I wrote a thing then turned it into a poem by pressing "enter" a bunch of times
It's called "Truman Show Response 1"
I like to stare
off into the distance.
Into far off horizons
so real that they
look like oil paintings.
When I'm looking at
those certain gleaming horizons,
they never change much.
Always the same picture
They are always perfect,
but I do not
Want to see them
for the rest of
my life. There are
other landscapes in places
that are far away
and those distant horizons
will lose their beauty
in the years that
I must stay here.
I don't really like it but, it's something to look at.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
District Assesment
Many people have died for the sake of one. An uncountable amount of people gave their lives to a king. Millions have been slain in the name of a god that they didn’t believe in. Jane Yolen’s “The hundredth dove” is a story that shows how placing all of our trust into one god or government to fill a void in our lives can have terrible consequences such as disappointment or the death of others.
Some call their blind loyalty faith or patriotism. The main character in the story, Hugh, devoted his life to a monarchy, for reasons that were clear only him, blindly the kings every word. Not only did he give up his life as a master Fowler because of his undying loyalty but, he knowingly killed his kings fiance.
The Hundredth Dove represents a part of us difficult to accept, even to those as loyal as Hugh was. Our nature, where we choose to put out trust, matters more than we believe it does. At times it has shaped history. Other times it has changed lives.
Some call their blind loyalty faith or patriotism. The main character in the story, Hugh, devoted his life to a monarchy, for reasons that were clear only him, blindly the kings every word. Not only did he give up his life as a master Fowler because of his undying loyalty but, he knowingly killed his kings fiance.
The Hundredth Dove represents a part of us difficult to accept, even to those as loyal as Hugh was. Our nature, where we choose to put out trust, matters more than we believe it does. At times it has shaped history. Other times it has changed lives.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Bukowski
this is the poem that my poem is based on
"A Poem for my 43rd Birthday"
To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a light bulb
and a potbelly,
gray haired,
and glad to have
the room.
and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.
----------
My imitation poem
The wind is freezing
my face and the sheer
atmosphere of the
bars and neon lights
advertising beer
and a dark room for
you to drink it in
is even colder.
My shoes fill up with snow
My coat is torn and
I want to go back
to my cold bed
and my cold apartment
and be alone there
instead
"A Poem for my 43rd Birthday"
To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a light bulb
and a potbelly,
gray haired,
and glad to have
the room.
and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.
----------
My imitation poem
The wind is freezing
my face and the sheer
atmosphere of the
bars and neon lights
advertising beer
and a dark room for
you to drink it in
is even colder.
My shoes fill up with snow
My coat is torn and
I want to go back
to my cold bed
and my cold apartment
and be alone there
instead
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Life of Pi Essay
Yann Martel’s novel Life of Pi is, among other things, strongly anti-agnostic. While the book offers atheists a small amount of leeway, it condemns agnostics, deciding them to be without imagination and artistry. Pi, being of numerous faiths is, of course, a wonderful storyteller and a dedicated artist which somehow proves that agnostics aren’t either of these things.
Agnosticism is different depending on whom you ask. Some say it is a belief in God, but a statement that we cannot know the nature of God. Some people omit first half of the former definition, saying that God may or may not exist. Or, to many, it's a claim that we can never truly know if a God exists. Either way.
During the beginning of the book, Pi describes agnostics as doubtful and ignorant saying that “To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation”. He feels that agnostics are weak and unable to move forward in life however, for many agnostics, it is not about doubt and not knowing. It is about being honest that it is impossible to claim to know.
Pi is designed to be an open-minded character, not discriminating against any religion. The authors voice does shine through as it should in any book but it seems as though, Pi hardly recognizes agnosticism as a religion at all. While Pi does compare it to other religions it is almost shown to be lack of religion. What Martel fails to see is that agnosticism is not lack of wisdom, but the beginning of it.
Agnosticism is different depending on whom you ask. Some say it is a belief in God, but a statement that we cannot know the nature of God. Some people omit first half of the former definition, saying that God may or may not exist. Or, to many, it's a claim that we can never truly know if a God exists. Either way.
During the beginning of the book, Pi describes agnostics as doubtful and ignorant saying that “To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation”. He feels that agnostics are weak and unable to move forward in life however, for many agnostics, it is not about doubt and not knowing. It is about being honest that it is impossible to claim to know.
