Using any one of Faulkner’s 15 character voices as a guide, create a paragraph in the voice of a character totally different to yourself. Think about people you might have overheard on the train or bus, or someone you might have seen randomly on a street corner. Invent their life, their consciousness in a paragraph.

Stream of consciousness of a  zookeeper in Thailand. (Note to reader’s lack of grammar and mistakes in sentencing are intentional as to emulate the lower-class and more and possibly less educated aspects of the third-world country)

The animal before me, filthy a decaying orange orang-utan full of flea and dirt. Yet the families and children treat it as if they have struck gold. No gold has been found here, at least not in my eyes. What good are any of these animals to me? All they do is beg, cry, eat and shit, all in a beg of mercy or help. To the tourist, it’s adorable, to me my monthly wage. I am meant to be brushing the Orang-utan until suddenly, it grabs the brush out of my hand and clutches on for dear life. To the tourist this is all a game so they point it out in laughter but to me, this is not doing my job. The pleading eyes of the orang-utan are stare at me gripping tighter to the comb. I am forced to strike it repeatedly, the pleading eyes turn to begging cries, and the crowd in shock as if they care any in he slightest about the animal. I look up as I force the comb out of the creatures hand. I notice a young boy, he looks at me with pleading eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. This world is harsh and tough, and I am this boys first example of it.



Week 4

Write a poem in the style of Whitman beginning with the any of the following opening lines:

I think I could turn and live with animals…

Their souls pure and true,

Below us yet so far above us,

Taking only our of need and never out of greed they prey

Displaying dominance only to protect their homes

Their worship, towards their own value of life

Their God, the gift of life.

Like the “tyger” burning ever so bright,

They follow their own natural course of life,

Like the native horse they, with no masters race to their contempt

Without iron hooves, their saddles made of dirt and reeds

I stand in awe at their majesty,

Like the wise elephant, standing gracefully and bold

Its only chains the confines of its instinct,

Ivory, treasured more when intact to its owner

I could turn and live with the animals

More free than my days in-utero

Transcending the need for a master,

My chains however ensnare me

And so in conformity I must remain