Isolation

Everyone fears punishment, the thought of being chastised is one that most people try to avoid. But what makes punishment so bad? Often they just send you to a corner and say "bad (insert name here)"; it is a mere slap on the wrist from the outsiders point of view. After spending much of my life in the time out chair and detention room, I have found that "a slap on the wrist" is quite an understatement.

As I got to experiment with punishment, try some new flavors, I began to understand their deeper effects. For small crimes, it was a detention in a room with others. One could still see and hear and talk to others, it was more of a study hall than anything else. But as the offence becomes more severe, those who share the punishment become exponentially fewer. This is where the isolation sets in.

This is where the punishment is at its peak, when one is completely aware of everything that is around him but unable to interact with it. Being alone, completely and utterly alone, is worse torture than anyone could imagine. As I realized this, I finally came to understand why prisons used this technique to soften the hardened criminal. Isolation forces one to reflect on every aspect of his personality, to find all of the flaws in his character. This forced reflection can be constructive, but for many this can be the finishing blow.

The moment of knowledge of personal character with all of its flaws has never been a fear, the fear is to deal with oneself alone. Isolation forces understanding, but it does not allow for the individual to interact, to find solace, to understand what it means to be who he is. This is my greatest fear, finding my greatest flaws alone and not being able to overcome them. The extent of isolation goes far beyond many comprehend, and because of that it is often miss used. Separating a person from society is not a punishment to through around because it seems like a good idea, isolation is the peak of punishment. The fact that this is used for students in high school is appalling. But what would I know, I am the equivalent of a common criminal. 

Semiotic Analysis: Music and Americans

How does music affect cultural development? Every culture in the world, from the boom-rhythmic African tribes to the ancient number crunching Pythagorean culture have all used music to define and preserve their culture. Music is the universal language that people use to communicate emotions and ideas, and for that reason it is a particularly adept place to begin analyzing culture. 

American culture is no different, and for that we should be thankful. The image that music has made in the minds of Americans is one that can not be scrubbed clean, or at least not easily. From the get go it was music that sounded the charge against the British, the blaring trumpet sound screaming for freedom and the end of injustice. As time went on so did music, but the underling freedom to live had sunk its roots deep in the minds of the people. All music screams out like a blaring trumpet while the drums take up cadence in the back ground. Liberation, peace, sovereignty: the true values of america. When you listen to country, you hear the intonations of patriots, the fight for freedom no matter the cost. Lost loves for the greater good, always fighting for a better life through all of the struggles. Then as you move on rock and all of its branches call for liberation. "American Idiot" by Green Day is calling out the educational establishments for leaving so many hopelessly ignorant of the world. Almost all music in the time of the Vietnam war was calling for peace and not blood; this music instigated more protest and eventually brought on the end of the war due to the lack of support. Everything is kept in song, and by doing so it is engraved deep in the minds of all those who can listen.

America is the nation of the blowing trumpet, America is the nation of freedom and prosperity. So long as its people are not def there will be a future for it. So keep making music America, keep listening.

Metaphorically Speaking

Why do we, humans as a whole, write? Many have answered this question but none of them seem to completely agree. For this reason I have found that writing is among the few real wonders of our human-ness. Every culture has a style entirely there own, scribbling meaningless runes across the paper, and when they finish it has a meaning as profound as the one who wrote it. This being so, writing is what one could call the entire embodiment  of all humans and the civilization that they surround themselves with.

Like the great pyramids of Giza, writing can fill the viewer with awe and wonder. The cover of a book is filled with mystery and suspense that dares the reader to enter in the same way the pyramids draw in grave robbers and explores. But then as the book opens and the story within begins to unravel an intense feeling of empowerment and knowledge sweeps over the reader. The true power of all ancient wonders and books alike does not lie on the outside, but within.

Seeking these wonders is never easy, often they lie in harsh and difficult areas where many work so hard to avoid. But those who dare to venture and take the leap of faith, the writings of the past can prove to be more rewarding than any ancient treasure. And to write these wonders has rewards beyond that. The names of those who write are immortalized in the minds of all those who see or hear of the greatness that they created. Like the great pharaohs and high priest, the writers of truth and fiction, the present and the past control what is and what will be. And for that reason we write.

