The Lonely Sailor

Gasping for breath I flail, my sailboat has been flipped by the raging storm outside, in which I am encompassed right now. Trying to make sense of it all, I fight the torrent rushing at me. I have no clue from where the water is coming or what way I am swimming. I'm not even swimming, I'm just moving my arms in a feeble attempt to resist nature.

Nature, in all of its majesty and peacefulness, is more violent than any war-torn country. It can make a glorious, mile-long and seemingly impregnable steel ship bend in half and become devoured by the unslakable ocean, only to be rediscovered later covered in plants, and half-buried in sand. It can turn a thriving city into a serene lake, filled with disease and pain.

Now here I am, resisting futilely, trying to think of a way to escape. Shards of wood are flying past, along with metal parts of the former stairs to the upper deck. My sanctuary is quickly becoming my demise. I am stuck in a room, and it's pitch black, except for a sliver of light at the top, or is it the bottom, or side, of this encasement. After I reach the hole, I firmly shake the hatch and it slides open lethargically.

I hear the frightening creak of my boat crumbling up like a piece of paper destined for the rubbish. The creaking reminds me of the melancholy, slow utterances of whales I hear on informational t.v. shows. Maybe it is a whale, but I am not worried about that right now. My lungs are burning, and my brain is yearning for precious oxygen, the pangs grow more unbearable each second.

I swim with all my strength up, up, up, even though I have no idea which way I am going. Give me air!, give me life!, my body screams at me. It cant be too far away, I know it. I reach for air, as if air was palpable and I could grab it, but to no avail. There is only water and I do not have gills. The water pushed more on my ears, and I felt it, which told me that I was going the wrong way. Too late to turn back, I'm much too far to make it back up. I accept the fact of my impending death. BREATHE!!!
My brain tells my body, for it can't take it anymore, it's dry.

I inhale the life-giving water and salt, but this is not air, and my brain is not fed. I start to think of more peaceful things. My body has already given up, and I lay on a bed of grass, surrounded by plants and melodically chirping birds. Slowly the coldness of the water drifts away and I am warm, and calm, relaxed. Finally I forget about what has happened and it's just me, completely relaxed, and peaceful with myself, and I drift away, succumbing to the storm.

I Jumped

The world was being destroyed. Humanity was destroying itself, destroying the world. So I jumped, and just kept going, straight up, looking back to see the mushrooms sprouting out of the earth. Ironic, death is given such an unexpected face, a mushroom, poisonous yet peaceful. I guess when the mushrooms disappear there will be peace, only after the poisonous clouds wipe out remaining life.

So it was just me, in space, flying away, abandoning hope, while hoping. Hoping that I would reach another place, another chance. In my travels, I passed a probe, with a flag of the former United States painted on it. It just continued in a straight line, without a purpose. It probably would have brought valuable information hinting at hope of life on another planet, but now it travels in vain, one of the few remnants of civilization. Maybe the probe was a preemptive attempt to establish life somewhere else, and they knew that they couldn't stay on that planet much longer.

There were comets off in the distance, emanating beauty in a tail of elegance, as their icy body melted off gradually from the heat of the nearby stars. Eventually they too will meet the same fate as my former home, melting down to nothing, and being forgotten. But at that time, it dazzled anything that was blessed with its presence, even though I was the only one who could see them. I had no one to tell this to, no one to share this vision with, so I could only awe myself with it.

The giant belt of rocks I passed consisted of millions of giant boulders, the size of buildings, crashing into each other with force I had yet to witness. Every collision pulverized the participating rocks, and it seemed if let to go on forever, that they would eventually turn themselves into dust, and lose their quality of being the obstacle course of our mini-universe.

Up higher, I could see all the planets in our solar system, looking so insignificant. I was headed toward a larger light, more hopeful looking then others. As the days passed, it appeared larger and larger. I didn't even have days anymore. When you get far enough away from the blanket of the sun, it becomes out of reach, and time becomes your own.

Even higher, above the sky of our system, I reminisced about the days when I lived on what then was a not even visible speck in the vast expanse of my field of vision. I thought about my days as a teacher. I taught my students history of our civilization on the grounds that history repeats itself. Now I realize that that statement is only partially true. History does repeat itself, but each time it repeats, it repeats itself ten times more intensely.

