Chapter 3CROSSING THE BORDER
It was a very long road trip to the French Spanish border and honestly I was terrified of what might happen to my mother and father while we were away. Tal and Fred were quiet during the whole drive, and when I hastily broke that silence with the ´´im hungry´´ question, both just laughed but ended up again very solemn and told me to wait another hour until we reached the border. ´´Ughh alright´´ I retorted and sat back down with my arms crossed to my chest. Then I remembered my ma´s towel and told myself that it would probably be okay to open even if we weren’t at the border yet, I mean we were kind of close. As I started unwrapping my towel carefully the car stopped, Fredrich got off nervously and I re wrapped my towel and hid it in my pocket. ´´Gal, your name will be Thomas, ok? And im your sister Natalie! We need to say we are French Christians and are going to visit our sick grandpop in Spain…you got it?´´ Asked Tal hurriedly. I just nodded. Two men came back walking with Fred, both were soldiers and I think were speaking German. I remember one of them pointing at me and asking in a very sharp French accent if I was their son, my sister had responded no and told them I was her younger brother and that we both were orphans. He then asked me what my name was and I retorted…´´Thomas´´. The man smiled and gave me a pad in the head (nothing like Tal´s pad, because this one was forceful and cold) and let us pass. Fred sighed at relief and turned to shake my hand, then leaned over to kiss my sister.We had finally arrived at the border and I had almost forgotten about the towel in my pocket.(Sigh) ´´finally we can get a bite to eat´´ said my sister cheerfully. I opened my eyes widely in hope that we had stopped at some diner or tavern or something. ´´Ahh here we go´´ mumbled Fred as he lowered down a picnic basket with a small red table cloth. I sighed with a slight deception, but quickly retorted and sat down just waiting to be fed. As my sister opened the basket I rose up to take a look at our food, ´´ eww Tallie, what is that?!´´ some disturbing looking cheese and hard bread were facing me. ´´hold up… ahh here we go´´ muttered Fred as he took those foods out and uncovered more food at the bottom. There was good cheese, soft bread, fresh wine, some ham (first time I tasted it) and a round plate holding my mother’s famous cheesecake that I loved so much. After a very full stomach, Fredrich closed the basket and folded the red cloth…´´we should go´´ he said.
miércoles, 30 de abril de 2008
miércoles, 23 de abril de 2008
Spring time at home CHP2
Chapter 2
THE WEDDING
´´… but, its too much of a responsibility, you two cant really be thinking about doing this, are you?´´ I heard my sisters voice peaking. I didn’t want to open my eyes, but decided too, and got up from bed silently to listen to the whole conversation from my bedroom doorway. ´´ Yes Tal, we’re serious, we can’t take care of him anymore, and by you marrying that boy you can decide upon becoming one of them, they’ll even open their arms to a convert: but if your brother were to stay with us, he’d surely die.´´ I squeaked, or rather my voice did, and the conversation ended abruptly. I heard footsteps and ran up to my bed and pretended to be asleep. It was my mom; I knew this even if my eyes were closed, because her lavender perfume was too strong, she used it that way. Two weeks had passed and it was the day before my sister’s marriage to Fred. ´´Gal honey, get dressed, its your sister’s wedding rehearsal for gods sake´´. I didn’t get why I had to dress up when in reality it was just the pre wedding rehearsal. I came down stairs and everything looked so appealing, flowers running through the garden up to a small white archway where my sister and Fredrich were standing with their outfits on. So I asked why they were wearing it today and not tomorrow when their wedding really was happening. ´´Gal, I want you to keep a secret, we are getting married today, if we wait till tomorrow, the Nazis might try to stop it from happening´´ said my sister. ´´Yes it’s true, we need to elope since the Nazi soldiers might already be informed about a Jew Christian marriage.´´ responded Fredrich calmly. After the ceremony both changed quickly and told me to do the same. My mom and pop were crying while hugging Tal and Fred who were getting on Fred’s dads automobile. As I was walking down the stairs I saw my pop lifting up my small leather suitcase and mounting it up on the car. ´´NOOO´´ I yelled, and felt my face getting red. ´´Papa, mama, im not leaving you! ´´ my sister and her new husband were inside the car now and faced down Tal ordered me to say goodbye and get in. ´´Shut up! You are married, im not, I want to stay here!´´ My father hugged me again, even tighter than that one time at the barn, but this time didn’t try to fix it up with a hopeless joke. My mom then kissed my forehead and hugged me hard as well, then lifted my hand up and gave me a wrapped up towel telling me not to open until they had crossed the French border. I got up into the car (almost forced in); it drove off almost immediately as if avoiding me to back down last minute. I started crying, and turned back to see my parents standing at the edge of the rode crying and waving goodbye. ´´I love you pops! Ill miss you mama!´´ I yelled back and sat down again until all I could see of my parents were two small dots in the distance, and my beautiful hut looking very worn down.
THE WEDDING
´´… but, its too much of a responsibility, you two cant really be thinking about doing this, are you?´´ I heard my sisters voice peaking. I didn’t want to open my eyes, but decided too, and got up from bed silently to listen to the whole conversation from my bedroom doorway. ´´ Yes Tal, we’re serious, we can’t take care of him anymore, and by you marrying that boy you can decide upon becoming one of them, they’ll even open their arms to a convert: but if your brother were to stay with us, he’d surely die.´´ I squeaked, or rather my voice did, and the conversation ended abruptly. I heard footsteps and ran up to my bed and pretended to be asleep. It was my mom; I knew this even if my eyes were closed, because her lavender perfume was too strong, she used it that way. Two weeks had passed and it was the day before my sister’s marriage to Fred. ´´Gal honey, get dressed, its your sister’s wedding rehearsal for gods sake´´. I didn’t get why I had to dress up when in reality it was just the pre wedding rehearsal. I came down stairs and everything looked so appealing, flowers running through the garden up to a small white archway where my sister and Fredrich were standing with their outfits on. So I asked why they were wearing it today and not tomorrow when their wedding really was happening. ´´Gal, I want you to keep a secret, we are getting married today, if we wait till tomorrow, the Nazis might try to stop it from happening´´ said my sister. ´´Yes it’s true, we need to elope since the Nazi soldiers might already be informed about a Jew Christian marriage.´´ responded Fredrich calmly. After the ceremony both changed quickly and told me to do the same. My mom and pop were crying while hugging Tal and Fred who were getting on Fred’s dads automobile. As I was walking down the stairs I saw my pop lifting up my small leather suitcase and mounting it up on the car. ´´NOOO´´ I yelled, and felt my face getting red. ´´Papa, mama, im not leaving you! ´´ my sister and her new husband were inside the car now and faced down Tal ordered me to say goodbye and get in. ´´Shut up! You are married, im not, I want to stay here!´´ My father hugged me again, even tighter than that one time at the barn, but this time didn’t try to fix it up with a hopeless joke. My mom then kissed my forehead and hugged me hard as well, then lifted my hand up and gave me a wrapped up towel telling me not to open until they had crossed the French border. I got up into the car (almost forced in); it drove off almost immediately as if avoiding me to back down last minute. I started crying, and turned back to see my parents standing at the edge of the rode crying and waving goodbye. ´´I love you pops! Ill miss you mama!´´ I yelled back and sat down again until all I could see of my parents were two small dots in the distance, and my beautiful hut looking very worn down.
