The Last Blog. . .

I'm not quite sure what to say in this blog. . . I feel as if everything I could say, someone has already said, and I would really hate to be redundant. Also, I would hate to spoil what my paper (that I have yet to write by the way) could and probably should say. Though I will say this:


I love this class' idea of what it wanted to portray and get across. Literature isn't what everyone thinks it is. It's deep, and let's people not only read into the characters on the page, but also into themselves without even knowing it. It broadens the mind into unknown territories of imagination, where we can dream about red skies and tigers lurking in the dark, morning twilight. Where rendezvouses happen between married lovers unbeknownst to their spouses, and entire families are killed by one devious act of betrayal and/or fate. We become "unboring" so to speak, if we actually allow ourselves to delve into that scary realm of surrealism. And yes, we can even become someone completely different simply by being able to detatch ourselves from the world of the here and now. To many, that is a scary thing. Yet to me, it's the one thing I've taught myself that keeps me sane in my own chaotic and oh-so-crazy life.
This is what I have learned from reading, not what the class has taught me. I would go on to say more about the class, but I'd rather not become the antagonist that I know I'm about to become next class period. If that's not a spoiler for my paper, I don't know what is.

But either way, I shall say thank you Professor Sexson. I will not blame you, but I will praise you despite what you say. You did a wonderful job with this class, you broadened alot of young people's minds with your stolen quotes and uncanny knack for remembering names and poems. I hope someday I can teach myself to remember the things you can. So again, I thank you, thank you for everything you have done for us as a class, and thank you for everyting you have done before us, as I'm sure many people feel the same way I do.

Friday's Presentations

Group 3, I thought at first, were not well prepared for the presentation. But as the time ticked by (and not slowly), I saw more and more of what they were trying to tell us. I kind of felt that they were just giving us another example as to what the class was about, but it's hard not to when the point of the class is to "retell" stories and find hidden correlations between stories. Their video clip was really interesting, though it was not their own, which is definately ok. We're not all that talented in that department. And the game with the class was a very clever way to engage the audience, and to have a little revamp of terms from the semester. All in all, I liked it.

Group 2 had a sort of mellow drama story retelling, which was a very clever idea. As i started paying attention, I started realizing that alot of the lines and characters were drawn as inspiration from already told, and all too familiar, stories and fairy tales. I started to write them down:
-Peter Pan
-Cathedral
-Christmas Carol
-Snow White
-Sleeping Beauty
-Pinocchio
-etc. .

I'm sure there were more that influenced the story line, but those are the ones that came to mind. The group did a fabulous job at portraying 5 of the normally seen archetypal characters: The wise old man, the eternal child, the earth mother, the trickster, and (unknowingly as it turns out) the clueless protaganist. Again, all in all, a very lovely short play that clearly portrayed what they wanted to say to the audience about what they learned in class. The bar has been set very high. My group goes today, wish us all luck!!!

Thesis Statement - Hamlet and the Three Brothers K

I haven't done a whole lot of thinking about my thesis yet, or rather, I just now decided what topic I really need to think about to write this paper. While Mr. Sexson was talking in class about Jay's blog, I decided to delve into the complexity of Hamlet's mind, and how Dostoevesky did a SUPERB job at splitting that personality into the three Brothers Karamozov. I know this was not the main intention, but all the same, it is an interesting thought to think about. How can one character from almost 400 years ago be so complex that a Russian author successfully takes components of his mind and evolve from that 3 equally complex characters??? Its simply fascinating! As you all may very well know, Hamlet is one of my all time favorite works. So naturally it's that in which I choose to focus on, while still somehow being able to work in the Brother K. Hope this goes well!!

Kenneth Branagh's "Hamlet"

For those of you who have yet to read and/or watch this film, PLEASE DO!!! I highly recommend it. It, in my opinion, is such a masterpiece, and so thoroughly done and well acted that. . . yes, it is one of my favorite films. It goes along side all my Peter Pan films such as Hook and Finding Neverland. But in all seriousness, if you are having a hard time reading the play or find you don't have the time...(Mr. Sexson might frown upon this), watch it instead. It's word for word, scene for scene, so your not missing much besides the experience of reading the play yourself and deciphering the text. This is a slight draw-back, but it is sufficient enough that I believe its not at all like reading Sparknotes or Cliffnotes. Just thought it might be a little helpful tidbit for those of you who, like me, cant always find time to sit down and read for multiple hours on end.

So for those of you who watch it, congragulations and your welcome. For those who don't, you are REALLY missing out.

Yet another BK post. . .

