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Sam van Zweden

Writer

Simplicity

Simplicity is a wonderous thing. Something I feel I can’t quite master.

Some writers can use surprisingly few words to get so much done.

Hemingway wrote; “For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn”.
SIX WORDS! !?!?!?!?!? So many questions float around this one tiny sentence.

In his recent novel, “The Death of Bunny Munro,” Nick Cave uses amazing cultural shorthand. Mums in velour tracksuits. Crazy man in a floral mumu with a potplant.

Raymond Carver’s work always operates this way. “Why Don’t You Dance” – a lounge setting on the lawn. Simple. But haunting.

Today I came across Mercedes Yardley’s Ultra shorts.
121 Characters is amazing – tells of a whole world in the same way that Hemmingway’s baby shoes do.

What is it about all this simplicity that works? Are some people just born with this knack for simplicity? Is there a rule to it all that makes it work? Is it possible to learn?

Noone Waiting (first draft)

There’s no one waiting.

“There’s nothing so broken I can’t fix it,” that’s what he had told her. Sara crumpled, and they wrapped themselves up in lamplight and each other. They didn’t surface for a week.

*

Christian’s boots flup, flup against the footpath, size-12 leather alligators chomping up cement. Nobody is waiting for him, but he steps with force and purpose. He peers over his belly and watches the footpath disappear beneath him, with the strange feeling of not walking at all, but the world being one big conveyor belt.

Beer and cat food, that’s all he needs.

His feet are large, his hands are large, his Greatful Dead t-shirt works hard to hold in his back fat. It’s warm, but he wears a tartan jacket and heavy Dickies workpants. Pushing himself down Glenferrie Road takes some effort. While there’s nobody here that interests him, there’s nobody at home either. Just empty beer bottles full of ash and an overflowing bowl of cat food on the back porch. Christian hasn’t seen the cat since Sara left.

*

She was tiny. So tiny that Christian could wrap one of his hands around both of hers. Her hands had a way of their own – at nights she would groan and her hands became wild, flying things protecting her from whatever unspeakable harm had crept into her head that night. When Christian asked her what she had dreamed about she never remembered.

Other nights her arm came over his shoulder and she pulled him closer; the way he imagined she’d have held boyfriends in public in the past.

There was the holding too tight, like she needed him. Like if Christian were to get up out of that bed and leave, it may just be the end for her.

Some nights when Sara was asleep on her back Christian would curl into and put his arm around her. Some nights she’d push it away, like swatting a fly.

His favorite nights were when her hands welcomed his, she wrapped around him too and she held his hand in a familiar way.

Her hands were strong but gentle. They just were, and when she touched Christian, he liked to pretend that was just what they were for.

His hands were for catching her as she splintered, and put her back together piece by piece.  He had to, he’d promised.

When he was five, his hero was The Rainbow Fish. He liked how the fish gave all his scales away. That was what Christian felt like, giving the world all his best parts. He’d have amputated his limbs to give Sara the glue she needed to hold together.

*

One night the rain just wouldn’t stop. It poured down from the gutters and pulled sheets of itself over the windows, so that everything outside swam. It had done this every second night for about 3 weeks, and Christian told Sara, “Just stay,” and they retired to tangle in bed sheets and electric warmth.

For the first few nights they sat naked next to each other and stared. They fell into each other, question-mark curled into the night. Sara’s dream-sweat woke Christian up sticking to her, and he’d peel himself away before re-attaching at a different angle and holding her again, and whispering to her, “Nothing so broken…” while she slept.

After about a week Sara didn’t bounce around the house as much. She slept less. She sat naked but in a chair at the end of the bed, with the cat in her lap, watching Christian doze. Only when he woke up would she crawl back to bed.

“Sara, Sara, whatever made you wanna change your mind?” he sang to her, frowning and closing his eyes tight in his best Bob Dylan. She sighed a sigh from the bottoms of her feet, and pushed her face into Christian’s chest. She looked out at the world of rain, before turning to look him in the eyes.

“Let’s eat liquorice until our teeth are black,” she said.

He giggled and smelled her hair.

“Alright,” he said. “That’ll fix it.”

*

Christian piles five microwave meals into the freezer, and cracks bottles of Coopers from their packs, laying them side by side along the fridge shelves. On the top shelf is a jar of hollandaise, a loaf of bread, and the kettle.

He takes the kettle out and puts it back on its stand, wondering how long it had been in there.

He takes a Coopers and a box of dry cat food from on top of the fridge and walks through the house to the back step.