Spring time at home
It was late June, our farming deadline was getting closer and mama had to wake up early as usual to milk Betsy (our cow). My sister had to go run a wedding errand, (she was 17 and to be married to our neighbor’s son Fredrich, he was 18, owned 7 cows, 6 chickens and to everyone in town he was the wealthiest most eligible young man any girl could marry. My sister and he had been best friends for the longest time now, but I don’t think she was really ´´in love´´ with him. My family being all Jewish and our neighbors being Christians, hated the idea of these two getting married, but had to accept it; we were broke and my father’s ego just couldn’t handle loosing our farm and our home, we needed this financial help). She came back with two white boxes one carrying her shoes and the other one with her white dress. As she struggled to open the door, and managing her white bowed boxes, she opened the door and with my help she came in… pale as a ghost she gave me to carry all her things and patted my head warmly. I don’t know how but I knew she was upset. She quickly asked me to go up to my mom and dad because she had to tell us something; and so I did, called my mom from the kitchen door, she was carrying two barrels of milk on both her hands, my dad was raking hay in the barn, and came running in as well. My father, (a tall olive skinned man with a very fearful appearance to anyone who meets him for the first time) came in, wiped his hands on a piece of towel lying on the kitchen counter and sat on a small wooden stool. My sister and mother came in, my father ordered them both to let me stay, ´´ Hannah, our son is now 14 and soon will need to know how to handle farm problems and real life situations.´´ My mom sighed and agreed, both looked up at my white faced sister as if trying to look for an answer to this brief family discussion. She started,´´ Mama, papa… they are here, the monsters have arrived to our town, and will be starting the hunt soon, they gave me these 4 yellow stars to wear on our clothes…´´ she paused and a tear came running out of her left eye and into her cheek…´´ They are herding us like cattle!´´ With that my father got up, threw the door open and stormed out into the barn, where I followed, leaving both women crying in the small wooden stools. Papa, don’t cry, im sure nothing will happen (I had heard of these ´´monsters´´ before, called soldiers by the people, but never really knew what they wanted), ´´maybe they’re just passing by´´, I said while sitting next to my pop, and then patted his back gently, (something very unlikely for me to do; me and my father had always had a very sort of distant relationship and any caring action would seem too queer for the both of us). He strutted something and hugged me hard in his arms, chocking me almost… I returned the favor and wrapped myself around him as well. ´´Lets stop, we look like women, people will start talking and saying we are your mom and sister, and them being us.´´ he effortlessly tried to joke around, but his moaned voice was too obvious to pass.
insanity of conformity part 3
Once again quoting Freud´s ideals, it is Nurse Ratched that controls our history, and serves as the fake information and brain wash that the public follows in order to maintain a structured society in place. She turns society into robots who all work the same and include the same mechanic tools in their minds. When a robot dysfunctions by showing individuality, she fixes it, blaming that its his mind that doesn’t work and thus she has to lobotomize him, until it cant cause any more trouble. I agree with Freud’s theory of the ¨It¨ being our civilization and the ¨Self¨ being us; the it controlling the way we grow up, the people we meet, and the way we behave, but I don’t agree that if one is to break from that structured way of acting, that we will instantly be framed as mad. This theory has poisoned the minds of the civilians and so much that they are already so structured that they too use segregation and fear to continue this legacy of conformity.
I used Freud’s book, Civilization and Its Discontents to prove a point: we are products of our past and history, this history binds us into becoming nothing else but clones to the rest of humanity. Then with Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest I explained how some people like Kesey himself believe that our civilization is trapping us too much into conformity and lack of freedom. I enjoyed how this novel uses characters to symbolize the battle between the sane and insane; showing us that its more probable for civilization as a whole to be insane than for an individual whom although is different is very sane. This book taught me that its fear of acceptance that oppresses us from expressing ourselves with our own behavior and that we have to stand up for those rights (sometimes even sacrificing ourselves to get lobotomized, but for the greater good of humanity). Its senseless to act against individual behaviors, such as lust, pride, homosexuality, kindness, and truth just because society thinks of them as moral flaws, it’s a braver action to accept most of these and know that it might not be a matter of morality but of nature.
I used Freud’s book, Civilization and Its Discontents to prove a point: we are products of our past and history, this history binds us into becoming nothing else but clones to the rest of humanity. Then with Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest I explained how some people like Kesey himself believe that our civilization is trapping us too much into conformity and lack of freedom. I enjoyed how this novel uses characters to symbolize the battle between the sane and insane; showing us that its more probable for civilization as a whole to be insane than for an individual whom although is different is very sane. This book taught me that its fear of acceptance that oppresses us from expressing ourselves with our own behavior and that we have to stand up for those rights (sometimes even sacrificing ourselves to get lobotomized, but for the greater good of humanity). Its senseless to act against individual behaviors, such as lust, pride, homosexuality, kindness, and truth just because society thinks of them as moral flaws, it’s a braver action to accept most of these and know that it might not be a matter of morality but of nature.
insanity of conformity: OFOCN Part2
Another character who displays a thirst for acceptance of sanity is Chief Bromdem (the narrator). This character plays an important part in the novel, because he serves the purpose of the book; he’s the first step for realization of change, he’s the student and perhaps for the audience he can finally serve as the teacher. Bromdem, starts out as a tall, quiet, dumb looking native American, who gets bullied by his fellow peers and instructors; but the reader knows that he’s not crazy, nor dumb because of the inside perspective he gives us, we can tell he is conscious of his situation, thus he cant be crazy. The narrator symbolizes the people or the common public in society, unlike McMurphy, Bromdem fears of what the instructors can do to him and thus he behaves as he is instructed or expected by the institute.
Going back to Freud’s theory of the human mind, our histories define our nature, our culture defines our history. If we don’t follow the way our culture guides us then what sort of history can any man be capable of leading? Furthermore, with such an idea fixed in our heads, how can we ever break free from such idealisms? The fear that society uses to make us feel segregated is their key to having power over us: fear of acceptance caused Bromdem to flee from sanity, into ¨insanity¨, maybe then a mad man; (an individual) will feel more secure. The importance of accepting this character as a symbol for ourselves is the solution to finding a way to break from our conformity: by us realizing that fear only causes us to become society’s slaves then maybe we will find the way to become our own men, free of judgment. Hence the order that Chief Bromdem goes through: a lunatic, a student, the doubtful, the fearing, the fearless and the teacher. Other characters involved in the book, each show a side of our civilization that is characterized as wrong and shown as a flaw. Akin to, self righteousness, homosexuality, sexual appetite or lust, pride, kindness, loyalty; all those are exaggeratedly imposed by our culture as flaws that need to be fixed thus suppressed. Also showing us that civilization is already crippling those flaws and dominating them so much that although it seems that they are fixed and all is perfect, in reality beyond the surfaced image everyone is drowning in pressure and fear. This teaches us that the mental conformity that our society is using on us is actually damaging our society and not fixing it like the assumed it would.
The final character that I think is vital to the connotation of the novel is the prudish Nurse Ratched. As opposed to the rest of the cast, this woman along with her three helpers plays the antagonist in the plot. If the patients symbolize the slain in civilization, then this woman represents the slayer. She serves as an imagery of conformity and structural behavior: she is depicted as cruel, petty, organized, feared, controlling, and in a sense very pretty. Kesey wanted to show her as a representation of the beautiful and perfect modern western empire, who although fools everyone with her superficial kindness and fairness, she is actually a despicable villain who is always thinking of ways to lower everyone else down below her.
Going back to Freud’s theory of the human mind, our histories define our nature, our culture defines our history. If we don’t follow the way our culture guides us then what sort of history can any man be capable of leading? Furthermore, with such an idea fixed in our heads, how can we ever break free from such idealisms? The fear that society uses to make us feel segregated is their key to having power over us: fear of acceptance caused Bromdem to flee from sanity, into ¨insanity¨, maybe then a mad man; (an individual) will feel more secure. The importance of accepting this character as a symbol for ourselves is the solution to finding a way to break from our conformity: by us realizing that fear only causes us to become society’s slaves then maybe we will find the way to become our own men, free of judgment. Hence the order that Chief Bromdem goes through: a lunatic, a student, the doubtful, the fearing, the fearless and the teacher. Other characters involved in the book, each show a side of our civilization that is characterized as wrong and shown as a flaw. Akin to, self righteousness, homosexuality, sexual appetite or lust, pride, kindness, loyalty; all those are exaggeratedly imposed by our culture as flaws that need to be fixed thus suppressed. Also showing us that civilization is already crippling those flaws and dominating them so much that although it seems that they are fixed and all is perfect, in reality beyond the surfaced image everyone is drowning in pressure and fear. This teaches us that the mental conformity that our society is using on us is actually damaging our society and not fixing it like the assumed it would.
