Friday's entries

Note: While these Journal Entries are written by my hand, the Words themselves are from the mouth of my servant, Friday; himself observing my journal taking on Daily Basis, he desired to keep a Journal of his own; but having no English writing skills at this Time, he satisfy'd himself by dictating his thoughts to Me, whereupon I would transcribe them in full. I have added Articles and such that would satisfy a future implied Reader, but the Sentiment is untouched, remaining that of Friday himself. R.C.

June 16: I am very glad to have my own entry in my Master's journal. He is very kind to do so for me, as he is always. Today I hunted a large bird around the island, hurting it before catching it and snapping its neck. Tomorrow I will help my Master build his boat, so that we may explore the other end of his island.

June 20: I had a discussion with Master today about his God, and my Benamuckee. He told me about the place above the sky called Heaven, and how only those who are kind and do not eat human flesh go there. I asked him questions about Heaven and God and the other place called Hell. Sometimes he answered my questions, other times he sat and said nothing, thinking to himself. I wished for him to speak again, but he left without saying anything, which made me thing I had done wrong, leading me to kneel before him and beg forgiveness, which he gave, saying he would talk again of God and Heaven tomorrow. I think that if God has delivered me to my Master, he must be a kind God for allowing me such a great guardian, who allowed me to keep my life.

June 22: Sat on the beach today and thought about home. My father, I miss him and our island very much, and I hope to return to him someday. I would tell him about all the wonderful things I have seen on this island, and all that my Master has done for me, and how he has turned me toward Christians. Then I would take him and Master back to our island, where we would teach then not to eat the men we kill, but eat the animals instead, and to worship Master's God, along with the Rock of Heaven that chases away the Light of Hell, and the many Stars in the Sky. Even if I never see him for he might be dead, killed like I almost was, I hope he is safe with Master's God, in Heaven.

June 29: I am up at night, always, before sleep. I look at the Rock of Heaven, shining bright in the darkness on the sand. I reach my hand up to touch it, and I cannot. Then I sleep, and pray to wake up on the Rock of Heaven, standing in the sky. Then I wake up and the Light of Hell makes all things glow and tremble with heat. I cannot look at the Light of Hell; it blinds me and makes tears run from my eyes, my skin burns with its fire, and I pray for the Rock of Heaven to drive it away with the night, for the Hell fills me with fear.

My bookshelves are lin'd with my own personal Treasures; empty cans, having been stripped of labels and scrubb'd and polish'd with silver polish, I began to wish they were gold, but what use would gold be to me anyway? I have rings hailing from the newfound colonies of Mexico, photographs of Jewelry cut from magasines and glued to bases made of cardboard propped against the wall of my Abode; a Spoon of sterling that of which had belong'd to my Parents, as a Gift from my Grandmother, though they had never much cared for't; and also a small hoard of silver coins, despite their relative uselessness, boil'd and polish'd to bring about a silvery sheen whilst regarding the television programmes named Donny and Marie, or perhaps the musical entertainment of Tony Orlando and the strangely-named Dawn...

Opening Paragraphs

Hello, and welcome to the beginning of my blog, Sforzando. The name is striking, isn't it? Sounds like I'm the head chef of a fancy Italian bistro, rather than a college sophomore slowly discovering who he is in the middle of the Pennsylvania wilderness. Well, this is no restaurant, but you are welcome to pull up a chair and let a few minutes pass by while I play a few ditties for you on my keyboard. I promise, I'll try to make it worth your while.

As for the name, sforzando is Italian for "forcing". It is used as a musical term for a sudden increase in dynamics and tempo-- a sudden rush of emotion and movement, shaking the audience out of their daydreams and clamping down on their focus like a steel vise. Some of my favorite moments in music come from that quick change in aesthetic.

I like thinking of my writing process as sforzando-- a rapid burst of energy, forced into written words. A close emphasis of certain details and moments, pinpointed through prose. Succinct and vivid, and hopefully attention-grabbing.