As he passes the bedroom he looks in for a minute. Sara’s shape it still in the sheets, pieces of her hair on the pillow. A crumpled tissue next to the bed, and her lipstick sits on the window seal. A half-empty bag of liquorice is on the chair at the end of the bed.

Christian sits on the step and shakes the box of cat food from side to side with one hand, holding his beer in the other. He stares at the fence and thinks about what he should do with the lipstick in the bedroom.

*

They never slept at the right hours. They rose at 8pm, cooking eggs and spinach and hollandaise on muffins for dinner, which was breakfast.

The Friday before Sara left, Christian was sitting in front of Letterman talking to Obama, but not really listening, when Sara walked in with a laksa bowl full to the brim with cereal.

Obama was flashing his best PR face at Letterman’s cameramen, Letterman’s bright green tie glared from the opening of his jacket, Christian’s toes were cold, and Sara shovelled cereal into her mouth.

“What’s the longest relationship you’ve been in?” he asked her.

She paused with the spoon half way to her mouth. She stared at the milk in the laksa bowl for a bit.

“We don’t talk about it,” she said.

And that’s how it was – the more questions he asked her, the more she shut up.

*

Christian can’t quite figure it out. For most couples it’s just dumb fights. But for Christian and Sara it was nothing. It was so much of nothing that one day she just wasn’t there. Now all that’s left is Sara’s lipstick and half a bag of liquorice.

He takes the last sip of beer, and regrets not rolling the bottle before opening it. Pieces of sediment stick to his teeth. He stands up and gives the cat food box another quick shake before turning to go back inside.

As he steps through the door Christian almost trips over the cat, who is trying to squeeze in before him. Something’s foot is kicking from the corner of the cat’s mouth.

Christian grabs the cat by the collar and gives it a quick welcome-back pat, then shakes it so hard that it drops the struggling thing. The cat looks at Christian before launching back through the yard and over the fence.

A tiny dusty bird lays covered in the cat’s saliva on the door mat. Christian pokes it, and its legs move. It’s alive.

Picking up the bird, Christian wipes the goo from its tiny body with his sleeve.

“Don’t worry, fella,” he says. “There’s nothing so broken I can’t fix it.”

**

 

Hip-hop and Remix Culture

I haven’t posted much lately, and it’s because I’ve been flat out. Part of my ‘flat out’ has been this essay. So enjoy. I did.

 

Contemporary online remix culture continues the political and aesthetic practices associated with hip-hop.  Discuss.
-Samantha van Zweden

 

The emergence of hip-hop in the late 70’s gave rise to a unique aesthetic and political attitude. While, due to the capitalist hijacking of hip-hop culture, this attitude might now only exist in the underground of hip-hop, contemporary remix practices use and carry on the aesthetics and politics of hip-hop. The history of hip-hop raises questions around originality and copyright, as does online remix culture. Apart from the actual content of both remix and hip-hop works, the ways that the works are made, and the parts of society from which they come show similarities. Both ‘hip-hop’ and ‘remix’ are terms which cover a wide range of practices, so due to word-limit constraints only some of these practices can be focused on here.

The term ‘hip-hop’ does not just refer to a musical style, but also to a dance style, a visual and audio aesthetic, and an attitude toward the world. As is apparent from the many writings on hip-hop, it has an extremely diverse background. Hip-hop music originated (like all new musical forms) out of a cultural melting-pot. It originated in the late 70’s in the poor and migrant communities of America – the most documented formations occurred in New York City, though as Mark Anthony Neal points out (Tate et al, 2006, p40) places all over America organically grew their own versions of hip-hop culture as this melting-pot was different in different areas. The musical side of hip-hop is the next step in the history of African American music – from bebop, to swing, to rhythm and blues, to soul, to funk, and then to hip-hop. While hip-hop music is certainly a product of African American history, it “would not exist if it were not for the polycultural social construct of New York City in the 1970s” (Hoch, 2006, p351).

Hip-hop culture is said to be based around the practices of b-boying, MCing, graffiti writing and deejaying. However, while these practices are in themselves unique to hip-hop, Adam Mansbach asserts that the aesthetics underlying hip-hop are not such “a radical departure from everything that came before them” (2006, 92-3).