The former generations were limited by the technology that they had, they could wreak havoc on themselves, but there was only so much you can do with clubs and sharpened bone. As projectiles were discovered, killing was much easier, and with each advance in technology, ease of killing advanced. Then one day we harnessed the power that until that point in time, only god, or whatever made everything, had been able to harness. We could split an atom, the quintessential unit of matter. We could split existence. Before long, the world's inhabitants had the power to make the world uninhabitable with a couple depressions of buttons. So, unavoidably, history repeated itself, except this time, when we tried to destroy each other, we were capable of it and succeeded.

As I got closer to my destination, the light in the center enticed me and everything around it into its grasp. Closer, closer, and my hope was suddenly shattered by a sudden realization. This hole was attracting everything inside of it, but nothing was coming out. I was already at the point of no return, but still I tried to swim against the judgement whirlpool's current desperately. Like a bug to a zapper, there was nothing I could do to fight it. Faster, I approached it, faster, with every unit of time.

Doom was inevitable. I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of this colossal engine of ending. It looked so serene, and there was no noise coming from it. But I knew what it really was, the most violent device in the universe. My body began to stretch, and I could see everything else being swallowed into this garbage disposal to nowhere. I just closed my eyes again and waited for it to end. Eventually there was nothing.

Maybe the nature of the universe is inevitable ending. Things are created to be destroyed, and life is a catalyst. I question whether any one thing can coexist with another forever. From a super giant celestial whirlpool eating itself and everything around it, to humanity collapsing in on itself, it seems as though it can't. I don't think I ever had a chance to begin with, or if everything is just too competitive.

Just as something as minute as a virus, after being almost completely eliminated, can build resistance and reestablish itself, maybe the largest entity that I know of, the universe, will reach the same fate as everything in its domain, and eventually be sanded away by itself, and reestablish itself. If it does, then will history repeat itself and come to a violent end again? Or will the new universe have a more peaceful existence? Perhaps somewhere out there in space, there is a universe that lacks violence, and that began peacefully, unlike with the bang of our current universe. On that universe, history wouldn't repeat itself, it would just continue.

Im Red/Green Colorblind

So I was at the eye doctor the other day, and I seemed to pass everything, including the barrage of separate lenses and letters, until the eye doctor showed be some big circles comprised of little circles of different colors. Then she asked if I saw a number in each of them, and I told her a number for each one, but on a few I struggled to see some. I forgot to study the night before because I thought I knew all the stuff, but I failed the color test! So after I was transported into the next room, probably for further interrogation regarding my color faux-pas, a different, more official looking doctor accompanied by a sidekick intern walked in.

Then she broke the news. "You're mildly red/green colorblind"

"Oh..." I replied

"It's no big deal its not like it changes a lot but you might not be able to be a fighter-pilot when you grow up."

I was devastated. All my life all I could think about was being a fighter pilot, flying around, doing flips in midair, taking out other fighter pilots. When I was 3 I got my first model airplane to play with and I was in love with planes ever since. I even tried flying one off the roof of my 2 story house when I was 8, and it worked.

Just kidding, I actually never really wanted to be a fighter pilot or anything.

When I asked the doctor how this affects the way I see things, she told me: "That's more of a philosophical question, I really don't know. Maybe its just different for you."

"Great." I thought. Now I have to go around for the rest of my life trying to think about how I see differently, mildly differently. Maybe Christmas is just less exciting for me. Maybe my red and green colors are switched. I guess I'll just ask a philosopher, who is probably better with philosophical questions than I am.

My whole life has been a lie and I have no idea what red and green is now. For now, I suppose I will just walk around, maimed in the eyes. Hopefully I will survive this colorblindness and continue on with my life...

Actually, its no big deal and doesn't really change anything at all, so I'm not worried about it.

