A Compilation of writing between the fall of 2011 and the winter of

2012 in Ms. Bhattacharya’s Senior Seminar

Robby Kuster

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TableofContents:I.MyLifeasaReader:AStoryin3Parts pg.3­5II.ArrivaloftheBirds pg.6­7III.Canyonsin68Words pg.8IV.HalloweenPiece pg.8V.PavedinGold pg.9­10VI.Eyes pg.11­12VII.QuestionandAnswer pg.13VIII.Prompted pg.14IX.AlphabetSoupX.DefinitionofGhostCats pg.16

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Mylot.com

MyLifeasaReader:AStoryin3Parts

Part1:ItwasalwaysaboutthePokemoncards.ChangingfromVelcrointolaces,my

littlesixyearoldselfdidn’twantanythingtodowithblackscribblesonapage.What

didIcareaboutMrs.FrizzleandtheMagicSchoolBus?Wasn’tmybusiness.My

businesswasoutsideonmybike,ormoreimportantly,insideobsessingover

Pokemon.YouknowPokemon.Theridiculouslittlecreatureswithnamesthatsound

morelikemysteriousdrugsthanfire‐breathing,

water‐wieldingJapanesecreations.Iwatchedthe

show,playedthevideogame,butespeciallyhad

theplayingcards,eachwithitsownPokemon.As

akid,Iwouldmakemyselfasecondcarpet,

rearrangingandreorganizingasIsawfitIdreamt

thatonedayIwouldcatch,orIguess“collect‘em

all,”andIwasdeterminedtodoso.

Isoonrealizedthatmyparents,alittleconcernedwithmydisinterestin

reading,gavemepraiseifIeverdaredtopickupabook.Mymalevolentselfraised

thebar,demandingthateverycouplebooksIcouldreadintheirpresencemeant

anothertriptotheToyStore.ThereIwouldbuyanotherelevenpackofPokemon

cards,prayingacreatureIdidn’tyethavelaywrappedbeneaththecrinklycolorful

foil.

Myreadingprogressed,asdidmypilesofPokemoncards.Veryslowly,I

startedtocareaboutwhatwasgoingoninmybooksandlessaboutPokemon.

CaptainUnderpantsandIfYouGiveaMouseaCookiebecamethemoreinteresting

thanthefictionalanimalsofmypast.Iwasmovingontobiggerandbetterthings.

Part1ofmyreadinglifeclosesjustasthoselittlekidsclimbedintothatMagicTree

House,pointedatthatpicture,andsaid,“Iwishwecouldgothere.”

Part2:Bythetime4thGraderolledaround,MagicTreeHousewasn’ttheonlything

onmyagenda.Ibroadenedmyhorizons:Astrangelookingboyonabroomwitha

lightningshapedscar?Whythehellnot?AToad,Rat,Mole,andBadgerdrinkingtea

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inaboatonariver?Well,thatonewasprettyadvancedsoIletmymomreaditto

me.

Ireadforpurepleasure.Allthemesandmetaphorswentcompletelyovermy

head.Ididn’tknow,andIdidn’tcare.Readingwasexciting.Exceptforthosebooks

weHADtoreadinschool.Yuck.Theywereneveranyfun.Atleastthat’swhatItold

myself,becauseallmyfriendsweresayingthesamething.Lookingback,IthinkI

secretlylikedreadingthebooks.Iwouldfindmyselfimmersedinthestory,and

inadvertentlyreadahead.

AsIenteredmiddleschool,readingbecameaseriousbusiness.Crispinand

hisshenanigansenteredmylifeasItrudgedthroughthetextsearchingfor

metaphorsandsimilesasahomeworkassignment.Alsoby8thgrade,Irealized

Shakespearewasnothingshortof

devilspawn,andforcingyoung

childrentoreadsuchthingsshould

bethoughtofaschildabuse.

However,withadvancedreading,

morebooksflewofftheshelves.

Myeyesdartedthroughmore

HarryPotter,TomSawyer,Alex

Rider(teenagespy),andevenaDanBrownbookasmiddleschoolended.