 Hip-hop music uses the practice of ‘sampling’ to create new musical works. Hip-hop DJs “played with beats and sounds on the turntable to create unique momentary compositions” (Remix Defined). This practice, “turntablism”, makes use of technology which does not immediately present itself as an instrument to be played. While many people say that this originates from the poverty of the social base behind the hip-hop movement, Mansbach says that this is one of the underlying aesthetic elements which hold hip-hop together. He describes this as “intellectual democracy through collage” (2006, p93), while Schloss (2009,p70) calls it “a conscious artistic choice based on a creative use of available materials”. This idea of borrowing whatever is hot at the time can be seen in the 1979 track by Sugar Hill Gang, “Rapper’s Delight”. This song is mixed over the beat and bass line of a track by Chic, called “Good Times”, which was released that same year.  This track was later used by Blondie for her song “Rapture” (1981). The Blondie track was then sampled by KRS-ONE, as the central motif of his 1997 track “Step Into a World (Rapture’s Delight)”. All these artists are demonstratinging their right to “intellectual democracy” by using these tracks to create a work of their own, to create their own message. 

While sampling applies to the musical side of hip-hop, this “innovation-by-mandate” (Mansbach, 2006 p93) can be seen in b-boying, a dance form which evolved quickly through block parties in poorer neighbourhoods, where dancers invented a movement-lexicon using discarded cardboard and lino to make movement easier, while the lighting for this party came from the nearest street lamps (Hoch, 2006, p353). Throughout hip-hop, then, an underlying aesthetic value of innovation seems to permeate.

Navas (nd, np) points out; “Remix (with a capital “R”) is not only defined by material activities but the political contexts of those activities.”

As mentioned earlier, hip-hop originated from a cultural melting-pot of poverty, repression and immigrant cultural histories. It also arose at the end of the civil rights movement. Nixon was president. Nixon’s state was a repressive state, rather than a responsive one. Civil rights movements made pleas to a responsive state, with the expectation that the state would listen. In Nixon’s state, though, hip-hop emerged with the new understanding of the state as repressive (Tate et al, 2006, p42). Hip-hop was the new way for an unheard and under-represented people to speak out.

Grafitti writing emerged as a way to “lay claim to public property in the face of poverty and powerlessness” (Hoch, 2006, p351). The innovation behind the style of graffiti-writing can be seen in the emergence of characters and new letter forms in what was written.

Hip-hop came from diverse communities, often communities predominantly of African diaspora. Hip-hop provided a way for their voices to be heard. Toward the end of, and after, the civil rights movement, the language around what it meant to be Black was a point of agitated discussion. As one of the most influential people of the formation of hip-hop, James Brown’s track “(Say It Loud) I’m Black And I’m Proud” (1968) acted as a great source of empowerment for Black people all over America, and was an obvious influence on the hip-hop movement’s ambition of having voices heard. Brown’s music has been sampled since in countless hip-hop tracks – one website (Legacy – Most Sampled) claimed 650 samples from only 12 of Brown’s songs, by influential hip-hop artists such as 2 Live Crew, NWA, Afrika Bambaataa, and Run DMC.

This borrowing from other artists is a point of criticism for hip-hop, and another area where hip-hop’s unique political values come into play. Copyright issues have come hand-in-hand with commercial hip-hop since hip-hop records were first printed. Thomas Schumacher gives an overview of some of the famous cases, including the Acuff-Rose case against 2 Live Crew for their satirical use of Roy Orbison’s track “Oh Pretty Woman” in their track, “Pretty Woman”. “Ultimately, copyright law is property law”, says Schumacher (2007, p297). Property law – an area the pioneers of hip-hop felt strongly about. Vijay Prashad sees hip-hop’s use of sampling as empowerment, because producers of hip-hop are “able to hold  onto [their] cultural property to a sense greater perhaps than people and their culture production prior to the mid-60’s” (Tate et al, 2006, p41). This suggests that the use of samples is not simply an aesthetic choice, but a political one.

There is a notable difference between hip-hop followers who came of age with Civil Rights movements, and those who have always lived with the product ‘hip-hop’ (with its CDs, mp3s, and merchandise) being shoved at them. The “hip-hop generation” has a unique and nuanced world-view which takes for granted all the diversity that was fought for by hip-hop’s founders, but the focus now for hip-hop is on culture, not politics (Schloss, 2009,pp5-6). Now, this political movement has been taken up by online remix culture.

Greg Tate (Tate et al, 2006, p43) describes hip-hop as a “widespread anybody-can-jump-in” medium – this could equally apply to online remix culture. Online remix culture presents itself as an equal playing field for anyone with access to a computer and the internet; in much the same way that hip-hop was accessible to anyone with access to two turntables and a microphone.