The final character that I think is vital to the connotation of the novel is the prudish Nurse Ratched. As opposed to the rest of the cast, this woman along with her three helpers plays the antagonist in the plot. If the patients symbolize the slain in civilization, then this woman represents the slayer. She serves as an imagery of conformity and structural behavior: she is depicted as cruel, petty, organized, feared, controlling, and in a sense very pretty. Kesey wanted to show her as a representation of the beautiful and perfect modern western empire, who although fools everyone with her superficial kindness and fairness, she is actually a despicable villain who is always thinking of ways to lower everyone else down below her.
insanity of conformity: one flew over the cuckoos nest PART1
Freud’s structural theory of the mind; parallels the formation of our civilization. We live in a society where we are meant to be conformed by rules of behavior. It is how we live our lives and with which culture that we define ourselves, and that we create our history. Our individual background or way we were raised gives civilization permission to oppress us into thinking a certain way and thus behaving ¨properly¨ as to their rules. Our behavior in the real world becomes so structured by our society, that any break from that mental code can define us (by civilization) as insane: Freud points out this theory in his book, Civilization and its Discontents. In the novel One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest by Ken Kesey, our society is symbolized as a paradox of insane vs. sane; it’s an insane asylum where the patients are conformed into a structured routine which they carry out for as long as they are there, when they finally get ¨cured¨ they are free to leave (but too late for they are already mentally oppressed by the asylums rules of conduct.) Ironically, the asylum is controlled by a nurse who fits society’s code, and although she physically renounces some human flaws, she serves as a symbol for what I can argue as mentally insane rather than sane (she behaves too well, very mechanical, like civilization tends to). In the novel, I can argue about three characters that fight for their sane reputation; Mcmurphy, Chief Bromden, and Nurse Ratchet whom I say is the opposite: mentally ill.
McMurphy, the main character of the novel, is a professional con man, gambler, a sex addict (inaccurate opinion), a boxer, and according to his diagnosed psychological test, he is indeed a psychopath. He was sentenced to prison for a period of six months, but (thinking it be easier) he allowed himself to be sent into a mental institute instead. If you analyze McMurphy as a symbol for a human being, you see that he’s not really insane since none of those characteristics are actually ¨mentally destructive¨. You then realize that Kesey depicts this character exaggeratedly in order to demonstrate the extend of society’s oppression towards our social performance. This character is the novels main character because individually he represents many aspects of human nature, of martyrdom, and of real sanity and consciousness.
According to Freud, the idea of an individual being some what different than that expected by society, the person will immediately be framed as crazy. Of course he doesn’t state that in those words, but he does make an analogy to difference being insane. In McMurphys case, he is being judged by our social order to be crazy, accused by the idea that he doesn’t follow the public’s view of behavior. Kesey shows again (excessively) a suppression by our culture to bare humanity from self freedom; just because a man commits illegal gambling, coning, and likes to perform acts of consumption, that wont define him as crazy! Perhaps by using paradoxes, the author explains the idea of what our civilization really is; a machine that is so involved in working and perfecting all its flaws that it doesn’t really get to know the individuals that conform its mechanics: it forgets about the human essence that separate us from monotony and robots. Furthermore, to demonstrate the dominance of society to our existence, Kesey makes McMurphy a man with free will which he uses to satisfy civilization when he decides to enter the institute, convinced that it’s a safer place for him (symbol for the threat that our civilization carries).
McMurphy, the main character of the novel, is a professional con man, gambler, a sex addict (inaccurate opinion), a boxer, and according to his diagnosed psychological test, he is indeed a psychopath. He was sentenced to prison for a period of six months, but (thinking it be easier) he allowed himself to be sent into a mental institute instead. If you analyze McMurphy as a symbol for a human being, you see that he’s not really insane since none of those characteristics are actually ¨mentally destructive¨. You then realize that Kesey depicts this character exaggeratedly in order to demonstrate the extend of society’s oppression towards our social performance. This character is the novels main character because individually he represents many aspects of human nature, of martyrdom, and of real sanity and consciousness.
According to Freud, the idea of an individual being some what different than that expected by society, the person will immediately be framed as crazy. Of course he doesn’t state that in those words, but he does make an analogy to difference being insane. In McMurphys case, he is being judged by our social order to be crazy, accused by the idea that he doesn’t follow the public’s view of behavior. Kesey shows again (excessively) a suppression by our culture to bare humanity from self freedom; just because a man commits illegal gambling, coning, and likes to perform acts of consumption, that wont define him as crazy! Perhaps by using paradoxes, the author explains the idea of what our civilization really is; a machine that is so involved in working and perfecting all its flaws that it doesn’t really get to know the individuals that conform its mechanics: it forgets about the human essence that separate us from monotony and robots. Furthermore, to demonstrate the dominance of society to our existence, Kesey makes McMurphy a man with free will which he uses to satisfy civilization when he decides to enter the institute, convinced that it’s a safer place for him (symbol for the threat that our civilization carries).
miércoles, 16 de abril de 2008
PUNCTUATION
I was told to experiment on a piece of literature of my own and it wont include any type of punctuation until im done writing the piece and i guess that i wont only be writing a carry on sentence but also applying the same idea throught out the freaking sentence (normally i wouldved already put in a period and it kinda frustrates me that i cant yet i feel its a very funny excercise hahaha) anyways what ill be talking about in this blog will be about somethng that i can talk about forever and that includes a lot of details that one can explain thus the writing piece will be longer and ill be able to end my assignment-lets talk about food, cigarretes, girls and umm music i guess- Food is an amazing thing which we all take advantage of and although we actually dont recognize it foods are a constant factor in our everyday bliss i mean who doesnt get excited when you are starving and a fresh plate of food is given to you:(semicolons replace a ?)What types of food would one reject when starving hungry, unless you are allergic or something u know because then you would need to keep starving if that is all the food you find then again i have never really been that hungry or i have but not to the literal starved point so what im trying to get at is the fact that i wouldnt know how it feels and if given a chance to eat even if its slightly poisonous to me and yeah maybe i would eat it just of instinct to survive after all we are humans; boys and girls or men and women we crave similar things and food is very important it can replace many substances like cigarretes because in my case im addicted to them but not to the point of crazy crackhead addiction yet it does play a big part of my life and to give them up has caused a ton of problems in my psyche which keeps on telling me that i need these tabacco sticks to clam my nerves but maybe its just a mental block and hopefully ill be able to get over this constant urge to smoke like just this week ive been getting ready for a leadership retreat that is taking me to a mountain in an alttitude of 4400m thats like really high thus air is less flowy and more dense so smoking will be a lot harder to do and so i was told to quit the habbit atleast one week before the trip and so i have and GOD its been really hard im like so anxyous all the time like even now while writing this blog with the first things that pop up in my head its kinda distracting me from the urge and it helps a bit plus one has to keep in mind that inorder to quit you have to think why smoking is bad you know because like most girls hate you smoking like smokers breath kinda stinks so its not good if you are pickin them up and every guy desserves to be with a girl because they are soo great and important to a mans existance like my own i mean im already in love with all the girls in the world like not in a horny freak sense but in a sensible and rational knowledge since i know for a fact that they are all able to make you feel perfect and at the same time make you feel misserable just like cigarretes grasp your head and nerves the women do that and everything else in your conscious and subconscious as one would say, the earthly addictions are the real bliss.
domingo, 13 de abril de 2008
The Vrykolakas Avange
Long long ago, before the fearless knights battled the legendary dragons, before evil enchantors mettled in the dark arts, before Rome ruled over with Christianity, before Europe and the world were populated by powerful humans; there existed a darker era.
