.

4. Show wherein the author's analysis or account is incomplete. 

Clarissa Lake - Mortimer J. Adler - And Still More Rules, pg. 266-7 - Simon and Schuster - New York, 1966

How to read a book II

He who regards conversation as a battle can win only by being an antagonist, only by disagreeing successfully, whether he is right or wrong. The reader who approaches a book in this spirit reads it only to find something he can disagree with. For the disputations and contentious, a bone can always be found to pick on. (pg. 245)

(...) But if he realizes that the only profit in conversation with live or dead teachers, is what one can learn from them, if he realizes that you win only by gaining knowledge, not by knocking the other fellow down, he may see the futility of mere contentiousness. (pg. 246)

The ignorant often foolishly disagree with the learned about matters exceeding their knowledge. (pg. 247)

(...)The trouble is that many people regard disagreement as unrelated to either teaching or being taught. They think that everything is just a matter of opinion. I have mine. You have yours. Our right to our opinions is as inviolable as our right to private property. On such a view, communication cannot be profitable if the profit to be gained is an increase in knowledge. Conversation is hardly better than a ping-pong game of opposed opinions, a game in which no one keeps score, no one wins, and everyone is satisfied because he ends up holding the same opinions he started with.

I cannot take this view. I think that knowledge can be communicated and that discussion can result in learning. (pg. 248) 

If an author does not give reasons for his propositions, they can be treated only as expressions of opinion on his part. The reader who does not distinguish between the reasoned statement of knowledge and the flat expression of opinion is not reading to learn. He is at most interested in the author's personality and is using the book as a case history. Such a reader will, of course, neither agree nor disagree. He does not judge the book but the author. (pg. 249)

 The great writers have always been great readers, but that does not mean that they read all the books which, in their day, were listed as the great and indispensable ones. In many cases, they read fewer books than are now required in some of our better colleges, but what they did read, they read well. Because they had mastered these books, they became peers with their authors. They were entitled to become authorities in their own right. In the natural course of events, a good student frequently becomes a teacher, and so, too, a good reader becomes an author. (pg. 264)

Clarissa Lake - Mortimer J. Adler - How to Read a Book: The Etiquette of Talking Back and The Things the Reader Can say - Simon and Schuster - New York, 1966

au contraire

It could be nice to read a text of yours.


Lake, Clarissa - Academic point of view


Since there is none, I will keep writing.
Until I get too much bored.
Shifts bloody moon for a half of my being
A mirror stands. Can you hear it?
The silence of the universe
Flowing over your head
Soon will come the blazing meteor
Destroy everything you knew.
Kids playing in the park,
Old woman crossing the 5th Avenue
The rainbow trying to appear
Exchange my words for a more syntactic point
There is a flower in the corner of the street
No one saw it, but like a child, I smile
I did see the spikes and the red couple of wine
After the simple sentence,
Comes the compound one.
Perhaps if comes many verbs, a complex sentence.
What is the deal of grammar anyway?
This is a bomb poem
His author, poor dynamite.
I should erase all of this.
I really don't know the meaning of danger.
Maybe I'm mad woman.
Maybe I'm just a piece of paper, trying to whisper,
trying to catch the clouds and swing in the river.
Too much water may wash my what and how
Repeat the same phrase again
So the reader knows this is a damn poem
Soon will come the blazing meteor
It will destroy your heart, it will wash your soul
On thousands tones of the same.
Freud may explain why I am like this or that
No matter what you do for life,
Do not smoke cigarettes. They stink, cause cancer, make you old,
less attractive, less confident (specially on bed...),
Marlboro: The power of propaganda:
Hey Lady would you like to buy some poison?
I hate poison!
But this one poison can make you look beautiful!
A cigarette is all your alter ego needs?
What? Says the client, almost thinking the dealer is joking
A cigarette is everything you need to be happy?
Maybe...but what about this poison?
Do not worry! Enjoy your life while you can
Please light this Napalm to make your life happy!
If the propaganda is good enough you can sell poison as pop corn
It's all the same market, which us poets belongs
Cigarettes are disgusting and I hate people who smokes.
They should remember they won't have a future
They are already in deadline, one after another, carried to hell.
Do not worry about your future, smoker
Die, but try to die alone. I don't wanna see your emphysema.
Look for pictures and videos in Google
Older poets used to smoke
Where they are?
They are sleeping
In silence
And deep sleep.
Smoking in another world. Writers are bad propaganda
They are paranoid, vicious, lascivious, not so fun, not so social people,
They love more alcohol then people and are the great hero of our adolescents heroes
Tell me what you read and I tell you who you are
I am Miss Lake and not one can take
Take what? Take what? The read desperate, says it's a horrible poem
Finish my poem yourself.
I would let some lines so you can write your poem with mine
............ .......... ............. ........... .............. ............... .............. .................... .................. ............
......... ............. ............ ................ .............. ............ ............. ............ ................ ................ ...........
................ ............. .................... ................. .................... .................... .................. .......... ...............
......................................................................... ...................................................................................
...................................! .................................... .......................... ..................................... ...............
.................... ......................... ................. ................. ...................... ................. ................ .............. .....
Lake. Take. Make. Sake. Fake. I give you some rhymes and
Try to make some of your own. Democratic enough?
Reverse all controversy
Invert the verse
Break the rule
Go away
Find happiness among a helmet of spikes
Why I cannot reach her? An specialist in discourse matters?
I cannot reach her because she had has suspended judgement.
Suspending judgement is an act of criticism. She is taking the position
that something has not been shown. She is saying that she's not convinced
or persuaded on way or the other.

