public display of disaffection By anne kingston with alex ballingall

Helen Proskow

In the article “public display of disaffection” featured in MacLean’s magazine analyzes the way cellar devices have taken over are social skills in away that many of us can not have a complete, eye to eye conversation. With the constant distracting of “[thumb] [drumming]…multitasking rudeness.” And that “68 per cent of those surveyed thought it was disrespectful to conduct a real-time conversation while texting someone else.” But “32 per cent” though it was

The author it correct in many ways, the ongoing distraction of the “Cell Phone”

Is

Not done

Dream or Reality

Dream or Reality

Helen Proskow

The women in front of me in the line

            Stood there

                        Fragile, Forgotten,

Bruised, Broken down,

                                                Being.

I could hear the faint whispers flowing through her lips… “My friends die…”

I sighed thinking she was singing

                        A sudden Giggle shot out with a

Burst of frightening yell “THEY DO NOT SPEAK!”

                        I thought as I stepped back “this Bitch is crazy.”

I wish for this to finish.

  As the line moved the woman who is              

Unsteady trembles,

Shaking,

Breaking,

Down,

Down,

 Down,

 Her body floated to the ground.

 Lying there like a shattered vase, filled with belligerent craze, still in one piece.

 I stood there dumbfounded

    As I’m rifling through the pockets of my mind,

Screams filled the room, Gunshots hit the Walls,            and Blood flowed like tears on a Widows face in the aisles,      

Darkness fell through my veins.

 Silence drenched the atmosphere, my eyes snapped wide,

Blinded             by        the        white               

Room.

the wome in fornt of me in the line stood there frigile , forgotten,battered brused boby.
i could hear the tears in a faint whisper as she spilled the change  from her  swollen hand...
she struggled with painful wimpers as she aqwardly sank to the solid ground 'snap' went her heel!

forceful rush to the ground...I flinch and hurry just in time pulling the young women

NOT DONE

bright eyes: the bottom of everything

So there was this woman and she was on an airplane,
and she was flying to meet her fiance seaming high above the largest ocean on planet earth.
She was seated next to this man she had tried to start conversations,
but the only thing she had really heard him say was to order his Bloody Mary.
She was sitting there and she was reading this really arduous magazine article about a third world country
that she couldn't even pronounce the name of.
And she was feeling very bored and despondent.
And then suddenly there was this huge mechanical failure and one of the engines gave out,
and they started just falling thirty-thousand feet,
and the pilots on the microphone and he's saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh my god... I'm sorry" and apologizing.
And she looks at the man and says "Where are we going?" and he looks at her and he says "We're going to a party.
It's a birthday party. It's your birthday party.
Happy birthday darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very much."
And then he starts humming this little tune, it kind of goes like this: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4

We must talk in every telephone
Get eaten off the web
We must rip out all the epilogues in the books that we have read
And in the face of every criminal
Strapped firmly to a chair
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare

We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell
And in the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn't dream
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing

It'll go like this:

While my mother waters plants
My father loads his guns
He says death will give us back to God
Just like this setting sun is returned to this lonesome ocean

And then they splashed into the deep blue sea
It was a wonderful splash

We must blend into the choir
Sing as static with the whole
We must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul
And in this endless race for property and privilege to be won
We must run, we must run, we must run

We must hang up in the belfry
Where the bats and moonlight laugh
We must stare into a crystal ball and only see the past
And in the caverns of tomorrow
With just our flashlights and our love
We must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge

 

 

 

 

And then we'll get down there, way down to the very bottom of everything
And then we'll see it, oh we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it

Oh my morning's coming back
The whole world's waking up
All the city buses swimming past
I'm happy just because
I found out I am really no one

Helen Proskow November 8, 2011

 

Sitting there mesmerized, holding his face with leathered hands was the hardest worker at the Mill. Among the silence creeping around him capturing with a steady sigh. The taste of fresh lighten cigarette smoke wafting thought a musty air ,where this tattered old man has live for most his life.

“Where did my life go?” Whispered the old man as he took a drag of his menthol cigarette

“Why am I still here?”  With a Sigh “What was my motive the leave my wife a children after that one night?” speaking with frustration in his tone “I know should have stayed at work. Why did I go out the boys that night? Stupid idea my wife hates my guts and probably told them awful things about me!” as tears were flowing in his eyes.  “My children will they probably don’t even know me anymore my…”

The frigged old man with crystal blue eyes started to cry hysterically heard the intercom announce “BREAK TIME OVER!”

