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A glimpse into the ARCreatives Lab...
February Creative Brainstorm & Freewrite |
March Spoken Word Workshop
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April Production Studio Session |
February Brainstorm & Writing Workshop with Nic
Daddy’s arms, Aujre ThaDon Pittman
The thought of being held in my father's arms.
Im am light weighted
Petite
Protected.
Loved.
I am daddy's girl
I still feel the left side of his 4 day old shave rub against my 9 year old cheeks
The shine and wet look of his “just below shoulder blades pony tail”
Left hand full of silver rings and bracelets right hang full of gold.
My daddy will always be my world,
But i still think about being his little girl.
Look like you,
Smell you,
Be like you.
In my decisions i wonder if i think like you.
It taste like oatmeal and bacon bits,
Why is that the only meal i remember you making.
I hope i didn't rob you of your relationship with your daughter
I'd give back if i knew it weren't too late for her to be with you.
But then where would i be.
33 years old thinking about 28 years younger,
On why 5 mins longer in your arms would have changed the next 29 summers
Douglas Jessop
Sensory Writing
2/5/21
Waking up, looking at the Iv in my arm. I feel a numbness, despair, hopelessness throughout my body. What is going on? I can hear the beeping from the heart monitor, the taste of blood in my mouth and my Mom by my side. Son, you beat up Dad. Memories fight to gain clarity from overdosing to the fear of recognizing I just took a full bottle of psychotropic meds to end it all, to encounters with the police then waking up in a Hospital bed. There was no fight of emotions stirring up, no physical cry just a plain blank sense of apathy. I cant do even that right? Why am I still here? I remember the prayers I said as I cursed the heavens and everyone in my life. As I drank that bottle of vodka and cried tears and readied myself to attempt it once again. I feel the weight of the leather coat on my body, the mix of dry tears and fresh as I cry out against this feeling of jadedness. Beyond this thing called life, things must be better. Broken Promises and despair claw at me as I get up. From the familiarity of my Mom wishing I were dead, out of anger and spite. To me reaching to open the door to die by police and force. I halfway open the door and am immediately blasted by the surrounding police officers. Each shot ricochets throughout my body as I stare in a daze. I passed out and wake up in the hospital with IVs in my arm. I think to myself so much for my freedom. I can remember the police, questioning me while incoherent. The Lawyers and Doctors arguing against each other, with them saying this man needs to stay here. My Mom asking the lawyers and officers to help me, my son needs help. He is a good person, To being wheeled through the corridors into the police cruiser, hallucinating off the drug medications.
April Studio CoLab brings you Production 101: How to Make a Beat
how_to_make_a_beat_101.mp4 | |
File Size: | 10192 kb |
File Type: | mp4 |