In9thGrade,Ibegantodiscoverthathiddenthemeswereindeedpossibleto

find.HoldenCaulfieldreallywashidingsomethingunderthatorangehuntingcap.It

wasjustdifficulttofind.Contrastingthat,wealsoreadOldManandthe…oh.I’m

sorry,Ijustfellasleep.WhatwasIreading?Oh,thatemotionlessdrawlfromErnest

Hemmingway.Itprobablywouldn’thavebeenasbadifIdidn’thavetojournal

aboutitevery10pages.Itwasfrustratingbeingforcedtowrite,“Hetalkstohishand

hereandyellsatitforlettinghimdown.IthinkthisshowsathemeofBLAHBLAH

BLAH.”Idon’tcarewhatthemesareinthatbook,I’mnotlookingatitagain.Now

thatjoyouslybringsusintopart3ofmyexistenceasareader.

Greetings child. I am Shakespeare. Read me.

paralleldementia.guildportal.com

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TakenOctober,2010onMt.Elbert

Part3:Sophomoreyear,Ireadoneofmyfavoritebooks,andgetthis:itwasfor

school!1984blewmymindinitsterrifyinglyrealisticportrayalofwhatmightjust

happeninthefuture.GeorgeOrwellwasagenius.Notmuchwasdifferentsincemy

daysasafreshman.However,thatallchangedmyjunioryear.

Agooddealofmy1stsemesterwasspentinthewoodsofLeadville,Colorado

whereIhadtoreadenvironmentalists’viewsontheearth.Somethingaboutsitting

onarocklookingatahugemountainmakesreadingThoreausomuchmore

bearableandrelatable.Ashediscussed

humanity’srelationshiptonature,relationshipto

civilization,andhowwehaveseparatedourselves

fromwhatwasonceourhomemadesense.I

realizedthenthatreading,whatevertheliterature

happenstobe,isallaboutcontext.IfIweresitting

inaclassroomreadingThoreau’sdaydreams,half

ofthatstuffwouldhavegonerightovermyhead,

andIwouldneverhaveunderstoodthetruthin

hiswords…evenifhewasanarrogantprickwho

didn’tevenfollowhisownadvice.Icanonlyimagine

whatreadingtheAdventuresofHuckleberryFinnsittingonaraftonaforested

sectionoftheMississippiwouldbelike.Readinghadtobecherishedinthecorrect

environment,andatthecorrecttime.Otherwise,theoriginalmeaningofthetext

willbelost.

Now,I’m17.Throughmyyears,IhavecometorealizewhatIamasareader.Iread

forenjoyment.Icanonlygetsomuchoutofabook.Don’tgetmewrong:I

understandalotofsymbolsandhiddenmeanings.TherecomesapointwhereIjust

loseallinterestinthetiniestofminutedetails.Callmeabluntreader,butIdon’t

thinkthatiswhatreadingshouldbeabout.It’saboutgettingabsorbedinaworld,

feelingtheemotionsofthecharacterswithouthavingtostopanddeeplyanalyzea

texttoactuallyunderstandwhatishappening.That’swhereIstandasareaderso

far.Myopinionmaychange,andImightsuddenlyhaveamaddesireforPokemon

cardsagain.Onlytimewilltell.

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The Arrival of the Birds

InspiredbythesongArrivaloftheBirdsbyCinematicOrchestra

Many years ago, I watched the arrival of the birds. It was something I knew

took place every year, but never one I cared to understand. They were birds, and

I had more important things to do in my youth than watch the birds fly over our

town on their way south. But one year I decided to look up at the sky and view

the mundane evolve into the extraordinary. Ever since I made sure to watch the

sky, searching for the message of life that rushes through my soul and the town

without fail.

In they fly, a chorus of petrifying grace, arriving in a tidal wave, sweeping

across the mountains, valleys, and plains, unwavering in their course, certain of

their path through this world. The birds screech a song, one only loved by those

who know why the birds chose to fly. They fly for their future, they fly for their

survival, they fly because that is all they know. They fly through heaven, and

they fly through hell. And they fly through hell because they know that heaven

can’t be far away. And they must know this or the birds would never fly. As they

arrive, they call to Mother Nature, and she answers, guiding them on their way

across the vast regions of the earth.”

