Street Lights by Mike Schlott
I was sitting in the back of my mom’s 2003 silver chevy malibu
driving home from somewhere irrelevant late at night
My siblings crowd me in the back seat both sleeping underneath the warm glow
Produced by these man-made anomalies
I can’t sleep in a car, let alone on the hump
The curious energy of the lights kept me bestirred
To me these lights denotes the trip homeward
Or possibly the streetlights provided me companionship in my loneliness
As I grew older streetlights became a sense of security
The feeling of warm light flooding our bedrooms
The streetlights protecting the roads and fighting off shadows
They scare off the perturb spirits of the night
As I stare towards the light, I wonder what happens in its absence
What stories won’t the light be able to tell
The perplexity of this light causes eyes to fixate
Eliciting a vivid level of phenomenology like Sartre and Jollivet before me
The streetlight flickers but does not go out
As if some greater energy protects it
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Why do I find friendship in a streetlight?
Why the hell do I care?
Fixations by Mike Schlott
As I think back to my time as a young child, a certain memory remains. It was a crisp Christmas night. My family and I were driving home from Christmas with relatives. For any nine-year-old, the hour trip from Highland Park to the south suburbs of Chicago can feel like quite the journey. My father hated visiting this part of the family because of this trip. Our family is full of quite the talkers and ramblers. The great hospitality of Greeks is not without the cost of conversation. Because of this, we left their home around 1p.m. We all crammed into the 2003 silvery Malibu my family chose to drive for longer trips. Taking my father’s suburban truck during a recession to trek across the greater Chicagoland era was not a rational option.
Me being the youngest left me with the hump. Being as late as it was, my siblings both fell asleep almost immediately with the combination of heads laying on me and the subtly vibrating windows. I always had trouble sleeping in cars. I still can’t to this day. With the swaying of my siblings rocking me back and forth while I was pressed to the hump of this tiny sedan. Everyone was exhausted and silent during the ride. The quiet sounds of Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack singing Christmas tunes was the only entertainment I’m left with on this drive home. Well, I’m also left with my thoughts. My mind thinks about the distinctive warm glow of the streetlights as we drive past each fleeting steel structure. Like impulses these flashing lights pass through the interior of the car. The lights rhythmic passing of the car keeps me alert and pushes away any hope to doze of in the car.
My mother always thought I was quiet in the car. Always checking on me and exclaiming “You there bud? You’re as quiet as a church mouse”. Looking out a window can tell you a lot about the world around you and that was my way of discovering what a society looked like without my intervention. I guess that’s where my fixation of streetlights derived from. I spent the car ride trying to understand the lights as if they were more than a man-made structure. I felt as if the lights were placed in that exact place and time to guide me home. As if they want to say ‘you’ll be home in no time; entrust us.’ I did. I felt as if these lights could be a companion to me. When both life within and outside the car is frozen in a trance, the streetlights were the only friend I had.
As I grew older, my relationship with these man-made anomalies never faded. Streetlights evolved into a sense of security. The friend I found in light became a cornerstone in my life. The light never left; the light never lied. The streetlights could never be taken from me nor did the glow of these lights ever stop being warm.
As years pass, I would take my dog on walks at dusk. I did this as if I was showing 'man’s best friend', my best friend. As the streetlights woke up, I never felt fear. The powerful energy of these lights scared off the perturbed spirits of the night. The comforting feeling of the glow guided us home only to wait for me in my bedroom. But at this moment, I’m prompted to the thought of what happens in the absence of the light. What crime will run rampant? What stories won’t be told?
The older I get, the idée fixe of streetlights remains. I never learned phenomenology; I just understood its relation to my life. I was studying the experience of these steel giants. Much like Sartre and Jolliviet's approach to this philosophy, I stared at the lights till they elicited a sense of nausea. Light provided must have caused eyes neurosis.
Streetlights flicker but never go out. I have never seen anyone change a streetlight. There must be some greater energy protecting the large lamp. This intangible energy paralleled the drive of artists such as Michaelangelo or Jimi Hendrix, and protected artists such as Jim Morrison or Jean Michel Basquiat. This leads me to wonder.
Why do I find friendship in a streetlight? Why the hell do I care?
Analysis of Remix
When transforming this poem into a prose piece, there were facets that were varying in levels of difficulty. By making this into a prose piece, I had to add more of the classic story arch involving a setting and more tension. But by being a poem, I was not allowed to develop as much context for the character. In the prose piece, I was allowed this freedom. Since there is some truth in the story, adding the details, was not a difficult task. Both pieces still accomplish the concept of the wandering mind I strived to convey. A benefit of this style experience was the judgement of my word choice. I did not want to translate my poem word for work into the prose piece. That being said, there are some lines in the poem I felt could translate into a structured piece. I had to select them in the context of the settings and the plot. I found it challenging to establish my footing in the piece, but once I fell into the headspace of this rhetorical situation, the words seemed to flow. Being that this piece is somewhat truthful, the organization of the thoughts were difficult. Mixing an amalgamation of thoughts and experience into something that seems cohesive with a timeline was difficult. Ultimately this was a really rewarding rewrite.
Through out the piece I took a 1st person POV role in writing. I chose to do this to develop a sense of mediation of the reader. I wanted the reader to perceive that the protagonist was really affixed on the meanings of streetlights, even though the lights carry no meaning on a literal sense. I wanted the reader to get baited into this concept so that the shocking language at the end of the piece sort of grounds the readers preconceived notions of the protagonist spending his entire life fixated on streetlights to come to the realization it was just a thought experiment the reader was having on his own. By using these style choices, I intended the reader to then think about these said streetlights within their own life. What gives you the reader comfort, security, and guidance? It is not inanimate objects, but people, places, and experiences. Hopefully by the stylistic choices chosen and structure provides guided the reader in this direction.
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