There's An Eyelash in my Eye

There's an eyelash in my eye right now, and I can't get it out. Its really starting to piss me off. I think the most annoying part is that I can't see it. Its literally on top of my eyeball and I can't see it. I think it wants to be seen though, because when I close my eye, it starts scratching the inside of my eyelids so I have to rub it. Then people are like "Don't rub it!!11one It's gonna make it worse!1". These people have clearly never had an eyelash stuck on top of their eyeball. All you can do is rub it. Then when I finally open my eye, the eyelash suddenly gets shy and yanks the curtains back down violently, continuing its barrage of scratching from the inside. This is insubordination. My eyelids are ordered (by me) to stay and protect my vulnerable seeing apparatuses from dirt and dust and other debris. What do they do? Fall out of formation and rebel, becoming debris themselves. I will not stand for this. One of these days I am going to kill my eyelashes. Just not now. For now I will sit here writing with one hand and one eye, and rubbing with my other hand.

Happiness or Day Jah Voo? (based on scenes in "Their Eyes Were Watching God" by Zora Neale Hurston)

Cory

Their Eyes Were Watching God Essay

Topic #1: Narrative that tells a story from Janie Stark’s point of view.

-This narrative is told from the point of view of Janie, after she had married Joe and left Logan, and looks back

on how this happened.

Happiness, Or Day Jah Voo?

Boy I shir got tarred werkin down thurr in those thurr fields cuttin dem god danged seed ‘taters. Logan thought dat I gots to werk hard fer him because his first wife werked hard. ‘Parently I wu’n’t be good nuff for him, cuz I wanted to be inside the house takin care my man and makin beaten bisquits while he worked hard. But Naaah, he had tah “drive down tah Lake City for a mule” and make his wifey work. Well, I ain’t no first wife of his, I’z a lady, and a lady don’t cut no fields fer her knightnshiningarmer! I just got plain ‘ol got sick n tarred. Seriously, he wanted so much outa me. Now he can kiss my royal diasticutis!

When ‘Ol Joey Starks came commin round tha way on dat road, I cud see him from my seat wurr I waz cuttin’ dem tater’s. He was dah guy I been dreemin of all dis time, tah get me way from my mizzerabull laff. I gave ‘im some sweet well water tah slake dat thursty throat of his. I got in quotations wid him and he told me dat I shuddent be doin’ wat I be doin now, doin deh “man’s work.” Dats wat I was be thinking all long!!!! I gotsd so happy at dat time, cuz all dat time I ben wating fer a way to get away frum dat terrible man Logan Killicks. One nite, I was so upset wit Logan cuz he kept telling me to do all ‘dis borin werk. I was all lak “If you can stand not to chop wood and tote wood Ah reckon you can stand to git no dinner.” Ohh Lawd Lawd Lawd he almost wuz cryin’. Secretly I wuz so happy dat I stood up to dat mizzerble excuse for a man.

Erry day after dat day since he came down to see me, he came again, the bee tah mah bloom, deh horizon wuz vizz’ble, I swurr tah gahd. Den one day I told Logan dat I wanted tah leav him. He was all like “ya right” but I cud see dat he was hurtsd by it, which was good because he treeted me lak I was my mother, a slave. Despicable. I ain’t no slave. Mmmm umm. Not afta wat mah Nanny went throo tah make my laff az good az it cud get. Not then, not now. Joe waz tah ‘xact opp’sit wut Logan wuz. While Logan wanted me tah work, Joe wanted me tah “relax and enjoy life.” Dass wat ahm talkin ‘bout!

Fahnly, one mornin’, Joe was tah come and pick me up. To really stick it in his face, I made Logan a final breakfast so he cud see what he wud be missn’ widout a nass wife lak me to whip up dem’ hearty meals lak dat. Dat ‘il teach him a kidogo. Heh, sure will be tough fer him up dere. Dat booboo never loved me, he jus thad an anya uku. I think he only wants a wife so he dun’t haffta do all da work ‘round da house. Hell, wouldn’t s’prize me if hiz first wife didn’t really die, but juss lak me ran right off wid a betterman. Tah me, Logan iz a lazy son of Combunction, passin off his work to me.