Pi is designed to be an open-minded character, not discriminating against any religion. The authors voice does shine through as it should in any book but it seems as though, Pi hardly recognizes agnosticism as a religion at all. While Pi does compare it to other religions it is almost shown to be lack of religion. What Martel fails to see is that agnosticism is not lack of wisdom, but the beginning of it.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Vonnegut story
One day, Hank couldn't breath. One day he woke of and was so sick of the world that he nearly suffocated. When he woke up he had trouble breathing and by the time he got to his art gallery, only a few blocks from his house, air would barely enter his lungs. he stumbled into his office looking for his phone and he, to his surprise, breathed. He wasn't breathing air. he can't anymore. Paint fumes are what saved his life.
Hank lives in a contained space, filled with various chemicals, paint fumes among them. things from his life that he has learned to adapt to. He does nothing but paint. It is almost as vital to him as eating and sleeping are to us but, he doesn’t care about that, he cares about art and when more paints are coming to him and when canvas is coming to him.
I am his caretaker. He can’t see me. To him I could be anyone -- any number of people. I get him his meals and serve it to him through a slot in the door, wearing a mask to make sure that the people in the real world don’t die.
Hank lives in a contained space, filled with various chemicals, paint fumes among them. things from his life that he has learned to adapt to. He does nothing but paint. It is almost as vital to him as eating and sleeping are to us but, he doesn’t care about that, he cares about art and when more paints are coming to him and when canvas is coming to him.
I am his caretaker. He can’t see me. To him I could be anyone -- any number of people. I get him his meals and serve it to him through a slot in the door, wearing a mask to make sure that the people in the real world don’t die.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Desert of cloth
A.N. what should I do at the end of the story? How should it continue
I walked over the dunes of shredded fabric, ripped apart by fierce winds and the ragged shoes of those who have also walked through the desert. I walked for miles. There were no signs of life. The only landmarks I came across was the occasional dead tree. If anyone else had passed through here, there was no way to tell. As I moved on, the hills became taller, the valleys became deeper and I felt as though the desert would never end. I reached the top of each mountainous hill, looked out across the desert. And kept walking
(something happens)
The city was strangely alive, though every aspect of the world it inhabited was dead. It's people wrapped in coarse, worn cloth to protect them from the harsh winds so that all you could see was their eyes, their hands, their feet. I felt strange, wearing only a faded overcoat and a pair of torn pants though, I did not draw their attention. I entered the flow of cloth dwellers and made my way through the crowded streets until I saw a structure that looked like it might have something to eat, something to drink. The sign hanging over the doorway was was written what didn’t look like writing at all but instead deep interlocking gashes in the wood that showed no comprehensible pattern or reason. I was in luck. The building I stumbled into was indeed a bar; however, I had no idea if I could even purchase any of the drinks here let alone force them down my throat. The bar was filled with patrons, . That should usually have been a sign that the food is alright but the constant burning sensation in my nostrils told me otherwise. Regardless, I walked up to the bar and, in a desperate effort to buy myself a drink, put all the money I had in front of what I assumed was the bartender. I only had a few dollars and I was certain that he had never seen the currency I laid in front of him but he went on and said a few words that sounded enough like a list of drinks. I rolled each possible beverage around in my head for a while and eliminated ones that sounded too foreign. I finally made my decision and let out a few syllables that sounded enough like drink I was ordering. To my surprise, the bartender turned around and filled a glass with water. The bartender then opened a cabinet to his right and then proceeded to add elements from a variety of different bottles and jars until the result was a liquid that looked like the bartender has filled a glass with mud from the bottom of a lake. My thirst got the best of me and I chose to stay. I watched as he slid the glass in front of me and watched me. I raised the drink to my lips and let the liquid flow into my mouth. Swallowing it was comparable only to having a large number of snakes crawl down my throat at once. My mouth went numb and soon that numbness spread across my face, down my throat, into my eyes.