He put out his cigarette like nothing happened and could on his years working at the Mill. He died at age 75 from lung cancer.

post secondary

Though many may say random words with no wisdom about me, millions are unknown to my secret identity. I helped Albert Einstein get his Noble Peace  Prize.

On Wednesday’s I only eat peanut butter sandwiches and 1:24pm.On Mondays I sleep in an extra 2 hours and 4 minutes and 17 seconds. On Saturday’s I only watch big bang theory on DVD .On Sunday’s I read 13 pages of The Great Book’s .On Friday’s I sing the song  ‘Friday’ well doing cartwheels in a pit of baby rattlesnake and scorpions.On Thusday's Many don’t know I work for the Umbrella Corporation along with my contributions of engraining the key to a worldwide genocide T-Virus

Marilyn Munroe is my 27 cousin on my father’s side.  My mother is Michelle Obama and my father is Gandhi they had a thing. On my spare time I’m know to travel thought form any point and time thought-out the universal with my lovely invention the TARDIS! No human being know I was once a Jones Brothers

The Shawshank Redemption

Andy Dufresne (white guy)

Ellis Boyd "Red" Redding (colored man)

       "Did you really kill that man? Red did you...?” whispered Andy.

Red declares with tears in his eyes.  “Andy, You know I would never, Murder anyone!”

"Did you kill that man?" Andy resisted once more.

Red chanced the subjected, “How’s the family? Your kids in school yet?” Red rambled away, “How far along is your wife pregnancy?”

Moral Dilemna

Helen Proskow
123

Green Ave
Penticton

, B.C.
V2A 3W1February 10, 2011

Jim Smith
Mayor
Oosyoos, British Columbia

Dear Sir:

Thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts and beliefs on the topic of Mr. Guntar Grass.I have several reasons why I believe Mr.Grass’s evidence shoudn’t be revealed to the public.  

Firstly, Mr. Guntar Grass is a well known man in his community. He employees many people in his village, therefore, if this secret is reveled no one will want to work at his establishment. They may revert to the past and think they may get gassed.  The trust that he gained will slowly deplete and he may possibly get death threats.  If no one works at the factory that he provided for the citizens there will be less employment in the community and the economy will suffer. 

Not just the employees of the factory will suffer, but also the charities that he supports.  Groups such as; a local food bank, minor hockey leagues, youth programs, and school equipment won’t get funding to carry on successfully in their villages. 

Sincerely,


John Doe

You lost me

You lost me

George was alone in the stable when Curley's wife appeared in the doorway. Their eyes locked like love at first sight.  Long time no see Curley’s wife replied. George sat there Dumb as a stump. He responded quietly Get lost! She glided closer with a blunt responds You cannot judge someone until you have walked a mile in their shoes. George mumbled Been there, done that. What did up say? Driving me crazy!  You can say that again. Curley’s wife shouted you know what my life would be a Slam dunk, if I didn’t have a such a Shotgun wedding,  with a man that’s Not the sharpest crayon in the box and keeps  Getting under my skin! Who’s always Havin’ a cow, with His bark is bigger than his bite

Everyday Fight like cats and dogs!! I tell you what Curley needs a good kick in the ass!George interrupted immediately! You come in here all dolled up  form head to toe  Bells and whistles, To have all the time in the world to bitch at me about your miserable life. To be honest with you honey there’s plenty of fish in the sea. She sat there confused. You lost me? “ God! Your dumber there a box of rocks Pardon me sir are you toying with me”. Curley wife replied with a moment of silence.George suddenly spoke “you know what your Hot as hell but Dumber than a bag of hammers  but also a Hard headed who’s always keeping her Keep you fingers crossedAlways wishing her life was a Piece of cake,  well sorry honey you made your bed and that’s the way the cookie crumbles so you set yourself up, for your own just deserts.” Curley’s wife stood up walk angrily tords George and replied with “are you pullin’ that Murphy's law crap with me!

170 days.

                                    170 days.                  Helen Proskow   September 19, 2011

I sitting here, dumfounded!  The most generic topic has been decided for the first essay of my last year at Maggie High.  Flabbergasted, my brain is crammed with a plethora of useable information and unworkable random nonsense. I am Flustered, on the edge of my seat, not knowing what my topic shall be.  Looking around at my fellow peers, my hand is unsteady and shaking at the thought of nothing, sweat drizzling down my face.  Trembling with trepidation, my heart beats to the pace of the dreadful tick tock of the irritating clock. The rapid sounds of pencils scratching the fresh pressed pieces of loose leaf send shrieking shivers down my fragile spine. The typical topic shouldn’t be so dreadful; it should not be filled with so much suspense.  Will every day feel like this for the next 170 days?   Come to think of it, it is pretty easy!