Joe picked me up dat morn’ in a hired rig, almost lak a dream, and dah wagg’n carried us off tah Green Cove Springs, and we gots married tuhgethah, and we was buggin’. We took dah train down tuh a town full uh colored peoples juss lak me, and Joe wuz surprisinly gud at conversin’ tuh everyone. I was m’pressed. For duh hole train radd we wuz talking bout wut to do wid duh new town we wuz goin to. Joe had duh whole thing planned out.

When we gots to duh town it wuznt as gud as we both had hoped fer it to be, but Joe wuz still cool ‘bout it. We only hadz 50 acres wen we gots thurr. Joe di’nt think that was gud ‘nuff, so he went out and bot s’more land fer deh town. 200 acres t’be ‘xact. After dat, he bilt a mail place and a generile stoar. Den one day he told me I hadda werk in dat dere generile store. I was like in my hed “Aww hell nah, hurr we go aggin!”. Frum dat point ahn, our relashunship wuz a ball was lak a snowball rollin down a hill, ‘xcept instead of snow the snowball was collecting… bad… So our relationship gotstd bad. He start’d gittin all crazy and all ‘bout my hair. He thought there was be other guyz tran’to git wid me cuz mah hair was purrty. His control started tuh get more stronger, and I gots more sadder.

So now hurr I am, trapped in uh ‘nuther relashunship that is wid a guy dat controls mah laff az much as he can. Ahll never reach dat horizon. Love is a Sisyphean struggle. How I lurned dat word wid duh turrble vocablary dat I gotz I don’t know. But it works. So iz duh next man I meet gonnah be happiness, or duh same thing all ova again, or will I be stuckszed with this man fer mah whole laff. I hope not, I hope he getz rull sick n’ dies…

"Flight" by Sherman Alexie Review

I was recently recommended by my English teacher at a book fair at school to try reading a book by Sherman Alexie, a very dynamic author, who often uses his Indian heritage as a theme in his books.

I chose to buy the book Flight, mainly because of the interesting cover and the large text. I'm glad I chose this book, because it was one of the best books I have ever read. The story begins with a 15-year-old rebellious half Indian/ half White foster child in a new foster home. He tells us to call him Zits, without telling us his real name. He hates everyone, except for one 17-year-old interestingly called Justice. After a certain incident (read to find out) he begins an odyssey throughout the lives of many different people, and time era's, each with a challenge or an epiphany. It is a truly deep and modern novel, and I highly recommend it.

Alexie's style is so unique. The book reads very fast-paced, and the sentences are not too hard to understand, yet there are so many profound meanings and connections made throughout the book, which he won't outright say until the end, but you will most likely notice them beforehand. Via the mind of Zits (and the bodies and minds of others), Alexie conveys messages that truly make you think, without obscuring them with complex sentence structure.

Also, Alexie has a great sense of humor, he'll throw in lines that catch you off guard and make you laugh. Just on the third page he throws in a line which immediately made me respect his humor because of how peculiar but funny it was.

"And my alarm clock isn't playing Blood, Sweat & Tears or any other kind of music, so I punch it quiet, get out of bed, walk into the strange pink bathroom, and pee for three minutes"

I laughed out loud when I read this and just thought "What?". You pretty much have to read on after this. This book never gets boring, because there is always something happening, and every previous sentence makes you want to read the next one. Go buy this book!

______________________

I'm glad to actually be able to praise a book, because recently I have been forced to read, or sparknote some pretty miserable books such as "Their Eyes Were Watching God" by Zora Neale Hurston. I'll post my thoughts on that book later.

Anti-Poetry Poetry

So recently was just in the time of year in english class where the teacher starts to whip out the poetry book. Poetry just isn't for me; sorry poetry enthusiasts. But in my boredom for poetry I got involved with writing anti-poetry, which I surprisingly enjoyed. I popped in my headphones in my Ipod and started writing down my ideas in my "Notes" app for the Ipod Touch, and heres what came out:

1st one:

Poetry,
Loaded sentances,
Like questions,
Objection.

2nd:

Hey look!
Unconventional
----------------Sentance
---------Structure...
-------Minimal Words...
S P A C E
-------------Wonder
-----------------------What's [inside]
like
-------------a picture?

