Benson, Ethan: Not So Special : simplebooklet.com

A Reflection That Lasts a Lifetime I would like to start this reflection off by thanking those who have made my journey in writing possible. I would like to thank Kelly Connelly for showing me what it meant to become a writer, and how to start. I would like to thank my family, specifically my mother who has supported me in every adventure I have taken since she brought me to this planet. Lastly, I want to thank my professors and peers in Cowley’s writing program. This program has brought a tremendous amount of knowledge, ideas, and friends. I have enjoyed studying here at Cowley and I hope that many more get to experience the growth that I have in these last two years. My name is Ethan, and I am a native of Wichita Kansas. I have lived here my entire life and rarely have traveled outside of the state, or country. When I am not writing or working, I spend time playing shows in basements of houses, or big stages like The Cotilion here in Wichita. It started when I played guitar hero at the age of six. Not only was I breaking our guitars from trying to replicate the character's moves in the video game: It exposed me at a young age to a wide variety of music, and lyrics that influenced my childhood. I fell in love with the idea of music and writing. Later that year I was given a real acoustic guitar. I played that guitar like hell. I tried learning everything I could. When I turned fifteen I wanted to create music, rather than cover other bands’ songs. A friend with a drum kit invited me to jam one day and we came out bursting with creativity. I soon began to write lyrics for our horrible songs. Before I even knew it, I was writing. Poetry was a form of writing I despised. It wasn’t until I started studying here at Cowley that I realized how beautiful, and scary poetry could be. The songs I was writing lyrics for were becoming poetic the more time I spent studying here. I started to pick up writing influences from artists like Bob Dylan, and Syd Barret. The first work I have included in my portfolio is a poem that I hold dearly in my heart. It is dedicated to my old Friend Logan Graves who left the earth ten months ago. He was a talented artist and writer himself. He and I always pushed each other to do our best. I thank him for driving my creativity and wanted to give him a place on my portfolio. I included a few other poems that I have written into full-fledged songs. The poems were inspired by other authors, and my surroundings and influences. Since 2016 I have been active in Wichita’s DIY music scene. It has allowed me to hear so many stories from so many people. all of it cultivates into one big culture. I included some poems that were inspired by the stories and cultures derived from the scene. Non-Fiction stories are my favorite to write. I spent a lot of time reading non-fiction and my first full-length story was written in non-fiction. Staying in your comfort zone isn’t always a good thing. When I would play music and write songs I would always change my setting. I would lay upside down, or stand on top of a cinderblock in a low ceiling room. I did this because it was uncomfortable. I applied the same idea in writing. A story I included is titled “Dogs Play Checkers”. It was a story that became a brutal challenge to create. I traveled to some of the smelliest and saddest places I know of in Wichita and wrote the story. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for taking the time to read the works I have accomplished this semester at Cowley College. It means the world and is my pleasure to share these pieces with you.

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Table of Contents Creative Writing Projects .............................................................................................................................. An Abecedarius For Logan ........................................................................................................................ 1 Unknown Soldiers ................................................................................................................................. 2 MOVE…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….3 Dogs Play Checkers……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………4-5 Sound Wave………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..6 ScreenWriting Projects ................................................................................................................................... Godwins Last Chance…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….7-13 BackYard Wrestling ........................................................................................................................ 14-18 Have A Good Day Ma’am……………………………………………………………………………………………….……………..19-24 An Abecedarius for Logan An Abecedarius for Logan

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Bumming Bronson’s that you stole From your mom. Creating all sorts of havoc In the alley. Drinking free sodas and mastering combinations. Eating Italian sticks with too much sauce, And not enough cheese. Forgetting about customers who waited for way too Long. Getting free food, though it truly was never Free. Handling things weren’t as hard with you. From customers, Teens, and crooks. I could always handle the rushes, but you chose to step in. Jacking every ticket that went into my hand. Knowing every detail was a must for you. Laminating recipe cards and showing them to us Proudly. Making us watch you play rock band, without the sound. Nobody cared to read them or follow them. Obedience was never our strong suit. Preparing for the worst always was. Questioning everything from customers to friendships. Reminding me what I needed to look out for. Sometimes I wish those conversations were the other way around. Thinking back, how could you ever let it happen. Unthinkable, unimaginable. Vicious is the name I would give to a drug dealer. Want to forever wait for a moment to strike, to see, to talk, to understand Why. ‘Xaclty been five months since we got to see each other. You and I, sharing a Bronson, talking amongst each other. Zero seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, or months go by Without thinking of you. Logan pictured in the middle after we performed a show at SWELLHAUS in 2018.

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Unknown Soldiers. Our vOices aren’t silenced fOrever Our ability to write will live forever These writings make a forever impact Someone will hear them in wonder and ah Someone else will call it Devil Worship Thus, art speaks louder than words Though politics will never change Our voices are heard, but never listened This forever evolving country is Stuck on the old golden days of history Go ahead and write what you think is right Press forward and don't take no for answers It's not like it'll matter much anyways What a way to die. Pictured below is an album titled: “On The Front Line” This album has influenced me in so many artistic ways. This poem is one of the pieces that was inspired by The Casualties. A great band that made an even greater statement about the hardships of America during Afghanistan War in the Middle East.