I want SO BAD to re-read Hamlet (I started reading it anyway. .) and to analyze it and Antigone more in depth. But, alas, one has to face the reality of time constraints. (sigh). I could go on and on for hours about them. For some reason, I connect to them more emotionally than I do the Brothers Karamozov. I find this odd, for BK is a very emotional book, and I understand all of it. But for some reason, I cant pinpoint one topic, one emotion, or one event that I can really grab a hold of and ramble about.

At this point, Im into Part 4, book something or another. I just finished up the part where Ilosha (?), the little boy, has been visited by Alyosha and Koyla (?), who pretended that Koyla's new dog was the one that Ilosha fed the needle and bread to, in order to make him suffer less w/ guilt. (I know I'm probably way more behind than most people, but I really dont want to rush the book and miss things, plus I do have other things to do. Anyway. . ). At this point in the book, i probably understood Mitya's and Greshenka(?)'s "falling in love" scene the most, though this is not surprising, since it is a love scene in a way. I found it odd how the Pole captain she was in love with, just left her. And does one honestly realize true love that fast? Well this may be, but I scratched my head and pondered a bit about this one. I felt this scene, though, really gave Dmitri more ground to stand on that he is crazy, but not insane. He knows what he wants, he just lies about it alot. So in this aspect, I agree w/ Ashley and other people in the class. I feel Dmitri is the true hero of the story. But, as it always is in literature, that is open to speculation and interpretation from other people, based on their experiences and views.

My own worst nightmare

I wasnt planning on writing a blog tonight. . i was just reading through them to get an idea. Of course, I read Ashley's blog about horses. I'm like Ashley, I competed and ended up riding other people's "problem children" when they didn't want to. I always got the "let Erin ride it. She's a gutsy and experienced rider. She'll deal with it." Whether its a mule, or a 18 hand monster of a warmblood, my sisters own "problem child", or the 20 yr old gelding who thinks he's 2. Yup, I've ridden them all. I did all this until i came to bozeman with no horse. Anyway. . . Her story brings back horrors and nightmares and memories of horses dying, getting injured, etc. Whenever she said "if you know horses" or something of that sort, I would relate.

I have a 16 hand grey Thoroughbred (TB) mare named Gracie. And though she is TB, she's built like a TANK. Big shoulder, short-ish neck for a TB, thickly muscled, and FAST. I always get asked if she's a Warmblood. I reply "No, she's not that dumb". (horsey joke for those of you who know warmbloods.) She is quite possibly the soul purpose of my life thus far. And though she is not my "problem" child as Ashley puts it, she is my "drama" queen. Snooty, bitchy, but perfectly adorable, and dumb as a door nail on a regular basis. That is. . . until you get her in the saddle. Or rather, since she hates flat work, until i get her in my jumping saddle and bridle. She is quite honestly the smartest, thinks-for-herself horse Ive met. If if screw up on a jump course, she can get out of the tightest or longest stride I have stupidly set her up for. And MANY times, my red or blue ribbon DEFINATELY was not my doing. But when we are working in sync, we can do anything. Jump the moon, jump the next 20 or 30 fences, whatever. We have become so close, that at shows, I always feed her grain by hand. 1) because she will spill it and get nothing of the vitamins i put in there, and 2) it helps me end my day, it relaxes me. As i feed her, I admire her. Her soft soft white and freckled coat, her two whirls on her forhead, her dark brown piercing eyes. I lean up agains the side of her temporary stall, and hold the bucket just rightly so, so that she can dive right in while I brace it against my hip and stomach. I listen to her chewing, which to me is repetative, and mind numbingly relaxing. I cant go to bed without hearing her pacing in her stall (which drives me nuts, but at least i dont have to clean up poop in the morning.) I love her. I would do anything to keep her with me.

As I was reading Ashley's blog, the end chilled me to the bone. I've seen those disasters happen, I know the utter despair and heart wrenching sadness of seeing a loved horse die in front of you. In the show ring, not 30 feet from me, I and about 1000 other people watched first hand, as a stupid rider got her horse, who should not have been showing at all due to a neck surgery, killed. He got his legs tangled in the jump poles between the standards, and didnt have the neck strenth to pull himself up. He landed on his neck, and snapped it, dying instantly and landing on the girl. His name was Romeo.

And yet, it wasn't the thought of seeing Romeo die, but it was looking at Grace standing right behind me, her head bowed and leaning against me in exhaustion from the last 3 days. We had just went and finished our first 3 day event ever together, and the only thougth that entered my mind was that that tragic event could of happened to us. And still could. I think of losing her, and then I jump to thoughts of it being MY FAULT. I balled. We all did. I couldn't bear to lose my companion. I love her as if she were my own. As if we were one. I have the deepest sympathy for Ashley, and I almost cried reading her blog. Not from memories, but by what could have been or could be.