Christianism although very new, it was gaining power very fast... only two powers ruled the world, the christian church and the Mourge Cult. Of course, like in every society, (no matter the age of existance) rebels are present; they create that needed stalemate between the good and the evil. These rebels are called, The Vrykolakas: ancient vampire creatures that suck the blood out of earths sinners, vrykolakas might feed from evil men, but they arent evil themselves.
These creatures are many, and include different races and species, each one with a distinct gift or power, some even have distinct cultures and rituals: only thing that binds them together as the Vrykolakas, is their purpose to be, to clean the world of sinners.
The mourge cult, is an old version of satanism, where both humans and demons join up to serve the first demon, the source of all badness and evil. These dark priests practice dark magics, along with gory human and Vrykolaka rituals.
One night, (as written in ancient scrolls) an immense battle blew up between both sides, the rebels stood tight and hid. It was said that the sky shot flying stars, and angels crashed from the heavens, while deamons blew up from the ground. There were no survivors from the Mourge cult, affirmed the christian church after a 60 day battle.
A couple of centuries passed, the Vrykos had hidden and mixed in with the normal human crowd. Of course as years passed, people became ignorant of the monsters existance, but they were real and still stalking the earth, in search of those who dont desserve to live in it. The Vryko cult, soon reduced to only a couple of hundreds, not enough to keep going for another millenium. They needed to reproduce, and although they were immortal creatures, they couldnt live longer than 1000 years and theyr pure race couldnt be reproduced by themselves: they were dead humanoids, their blood, and reproductive systems didnt work. So they needed a human carrier, or vessel (a pure hearted human) to be bitten and sired into their species.
The 1700´s became the first Vrykolaka baby boom.
Christianism although very new, it was gaining power very fast... only two powers ruled the world, the christian church and the Mourge Cult. Of course, like in every society, (no matter the age of existance) rebels are present; they create that needed stalemate between the good and the evil. These rebels are called, The Vrykolakas: ancient vampire creatures that suck the blood out of earths sinners, vrykolakas might feed from evil men, but they arent evil themselves.
These creatures are many, and include different races and species, each one with a distinct gift or power, some even have distinct cultures and rituals: only thing that binds them together as the Vrykolakas, is their purpose to be, to clean the world of sinners.
The mourge cult, is an old version of satanism, where both humans and demons join up to serve the first demon, the source of all badness and evil. These dark priests practice dark magics, along with gory human and Vrykolaka rituals.
One night, (as written in ancient scrolls) an immense battle blew up between both sides, the rebels stood tight and hid. It was said that the sky shot flying stars, and angels crashed from the heavens, while deamons blew up from the ground. There were no survivors from the Mourge cult, affirmed the christian church after a 60 day battle.
A couple of centuries passed, the Vrykos had hidden and mixed in with the normal human crowd. Of course as years passed, people became ignorant of the monsters existance, but they were real and still stalking the earth, in search of those who dont desserve to live in it. The Vryko cult, soon reduced to only a couple of hundreds, not enough to keep going for another millenium. They needed to reproduce, and although they were immortal creatures, they couldnt live longer than 1000 years and theyr pure race couldnt be reproduced by themselves: they were dead humanoids, their blood, and reproductive systems didnt work. So they needed a human carrier, or vessel (a pure hearted human) to be bitten and sired into their species.
The 1700´s became the first Vrykolaka baby boom.
miércoles, 9 de abril de 2008
A Piece of the Puzzle
I can only think of one experience that ived had, and that I have considered it being the biggest scope in my life. At first, it gave me a sense of incredible and just unimaginable sadness and pain; important feelings that i never knew could hurt or even impact a person that much. This sadness sometimes turned into a hidden anger, that just stalked me wherever i went (mentally and physically). Ironically and very controversially, this anger started to mold my reason behind writing, thinking and painting...i guess it served as an ispirational tool.
Last year for example, I started to write a short story about a young boy who lost both his parents during the holocaust. I started the story thinking about my life back when my whole family was with me, i wrote the setting just as i remembered everything back then; perfect, the details of the house and the peaceful behavior of an everyday life...i was just consumed by memories, i guess. I was not only able to put a piece of myself in the setting, but also in the boy himself. His shoes were easy to fit in for me. Once the character got separated from his parents, every emotion he felt i related it to me.
Eventually the story got up to a place so crude to me, that i just broke into tears while remembering my own grief. When the crying ceased, i had never felt as calm as i did that time.
Death i would say, is my life scoping experience and i believe (unfortunately) that this is the muse behing ny whole existence. Not to be pessimistic, but i believe death will always be a part of my life, a constant factor, a piece of the puzzle...never complete without it.
Last year for example, I started to write a short story about a young boy who lost both his parents during the holocaust. I started the story thinking about my life back when my whole family was with me, i wrote the setting just as i remembered everything back then; perfect, the details of the house and the peaceful behavior of an everyday life...i was just consumed by memories, i guess. I was not only able to put a piece of myself in the setting, but also in the boy himself. His shoes were easy to fit in for me. Once the character got separated from his parents, every emotion he felt i related it to me.
Eventually the story got up to a place so crude to me, that i just broke into tears while remembering my own grief. When the crying ceased, i had never felt as calm as i did that time.
Death i would say, is my life scoping experience and i believe (unfortunately) that this is the muse behing ny whole existence. Not to be pessimistic, but i believe death will always be a part of my life, a constant factor, a piece of the puzzle...never complete without it.
martes, 25 de marzo de 2008
A Tribute of Condolences
Tuesday, March 25, 2008:
A captain of the varsity cheerleading squad at West Boca High, she was considered a perfect being of light. An excellent student with an earned scholarship for FU, an amazing friend to even those who werent and a beauty only surpassed by her heart: My friend, im going to miss you.
Special girl, sweet, shy
Terribly good athlete
Energetic charisma
Polite
Helpful
Attitude, awesomeness
Nice
Insentive to keep going
Elegant, eradic
Kinetic enerygy
United states of america
Liberal
Entertaining
Blonds have more fun
Athletic, academic
miércoles, 12 de marzo de 2008
My trip to Fruiterland
As i was falling into the deep dark drop, i could see no light, no hope of surviving this fall. I estimated it took me 4 hours to see a light at the end, i felt no fear by the time i softly crashed into the dirty ground. During the dropping, after an hour had passed, i got rid of my fear and just kept goin with the flow: i stopped screaming, stopped crying, i just wanted to not be bored. I slept for half an hour, then played a game (cant remember which one), i got to the point of forgeting about why or how i got here, whereever here was.
At the dirty brown colored ground, i stood up, my knees were black and very flushed, probably from the crash, although i was fine, it still hurt. I couldnt remember my name, nor my background memories. I walked on for hours through this tight hot cave, where not even bats could live in...then a wonderful odor spread through my nose, i smelled the sweetest scent i had (probably) ever came close to. I followed it, getting very hungry, i was feeling almost animal like, just following an amazing appealing scent of which i wanted a bite of. Oh dang, where was i going? I could hear my heart pounding as i got closer to it; what was it? Atlast a light, but a very different light, one i had ever known, it wasnt the bright that i thought i knew... it was a jelly red light, it could be a mear reflection, i mean it is cave and there are probably many different colored crystals, so perhaps its just that?...
As i got closer to that port, the light got bigger and more intense. Finally, i saw what i thought was a dream. I saw myself in green medows with white cupped mountains and a jelly red sky. Flowers were made of paper and plastic, trees were made of un worked metal, both looked as natural as the sky. I walked on looking for what was providing the thick humid caved air with that extravagant smell.
I saw up ahead a wierd shaped yellow creature; (i couldnt really tell what was wierd or not, i didnt know myself, didnt know if i was even more freaky than him, all i could tell about my physical appearance were my hands, which i could flash above my eyes: they were pinkish and on them hanged 5 fingers.) I walked closer to the creature; still about 100 meters away, the sweet smell was getting more pentrating.
Seeing up ahead some plastic orange colored bushes, i hid behind them, i didnt want to spy, but i wanted to know where the smell was coming from and who the yellow alongated creature was. Searching for the object with the heavenly scent, i saw another creature, this one was red with green dots and a green stem on the forehead, then a green shinny rounded creature... all looked farmiliar.
