Friday, November 13, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
This is my hate anthem. Hear my roar.
It's about obsessing over the definition of beauty.
It's about worshiping what we can never be. Hollywood.
It's about brand names, spending money to feel validated.
It's about what you have, not the company you keep.
It's about being a hypocrite, wanting to stay ignorant, to hide from accountability.
It's about the white picket fence, the 2.3 children, the tire swing in the backyard.
It's called the American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe it.
It's about losing who you are to be someone else.
It's about not knowing who you are.
It's about needing others to feign self confidence.
It's about money.
It's about worshiping what we can never be. Hollywood.
It's about brand names, spending money to feel validated.
It's about what you have, not the company you keep.
It's about being a hypocrite, wanting to stay ignorant, to hide from accountability.
It's about the white picket fence, the 2.3 children, the tire swing in the backyard.
It's called the American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe it.
It's about losing who you are to be someone else.
It's about not knowing who you are.
It's about needing others to feign self confidence.
It's about money.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
a day late and a dollar shirt. nanowrimo has begun. things to do in support.
senior year/ my future ahead of me and a book to try and write in a month. crap. well here I am, trying ot write a book and get my art done. if i do this, i am my own here. devoid of proper grammer and capitialization.
and now, the story begins.
It's been six years now.
I have a aqua sweater. it looks good against the wood paneling in my basement. I'd rather sit against the wall than the chair.
The world has ended in a sense, at least the old world. The new community has formed. All of us, the anarchists and the dreaemrs, we have united. We formed a new place, trying to get rid of the things in us that destroyed the world.
we are the surviiors.
we are the ones destined to make the world what it was b3efgore we came
I am in the aritsts pueblo.
the mechanics base is 6 miles away.
We are all doing what we do best, our talent. and we fix the world in the process.
I do art, like I said. and I'm a medic, and a healer.
It's a lot to do.
I wouldn't change it for anything.
So you want to know how we operate, what we do. Well, it goes something like this.
there is no religion, you can marry who you want, and we all all communist. I know it's a lot to wrap your head around. Sorry. Even i have a hard time here and there. So, we all live together. and we go around with these random mystical powers that people have. you know what, let me stop myself. this is too confusing for even me right now. i had a late night.
oh, pardon me, i forgot to introduce myself. i'm Mia. The art freak. I live in a huge house with 13 other people.
It;s pretty amazing. Life is'nt perfect here. This morning I managed to dump a bag of my favorite trail mix all over the floor. Karma sucks. People were cool about it though. If I were a kid, I would have gotten called a klutz or something.
I had a weird family. My grandmother would ram her ring finger in the base of my spine to get me to stand up straight.
But anyways, that was the past I can;t change. It did leave me seclusive and bitter. The past effects us in ways we might not realize. I try to be self aware. Well, I;m here in the artists house, with the yoga and tranquility and hippies and musicians. We have a lot of pets. Lizards and dogs and such. I know I sound like I'm a pit head. i'm not. I'm just okay with life right now. People don;t hurt me here and it's something I'm not used to yet.
I sound so emo right now. I guess it;s me healing. I hope its me healing. it;s gotta be the worst thing in toe world to be nowhere, to just simply exist. yeck.
Well, here I am, Mia the girl who;s not as confident as she seems. Not that doesn;t men I;m a fake. i don;t think itdoes. i think it just makes me human.
so there;s this guy i like. i don;t know if he even sees me. i'm so screwed up from past relationships i don;t know how to get his attention. His name is Josh, he lives in the mechanics base. he wakes up and thorws clothes on. I admire that, I wish I could be that carefree. Girls care a lot about how they look so boys will notice them, but boys don;t seem to care at all about how they look sometimes. So why do the girls try so hard?
I don't know where I'm getting at with all this. I just think up random things. DId you ever notice that from July to November it spell out Jason? Or did you ever stop and wonder where homeless people get the cardboard and sharpies for their signs. and if they are outside so much, how come the signs stay in so good of condition.
I complain too much to. Complain to Josh. Everytime I see people i like I complian. I don;t get it. Saw him earlier, walking around, enjoying the air, I like that about him. He doesn't survive, he lives.
I think he's smart. He doesn't. he thinks I'm smart, I don't think i am.