History of Art

Clarissa Lake - History of Art

MAYBE I'M MAD MAN

Introduction:

A band with bass, guitar, drums and DJ. A rapper singing and a choral. A Maestro is singing with the choral and ruling the musical tempo:

Rapper singing:

We back for everything you owe, no longer oppressed,
cause now we overthrow those that placed us in this rotten mess
But let's agree on strategy and pick out enemies right
Who stands accused of the abuse my own, kind do right
Pardon, not disregardin' what you thinkin' but you musta been the ship
cause once I rip your whole shit is sinkin'
Supreme ideology, you claim to hold
Claimin' that we all drug dealers with empty souls
That used to tempt me to roll, commit to violence
In the midst of an act of war, witnesses left silent
Shatter, black talon style, thoughts I throw
It remains in your brain then of course it grows
Maybe, even your babies can produce and rise
Picture a life where black babies can survive past five
But we must have hope, quotin the reverand from the pulpit
Refuse to turn the other cheek we must defeat the evil culprit
Lace me with words of destruction and I'll explode
but supply me with the will to survive, and watch the world grow
This ain't bout talkin bout problems, I bring solutions
Where's the restitution, stipulated through the constitution
You violated, now I'm back to haunt your nights
Listen to the screams, of the lives you sacrificed
And in case you don't know, ghetto born black seeds still grow
We comin back, for everything you owe

Choral of Black fellows ruled by Maestro:

I'm comin' collectin' the shit that belong to me
Motherfuckers are runnin' and duckin'
I'm a crazy nigga on a mission wit a bad mentality
Armed with missiles guns grenades
Pull out the pin, free I'm comin'

Rapper singing:

Not guilty on the grounds of insanity it was them or me
Bustin at my innocent family, say they lookin for ki's
I was home alone, blind to the prelude
Bust in, talkin' bout, "Where is the quaaludes?" What you say fool?
Where in the hell is the search warrant?
No feedback is what he uttered, before he screamed "Nigga motherfucker"
Dropped me to my knees I proceed to bleed
Sufferin' a rain of blows to my hands and knees
Will I survive, is God watchin?
I grab his gat and bust in self-defense, my only option, God damn
Now they got me goin to the county jail
And my family can't pay this outrageous bail
Try to offer me a deal, they told me if I squeal
move me, and my people, to a mansion in Brazil
Not me, so this is how it ends, no friends
I'll be stressed and they just, reposessed my Benz
Told the judge it was self-defense, he won't listen
So I'm bumpin this in federal prison, givin everything I owe

Choral of Black fellows ruled by Maestro:

I'm comin collectin the shit that belong to me
Motherfuckers are runnin and duckin
I'm a crazy nigga on a mission wit a bad mentality
Armed with missiles guns grenades
Pull out the pin, free I'm comin


(various sounds of guns being triggered)


_To combat the system. Whenever it manifest its power.


(sound of semi-automatic machine-gun)


_Police should not be trusted.


(various scenes of criminal killing, robbing, pipping, dealing)


_Life is hard. I got to rob for living.


(scenes of Police officers killing young fellows in the neighborhoods)


_I keep my finger on the trigger because some MOTHERFUCKER tried to kill me


(professor talking about humans rights in the law college)

_I was educated in school streets. Got my diploma but I never learned shit school.

(mother crying for its murdered son)

_The State have authorization to eliminate and kill.

(scenes of young guys selling drugs)

_I did not come to serve. I came to conquer


(lord whipping its slave)

_Power to the Black People: Black guy assassinating a family of white Europeans.

(slave killing its master)

_Imagine if we could go back, actually talk to the motherfuckers that persevered. I mean the first motherfuckers that came in the slave ships.