At last, i saw a giant plate being carried by a purple blob of oval and round balls... I got closer, very carefuly so no one would see me. GRAPE, APPLE, BANANA and STRAWBERRY. Yeah, i knew their names, something about them in my past... perhaps the sweet smell has something to do with what theyr cooking? I had to get closer, and the plate was getting opened...
At the dirty brown colored ground, i stood up, my knees were black and very flushed, probably from the crash, although i was fine, it still hurt. I couldnt remember my name, nor my background memories. I walked on for hours through this tight hot cave, where not even bats could live in...then a wonderful odor spread through my nose, i smelled the sweetest scent i had (probably) ever came close to. I followed it, getting very hungry, i was feeling almost animal like, just following an amazing appealing scent of which i wanted a bite of. Oh dang, where was i going? I could hear my heart pounding as i got closer to it; what was it? Atlast a light, but a very different light, one i had ever known, it wasnt the bright that i thought i knew... it was a jelly red light, it could be a mear reflection, i mean it is cave and there are probably many different colored crystals, so perhaps its just that?...
As i got closer to that port, the light got bigger and more intense. Finally, i saw what i thought was a dream. I saw myself in green medows with white cupped mountains and a jelly red sky. Flowers were made of paper and plastic, trees were made of un worked metal, both looked as natural as the sky. I walked on looking for what was providing the thick humid caved air with that extravagant smell.
I saw up ahead a wierd shaped yellow creature; (i couldnt really tell what was wierd or not, i didnt know myself, didnt know if i was even more freaky than him, all i could tell about my physical appearance were my hands, which i could flash above my eyes: they were pinkish and on them hanged 5 fingers.) I walked closer to the creature; still about 100 meters away, the sweet smell was getting more pentrating.
Seeing up ahead some plastic orange colored bushes, i hid behind them, i didnt want to spy, but i wanted to know where the smell was coming from and who the yellow alongated creature was. Searching for the object with the heavenly scent, i saw another creature, this one was red with green dots and a green stem on the forehead, then a green shinny rounded creature... all looked farmiliar.
At last, i saw a giant plate being carried by a purple blob of oval and round balls... I got closer, very carefuly so no one would see me. GRAPE, APPLE, BANANA and STRAWBERRY. Yeah, i knew their names, something about them in my past... perhaps the sweet smell has something to do with what theyr cooking? I had to get closer, and the plate was getting opened...
martes, 26 de febrero de 2008
The Streets
It was a cold winter night in San Francisco CA, during the date of 1896. European boats were arriving at the main sea port; most carrying hundreds of internatinal immigrants. There were irish mobs all the way to slovakian and italian mafias; it was a corrupt time in the United States, especialy here in SF where we had not only these dangerous mobs in the streets but also vicious chinease groups in the gold mines, not to mention thieves and prostitutes lurking at every corner in the downtown area.
An event like this one, (when the ships harbor at the decks and hundreds of immigrants storm out frantically inorder to be allowed into this country) reminds me of my first time stepping into this country: i was 8 years old and accompanied by my mother and father, we were only allowed to carry one small bag for the three of us. We were lucky, i remember being told by my mama, right before sailing off into America;we would finally get a fair chance at receiving a good life; my dad was a simple blacksmith and my mother a midwife for the rich women in Dublin.
I remember thinking while walking down the wooden ramp and at last touching the american soil,
that all these people speaking in tongues and with distinct physical appearances would each have a chance to live happily.
I was a naive young lad back then, but this past decade in the streets has made me wise, my family and i have been through more than what we bargained for; we knew it was going to be hard, but we didnt expect disease, death and purgery to mold our future lives.
My dad got infected with smallpox while working endless hours at a coal factory, he died when i was 13, my mother had to then find a job of her own to sustain me and my 6 yearold brother (born in America). She had degraded herself so much by becoming a prostitute, that it took me a long time to be able to meet both our eyes at the same time. At age 15, i started pick-pocketing the people in the streets, that is how i was introduced to the whole corrupt system that was hidding beneath every shop in SF. One night, coming back from Mr. O connors shop 2 blocks from my place, i saw a muggling, i knew both the victim and the thieves, i used to spend a lot of my free time with this guy, we used to play hooky from school and go fishing, then later we hung out at the pub. The victim was my mothers neighbor lady, who took care of us while my mom was out during her long night shifts in the streets. It all happened so fast, all i remember seeing was Patrick pulling on the womans purse, and the woman not giving it to him, they struggled for a minute and all of a sudden Pat took out a small barbers knife, he cut her right in the belly and ran off droping his weapon and taking her purse. Im sure she didnt even have a penny in there, but i knew that most of the peoples situation in this town was that bad, enough to reside to stealing, but in my mind i couldnt think of killing nor hurting anyone.
That night i was about to run off and leave poor mrs. Anya laying half dead in the ground, but something stopped me, something made me care enough to see how she was (thank god, at that moment i decided to reverse my style of living, and with that a new American Dream was forged).
-to be continued
An event like this one, (when the ships harbor at the decks and hundreds of immigrants storm out frantically inorder to be allowed into this country) reminds me of my first time stepping into this country: i was 8 years old and accompanied by my mother and father, we were only allowed to carry one small bag for the three of us. We were lucky, i remember being told by my mama, right before sailing off into America;we would finally get a fair chance at receiving a good life; my dad was a simple blacksmith and my mother a midwife for the rich women in Dublin.
I remember thinking while walking down the wooden ramp and at last touching the american soil,
that all these people speaking in tongues and with distinct physical appearances would each have a chance to live happily.
I was a naive young lad back then, but this past decade in the streets has made me wise, my family and i have been through more than what we bargained for; we knew it was going to be hard, but we didnt expect disease, death and purgery to mold our future lives.
My dad got infected with smallpox while working endless hours at a coal factory, he died when i was 13, my mother had to then find a job of her own to sustain me and my 6 yearold brother (born in America). She had degraded herself so much by becoming a prostitute, that it took me a long time to be able to meet both our eyes at the same time. At age 15, i started pick-pocketing the people in the streets, that is how i was introduced to the whole corrupt system that was hidding beneath every shop in SF. One night, coming back from Mr. O connors shop 2 blocks from my place, i saw a muggling, i knew both the victim and the thieves, i used to spend a lot of my free time with this guy, we used to play hooky from school and go fishing, then later we hung out at the pub. The victim was my mothers neighbor lady, who took care of us while my mom was out during her long night shifts in the streets. It all happened so fast, all i remember seeing was Patrick pulling on the womans purse, and the woman not giving it to him, they struggled for a minute and all of a sudden Pat took out a small barbers knife, he cut her right in the belly and ran off droping his weapon and taking her purse. Im sure she didnt even have a penny in there, but i knew that most of the peoples situation in this town was that bad, enough to reside to stealing, but in my mind i couldnt think of killing nor hurting anyone.
That night i was about to run off and leave poor mrs. Anya laying half dead in the ground, but something stopped me, something made me care enough to see how she was (thank god, at that moment i decided to reverse my style of living, and with that a new American Dream was forged).
-to be continued
lunes, 18 de febrero de 2008
The Judgement by Kafka...a response
¨The Joudgement¨ obviously deals with the strained relationship between Georg and his father. It can also be seen as a story about fathers and sons in general.
Now i shall discuss Kafkas use of techniques such as surrealism, symbolism, physical movement and dialogue in developing the aspects of this dad-son relationship.
Its of key importance that the reader knows when reading this short story, that its meant to be an autobiography of Kafka, his father and their relationship together over the years. The story can start off very randomly, with Georg (the main character) sitting next to an open window, starring outside while writing a letter to a friend in Russia. Before the father-son topic is reached, the story goes through different points and distinct characters, that at first they dont add up to the real meaning, but as you finish the story you get that every character, action, place, and thing are symbols for proving the stories purpose; the strained relationship of a dad and a son.