Sometimes I;m lonely after the day ends. When I'm in my room listening to people laughing downstairs.They wouldn;t care if I joined them but something is hold me back.
and now, the story begins.
It's been six years now.
I have a aqua sweater. it looks good against the wood paneling in my basement. I'd rather sit against the wall than the chair.
The world has ended in a sense, at least the old world. The new community has formed. All of us, the anarchists and the dreaemrs, we have united. We formed a new place, trying to get rid of the things in us that destroyed the world.
we are the surviiors.
we are the ones destined to make the world what it was b3efgore we came
I am in the aritsts pueblo.
the mechanics base is 6 miles away.
We are all doing what we do best, our talent. and we fix the world in the process.
I do art, like I said. and I'm a medic, and a healer.
It's a lot to do.
I wouldn't change it for anything.
So you want to know how we operate, what we do. Well, it goes something like this.
there is no religion, you can marry who you want, and we all all communist. I know it's a lot to wrap your head around. Sorry. Even i have a hard time here and there. So, we all live together. and we go around with these random mystical powers that people have. you know what, let me stop myself. this is too confusing for even me right now. i had a late night.
oh, pardon me, i forgot to introduce myself. i'm Mia. The art freak. I live in a huge house with 13 other people.
It;s pretty amazing. Life is'nt perfect here. This morning I managed to dump a bag of my favorite trail mix all over the floor. Karma sucks. People were cool about it though. If I were a kid, I would have gotten called a klutz or something.
I had a weird family. My grandmother would ram her ring finger in the base of my spine to get me to stand up straight.
But anyways, that was the past I can;t change. It did leave me seclusive and bitter. The past effects us in ways we might not realize. I try to be self aware. Well, I;m here in the artists house, with the yoga and tranquility and hippies and musicians. We have a lot of pets. Lizards and dogs and such. I know I sound like I'm a pit head. i'm not. I'm just okay with life right now. People don;t hurt me here and it's something I'm not used to yet.
I sound so emo right now. I guess it;s me healing. I hope its me healing. it;s gotta be the worst thing in toe world to be nowhere, to just simply exist. yeck.
Well, here I am, Mia the girl who;s not as confident as she seems. Not that doesn;t men I;m a fake. i don;t think itdoes. i think it just makes me human.
so there;s this guy i like. i don;t know if he even sees me. i'm so screwed up from past relationships i don;t know how to get his attention. His name is Josh, he lives in the mechanics base. he wakes up and thorws clothes on. I admire that, I wish I could be that carefree. Girls care a lot about how they look so boys will notice them, but boys don;t seem to care at all about how they look sometimes. So why do the girls try so hard?
I don't know where I'm getting at with all this. I just think up random things. DId you ever notice that from July to November it spell out Jason? Or did you ever stop and wonder where homeless people get the cardboard and sharpies for their signs. and if they are outside so much, how come the signs stay in so good of condition.
I complain too much to. Complain to Josh. Everytime I see people i like I complian. I don;t get it. Saw him earlier, walking around, enjoying the air, I like that about him. He doesn't survive, he lives.
I think he's smart. He doesn't. he thinks I'm smart, I don't think i am.
Sometimes I;m lonely after the day ends. When I'm in my room listening to people laughing downstairs.They wouldn;t care if I joined them but something is hold me back.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
The path whence she came grew thick with vines, as she watched, eyes cloaked with anguish. The woods caved towards her as fear gripped her by the shirt and held her there. Alone, though it midday, was terrifying.
She walked until her feet were numb. She was still lost, lost in the forest forbidden to her as a child. Her newly found adulthood left her void of precaution. Who could tell her not to go now?
She sank down onto the weeds and stared at the pond before her. It was odd, she thought to stumble upon a pond in the midst of a forest. The sky told her dusk was lurking on the horizon. She must find her way out soon, for the thought of what lurked after dark was far too terrifying to entertain.
Running was the natural response. If there is a noise, no matter how small, run. It was a survival skill that still clung to humanity, despite their civilized attempts to remove natural instinct.
She had been at the pond for far too long when noises in her tracks revealed themselves. She sat, frigid, hoping they were an aspect of an ever wild imagination. But no, the noises continued, getting louder by the second. She stood, gazing hesitantly behind her, louder still the noises became. Feet barely touching the ground, she was off. Cracking branches as she went and making far to much noise for wanting to remain unnoticed.