And maybe there in lies the dark side of life. Not by what has been, but by looking back, and thinking of what could be.

Generalizations. . .

So. . . I really dont't mean to be the downer of the class at this point. . but sitting in class yesterday, all I could really think about was, "Is he REALLY trying to generalize us all into one catagory of ignorant teenagers/semi-adults?"

For the past few class period, this thought has ran across my mind, during which Dr. Sexson is usually lecturing on how "we need to become more interesting people" or "people these days have an average attention span of 7 seconds". So, when these topics are referenced, one must assume that they're being applied to the class. Are we being generalized? Grouped into the society that is the masses? When speaking of the Brothers K, I feel as if, just because Ashley hasn't read a book bigger than 300 pages, it means that the vast majority of the class hasn't. That reading a challenging book is a whole new, exciting adventure for everyone, and this is the first one.

Ok. . . I'm gonna start to be blunt here. ~ We're not all ignorant to large, challenging books, and we're not all ignorant to the symbolism within them, or the importance of the work itself, just by itself. From listening to Garrett, and reading other people's blogs, I can speculate that alot of people have read big books, and that this isnt the first one. Speaking for myself, I'm constantly searching for a more challenging read, and was in the middle of one until the Brothers K forced it out of my hands. Don't get me wrong, I really love reading the book, but I don't find it as challenging, or as "wordy" as other people might. I really love how Dostoevsky goes into great depth to really explain things, even if it means going off topic to give a background story. It really adds to the experience. But seriously, not all of us can get sick like Garrett and spend 12 straight hours reading a book and finish. I would get into the whole "boring person" business at this point, but I'm saving that for another time, seeing as it's a topic that will come up with me at the end of the semester.

I'm quite possibly the only person in class who thinks about this, but so be it. I dont like being lumped into a catagory I dont belong in, nor do I like think that someone else is being thrown in right along side of me. I've ranted long enough, and I don't want to offend anyone, so I'll end here.

Brothers K. . . Not coming along as well as I intended.

So as the title implies, Brothers K and I are not meshing to a point where we can go along with our stories. I'm not as far in as I thought I would be. As an explanation, at the beginning of the book, I mixed up parts and books, so when it said to be done with Part 2, I thought that meant book 2. . oops. So now I'm half way through Part 3, desperately trying to catch up, reading when i can. Most of the time that's 12 o'clock at night after all my other homework, and i usually fall asleep after 10 pages or so. . . Soooo.... ya my progress has been limited to say the least.

Anyway, I'm at the point where Father Zossima has passed away, Aloysha is (or was) stricken with grief, and Greshenka has fled with her officer who appears to be more inferior than he lets on. I must admit, I only skimmed the last bit of Father Zossima's notes, because it's religious talk, and me being the complete opposite, I find it, not uninteresting, but. . . unreal. Say what you will. . I didn't quite grasp the lingo, nor did i really care, so I figured the talk of finding God wasn't essential to the story. I may be wrong, but oh well.

At this point, I'm quite intrigued by the female characters, Greshenka especially. She's so complex!! More so than Fydor Paloyovich (or however you spell that). I find the men easy to analyze, so I've moved onto the non-essential female characters. Greshenka, though, seems to posess human emotions, but also is SO kniving! Using the men "in her life" to better herself, in a cruel way almost. Yet i suspect this is because she doesn't know who she is, or what she wants in life, so playing men is her way of guessing and checking what she wants. Her mind is always changing. I love the challenge of trying to figure out what she's gonna do next. I hope she comes back into the plot, though i again suspect that she will not, for as in all tragedies, someone is going to die soon. The main confict seems to be on the next rise. . I'm excited to get there.

Final Sonnet and Found Poem Drafts

Caught Off Guard

I dare jnot write a cheery love poem,
For I am not cheery, nor am I in love.
The words I write may sound to you solemn,
Yet they be pure as the white wings a dove.

Moments ago, whole I was, whole I sought.
Yet now I see the pieces that I fear.
Forced from my comfort, out of my thought,
I behold my wreckage of formers dear.

Where did you come from, and whence did you came?
For you've awakened this demon in me
That I'm forced to rein in till it comes tame,
Knowing little enought to let it flee.

Tell me, how do you know I to the soul?
For I've barely known you, known you at'all.