I walked over the dunes of shredded fabric, ripped apart by fierce winds and the ragged shoes of those who have also walked through the desert. I walked for miles. There were no signs of life. The only landmarks I came across was the occasional dead tree. If anyone else had passed through here, there was no way to tell. As I moved on, the hills became taller, the valleys became deeper and I felt as though the desert would never end. I reached the top of each mountainous hill, looked out across the desert. And kept walking
(something happens)
The city was strangely alive, though every aspect of the world it inhabited was dead. It's people wrapped in coarse, worn cloth to protect them from the harsh winds so that all you could see was their eyes, their hands, their feet. I felt strange, wearing only a faded overcoat and a pair of torn pants though, I did not draw their attention. I entered the flow of cloth dwellers and made my way through the crowded streets until I saw a structure that looked like it might have something to eat, something to drink. The sign hanging over the doorway was was written what didn’t look like writing at all but instead deep interlocking gashes in the wood that showed no comprehensible pattern or reason. I was in luck. The building I stumbled into was indeed a bar; however, I had no idea if I could even purchase any of the drinks here let alone force them down my throat. The bar was filled with patrons, . That should usually have been a sign that the food is alright but the constant burning sensation in my nostrils told me otherwise. Regardless, I walked up to the bar and, in a desperate effort to buy myself a drink, put all the money I had in front of what I assumed was the bartender. I only had a few dollars and I was certain that he had never seen the currency I laid in front of him but he went on and said a few words that sounded enough like a list of drinks. I rolled each possible beverage around in my head for a while and eliminated ones that sounded too foreign. I finally made my decision and let out a few syllables that sounded enough like drink I was ordering. To my surprise, the bartender turned around and filled a glass with water. The bartender then opened a cabinet to his right and then proceeded to add elements from a variety of different bottles and jars until the result was a liquid that looked like the bartender has filled a glass with mud from the bottom of a lake. My thirst got the best of me and I chose to stay. I watched as he slid the glass in front of me and watched me. I raised the drink to my lips and let the liquid flow into my mouth. Swallowing it was comparable only to having a large number of snakes crawl down my throat at once. My mouth went numb and soon that numbness spread across my face, down my throat, into my eyes.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Brave New World
Jared Abbott
Possibly
In the book Brave New World there is no God. There’s no religion, art, no music, no spiritual pilgrimages. “God is incompatible with machines,” we’re told. Eliminate suffering, and you don’t need God to give you comfort. In Brave New World, all of these things are sacrificed for happiness.
The protagonist in Brave New World likes a girl named Lenina but upon speaking to her, he finds that she is as shallow and empty headed as the next person. This is because the protagonist is one of the few people who has an individual Personality. Having these unique thoughts is one of the few things that separates human beings from machines. but that’s just the way Brave new world works. one big machine with everybody playing their part.
Aldous Huxley implies that by abolishing mental pain, people in brave new world have gotten rid of the most profound and sublime experiences in life. Instead of having the heavy burden of critical thinking and making choices, citizens choose the easy way out by taking government issued drugs like Soma that create a false sense of happiness.
Logically, Brave New World is far better than our own but, there is no real emotion. All thoughts and conversations and books are superficial. Other books on dystopian societies think that, to make it’s people thoughtless robots it would ban books. Aldous Huxley believed that there would never be an need to ban books. People just wouldn’t care enough to read them.
Possibly
In the book Brave New World there is no God. There’s no religion, art, no music, no spiritual pilgrimages. “God is incompatible with machines,” we’re told. Eliminate suffering, and you don’t need God to give you comfort. In Brave New World, all of these things are sacrificed for happiness.
The protagonist in Brave New World likes a girl named Lenina but upon speaking to her, he finds that she is as shallow and empty headed as the next person. This is because the protagonist is one of the few people who has an individual Personality. Having these unique thoughts is one of the few things that separates human beings from machines. but that’s just the way Brave new world works. one big machine with everybody playing their part.
Aldous Huxley implies that by abolishing mental pain, people in brave new world have gotten rid of the most profound and sublime experiences in life. Instead of having the heavy burden of critical thinking and making choices, citizens choose the easy way out by taking government issued drugs like Soma that create a false sense of happiness.
Logically, Brave New World is far better than our own but, there is no real emotion. All thoughts and conversations and books are superficial. Other books on dystopian societies think that, to make it’s people thoughtless robots it would ban books. Aldous Huxley believed that there would never be an need to ban books. People just wouldn’t care enough to read them.
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