Remix is a self-aware practice; it consciously uses itself as a medium for unheard voices to be made heard.  Online remix makes use of found material, and uses the idea of “surf-sample-manipulate” (Amerika, nd, np) to create new artistic works. “Surf-sample-manipulate” is the practice of surfing the internet for audio/visual material, taking a sample of that material, and manipulating it for the artists’ own intentions. It rejects “an exclusive claim on shared culture” which is being pushed by multinational record companies, and intentionally “takes a swipe at copyright law” (Harley, 2006, pp40-43). This act of taking someone else’s creative work and using it in a public-domain kind of way reflects not only the b-boys’ block party use of public space and found materials, but also DJs practice of borrowing breaks.

Hip-hop culture “values a free-ranging, studious, and critical-minded approach to source material” (Mansbach, 2006, p93).The method of “surf-sample-manipulate” values this approach also. This idea embraces the “anybody-can-jump-in” attitude, and mirrors the “innovation-by-mandate” hip-hop aesthetic. Sourcing of material in online remix-culture can occur almost anywhere on the internet. Digitization makes it possible for a remix artist to “surf” and “sample” just about anything. Programs like Vixy and Soundforge also make it possible to “sample” things that have been encoded with the intention of being un-sample-able. An example of this is Negativland’s mash-up “Gimme The Mermaid” (2005), which uses footage from the Disney film “The Little Mermaid”, audio from the same film, various animated illustrations, and an audio recording of an abusive phone call from a music industry lawyer, all mixed over the top of Black Flag’s “Gimme Gimme Gimme”. Negativland have used a wide variety of found materials.

Both hip-hop and contemporary online remix practices are talking to a closed political system. Hip-hop to a “repressive” state who only provides police, and remix to a hyper-capitalist machine which is obsessed with the policing of copyright laws and ownership, not creativity. The previous example of Negativland’s mash-up “Gimme the Mermaid” is a strong example of remix’s “taking a swipe at copyright law”. Not even the lawyer owns his own voice.

 Online remix culture’s politics focus on postmodern questions of originality, which emerged from Derrida’s idea of ‘iteration’, and the Barthe’s idea of the anxiety of influence. Both these ideas look at the way that, in postmodern society, it is impossible to create a piece of work which is original. Derrida’s ‘iterability’ is “a condition of the singularity of a thing” (Lucy, 2004, p59). For a thing to be what it is, it must be repeatable. And in the act of repeating it, the thing changes. Niall Lucy uses the example of cups of coffee – every morning he has multiple cups of coffee, each singularly unique. Not because they are special, but because the second coffee is not the first, and so on. Each coffee, though, is an instance of coffee, an example of “coffee”. This idea of “iterability” makes questions of copyright law null and void. How can anyone ‘own’ anything when everything is just an instance of what already exists? This addresses copyright qualms in both hip-hop and remix.

“At the opening of the 80’s, people of colour were mainly relegated to consuming images in which they rarely appeared” (Tate et al, 2006, p33), by the early 90’s, coloured people were at the centre of business, the academy and the media. Remix culture emerges from people who are tired with being fed media and not creating, or having a say, or appearing in it. Remix culture allows feed-back into the media machine – one example of this is Brad Neely’s “Wizard People, Dear Reader”, which is a re-dubbed, unauthorized re-telling of the Harry Potter films. Another is the slew of “Brokeback” mash-ups on YouTube (Brokeback of the Ring, Brokeback Enterprise, The Empire Brokeback, Brokeback to the Future, and so on) which mix various films with soundtracks and footage from Ang Lee’s “Brokeback Mountain” to imply a homo-erotic subtext in the mashed film. While the final product of these examples is a humorous, not overtly political, piece of work, the artists behind them are reclaiming the right to create culture in much the same way that hip-hop allowed unheard and underrepresented people to dictate what they wanted culture to be. Much of 2 Live Crew’s parody work, which relied heavily on sampled material, was not overtly political either.

Just as the people that hip-hop represents are problematic to society in terms of copyright law and originality, so too are the people that remix culture represents. While the practices of remix and hip-hop are quite different (“surf-sample-manipulate” vs two turntables and a microphone), they share underlying aesthetic and political motivations. Both remix culture and hip-hop provide a medium for under-represented and unheard voices to speak out. They both provide a way for the consumer to regain control over what is being fed to them. Both remix culture and hip-hop value innovation and careful, thoughtful choices about source material. The aesthetic and political qualities of remix and hip-hop culture reflect one another: what will be interesting as we move into the future, is to see if another style emerges to take over the aesthetic and political practices of these genres.