~I didn't change this final draft much from the last draft either. I know that my iambic pentameter isn't perfect at all, and is missing from a few lines, but I happen to like it like that. I don't like . . . how do I say this. . . sing-song verses? The words should just flow, without there being a struggle to count the syllables or da-dums. So here is what I have to present. Now for the found poem:

Good Earth

The super-fruit,
The pomegranate
All natural from
This good earth.
Flavors rich of
Tea of Green,
Rich of rich cherries
Wrapped with
Pomegranate flavors
And new earth. A good earth.
Wrapped with natural sources
From a good earth.

~I actually really like this poem. Again, I didn't change a whole lot, I think I added 2 or 3 lines from the first draft, and added words here and there. I really like the repetition I used, cause I feel I didn't over-do it. I wish I was someone else, so I could have an outside readers opinion on how to make it better possibly. But I feel this is sufficient and well written.

Found poem drafts

so. . . little did i realize that we could mess with the words of our found poem, until he told me twice in class to do so, which i would of liked to have done, but i interpreted the assignment as making anything normal sound like a poem, not an inspiration to write one. hmm.. oh well. here's a new one anyway:

The superfruit,
the pomegranate,
all natural from
this Good Earth.
Flavors rich of tea
of Green,
rich of rich cherries.
Wrapped with
pomegranate flavors
and new earth. A good earth.
Wrapped with natural sources.
From a good earth.

This came from a tea box, if you couldn't tell. I don't have alot of random things in my room that inspired me, so why not turn around a label of one's own favorite tea? I may leave it the way it is. I messed around with this one:

Natural care
of Tom's
Oringal Care
of Maine.
For an alcoholic-free
exprience,
experience refreshing and
soothing
clean.
breath of witch hazel,
oil of aloe vera,
.....
Thats as far as i got. I didn't know what else to do with a mouthwash bottle. It's not as interesting Seth's poem was. I hate using other people's words to create my own meaning.

Sonnet Draft

So. . as everyone has previously stated about their drafts, this could be changed a little bit. I know in some of the lines the meter is off, but i think i may like it like that. idk, this may also be a final draft. I'm fairly happy with it.

The Great Awakening

I dare not write a cheery love poem,
For I am not cheery, nor am I in love.
The words I write will sound to you solemn,
Yet they be pure as the white wings a dove.

Moments ago, whole I was, whole I sought,
Yet now I see the pieces that i fear.
Forced out of my comfort, out of my thought,
I behold my wreckage of formers dear.

Where did you come from, and whence did you came?
For you've awakened the demon in me.
Yet you've forced me to rein it, till it comes tame.
I view the sun, I see its' grace on thee.

Tell me, how do you know I to the soul?
For I've barely known you, known you at'all.


I had such a hard time writing this poem at first, I still feel that it doesnt convey what I want. But in the end, the words just kind of came to me. Probably cause, in preparation for this poem, I wrote about 5 or 6 of my own to draw inspiration. I was my own muse! Though, they only provided ideas, for i write long, free verse poems generally. I might edit this, i might not. i have yet to decide. suggestions are welcome.

Yet another title christened "Sonnets"

I'm not the poet that usaually rhymes. Actually. . . i never rhyme at all. I just. . write. And it becomes to be what is. So this sonnet business, though I truly do appreciate them for what they are, never quite grasped my whole-hearted affections. But. . i do understand that to be a better writer, i must expand my comfort zone and try new things, explore different options of writing and saying things. To think of new ways to state the common. (I've tried, but it's a proven fact by my sister and previous English teachers that I cannot rhyme worth my life. I am no Shaherizad in that sense. I would die . . ) I find lines restricting. I don't like short poems, and to me 14 lines is a short poem. I like a good Poe.

But I vow to give it my best shot; to crack open my own soul and mind to allow inspiration to flow freely. I hope i have a muse that takes my body over. . For I no longer have a "significant other" that i can write about, and I can't duck out of the light by writing one about the only thing in this world that I truly love, my horse. So maybe this one will be about hope. . about my imaginary love of my life. . . after my life experiences I kinda know what im looking for. maybe this sonnet shall be a guideline to myself; a healthy reminder. I know what i will write. . just don't know how the in between process of putting pen to paper will turn out. I'll let you know when i post it, and then you too can figure out what it is i seek.

Are we defeating purposes???

I'm reading Tim's blog, and Ashley's blog, about the archetypal female. I was even reading an essay for yet ANOTHER class about abuse in women, and how we all fail to come to terms with our own pain. Anyway, this idea kept forming in my head, rising up it's ugly head to shout it's opinion. The comment i wrote on Tim's blog touches on the beginnings of this topic. After this blog I'm done with female archetypes.