Skunks

After reading Skunk Dreams by Louise Erdrich I found myself trying to comprehend the vast world that we live in and how we as humans interact with all of its intricacies. The question of what do skunks dream of trigger even more questions in my head pertaining to how everything, not just skunks, view the world in comparison to us. When she dreamed through the eyes of the creature crawling through the forest, a new significance was given to the surroundings astounding the author with the pure massiveness of the world. Between the dreams and the feelings they invoked she was soon to move to the woods and as the author said so elegantly, she found solace in the trees. 

I know for myself I often have dreams were I wake up and have to ask myself why in the world did I just dream that. Sometimes I feel as if maybe I am just alone and I am going crazy, maybe my trying to stand out as an individual has finally pushed me of the small amount of balance that I still have. But then again maybe we all live in a giant karrass that envelopes all things and we really do share the dreams of other things that creeps and crawl in this place we live.

After the skunk sprayed the narrator, the powerful sensation of there-ness consumed her bring all things into sharper perspective, leaving all else behind but what was really there. This was the key to the story. Life is about seeing the obstacles in life and then going after them. If there is nothing to overcome and all that exist is a smooth road then there is nothing for us to live for. In this way I agree that a skunk is one to stand apart, to take what is its, to do what it wants, and never to fear for it knows it can overcome the obstacles it creates in it's own life.

 

A Day in Infamy

After reading The New Yorker's "Talk of the Town", the images that defined 9/11 came back to me with a new significance. Reading from the accounts of people who stood in dis-belief in front of the rubble that had once been the highest part of the New York Skyline. As John Updike says in his part of the essay, " there persisted the notion, as on television, this was not quite real..." The immensity of this event was greater than the feat of creating the towers; what was once majestic  shock and awe was now the manifestation of terror and death. Watching the towers fall was not just the loss of some big buildings, it was the loss of people, people with families, people who had done nothing wrong but go to work that morning. As John and many others watched the towers fall they watched the largest massacre every to be carried out in American history. The phone calls made by those trapped in the tower and airplane were what gave reality to many such as myself. I listen to the calls from loved ones, knowing that this is the last they will ever speak to each other, a different side of culture was demonstrated. The true passions and loves of so many uniting all at once. On that day every Americans heart was beating together, we were together truly one nation, indivisible.

But then came the after shook, the uncontrollable result of the most traumatic nation event in American history. People stood in the streets, sat in their homes, and stayed motionless at their desks; the nation was shell shocked. No one had an explanation for the events that had transpired. Politicians stood up and gave warming speeches, ensuring everyone that nothing was out of place, that whatever had just happened wasn't quite real. But for many this was not enough; thirty, forty, fifty years ago maybe people would have been okay with this explanation. But society was educated, they were not about to believe that this loss was nothing for civilians to worry about. The people needed answers. How could this great superpower of a nation be threatened by anyone, who would dare try to fight with us. This was not something that was allowed to happen in America. The answer that arose was the devastating fact that America was losing its hold, and we the people are now going to suffer with her.

An Original Introduction

After the final day of College Literature I was left a changed man, no longer a meager twerp existing as a footnote in society was I as Yoda would say. As I enter my first days of summer as a new man I began to think about how I interacted in the world, what was I good for? My quest to search for the answer to this question had begun; with my valiant steed I went out to conquer The Beast.

What looked like a simple task turned out to be a time of struggle with few triumphs, but to succeed in my goal of self understanding I was forced to continue on. I often found my self running in circles coming upon the same ideas that I started with, never building meaning. I felt as Bartleby  the Scrivener must have felt in the dead letter office, what I needed was to become unstuck in time and see what my future held.

So in my desperation for understanding I took a nap on the toilet, the two places I do my best thinking. As I sat upon my throne I fought for everything that I was worth to release this growing pressure from the pit of my stomach. I fought so hard that soon exhaustion came over me and I had to rest; sleep soon won over and my journey through space and time began.

The results of my travels reveled to me two things: one, I am a very heavy sleeper when I am on the toilet and two, Kurt Vonnegut was right about human involvement in the end of the world...So in the end I learned very little about my purpose on my expedition. So what is my purpose?

Well I like fire,

and space is really cool,

not to mention aliens,

and my very favorite, building stuff!!

So if I put all of this together...

I end up in star wars training with the Jedi and blasting away at the Sith Lords battle fleet outside the death star orbiting the Ewok's home planet!!! I don't think life could get much better for me.