Comencing with Georg´s friend who lives in Russia, we can depict that perhaps Kafka used this character as a symbol for Georg´s alter ego. All the clues are evident in the story as to see why the friend would be a FOIL to this main character; they were opposites. While Georg may seem a bit lazzy and tranquil with an ordinary life where nothing really suprises him and is as monotonous as could be, his friend is depicted as an adventurer, who wants to go and see the world, take risks in life and just write (another possible symbol describing Kafka), very bohemian. Then the destainment that Georg screens as he is thinking of writing to his friend, shows that he rathers not share his life with his friend, (unconsciously mabye) because he is making up excusses of not hurting his friends feelings as to what he is missing, instead of telling him the truth and not be psychologically afraid of screening a monotonous life in comparisson. Currently, while the reader has just approached this part, he could think of these comparissons, but not yet joined the rest of the symbols.
Later on we find out that Georg is engaged to be married with a wealthy woman named, Frieda. The dialogue used to describe the woman, was very dry, although very thoughtfuly descriptive, it was lacking emotion; felt almost dragged, like it was an obligation to write about her. Also, the conversation that Kafka wrote, between Georg and Frieda is very cold, almost manupulative from her part: ¨ he himself had become engaged a month ago to a Miss Frieda Brandenfeld, a young woman from a prosperous family. He often spoke to his fiancée about this friend and about the unusual relationship he had with him in their correspondence. “Then there’s no chance he’ll be coming to our wedding,” she said, “and yet I have the right to meet all your friends.” “I don’t want to upset him,” George replied. “Don’t misunderstand me. He would probably come, at least I think so, but he would feel compelled and hurt and would perhaps envy me—he’d certainly feel unhappy and incapable of ever coping with his unhappiness and would travel back alone. Alone—do you know what that means?” “Yes, but can’t he find out about our wedding in some other way?” “That’s true, but I can’t prevent that. However, given his lifestyle it’s unlikely.” “If you have friends like that, George, you shouldn’t have gotten engaged at all.” “Well, we’re both to blame for that, but now I wouldn’t want things to be any different.” And then when she, breathing rapidly under his kisses, kept insisting “Still, it truly does upset me,” he really thought it would be harmless to write everything to his friend. “That’s what I am and that’s just how he’ll have to accept me,” he said to himself. “I can't carve out of myself another man who might perhaps be more suitable for a friendship with him than I am.” Frieda represents the anchor, that keeps some part of Georg wrapped in the comformity of society, yet at the same time, this anchor looses its tight grip and Georg is automatically left with indecision about his friends life (his adventuring soul) and his own. This dialogue serves as many symbols: Frieda as an anchor and a liberator, the comparisson of both lifes, showing his hidden unresolved issues with the way he lives, and a foreshadowing that he might not end up copping with his feelings.
Following, comes the father-son scene. Here, Georg is feeling bias about whether writing to his friend his casual non descriptive letters, or the actual heart felt letter telling him the truth of his ¨great life¨ and engagement. Being confused with that idea of right vs. wrong, Georg decides upon visiting his father and perhaps he will be able to help him to clear his conscience. Georg´s mother had reccently died, and also it would be nice to see how his father was doing in her absense. Both him and his dad talked a lot during work and even had lunch together, but Georg hadnt been to his dads place in a couple months. ¨His father was sitting by the window in a corner decorated with various reminders of his late lamented mother and was reading a newspaper, which he held in front of his eyes to one side, attempting in this way to compensate for some weakness in his eyes¨; this dialogue shows loneliness, apperantly Georg has been giving a cold shoulder to his father´s situation.
As the reader is introduced to the description of the father´s place, ¨dark and with the window closed¨ one automatically relates it to the setting description in the begining of the story, where Georg is looking out from the open window; this one however is closed and with it all the hopes laying outside. In my opinion, the room symbolizes either Georg´s head when he´s in his fathers presence or his fathers dark comformed minded head.
Foreshadowing can happen at this stage, if one knows about Kafkas biography with his dad, one knows that at this point he will begin relating about that same thing. His father starts acting rude to his son, very untrusting, telling him that he is no one compared to his friend in Russia, he tells Georg that he doesnt deserve a friend like that, someone whom he lies to. As the dad compares, Georg is left speechless and feeling catatonically depressed. All this symbolizes Kafkas opinion in his father giving up on the son; the father is critizicing every dull and superficial aspect of his life and compares it to the warmth and freed living of his friend. However other symbols, such as the old breakfast at the table, or the defected underwear that his father was wearing, shows how time slowly helped rotten their relationship, if Georg hadnt abandoned his father, then maybe he would have cleaned everything up and his dads hope for a different life would have changed.
The story ends by Georg running out feeling dead and depressed, then finally reaching a bridge and Kakfa finishes up giving the story´s conclusion a sense as if Georg had commited suicide.
¨He leapt out the front door, driven across the roadway to the water. He was already clutching the railings the way a starving man grasps his food. He swung himself over, like the outstanding gymnast he had been in his youth, to his parents’ pride. He was still holding on, his grip weakening, when between the railings he caught sight of a motor coach which would easily drown out the noise of his fall. He called out quietly, “Dear parents, I have always loved you nonetheless” and let himself drop.¨ I dont believe it was him literaly killing himself, i think this stood as a symbol for giving up, and letting depression take you over. The las sentence of the story was my favorite, ¨At that moment an almost unending stream of traffic was going over the bridge.¨ this means that although his mental or symbolic life had just ended, it wasnt and end for everything else, time was still moving.
Now i shall discuss Kafkas use of techniques such as surrealism, symbolism, physical movement and dialogue in developing the aspects of this dad-son relationship.
Its of key importance that the reader knows when reading this short story, that its meant to be an autobiography of Kafka, his father and their relationship together over the years. The story can start off very randomly, with Georg (the main character) sitting next to an open window, starring outside while writing a letter to a friend in Russia. Before the father-son topic is reached, the story goes through different points and distinct characters, that at first they dont add up to the real meaning, but as you finish the story you get that every character, action, place, and thing are symbols for proving the stories purpose; the strained relationship of a dad and a son.
Comencing with Georg´s friend who lives in Russia, we can depict that perhaps Kafka used this character as a symbol for Georg´s alter ego. All the clues are evident in the story as to see why the friend would be a FOIL to this main character; they were opposites. While Georg may seem a bit lazzy and tranquil with an ordinary life where nothing really suprises him and is as monotonous as could be, his friend is depicted as an adventurer, who wants to go and see the world, take risks in life and just write (another possible symbol describing Kafka), very bohemian. Then the destainment that Georg screens as he is thinking of writing to his friend, shows that he rathers not share his life with his friend, (unconsciously mabye) because he is making up excusses of not hurting his friends feelings as to what he is missing, instead of telling him the truth and not be psychologically afraid of screening a monotonous life in comparisson. Currently, while the reader has just approached this part, he could think of these comparissons, but not yet joined the rest of the symbols.
Later on we find out that Georg is engaged to be married with a wealthy woman named, Frieda. The dialogue used to describe the woman, was very dry, although very thoughtfuly descriptive, it was lacking emotion; felt almost dragged, like it was an obligation to write about her. Also, the conversation that Kafka wrote, between Georg and Frieda is very cold, almost manupulative from her part: ¨ he himself had become engaged a month ago to a Miss Frieda Brandenfeld, a young woman from a prosperous family. He often spoke to his fiancée about this friend and about the unusual relationship he had with him in their correspondence. “Then there’s no chance he’ll be coming to our wedding,” she said, “and yet I have the right to meet all your friends.” “I don’t want to upset him,” George replied. “Don’t misunderstand me. He would probably come, at least I think so, but he would feel compelled and hurt and would perhaps envy me—he’d certainly feel unhappy and incapable of ever coping with his unhappiness and would travel back alone. Alone—do you know what that means?” “Yes, but can’t he find out about our wedding in some other way?” “That’s true, but I can’t prevent that. However, given his lifestyle it’s unlikely.” “If you have friends like that, George, you shouldn’t have gotten engaged at all.” “Well, we’re both to blame for that, but now I wouldn’t want things to be any different.” And then when she, breathing rapidly under his kisses, kept insisting “Still, it truly does upset me,” he really thought it would be harmless to write everything to his friend. “That’s what I am and that’s just how he’ll have to accept me,” he said to himself. “I can't carve out of myself another man who might perhaps be more suitable for a friendship with him than I am.” Frieda represents the anchor, that keeps some part of Georg wrapped in the comformity of society, yet at the same time, this anchor looses its tight grip and Georg is automatically left with indecision about his friends life (his adventuring soul) and his own. This dialogue serves as many symbols: Frieda as an anchor and a liberator, the comparisson of both lifes, showing his hidden unresolved issues with the way he lives, and a foreshadowing that he might not end up copping with his feelings.