Asking questions

No post for the last few days as I’ve been away, and nothing too impressive today as I’m in the middle of working on a short story for a comp, which I’d like to post here but only once I’ve got a first draft together.

I realised today though, one of the reasons I’m having so much trouble writing this current story is because I dont know my characters well enough. I can sit there asking, “What does he do next?”…but he should be “what WOULD he do next?”. I need to sit with these characters for a while and discover their logic…

SARA: She’s broken. She’s tiny. She finds animals agreeable, but generally men don’t stay in her life long, they find her too complicated. She never asked Christian to fix her. Her background is blurry, not just for those around her but for Sara too. She doesn’t understand how she came to be confused and confusing, she doesn’t remember. She’s sure she wasn’t always this way.

CHRISTIAN: He’s fat and awkward and nerdy. He’s likeable, gets along with most people… He has a super-man kind of ethos. He’s kind, he can love in such huge amounts. Sara fits in his arms perfectly. He knows she’s broken, and he can fix her, he knows it. They’re both quiet but they find a silent kind of happiness in each other.

It’s where Christian came from that I get stuck on. Why is he so quiet? And why Sara?

I’m a…

Due kudos should be given to Globalwrite, for this article.
It inspired me today, forced me into a bit of introspection…

I’m a student who cannot study. I jot little ideas, tiny one liners that are intended to take full form somewhere in the body of an essay. By the time I return to these ideas they’re flaccid.

I’m a lazy person who can’t sleep. Every bump in the night is an intruder. My lover stops breathing so I watch him just to make sure. There’s a coo-ing and a scratching coming from the ceiling-chickens. Rest just isn’t an option.

I’m a writer who never writes. I have my five-word truisms scribbled somewhere for safekeeping. My one-line journals, which take shape over a day and are never as whitty on re-visiting. My blog, which seems to be a string of the same post over and over…and over.

I’m a person who can’t think. I can’t, therefore I…?

100m

Dan Brown sits comfortably in a window, piled on top of himself, overflowing. Big red stickers – REDUCED – he’s playing the part of ‘bait’ today. I don’t want his book, but it catches my eye and pisses me off so that I go into the damn bookshop for something that is not Dan Brown.

Dancing man at Kew Junction – waving and bucking around. Nanna crosses the road and smiles. Red Toyota passes and toots. People sit in the Kew Hotel and look at him through their half-empty beer.

Pidgeons scratch around my ceiling. They’ve invaded my balcony, and then my space. I can’t be around their scratching, my brain has no room for it.

Man lays in bed, sometimes I think he’s stopped breathing and I panic. We’re ships in the night, I haven’t seen the real him in weeks. I’ve only seen this ghost, this shadow. This hologram version of himself who speaks a language I can’t understand.

I’m surrounded by empty beer bottles and homework.

Flotsam & Shit

I am a shell full of worms,
A casing filled with maggots.
A rolling ball of shit,
Picking up flotsam
As I race downhill.

What kinds of possibilities are there,
For a stinky tired rolling ball
Of flotsam and shit?

Who employs him?
Who sleeps next to him at night?
Who wants to have ten thousand of his babies?
Who gives him that special litle fluttering at the core of the flotsam and shit?
Who gives himthe comforting tap he needs?
Who will keep this crusted ancient flotsam and shit?

Decay is not an option.

Deliberate Practice and Accountability

Every day, I browse for at least half an hour through WordPress, just to see who’s posted something, read it if it’s worth reading. Try to increase traffic through this fair blog… though that’s clearly a winner, as I’ve gone three days with no hits.
I recently came across this fantastic post
There is also has some amazing links there, so thumbs up to this blog!

This blog isn’t intended as a journal. That’s not what I’m here for, I know how hard it is to return to a journal. They’re boring reading. What it is intended to do, is help me grow as a writer. So, I’m bringing some accountability into this thing. I’ll post something every day. If I dont, find me and hunt me down.

Block

writers_block

If only writer’s block worked like tetris, where the blocks fall on top of and into each other and eventually disappear.

Truth be told, I hate writing. I hate the torture it puts me through – I get half way through a story or poem and it follows me around. It’s a haunting shadow that trails after me.
“What if… maybe he could… and then she could say… show, don’t tell…”
What I love is a finished piece. My little piece of the world pinned to a page. A screen.

I’m currently working hard to manouvre my blocks into place, in the hope that it does work like tetris, in the hope that enough of my trying eventually just ends in it all disappearing, and I win the game. I write something of value and meaning.

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