(professors expressing their racists point of views outside the college)

_GET THE FUCKIN' DOWN! GIMME THE FUCKIN' MONEY!

(guys shooting police station)

_My heroes are dead or going to county penitentiary.

(political figure  defending dictatorship in the congress)

_Supreme ideology you claim to hold. Saying that we all drug dealers with empty souls.


(white people laughing after stealing public services)

_There is corruption inside university. Do you feel me? We shall make the Gods cry.

(a poor family starving to death)

_I scare both bandits and cops.

(academic person under conspiracy to destroy public service)

_Tell mamma don't cry. 'Cause even if they kill me, they could never take the life from a real gangster.

(black and poor student crying because 90% of his teachers are ITALIAN DESCENDANTS)

_I have some Italian friends. They are anarchists.

(Italian teacher talking about how to take the power: by weapons)

_I have some Italian enemies. They are fascists.

(a red rose full of spikes is falling down...) Pianissimo 

_I do not have any childhood friends. They were killed by the State.


Clarissa Lake - Wonder why police never caught me? Because I'm not like you! 

Final Chapter - April fool's day chapter

I'm afraid the age has come. I am not so strong as I used to be. I do not have focus, I cry a lot and I still remember a past which has nothing in common to the present. The truth is that I suffer from mental illness.

I saw a girl in the University and I had this dream that I have met and loved her. But none of this happened. This one girl or woman doesn't even know me, she never saw my face or heard my voice.

It is kind of sick to love something that only exist in my mind. While I speak, they are trying to find me a therapist. 

It was too much imagination which created this fantasy of love. There are no such things out of my head and I confess I am sick. I just saw the woman! Where was my mind? My mind created such a wonderful story about this girl, as we had loved each other for a long time and separated tragically, as in romances. 

I will keep taking my medicine. I am furious and angry, after all. Platonic love and psychotic tendency. 

Even if I could, it's like to love a girl that you saw in a magazine. She will not respond, smile or do anything. Only your mind gives soul to that little image. Wings to imagination.

The girl of the weekly magazine shall never look to a guy like me. Like I said, age has come and I can feel it. Wrinkles, marks of alcohol, drugs and bad nights of sleep. Dark circles surround my eyes and my ill heart. 

I've never been so fat. I've never been so ugly. I woke up today not loving myself. I look to the mirror and I feel disgusting. Fat, wrinkles, without any cash inside the bank, without family or kids. I am what people use to call loser. I do not have  any hair in my head anymore. My photos of Facebook were from a time where I used to have a big hair, as a lion. I was so beautiful but I didn't know. I know now that I feel shame of my body. The photos of facebook do not express reality.

I did nothing at all in my life. It was a waste of time. Only dreaming with something that never happened. Today I'm fat and broken and when a woman see me in the streets, she runs away. Dark circles around my eyes. 

This is all because I have hope: the most stupid feeling one could have. We pass our lives always hoping, always waiting for some magical day which never happens and the frustration grows fat as my belly. 

Hope. I have hope but I do nothing to change the poor situation. I feel shame of myself. An old and solitary man which still is a dull undergraduate student. I have no future at all. I am lost in the space. Why? Because I'm too old for profession. I am not like wine, I am not getting better with time. 

Today is the day I will definitely quit writing. There is no need to put my shame on public. Today is the day I will live this problems for those which enjoy to live here, for those which are really happy, because God loves them, they have a family, father, mother, uncle, friends, girlfriends, boyfriends. I have nothing and I feel envy. I can't never achieve happiness. I don't deserve to be happy. This is why I am leaving the stage. The actor is tired of so much hatred and passive actions. I will do this because I am certain nobody will ever miss me. And it will cause a cost to the State, because I do not have a cent for my own funeral. Like I said, I'm loser and I don't deserve to be here. This world is a place for happy people, and I am deeply unhappy. 

I want to get away from here right now. With no applause or crying mother. Because I don't have one. I never had a mother and the one I had tried to kill me with medicine. I survived because I'm stupid. I survived to get a mental illness which torments me night and day, a phantom of a woman which never knew who I am, and this is a good thing for her! I could disturb her peace, interrupt her career, make her cry as I always do. 

I am not asking... This is a cruel world, a cruel play and I'm leaving the stage! Bye and do not cry for me, because you didn't cry when I was alive and lonely. Do not cry when I go. It's not because of you, or this, or that: It's because I'm sick and everybody knows it. Now people will have peace. The world is a better place without me. Bye and do not remember me, do not visit my grave. It was only my dream! My dream! 

Enough of publicity: time to move. Time to disengage this carbon carapace into thousands fragments of rotten meal. May the worms be glad with my flesh. 

Clarissa Lake - Bye