We've beaten the topic to death, talked all the new meanings out of it, to the point that all we can do is come full circle to what already was. And that's just it. Everything is full circle of itself. I even have a tattoo of an ankh that has the same meaning of life. Yet again this is referring to Mother Earth. People are still trying to draw conclusions, and make an ending for their points. They try to describe the archetype for what it already is, and come up with examples and stories and other relations. The describing of the Plutionic Ideal, of the devouring mother, and of the great earth mother has lead to many great discussions, don't get me wrong there. But something in Ashley's blog sparked my thoughts enough to have to rant about them even more. She's talking about another author from a favorite reading.


"...The female archetype throughout his works alone fits every single one of the descriptions we've talked about in class, everything from the temptress to the earth mother."

In Tim's blog I commented this: "Maybe it's not what you said. . . or what you did. . but simply the fact that real life fails to follow literature, seeing as many literary authors use ideals and archetypes. There is never one archetype to a person, it's never that easy. . ." (in that sense, in literature, im mainly referring to romantic literature. . as that was the topic of his blog.)


So in saying and quoting those, here's where I draw my conclusion, and will thusly expand and explain: There is no ONE archetype to a person or character. Even male and felmale archetypes are often confused, the lines blurred. Can't a woman have a hero's journey? Can't a man play the "temptress" in a way? Why not? We see them in real life all the time. In a perfect ideal, the female hero would become the Plutonic Ideal, innocent but strong. The male temptress would become "the player" in real life, tempting women from their morals and twisting their emotions. Wouldn't he then also be a trickster? ?

Real life complicates literature, and blurs the lines of everything. A woman can be the male, female, or trickster archetype all in one character, as in the life we all live, which inspired literature (to a point, there are the authors who write total fiction and write nothing but ideals in an ideal world with an ideal fantasy love affair. . .)I can go off on even more deep tangeants of thoughts, all logical, just as Jay did about rappers,but I'll shut up for the moment. I'll leave with this though. . If all archetypes can be one another, is it useful to even try to describe them? Just as it's useless to pull a moral from a story? Does defining a character and giving it a catagory defeat the purpose and intended complexity of the character and the story???

Too Much Reality: Oates vs. Chekov

I hate to say the same thing that other people in the class have already stated, but I too must agree with the overwhelming majority of them on this. I too preferred the Chekov version of "The Lady with the Pet Dog", as compared to the version Joyce Carroll Oates wrote. I have a theory as to why we preferred the old, outdated, seemingly-unrelated-to-modern-times version:
We're all romanticists. Almost every human, man or woman, whether they admit it or not, wants to live that fantasy; that fairytale love affair. They want to find "the love of their life" in odd and unconventional ways. And a weekend (or years-long) affair seems to fit the bill quite nicely. As Heather just announced in her blog, the "Romeo and Juliet" tends to come out of people, and the yearning, and longing, and constant searching for that type of emotional connection with someone is irresistable, even if that someone or someones are fictionally written almost a hundred years ago.
Oates is a morvelous story teller, she's real without being too raw, but raw enough that one is able to connect almsot instantly with whatever character she is writing about. I'll admit, even though I liked Chekov better, I related to Oates much much more. Just as with the girl who wrote about "Disillusionment at 10 o'clock", I cried. Not hard, not sobbing, but tears were definately present. Everyone has felt the uncertainty, the guilt, the unmistakeable feeling of loving someone other than who you should. If someone hasn't, they probably will. Here's my hypothesis as to why the majority of the class prefered Chekov: Oates's version is too real. I'm not criticizing, for I loved her version, but the emotions, the pain, that was not portrayed in Chekov's version, were very VERY real, and they did not meet the fantasy, the romance, that we were all searching for. And maybe it's because Chekov's version was put before Oates's, and that set us up for seeming failure in a way.
The way the two were written, from two points of view, may of had something to do with it. One was from a man's point of view, how he "put her on a pedastle" as Dr. Sexson would say. He elevated her to beyond his reach, and therefore he was drawn to her in the most romantic of ways (and lustful. . . ). His emotions, though real, were safe to the readers. They were what we expected. Now, with Oates's version, it's the opposite. It was from the woman's point of view. She loved him, her lover, and she knew it. Yet, as is mostly the case, she was ashamed of it, for she already had a husband that she "loved". And to have to actually admit to herself that she made a mistake is one of the hardest and most painful things of all, especially when it's a mistake of love. That's what this version portrayed correctly that the other one didn't. Pain.
So, even though Dr. Sexson thought we would like the newer version better, for maybe we would relate to the times it was written in easier, the fact is, maybe that's why we didn't prefer it. We all related to it too much.