They don’t stop because they know that one day, the end will come. One

day, they will reach a land, one they see every year, a land they know, a land they

trust. Here they will rest their limbs weary of a long journey, a journey through

heaven and hell. Here they will find solace, and sanctuary. But they won’t stay

forever. Just as with all things, the birds will know when to fly again. And they will

Northshorefallcolors.com

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leave the land behind, flying back the way they came. Back to where their journey

began.

I once asked my father about the Arrival of the Birds. “They come and

they go every year,” I said. “Why do they fly all that way, across mountains,

valleys and plains, just to return to where they once were?”

He smiled and asked me a question in return, “Why were we brought into

this world, only to find ourselves

leaving when we just got started?

The beginning may be the start,

but don’t forget that it is always

the end.”

SuperPipo2010flickeraccount

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TheCanyonsin68WordsInspiredbyDarkCanyoninSoutheasternUtah

If a man in Utah were to travel through time, he would come upon a

stream, cautiously picking its way through the desert , unsure of its path, cal l ing

for the ocean. He might notice a crack in the parched dirt beckoning water through

its opening. But Mother Nature was at work, wielding her powers, creating the

unbel ievable…

Flying forward, a stream created something only the Gods could understand.

Halloween Piece Skeletons: Never wave to figures in the dark; you never know who they might be.

TakeninNovember,2010attheJunctionofDarkandLostCanyon

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PavedinGold

MynameisJeremy.IthinkmylastnameisDoyle,butIcan’tbesure.It’sbeen

solongsinceI’veseenanyofmyfamily.Idon’tremembermuchaboutmyMomma

andPapa.Welivedonafarm,wherewegrewpotatoes.Wenevergottoeatvery

much.Papasaidweneededtosellthemsowecouldeatlater.Ididn’tunderstand

whywecouldn’tjusteatthepotatoes.Therewasalwaysfighting,andwhenevermy

fatherhitmymother,mybrotherwouldhidemeinthecornerbehindthedresser.

Hedidn’twantmetoseewhathappened.

Thenoutofnowhere,mybrotherwokemeuplateatnighttotellmetoget

readytoleave.Weweregoingonanadventure.Toalandacrosstheocean,where

wewouldneverbehungry,wherewecouldseeprettyladiesindressesandmenin

top‐hatswalkingthroughthecities,wherethestreetswerepavedwithgold.His

eyeswerewideandhisbodywasshaking.IaskedifMommaandPapawerecoming.

Hesaidtheywouldcomelater,butthatwecouldn’ttellthem,ortheplacemightjust

disappear.

“SoJeremy,”mybrotherwhispered.“DoyouwanttogotoAmerica?”I

nodded,andletmybrotherleadthewaytoAmerica.

Idon’tremembermuchoftheboatride.Iremembertherats.Ihadtoeatmy

foodfast,ortheywouldstealitwhenIwasn’tlooking.IfeltlikeIwasgoingtobeon

theboatforever.Wewouldsailrightofftheearth,andthenkeepgoinguntilallthe

breadwasgone.

WhenwegottoAmerica,Irememberlookingaround,tryingtofindthe

streetspavedwithgold.Whenmybrotherwastalkingtoanotherman,Iaskeda

nice‐lookingladyifsheknewwhereIcouldfindwhatmybrotherhadpromised.

Shelookedatmewithpityonherface.“I’msorry,child.Youwillhavetolook

harder.Noteveryonecanseethestreets.Butifyoupray,ifyoustaystrong,then

maybeoneday,theymightberevealed.”