She walked until her feet were numb. She was still lost, lost in the forest forbidden to her as a child. Her newly found adulthood left her void of precaution. Who could tell her not to go now?
She sank down onto the weeds and stared at the pond before her. It was odd, she thought to stumble upon a pond in the midst of a forest. The sky told her dusk was lurking on the horizon. She must find her way out soon, for the thought of what lurked after dark was far too terrifying to entertain.
Running was the natural response. If there is a noise, no matter how small, run. It was a survival skill that still clung to humanity, despite their civilized attempts to remove natural instinct.
She had been at the pond for far too long when noises in her tracks revealed themselves. She sat, frigid, hoping they were an aspect of an ever wild imagination. But no, the noises continued, getting louder by the second. She stood, gazing hesitantly behind her, louder still the noises became. Feet barely touching the ground, she was off. Cracking branches as she went and making far to much noise for wanting to remain unnoticed.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
add more cicero.
This story is about virtue because each character is living up to the best of their ability. This is nature perfected in a certain form. Cicero describes virtue as “nature developed to its highest point.” Mr. Shiftlet describes himself as having a “moral intelligence.” This moral intelligence, his virtue, is tested throughout the passage. Several decisions he either faces or makes; it all begins when he notices the car. “You ladies drive?” After he dumps Lucynell, his conscience is affected. His moral intelligence becomes moral responsibility when he decides to pick up a hitchhiker. “People with cars have a responsibility”. The sequence of his life, his “moral strength, manliness, valor” are all tested or called upon. His life coincides with Cicero’s description of virtue.
He also goes with the flow of things, these are examples of the stoic philosophy put into practice. With Lucynell, the irony is she is doing all she can but doesn’t have any control of it. All three characters in the story are living simple lives, not striving for materialistic life or wealth. They see that they have their basic needs met and act in accordance to reason. All of this adds up to the virtue presented in the natural laws.
He also goes with the flow of things, these are examples of the stoic philosophy put into practice. With Lucynell, the irony is she is doing all she can but doesn’t have any control of it. All three characters in the story are living simple lives, not striving for materialistic life or wealth. They see that they have their basic needs met and act in accordance to reason. All of this adds up to the virtue presented in the natural laws.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
His hair, the texture in her fingers, coarse black unruly locks. She didn't know what they would say, what the next step would be. But as for now, she was content watching him sleep.
The click alerted her that the hour had changed. Sunday morning was melting by. Slowly, Natalie rose out of bed, careful not to disturb him. The sheet fell lower, revealing more of his toned figure. She smiled to herself, hoping luck would find its way to her.
Her mother wouldn't approve of this, but the two of them never did get along.
The smell of a cooking omlett was enough to rouse him from sleep. He streched, yawned and gazed at her room. It was a soft blue, serene. Slipping his boxers back on, he then ventured towards her kitchen.
They kissed hello. He slumped into a chair, still groggy.
"Hi."
"Hey."
"So what now? Were do we go from here Paul?"
"I'm not sure. I really..."
She kissed him again, hoping to persuade him. It was quiet for awhile, the birds were trying to ease the tension, trying to get the two to make their own sounds.
"Good omlette."
"Thanks. I love to cook...." Her voice trailed off. Never before had she been so apprehensive. She wanted answers and conversation, by from the look of his face, neither was bound to happen soon.
What could he say to her? She was beautiful but he was a disaster. Should they try it again? Damn it! Say something!
The click alerted her that the hour had changed. Sunday morning was melting by. Slowly, Natalie rose out of bed, careful not to disturb him. The sheet fell lower, revealing more of his toned figure. She smiled to herself, hoping luck would find its way to her.
Her mother wouldn't approve of this, but the two of them never did get along.
The smell of a cooking omlett was enough to rouse him from sleep. He streched, yawned and gazed at her room. It was a soft blue, serene. Slipping his boxers back on, he then ventured towards her kitchen.
They kissed hello. He slumped into a chair, still groggy.
"Hi."
"Hey."
"So what now? Were do we go from here Paul?"
"I'm not sure. I really..."
She kissed him again, hoping to persuade him. It was quiet for awhile, the birds were trying to ease the tension, trying to get the two to make their own sounds.