Venus of Lespugue: A small fact from my Anth. class

We have a beaten this female archetype thing to death almost, like beating a dead horse with a stick. We get it, we understand, and we all have our opinions. The female archetype is one of the most complex archetypes there is, though it's easy to understand. Yet, here's a little "treasure for your nuggetbox" as my friend would say.

The assignment was to read the first chapter of The Dawn of Human Culture by Richard G. Klein. Human culture bores me, or rather I must bore it, for I find humans a little on the dull side; they're predictable (unlike animals). I read this chapter a while ago to see what the book was like, so I just skimmed through it. I got interested in what the book would lead to in the end, what conclusions it would draw, so i flipped and skimmed the back of the book. Lo' and Behold!!! There, staring me in the face as if, once again, I was meant to see it this very day, was the Venus Willendorf (or in this case it was the Venus of Lespugue). It was a figurine from the Upper Paleolithic Gravettian Culture (the picture above is a replica of the one found), and was being used as an example to compare a small "carved" rock that may have resembled a human figure made by Neanderthals some 280,000 - 233,000 years ago in a site called Berekat Ram, on the Golden Heights of the Syrian territory, which is now controlled by Israel. Now, the older figure can only be described as "human in shape", and cannot be depicted as a woman at all. But thats not the point. .

The point is, these figurines of Venus and IDEAS of the female archetype and the Earth Mother have been around for 30,000 years or more. . . now. . thats a long time to be able to understand and idolize where life came from. To think that cultures had only really started some 20,000 yrs before that. .well. . I'd say it was a big leap forward, and it shows just how powerful and important these ideas to ancient civilizations.

'Femme Fatale' - The Female Archetype

The male archetype is fairly easy to describe and decipher. whether in literature or, as almost every woman may very well know, in real life as well. There's not a whole lot of cross referencing betweent the two types of man, they're either the hero, or the villain. Positive and Negetive. Yet, as in real life as well, when one starts to describe the female archetype, the lines become more obscurred with cross referencing and given examlples of women being both positive and negetive. On the positive side there the plutonic ideal (look but no touch), there is the earth goddess, and the Great Mother (Gaea), among other examples. All over the world, almost every culture has an example of a planetary mother, who's son born of a virgin birth becomes savior of the world. Virgin Mary anyone??? Anyway, on this positive side, women are seen as this because they are seen as the all creating of life (besides the gods that rule what goes on). Life comes from them, almost as if by an unknown source. This enveloped women in a "feminine mystique" as my old English teacher would say. Everything about a woman is mysterious, for no one really knows their ways but they.

On the negetive side, there is the the symbols of women's very own evil. The temptress character, the devouring mother, femme fatale (or sex object that will lead men to do dangerous things), and so on. These are seen to be in a woman's nature. Symbols of these women include Medusa, Sirens, Cleopatra, the Sphynx, etc. . The list of good and evil can go on and on and on. Yet, i cant help but bring up the phrase feminine mystique again. The reason the female archetype is so hard to describe, but so intriguing, is the fact that the positive and the negetive side are so intertwined within one another. As with the hero and the villain, one cannot exist without the other. Yet for men, it is simpler, because the hero and villain are usually two seperate characters and examplse. The reason there's a mystique around women is that they are both negetive and positive at the same time. Within the same creature, the same human being, there is the good and evil. So trying to decipher one from the other is a vast challeng in itself. Many times the woman or woman equivilant is Gaea, Medusa, and Beatrice, and there is no way on earth one will be able to try and tell when one persona is being dominant, for they are always there, and always popping up.

One can go on forever on the topic of the female archetype, the Greeks have been doing it for centuries! They, and the Chinese, have mastered the idea of positive and negetive forces. They have lists of things and their opposites (yin and yeng). Depending on the customs of the culture, the lists may vary, but women are always on the dark, evil side of things. Which may be a good and bad thing once one has allowed oneself to look and deliberate on the meaning of the lists. They're intriguing, go read them. Google them.

Relating subjects unrelated

I had an interesting epiphany today in my Writ 101 class. We were asked to take a sentence from a previous journal entry that we wrote, but didnt like, or didnt get, and then asked to expand upon the idea we were trying to write about, and see if we had more to say. Well, seeing as my mom always tells me I have too much to say all the time, this is never a problem for me, not knowing what to write about I mean. Im always writing. So anyway, in our last reading I came across a quote that hit me like a brick wall. Literally. . (Joe Cool will be referenced, he was a real man in the story i read, who i related to. He was a workaholic who helped people to help deal with the pain of his own life. It was his own way of healing, and being able to give back to society at the same time. )

"Sociability covers much of the pain that comes from not being able to help, to make someone else happy."