Following, comes the father-son scene. Here, Georg is feeling bias about whether writing to his friend his casual non descriptive letters, or the actual heart felt letter telling him the truth of his ¨great life¨ and engagement. Being confused with that idea of right vs. wrong, Georg decides upon visiting his father and perhaps he will be able to help him to clear his conscience. Georg´s mother had reccently died, and also it would be nice to see how his father was doing in her absense. Both him and his dad talked a lot during work and even had lunch together, but Georg hadnt been to his dads place in a couple months. ¨His father was sitting by the window in a corner decorated with various reminders of his late lamented mother and was reading a newspaper, which he held in front of his eyes to one side, attempting in this way to compensate for some weakness in his eyes¨; this dialogue shows loneliness, apperantly Georg has been giving a cold shoulder to his father´s situation.
As the reader is introduced to the description of the father´s place, ¨dark and with the window closed¨ one automatically relates it to the setting description in the begining of the story, where Georg is looking out from the open window; this one however is closed and with it all the hopes laying outside. In my opinion, the room symbolizes either Georg´s head when he´s in his fathers presence or his fathers dark comformed minded head.
Foreshadowing can happen at this stage, if one knows about Kafkas biography with his dad, one knows that at this point he will begin relating about that same thing. His father starts acting rude to his son, very untrusting, telling him that he is no one compared to his friend in Russia, he tells Georg that he doesnt deserve a friend like that, someone whom he lies to. As the dad compares, Georg is left speechless and feeling catatonically depressed. All this symbolizes Kafkas opinion in his father giving up on the son; the father is critizicing every dull and superficial aspect of his life and compares it to the warmth and freed living of his friend. However other symbols, such as the old breakfast at the table, or the defected underwear that his father was wearing, shows how time slowly helped rotten their relationship, if Georg hadnt abandoned his father, then maybe he would have cleaned everything up and his dads hope for a different life would have changed.
The story ends by Georg running out feeling dead and depressed, then finally reaching a bridge and Kakfa finishes up giving the story´s conclusion a sense as if Georg had commited suicide.
¨He leapt out the front door, driven across the roadway to the water. He was already clutching the railings the way a starving man grasps his food. He swung himself over, like the outstanding gymnast he had been in his youth, to his parents’ pride. He was still holding on, his grip weakening, when between the railings he caught sight of a motor coach which would easily drown out the noise of his fall. He called out quietly, “Dear parents, I have always loved you nonetheless” and let himself drop.¨ I dont believe it was him literaly killing himself, i think this stood as a symbol for giving up, and letting depression take you over. The las sentence of the story was my favorite, ¨At that moment an almost unending stream of traffic was going over the bridge.¨ this means that although his mental or symbolic life had just ended, it wasnt and end for everything else, time was still moving.
¨The Judgement¨ has deffenetly marked a place upon my favorite literary works, and i wouldnt change the meaning of the stories written by Kafka, they are all so mysterious and full of questionable symbols. I can conclude that at some level this can describe a father-son relationship in general; father always knows best and might never be pleased with your work because you can do better, while you are young and think you know everything so you drive away from your roots and might think you lost your way.
sábado, 16 de febrero de 2008
AN ADDICTION?
What are the few things in life tht make me happy? Honestly, i cant really think about counting them all, it would sound too cliche to say, ¨because theres too many¨. Seriously, i cant afford to lie in this blog, its suppoused to be about me, about the real me! Im not planing on displaying a fiction character who loves EVERYTHING in life and around him. The main character in this blog is not one whose life glows in radiant colors, it is ones whose past shines in oppaque shades! Not to be pessimistic, im not like that at all (most times), but the only bright colors that shimmer around me, usually touch after the dark shades dissappear. I dont like being happy after i was so sad, i feel like im betraying that event which made me gloom... is that wierd to want to feel sad when your happy? Other times, when im sad i rather feel happy and just forget the downess. My life is full dual opinions, they just keep contradicting each other.
Many times however, (and most reccently) im getting over the darker times in my life, and accepting the better history and present that im walking through, i cant explain why i still fear the past. Perhaps i fear it will come and hunt me in the future, is that wrong or pessimistic?
hmm...
man! here i am talking about my fears and sadness when i know you dont want to read about some sad pessimistic character!
Or do you? In my case i love reading of ppl who went through hell and felt alone and depressed, but then they live happily ever after...kinda courny? I dont think so, i think one should be able to forget the past and live their future lives not fearing or regreting your history: ironic, isnt it? i love books that end well, but why do i keep on unintentionally looking for a bad ending in mine?
I heard that when one has a problem of addiction, realization is the 1st step to recovery, admitting your addiction waves help to get better. Am i addicted to feeling pessimistic?
If so, i believe im getting better, sh#t stopped happening to me, and wow i think im free to ....
u kno...
exactly!!!!
live happily, at last!
PS]: feel free to comment and analyze some of those questions in my writting:)
Many times however, (and most reccently) im getting over the darker times in my life, and accepting the better history and present that im walking through, i cant explain why i still fear the past. Perhaps i fear it will come and hunt me in the future, is that wrong or pessimistic?
hmm...
man! here i am talking about my fears and sadness when i know you dont want to read about some sad pessimistic character!
Or do you? In my case i love reading of ppl who went through hell and felt alone and depressed, but then they live happily ever after...kinda courny? I dont think so, i think one should be able to forget the past and live their future lives not fearing or regreting your history: ironic, isnt it? i love books that end well, but why do i keep on unintentionally looking for a bad ending in mine?
I heard that when one has a problem of addiction, realization is the 1st step to recovery, admitting your addiction waves help to get better. Am i addicted to feeling pessimistic?
If so, i believe im getting better, sh#t stopped happening to me, and wow i think im free to ....
u kno...
exactly!!!!
live happily, at last!
PS]: feel free to comment and analyze some of those questions in my writting:)
jueves, 14 de febrero de 2008
EMBRACING LIFE OR DEATH?
What’s the difference between suicide, martyrdom and the urge to live? Could suicide and martyrdom be one in the same? Could those 2 ideas go parallel in an event, decision or reason?