"Good omlette."
"Thanks. I love to cook...." Her voice trailed off. Never before had she been so apprehensive. She wanted answers and conversation, by from the look of his face, neither was bound to happen soon.
What could he say to her? She was beautiful but he was a disaster. Should they try it again? Damn it! Say something!
Monday, September 21, 2009
Using Book 11 as evidence, what is the poem's definition of justice?
The poem’s definition of justice is based upon divinity. When a person is punished, it is not the wrong they committed that is weighted so much as to what extent they tried to act like a god. Tityos is lain in a field, having vultures tear at his innards; it is not the committed act of rape, it is his stab at divinity, having raped the mistress of Zeus (590). Odysseus also observes Tantalos as he relives the joke he tried to play on the Gods; now he is to spend eternity being taunted with ripened fruit and fresh water (605), unattainable perfection supplied by the divine. The gods mock him through punishment. The experience Odysseus has in Hades along with his own life concurs. He lives in a realm monopolized by the gods. They are both power hungry and demand submission. A staggering hierarchy exists in the realm of humans. No aspirations of anything better are tolerated by the gods.
The poem’s definition of justice is based upon divinity. When a person is punished, it is not the wrong they committed that is weighted so much as to what extent they tried to act like a god. Tityos is lain in a field, having vultures tear at his innards; it is not the committed act of rape, it is his stab at divinity, having raped the mistress of Zeus (590). Odysseus also observes Tantalos as he relives the joke he tried to play on the Gods; now he is to spend eternity being taunted with ripened fruit and fresh water (605), unattainable perfection supplied by the divine. The gods mock him through punishment. The experience Odysseus has in Hades along with his own life concurs. He lives in a realm monopolized by the gods. They are both power hungry and demand submission. A staggering hierarchy exists in the realm of humans. No aspirations of anything better are tolerated by the gods.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
“Into his mind came a recollection of flies struggling away from the flypaper till their little legs were torn off. . . the important thing was he suddenly realized the futility of resistance.”
“The Trail” is a case testing the strength of a man, Joseph K. At first he denies the severity of the accusations, brushing them off as insignificant. Soon he realizes that the case will not disappear, despite his dissmissive attitude. As the book progress, one theme remains in plain sight, the path to enlightenment. One passage in particular stands out “ Into his mind came a recollection of flies struggling away from the flypaper till their little legs were torn off. . . the important thing was he suddenly realized the futility of resistance.” This is the full transistion, K. suddenly realizing that he cannot defeat the court, his accusations, or control his future.
“The Trail” is a case testing the strength of a man, Joseph K. At first he denies the severity of the accusations, brushing them off as insignificant. Soon he realizes that the case will not disappear, despite his dissmissive attitude. As the book progress, one theme remains in plain sight, the path to enlightenment. One passage in particular stands out “ Into his mind came a recollection of flies struggling away from the flypaper till their little legs were torn off. . . the important thing was he suddenly realized the futility of resistance.” This is the full transistion, K. suddenly realizing that he cannot defeat the court, his accusations, or control his future.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Natalie saw Paul again. It was at the small family-owned restaurant. The owner, Mrs.White, has been a friend of Natalie's since she moved here. Mrs.White was widowed, her son lived with her because she was far too strong minded to enter assisted living. Plus he got free room and board.
Paul was at a corner table, making use of the free wifi. Natalie couldn't sleep at night, she had constant thoughts of Paul. She wanted to know why here was here, and more importantly, she wanted him back. They broke up and she knew the risks of trying anything else again. Still, she was bored and did indeed long for companionship, despite what she told her mother.
Paul still didn't know what he wanted. He still wasn't happy, but he wasn't depressed either. He was simply, numb. A woman was watching him. She was the same woman from the cafe. He still couldn't remember her.
Paul was at a corner table, making use of the free wifi. Natalie couldn't sleep at night, she had constant thoughts of Paul. She wanted to know why here was here, and more importantly, she wanted him back. They broke up and she knew the risks of trying anything else again. Still, she was bored and did indeed long for companionship, despite what she told her mother.
Paul still didn't know what he wanted. He still wasn't happy, but he wasn't depressed either. He was simply, numb. A woman was watching him. She was the same woman from the cafe. He still couldn't remember her.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
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