3rd:

Keep it simple,
Like Occam,
and his razor.
But don't forget
The open ended suggestions
Or it will be read but once

4th:

Poetry,
Its meaning deep like oceans.
Like oceans,
Much the same.

Thats it. I don't know I kind of liked a couple of them, and surprisingly enjoyed writing it. I actually think that there's plenty of poetry that I would enjoy greatly, just not the stuff I read in class. So these poems are only influenced by the poetry and poets that I have learned about in class. Maybe I'll find some that I like some time, just not now, because I don't feel like it.

Beckett's Suspension: Did He Really Mean It?

http://boston.redsox.mlb.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20090414&content_id=4266542&vkey=news_bos&fext=.jsp&c_id=bos

Im not a sports commentator, but this is a situation I would like to voice my opinion on, being a Red Sox fan and all. Josh Becket was suspended six games after a game in which he hummed a pitch past Bobby Abreu's head after Abreu had called for time.

Here is the video of the incident, in which Beckett was not ejected during the game, but suspended for six games after the game was over. I don't think Beckett meant to throw at his head, I just think that he realized at the last moment that Bobby Abreu had called for time and it was too late for him to stop, and his confusion made him lose control of the ball.

However, I do believe that this situation in the game could have been prevented from escalating to the level which it did, with both benches clearing, including the late-arriving bullpen. If Beckett hadn't walked towards Abreu yelling (then again I don't know what he was yelling or if it was bad), and maybe gestured towards him that the pitch wasn't intentional, then the clearing of the benches might have been avoided.

Bobby Abreu handled this situation very well in opinion, considered the circumstances. He did not charge the mound like many other players would, or even get excessively mad, until Beckett started towards him. He just threw his hands up because he didn't get why Beckett did that, and he was not expecting it at all. If someone threw a 94 mile-per-hour fastball right past my head, after I had already called time-out, I would definitely be pretty mad too.

I think that these two teams can definitely put this incident behind them, and Abreu will forgive Beckett for his faux pas. On another note, The Angels beat the Sox 2/3 games right after losing an extremely valuable teammate, Nick Adenhart, to a drunk driver, which is very impressive. Hopefully the two team's next meeting won't go so rocky next time.

Didn’t do Homework Last Night? Guide to Getting Through Class

1.) Keep a notebook on your desk, and a writing utensil in your hand. This way, the teacher will assume that your homework is out and you are waiting to make studious corrections. If you don’t have a writing utensil, prop the notebook against your desk from your lap, and pretend to have a writing utensil.

2.) Make imaginary corrections. If you are just staring at your paper, then the teacher might begin to get suspicious, and call you out. Don’t allow this to happen, scribble a little bit every three to four questions to make it appear as you made a minor error, but it is currently being tended to, and there is nothing to worry about. If you have a pencil, you can also erase an imaginary literary faux pas every once in a while.

3.) Nod your head. Every time the teacher looks at your and is talking, nod your head to let the teacher know “I heard what you said and I understand it, as indicated by my nodding head.” The teacher will believe that you are attentive, and actively listening to the class conversation.

4.) Anticipate when your turn to answer is. Figure out when your turn to answer a question is. The ideal teacher goes around the classroom in an orderly fashion, so you can easily count off the number of people until your go. If you have a teacher that uses “random” choosing of people, just prepare a quick answer before each one, which isn’t a guaranteed way to get out of the dilemma, but can still work effectively for experienced homework forgetters.

5.) Ask questions. When trying to scope out students who didn’t do their homework, teachers look for kids who aren’t participating in the homework conversation, ergo, (therefore), if you are not asking questions or raising your hand, it makes you a perfect target. Ask any question, even if you already know the answer, it will keep the teacher off of your back.

Follow this advice and you could avoid a few points off, or a minute of being chided from your teacher. If you still get caught, just keep practicing, you will get better. Or, you could just do your homework.

I Got an F. (and so can you!)

The Film-Noir-Like and Very-Film-Noir-Like Elements in The Scarlet Letter

In today’s society, film often combines with noir, causing very film-noir-like elements in life such as half in light/half in shadows, cloudy scenes, sunny scenes, and odd angles. In Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, copious amounts of shadows present themselves at various times, and light, specifically sunlight acts in odd ways, not to mention the ludicrous camera angles Hawthorne uses. In almost every chapter, film-noir-like elements present themselves, and in a few chapters, the film-noir-like elements rises to very-film-noir-like ones.