I saw a movie just the other day, about a man who turned crippled after an accidental dive in the ocean. The man was used to living as a traveler, a man of many adventures and earthly experiences! His life after the accident wouldn’t be the same again, he would be incapable of doing all those things which he enjoyed so much; his life was now empty. Daily in our lives we get existential crisis, where we question our whole being, why we are who we are, why we choose what we do: existentialism basically describes an idea that one is responsible for his or her own actions, one is because of one said so. The human mind works as, if you don’t like something you get mad about it, if you question something in yourself that is very important like your life or reason to be, you are meant to sink in emotionally. Depression can come from asking yourself those sorts of questions; by your lifestyle getting deteriorated because of an action you committed (whether on purpose or not) you are bound to detest that event, that reason, that decision and mostly the person you are now. The crippled man from the movie loathed himself and his new lifestyle, he thought that everything in him was useless and so why would he have to keep on living and just cramping and using up “valuable” space in this world if he can’t incorporate anything good to it anymore. If he decided to die, whether by killing himself or approving to be killed, would he be committing the sin of suicide or would he be courageously saving himself, his loved ones and the world by becoming a symbol for a martyr? Truth is, I disagree with this action or decision being called suicide, it should be in your own head whether you want to live or die. I don’t want to sound pessimistic by saying that the man would probably be right and his life would be useless, but in my opinion it probably wouldn’t and it would be a braver action to decide to die rather than live as a vegetable each day remembering what you were. By this man be willing to get killed (not kill himself) he would at some level be accepting his role as a martyr, but at some parallel echelon he would also be committing suicide. The difference of these two would be that, martyrdom be classified by himself as freeing yourself from a self pain and liberating your family of seeing you lifelessly in a bed, and suicide in contrast, would mean that everyone else judge your decision and still be hurt because you decided to give up and leave them behind. My judgment and conclusion in all this, is that both opinions are valid in the way that they both use a selfish or self involved judging rather than an actual care for either side: the family feeling ashamed or let down by the man, should actually be feeling alright or at least relief that he did what he wanted and not be in pain anymore, while the man by deciding upon dying voluntarily is in his own right, he is also acting selfish because he is thinking about himself and his own pain rather than his family’s.
Perhaps what it normally comes down to is the genuine human nature of your life, your heart and decisions: martyrs don’t exist if they are originally selfish, and suicide is impossible if you think one has the right to decide his/her future. Maybe the decision to live or accept death shouldn’t be questioned at all and hope to leave it to fate.
I saw a movie just the other day, about a man who turned crippled after an accidental dive in the ocean. The man was used to living as a traveler, a man of many adventures and earthly experiences! His life after the accident wouldn’t be the same again, he would be incapable of doing all those things which he enjoyed so much; his life was now empty. Daily in our lives we get existential crisis, where we question our whole being, why we are who we are, why we choose what we do: existentialism basically describes an idea that one is responsible for his or her own actions, one is because of one said so. The human mind works as, if you don’t like something you get mad about it, if you question something in yourself that is very important like your life or reason to be, you are meant to sink in emotionally. Depression can come from asking yourself those sorts of questions; by your lifestyle getting deteriorated because of an action you committed (whether on purpose or not) you are bound to detest that event, that reason, that decision and mostly the person you are now. The crippled man from the movie loathed himself and his new lifestyle, he thought that everything in him was useless and so why would he have to keep on living and just cramping and using up “valuable” space in this world if he can’t incorporate anything good to it anymore. If he decided to die, whether by killing himself or approving to be killed, would he be committing the sin of suicide or would he be courageously saving himself, his loved ones and the world by becoming a symbol for a martyr? Truth is, I disagree with this action or decision being called suicide, it should be in your own head whether you want to live or die. I don’t want to sound pessimistic by saying that the man would probably be right and his life would be useless, but in my opinion it probably wouldn’t and it would be a braver action to decide to die rather than live as a vegetable each day remembering what you were. By this man be willing to get killed (not kill himself) he would at some level be accepting his role as a martyr, but at some parallel echelon he would also be committing suicide. The difference of these two would be that, martyrdom be classified by himself as freeing yourself from a self pain and liberating your family of seeing you lifelessly in a bed, and suicide in contrast, would mean that everyone else judge your decision and still be hurt because you decided to give up and leave them behind. My judgment and conclusion in all this, is that both opinions are valid in the way that they both use a selfish or self involved judging rather than an actual care for either side: the family feeling ashamed or let down by the man, should actually be feeling alright or at least relief that he did what he wanted and not be in pain anymore, while the man by deciding upon dying voluntarily is in his own right, he is also acting selfish because he is thinking about himself and his own pain rather than his family’s.
Perhaps what it normally comes down to is the genuine human nature of your life, your heart and decisions: martyrs don’t exist if they are originally selfish, and suicide is impossible if you think one has the right to decide his/her future. Maybe the decision to live or accept death shouldn’t be questioned at all and hope to leave it to fate.
viernes, 8 de febrero de 2008
A. What is the difference between a blog and a book?B. How have blogs changed recently?C. Why might you read a blog?D. Is there reason to doubt the objectivity of a blog? Why? Why not?E. If you kept your own blog, what would you title it?
A. “Books are tight. Blogs are reckless. Books are slow. Blogs are fast. Books ask you to stay between their covers. Blogs invite you to stray. Books fret over copyright and libel. Blogs grab whatever they want with impunity —news, gossip, pictures, videos.”
B. “Today there are, by one count, more than 100 million blogs in the world, with about 15 million of them active. (In Japan neglected or abandoned blogs are called ishikoro, pebbles.) There are political blogs, confessional blogs, gossip blogs, sex blogs, mommy blogs, science blogs, soldier blogs, gadget blogs, fiction blogs, video blogs, photo blogs, and cartoon blogs, to name a few. Some people blog alone and some in groups. Every self-respecting newspaper and magazine has some reporters and critics blogging, including The New York Times, The Atlantic, and The New Yorker.”
C. One would read a blog to research about things that interest you specifically:
“You can read about the Iraq war from Iraqi bloggers, from American soldiers (often censored now), or from scholars like Juan Cole, whose blog, Informed Comment, summarizes, analyzes, and translates news from the front. For opera, to take another example, you have Parterre Box, which is kind of campy, or Sieglinde's Diaries and My Favorite Intermissions, written by frequent Met-goers, or Opera Chic, a Milan-based blog focused on La Scala (which followed in great detail the scandal of Roberto Alagna's walkout during Aida a year ago). And that doesn't begin to cover it.”
D. There are many reasons for one not to trust the written blogs. Objectivity is a constant factor in these works, the author tends to wite opinions or random facts from different links or books. Including citations and statistics can be very objective: ”Reading blogs, it's pretty clear, is not like reading a newspaper article or a book. Blog readers jump around. They follow links. They move from blogs to news clips to videos on YouTube, and they do it more easily than you can turn a newspaper page. They are always getting carried away—somewhere. Bloggers thrive on fragmented attention and dole it out too—one-liners, samples of songs, summary news, and summary judgments.”
E. “Life’s Bloopers”
A. “Books are tight. Blogs are reckless. Books are slow. Blogs are fast. Books ask you to stay between their covers. Blogs invite you to stray. Books fret over copyright and libel. Blogs grab whatever they want with impunity —news, gossip, pictures, videos.”
B. “Today there are, by one count, more than 100 million blogs in the world, with about 15 million of them active. (In Japan neglected or abandoned blogs are called ishikoro, pebbles.) There are political blogs, confessional blogs, gossip blogs, sex blogs, mommy blogs, science blogs, soldier blogs, gadget blogs, fiction blogs, video blogs, photo blogs, and cartoon blogs, to name a few. Some people blog alone and some in groups. Every self-respecting newspaper and magazine has some reporters and critics blogging, including The New York Times, The Atlantic, and The New Yorker.”
C. One would read a blog to research about things that interest you specifically:
“You can read about the Iraq war from Iraqi bloggers, from American soldiers (often censored now), or from scholars like Juan Cole, whose blog, Informed Comment, summarizes, analyzes, and translates news from the front. For opera, to take another example, you have Parterre Box, which is kind of campy, or Sieglinde's Diaries and My Favorite Intermissions, written by frequent Met-goers, or Opera Chic, a Milan-based blog focused on La Scala (which followed in great detail the scandal of Roberto Alagna's walkout during Aida a year ago). And that doesn't begin to cover it.”
D. There are many reasons for one not to trust the written blogs. Objectivity is a constant factor in these works, the author tends to wite opinions or random facts from different links or books. Including citations and statistics can be very objective: ”Reading blogs, it's pretty clear, is not like reading a newspaper article or a book. Blog readers jump around. They follow links. They move from blogs to news clips to videos on YouTube, and they do it more easily than you can turn a newspaper page. They are always getting carried away—somewhere. Bloggers thrive on fragmented attention and dole it out too—one-liners, samples of songs, summary news, and summary judgments.”
E. “Life’s Bloopers”
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