Wow. . in any case, this got me started on thinking what we always talk about in Lit class, how each story has no moral but the story itself, and each person takes away what pertains to them. Here's what I wrote on that quote when asked to write about it today:

~I latched onto this quote. It stuck to me as a bandaid that covers teh wounds. It hurt. But it was still there, staring me in the face as if it was put there in that book for my eyes only. I jotted it down, and read it again, and felt a small blow of what was, of what had left its mark so many times.

I'm Joe Cool. I'm the girl who tries to do everything, help everyone, do my part in society when I can't help myself, heal myslef, or help the people I want. In Lit class, wre taught that there is no "moral of a story but the story itself". What you, the reader, gets out of the story is your interperetation, and yours only. Every stroy you read ties into you. Everyone is Joe Cool to a point.

In the past, and even still to this very day, I try to help people to make them happy, so I can feel better, feel accomplished about something. I see the pain in other people, I recognize the symptoms, the coverups, as clearly as if they were my own. They were once my own. The need to be around people, the "sociability" that comes with trying to mask the pain. If you show people that your not in pain, and show them that by having fun, or laughing a semi-fake laugh, you've accomplished something. The pain sets back in when your mask is broken, shattered, just as you are, by someone who's smarter thatn the rest. By someone who knows. You feel weak again, for yoru efforts were in vain. I know. I've been there. I'm Joe Cool. Putting on the mask to let people know I'm still who i always was.

There must be a breed of us, those who help society, the ones we love, to help ourselves. Though, it's not selfish. Why not try to help someone else heal, while trying to finish your own healing as well?? Why not help someone from feeling what you have felt? You're a few stages ahead of them, you know what it's like, what they're doing, and you wish there had been someone there with you too. There wasn't. You know it made you strong in the end, but it still hurt to think no one was there. The thing with helping people, you cant let them know your helping them, you can only let them know that your the one who will be there for them, support them, no matter what happens.

Class Notes 2/17

The test on Friday will consist of 40-50 questions, 2 points each. If we havent talked about it in class, it wont be on the test. But the reading assignments are fair game, even if they werent talked about in depth in class. Here are 13 given questions for the test that we came up with in class. On the test, there might be slight variations, as Prof. Sexson reseves the right to edit what will work and what wont. Here they are:
#1) Who is Arnold Friend?
a]The Devil
b]The Demon Lover
c]The imagination
d] all of the above (AND ALL THAT!) <----

#2) Grimm vs. Perrault
-Grimm's version is more 'grim' and 'grotesque', and ends in a happily ever after.
-Perrault's version is safely written, and ends in a MORAL

#3) Know the definition of grotesque, or the idea of it...

#4) What is the difference between the edning of "Smooth Tallk" and "Where are you going? Where have you been?"
-Smooth Talk ends with Connie coming back, where as in the story, the reader is left to interperet what actually happened to her.

#5) What's the difference between the woman in The Demon Lover and Connie?
-The woman is a wife and a mother, and Connie is not. The woman, technically, had more to lose.

#6) Archetype?
-An image or pattern that is repeated in literature and fantasy.

#7) Who did Joyce Carrol Oates SAY she dedicated her story to?
-Bob Dylan, for his song "Its All Over Now Baby Blue".

#8) Why did Lot's wife get turned into a pillar of salt?
-she looked back at the destruction of Sodom and Gamorrah, when she was told not to.

#9) Tell the truth, but tell it at a slant. Who said it?
-Emily Dickenson

#10) "Because I could not stop for Death. . . " ?
-"... he kindly stopped for me."

#11) Slanting rays of the setting sun. . .
-Alyoesha's memory of his mother.

#12) Karamozov Curse?
-Sensuality

#13) What do the three Karamozov Brothers represent?
-Alyoesha-The loving side of humanity, monk.
-Ivan- Intellectual side of human being, athiest.
-Dmitri- Primal life force, military man.

"The Lottery" and "A Very Large Man with Wings"

I was trying to make connections between the three stories, and understand the reasoning for their grouping as an assignment. Tragedy??? Maybe. Use of words to convey meaning?? Maybe. The use of the grotesque characteristic? That's a possibility too. Though, all three could be it. Or maybe there's no point, but to read the stories for what the are. Make connections later, since all stories are connected analytically in some way or another.