Being a transcendentalist, Hawthorne often works his film-noir magic on nature, because transcendentalists basically believe that nature is god, and they treat it with great respect. “This rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept alive in history; but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness, so long after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originally overshadowed it, or”(42) THERE! There is a film-noir-like element because the rose bush is in a shadow, overshadowed by a larger pine or oak tree, or both, which suggests that a unique camera angle/vantage point would have to be used to have to paint an accurate picture of the rose-bush. This book is riddled with natural film-noir. “She had wandered, without rule or guidance, in a moral wilderness; as vast, as intricate and shadowy, as an untamed forest. Here, Hester Prynne’s “moral wilderness” or whatever, is being compared to something “intricate and shadowy.” Something “intricate”…, obviously Hawthorne means a diamond, which reflects sunlight in dazzling patterns, which cause very-film-noir-like displays all around. And by saying that Hester’s mental thing is shadowy, he is just trying to convey that half of her is in shadow, and half of her is in light, creating a textbook film-noir-like setting.

Occasionally, Hawthorne presents a different aspect of film-noir, perhaps abstract film-noir, or film-noir-film-noir. This type of film-noir is not very prevalent because it is hard for people to grasp the epic importance of such an intellectual endeavor, ergo (therefore,) writers tend to stay away from this. Hawthorne was not faltered by film-noir-film-noir however, which can be seen in many different examples in The Scarlet Letter. “His fame, though still on its upward slope, already overshadowed the soberer reputations of his fellow clergymen.”(122) Yes, its subtle, and easily overlooked, but if examined carefully, the word “shadow” can be found. Right there. This shadow, however, is not referring to a concrete object, but more of an “abstract” object, which happens to be “his fame” overshadowing “soberer reputations.” Hawthorne’s decision to take advantage of the flexibility of film-noir-film-noir is a decision which indicates that he wants the reader to interpret the message of the writing in his/her own way. This of course is not the only place in the book where A.F.N. is used. “ It was his genuine impulse to adore the truth, and to reckon all things shadow-like…”(124) In this context, the word “shadow” is pretty much a verbal variable, holding the place of “film-noir.” Shadow-like is not really the best analogue for film-noir like though because although shadows play a major role in the film-noir level of a work of art, it is not totally shadows. For example, a picture of two different sized balls placed at different distances from the observer to look as if they were the same size, is film-noir-like, because it uses independent and interesting angles to achieve a film-noir illusion, without the breathtaking use of shadow.

The forest in The Scarlet Letter is film-noir CENTRAL. One chapter that partly happens and talks about the forest is actually named “A Flood of Sunshine.” Nathanial might as well have named it “The Film-Noir Chapter.” Seriously, its blatant film-noir. The word shadow appears 3 times in the chapter, the word sun appears 5 times, including the title, the word dark twice, sky twice. When added together, these equal 12 F.N.U.s. (film-noir-units). This chapter is roughly 5.5 pages long, and if the math is calculated, that is roughly 2.18 F.N.U.s per page. And since one very-film-noir-unit is approximately 1.37 F.N.U.s there were about 1.59 V.F.N.U.s per page, which is unprecedented. “The decision once made, a glow of strange enjoyment threw its flickering brightness over the trouble of his breast.”(177) Glow, strange, flickering, brightness… just crazy stuff. Four film-noir elements stuffed into one heart-stopping POW! of a sentence. This is a perfect example of what a highly trained intellectual and seasoned writer can achieve with a little film and a little noir…like.

All in all, this book was pretty much the most film-noir-like book I have ever read. Nathanial Hawthorne was truly a titan among titans in the writer’s world, and these examples prove Nate’s film-noir virtuoso, if you will. This book was exhilarating read, from beginning to end, because of the edge of the seat scenes like the ones containing sunlight reflecting every which way and dynamic ever moving shadows. The reader is left totally flabbergasted.