Ididnotunderstand,andtothisdayIhaven’tseenthestreets:Notwhenwe

werekickedoutofourapartment,notwhenmybrotherwentofftowar,notwhenI

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begforfoodfromtheprettyladiesindressesorthemenintop‐hats.Theystillhide

fromme.SometimesasIwalkbacktomyalley,eitherwithbreadinmyhandora

blackeyefromthebaker,Iseelightreflectingoffthewindowsfromaroundthe

corner.ButwhenIgettotheroadandturntolook,allIseeisdirtandbroken

promises.Ihaven’tlosthopethough.Iwillneverstopsearching,hopingtoseethe

glimmerofadreamIhaveyettoforget.

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EyesInspiredbythenovelWinesburg,OhiobySherwoodAnderson

Warisafunnything.Youdon’tthinktwiceaboutthedangersyouface.You

dowhatyouweretoldbecauseyourofficertellsyou,andthat’sit.Buteverything

youdo,everythingthatmakesyouwhoyouarecanbeerasedinaninstant.One

pieceofmetal,flyingthroughtheair:itcanendyourlifeorthelifeofsomeoneright

nexttoyou.Allittakesisoneunluckystep.Butthesimplicityofwarisalmost

beautifultosome:deadoralive,killorbekilled,liveinthepresent,dieforthe

future.TherewasamanbythenameofJacksonTenetwhounderstoodthesimple

logic,thedarktruth.Helivedthroughthewar;thecardshewasdealtgavehimhis

life,thoughataprice.Itlefthimwithafaceblastedbytheshrapnelofagrenade,the

lossofvisioninoneofhiseyes,andthelossofaclosefriendnamedAaronShade.

Mr.Tenetborehisscarsproudlyashesteppedoffhisplanewhenhelanded

home.Itwasatragicsymbol,teachinghimnevertoforgetthebattlehefought,his

friendnowgone,andthebluntnessofwar.Awifeandchildwaitedeagerly,andhe

greetedthemwithopenarms.

Butsoonnightmaresandvisionsofthatterribledayfloodedhismind.Every

dreamwasthesame.Itwouldbeginafewminutesbeforetheevent.Theplatoon

waswalkingthroughwhatseemedtobeanabandonedtown.Therewaslittle

tensionintheair,andmanyweretalkingorlaughingaboutsomethingthat

happenedbackatbase.Thenallofasudden,Mr.Tenetremembersitquiteclearly,

theinstrumentofdeathcamesoaringthroughtheairfromahiddenwindowand

cametorestathisAaron’sfeet.AllspaceandtimecametoahaltasAaronlocked

eyeswithMr.Tenet.Uttersadness,totaldefeat,confusion,fear:emotionsburstforth

throughtheretinasofamanjusttryingtounderstand.Mr.Tenetcouldn’tthink,

couldn’tmove,couldn’tbreathe,ashestoodfrozeninthissingularuniverse.Allhe

coulddowaslookbackatAaronShade,ashisfriendtookhislastbreathonthis

earthpursuingananswerinMr.Tenet’seyes.

TotalDarkness…

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AndMr.Tenetwouldwakeupwithhisfriend’spiercingstaresearedintohis

mind.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Astimewenton,thefiguresinMr.Tenet’sdreambegantolosetheirshape.

Platoonmembersfellfromthegroup;thestructuresinthevillagebecamewarped,

thenfadedoutoffocus.ThenfinallyAaron’sfigurestartedtoleaveMr.Tenetaswell.

Hisbodybecamedistortedandirregular.Thefeaturesofhisfaceoozedandlostall

proportions.Theonlythingthatneverleftweretheeyes,alwaysburningthrough

Mr.Tenet,andstraightthroughhisdamagedsoul.Hebecameanalcoholic,andcome

stumblinghometerriblydrunkintheearlymorningscreamingaboutvisions.He

beathiswifeandchild;hebroketables,smashedwindows,unabletoprotect

himselffromtheunbearablestarethatneverlefthislife.Mr.Tenet’swifeandchild

lefthim,fearingfortheirlives,buthecontinuedonhisrampageofterrorand

hatred,unabletoforget.

Manyyearspassed,andMr.Tenet’swildrageswereneverseenagain.