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M.O.V.E The organizer's MOVE Founded by John Africa Peaceful as can be The police they weren’t diggin’ The way that they lived so true So they came with sticks to whack Guns toted upon their backs Move had put them on the track And the police were comin’ back Baby thrown In the ground A mother’s crying sound Dead children’s ghostly moan The steps of the unknown Unknown Police had over Ten Thousand rounds Not a single working rifle found Fired into a single building With no care for anything These folks would never see how Evil pigs can be Above is the cover of an album called “The Pig” By Peters1914. M.O.V.E. was a song featured in this album. I had a blast writing it. I hope this poem inspires you to seek out the story behind this organization and why they let it burn. Above is a photo of MOVE particpants protesting outside their Headquarters in Philadelphia. Founder, John Africa is pictured on the far left. Source: Vox.com/Philadelphia-bombing-1985-move

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Dogs Play Checkers. Leather jackets, army boots, and ski masks: Sitting in the back of our van awaiting my arrival, pondering every decision I have made up to the year 1967. The number of slugs outweighed the blanks. Michael murmured on about his wife until we got to Peter Marco. I had my doubts about him: Michael cracked one of the most secure safes in the world. I knew that this job would be easy. The planning took months: Our setups took everything out of us. Every ounce of sweat and tears was put towards this exact moment. Almost slipping out of my seat: The van comes to a halt. Goosebumps rise as I rip my receiver back and hear the click. I put on my mask and remind Michael to put on his. I watch Christian struggle with his gun. At this point, it was go time, and the only thing that was in our way was Christian’s knowledge of firearms. I figured if he couldn’t shoot we might have a better chance of making it out of here. The guy had a heavy finger. We walk out of the van without a single person in sight. Perfect timing just like I thought. The hotter days in Florida aren’t that bad as compared to the West coast. The winds blew harder, and much stronger. It was dead still near Peter Marco. All the tall skyscrapers: Buildings surrounding them create a giant mountain capable of stopping any windspeed to zero. As one of our guys started to head for the roof, it was my job to make sure everyone inside stayed calm. I come walking in to find three bystanders and only five people working. We have worked with plenty more before so this was no issue. With the cameras disabled it was time to get to work. I shot every clip I had into the ceiling. Christian grabbed as much jewelry as he could. Fists leaving trails of blood: Christian never wore gloves, only latex gloves to cover his prints. I got a few nice pieces as well, just to help Christian out and make the takeaway a bit bigger. By the time we were done Micheal was already waiving for us to get back in the van. Zero casualties: Enough to make us sleep well at night. Source: Checkers 1937 Film directed by H. Bruce Humberstone.

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1968 roles around and months pass by without a letter being sent to our house or any other confrontation that might lead us to believe we were in trouble. The buyer took a while to fly in. As soon as he did we became a multi-million dollar “company”. Quiet factory, lots of space, not a town for miles: Everything was perfect for making the deal. We had every single top dog from one of our rackets come out as backup and hide in certain areas. If anything were to go down, it wouldn’t happen without a fight on our end. More months pass and the remaining amounts of cash were stashed in various places. The supermarket’s trashcans next to Emma’s Honey booth on James Street. A bathroom in a nightclub called “The Palace”. We waited for each drop, making it look less suspicious than the last. Before we knew it we had hundreds of thousands of dollars in our facilities, being laundered off and going straight into our businesses pockets, then our own. 1971. The rackets are over, but the war wasn't. See, while the United States was already fighting a war, they decided to start ending another one in their own country. The war on drugs and organized crime. Everyone thought organized crime was a thing of the past if it wasn’t back then. It sure will be now. I came back from an amazing lunch, had nothing planned for the rest of the day but sitting on my ass and reading a book. I was welcomed by two detectives placing me under arrest before I could unlock my door. 1973 was the year I finally got to speak to a judge. I knew I was going to be found guilty, but on what crimes? That was in the air. What felt like an eternity turned into a blink of an eye. Thirteen years: My sentence took so long to come out of that judge's mouth. Felt like I already served a year by the time I was facing the jury. By 1975 I was well adjusted in my so-called “home” I joined a few clubs and started to compete for cigarettes and meal tickets with my profound talent for chess. I just think I am one of seven people who understand the rules. It's 1976 and I just got done eating lunch. I have to stop writing now before I miss my chess club meeting at 1:15. Bye-bye for now.

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Soundwave Soundwave /=/ n. 1. The echo bouncing off walls in Baltimore. Horns reaching your apartment in the city that never sleeps. The chicken that invades your rest in the midwest. The clink that warms your heart and fills your stomach. Vibrating the walls and ground beneath the feet of hundreds, thousands, or hundreds of thousands. 2. The projections from the heart, brain, and lips. The fight for change. The will to sustain the status quo. The reason to fight for every last inch. A way to surrender. An ability to change and inspire others. Creates movement and happiness upon hundreds. A way of therapy for many. A means to pass the time and cure boredom. A way to fuel work and devotion. A fuel that drives each city to expand. A fuel that runs our country. A fuel that runs our planet. Pictured above is a crowd of people awaiting a performance by Peters1914. The photo has been taken at the all-ages DIY venue, The LumberYard in Mulvane, Kansas.

Benson, Ethan: Not So Special

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