Althoughhesoberedup,withthisclaritycamebitternessandcrueltythatnoone

couldbreak.Hegrewold,andnowlivesalone.Hishouseitisn’tasdecrepitasit

looks,butthosepassingbyfeeluneasy,worryingthatthetiresomethingwillone

daycrumble.Butitliveson,andsodoesMr.Tenet.Hecan’tseemuchanymore,but

hestillhasn’tforgotten.AaronShade’seyesstillstareback.

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Question and Answer 1) What is freedom? Buddha on a motorcycle.

The law had finally passed. Years that went back farther than the

oldest generations; the last oppressive law in the land was brought to

a close. Cheers, tears, and everything in between could be heard

from every corner of the nation. At that moment Keanu Reeves

revved his new Harley Davidson, as the land of the Buddhas took its

final step towards freedom.

2) Why are men mortal? Because trees can’t walk.

Treebeard lumbered through the woods of Fangorn forest in Middle

Earth. He had had a hard day. He had just seen what he thought was

a monkey building a house using the legs of his good friend

Saplingmustache. It grieved him to see his buddy demoted to a

disabled tree, What made matters worse, he knew that that monkey

man would never die, with nothing in the world able to die and all.

More and more would be made! Then all of a sudden, he came across

a set of buttons that fell from the sky. It seemed that Treebeard

could make a choice: Keep things the way they are, or sacrifice all

tree’s legs so that the humans will one day die. He realized that was

the only chance the trees had to survive. He closed his eyes, pressed

the button, and froze.

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Prompted

1) Youwakeupinthemorning,andrealizeyourworldisdifferent.Lyingon

yourkitchentable,youlookuptoseethefanswivelingmuchfartherabove

yourheadthanyourememberit.Theproportionsoftheworldyouonce

knewaremuchlargerthanyesterday.Lookingaround,yourealizethesalt

andpeppershakersareastallasyouare.Thenyoulookdown…shit.You’rea

pancake.

Respond:

2) YouarewatchingTVathome.JustanormalSundayafternoon.However,

thatisbeforeyourtelevisionstartsfreakingout.Theimagesandsounds

fillingthescreenbecomedistorted.Youtrytochangethechannelbutitisno

use.ThelightfromtheTVbecamesobrightyoushieldyoureyesfromthe

searinglightfillingthehouse.Theneverythingstops.Youopenyoureyes.

YouareintheTVshowyouwerelastwatching.

Whatdoyoudo?

3) Youhavedecidedtogoexploringwithyourfriendsinthedensejungleof

Brazil.Apparently,usingamaphefoundonStumpleUpon,yourfriendthinks

helocatedahiddentreasuredeepintheAmazon.Afteracoupleflights,afew

taxis,andonelongboatride,youandyourfriendtakeyourfirststeptoward

treasure,orterribledanger.

Respond:

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Alphabet Soup

Jaws of the

vaporizing sun equals

cracking ice and taxing bear wallets.

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Definition of ghost cats:

Ghost cats are commonly known as the most glorious beings a human

can behold. Expert Dominic Benger commented, “Yo dat shit (ghost

cats) is so real, if you know what I mean.” The creatures are able to

meld between the normal and paranormal, by using a telekinetic

power to interrupt space-time. The few and far between who have

laid eyes upon the ectoplasmic felines seldom live to tell the tale,

for a ghost cats’ gaze is similar to that of a basilisk in Harry Potter,

freezing most in place. Those who have survived become altered

beings. Joe Biden, Kanye West, and the red Teletubby are just a few

of those we know who have seen the creatures. Hitler saw one, but

exploded at first sight due to its overpowering catlike abilities. This

is a common misconception from WWII. Another we know alive and

well today is Dusty Rainbolt, author of the critically acclaimed

Ghost Cats: Human Encounters with the Feline Spirits. His insights

have helped humanity gain a better understanding of the fantastic

beasts. Where can you see them, you may be wondering? Well it is

uncertain, however, the most sightings have been in these locations:

Moscow, New Zealand, Six Flags (the one in New Jersey obviously),

the southwestern corner of North Dakota, and Mars (may or may not

include its moons). Tread carefully in your search. You may find

more than you are looking for.