"The Lottery" reminded me alot of the movie "The Island" in a way, though in the movie, the lottery is just a cover-up, everyone is to die sooner or later. Yet, the use of the words the people say, you know that, even though they don't say it, The Lottery is not good. When people catch word of other communities who have stopped the practice, it's met with distiain and resentment. Then, when the reader finds out what The Lottery means, they understand why the other communities have stopped the "tradition". How did one community come up with stoning people, their neighbors, to death as a tradition???? I know im not supposed to question the story, or the moral, and i know there is no moral whatsoever to this story, but seriously, one cant help but wonder!!! Murder is acceptable?? How?

"A Very Large Man with Wings" was my favorite to read out of the three stories though. It was grotesque in its way it described the angel, and the people. It gave the truth, while still giving imagery. And yet there was no MAJOR conflict, it was just a fallen angel waiting for his time to recieve his wings again. The end of the story yet again makes the reader wonder "what was the point of the angel being there if he did not do anything?" It's an intriguing story nontheless.

Class Notes 2/12

-In that class on the twelfth of February, 2010, the class talked about the importance of the use of GROTESQUE (def= odd or unnatural in shape, appearance, or character; fantasically ugly or absurd; bizarre) words, such as those used in Flannery O'Connor's "A Good Man is Hard to Find". Prof. Sexson described how vitally important it was to find the right words for what we are trying to say or convey.
-Flannery O'Connor writes in the style of "southern gothic", in which she relied on grotesque characters, and subtle elements of the grotesque in the story's plot. (i.e. the mother, being described as a "cabbage" and a "rabbit" are claiming she as "bland" and "passive". )
-"Felix cupla" - latin for "the fortunate fall". The grandmother, being the hero, has a falling out of grace moment. ( I presume this will be described more in class. . )
-H.W. - Go through the story "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and underline all the similes. Pick your favorite. "pay attention to what the story says".
-Read "The Lottery" and "A Very Large Man with Wings".

Definition of Tragedy=Hamlet (or any other Shakespearean literature)

In hearing what we had to read, I instantly thought we were gonna read some love story, because of the whole Psyche and Eros story, and all the Cinderella and disney stories that have been going around. And, lo and behold, it was a murder. A tragedy. I was reading the story, and the first thought that came to my mind was "this sounds like Hamlet". It was quintessential tragedy literature. There was the crazy, slightly insane family with a mentally unstable father and a mother who doesn't acknowledge anything of what's going on in the world, and the siblings are utterly materialistic (they reminded me of the sisty uglers). The grandmother was the only seemingly sane person of the group, the hero, though she too had her faults. She was the one who warned the family, and knew what was going on. And yet, as is the tragedy, it is her, the hero, who had a fault, who causes the entire downfall of the family.

That is the definition of a tragedy: the downfall of the hero. It was not the tragedy of the entire family who died, but rather the tragedy of the grandmother who literally prayed for her life, who told the villain to pray, and who lost her life anyway. An event usually leads up to the initial tragedy. The tragedy, as is also definition, was avoidable. And fixable. But yet, because of the grandmother's fault (her embarassment at being wrong, her PRIDE), the family, and herself, lost their lives. She was her own demise. That too is another definition of tragedy. So, lets recap: Definitions of a Tragedy (i think there are 6 of them formally, but i can only recall 4 at the moment...)
1)The story is of the downfall of the hero
2)An event happens that acts as a turning point. a "point of no return"
3)The event is fixable, deeming the tragedy avoidable.
4)The fault is of the hero's own doing. Their downfall is their fault.

Notes for Class : 2/10/10

Ok, first time taking actual notes in class. Ill get better at this, I promise.

1]Everyone should be done with the Book 1 of The Brothers Karamozov. If your not, get there and start Book 2.
Alyosha: he is the lover of humanity, though he to seems to have inherited the "bad strain or madness" gene like the rest of his family. He clearly remembers his mother though, just as we can sometimes remember clearly our earliest memories, even we couldn't talk. He remembered and open window, and the slanting rays fo the setting sun. The holy image, and his mother crying and shrieking underneath it. She snatched him up and held him to the image.

2]Garden of Eden story. Be familiar with it
-Book of Genesis. All stories fit together to form one story. Nakedness. There is a difference between being naked, and knowing that you are naked. (Knowledge)

3]Psyche and Eros. Be familiar with it
-Psyche "fell in love with love"
-Relates to Cinderella
-Relates also to Snow White.

4] The Fall of Icarus. Read the story and be familiar with it.
THERE IS NO MORAL TO THE STORY!!! If there were a moral, the story wouldn't of happened.
-A poem should not mean, but be.
-There is always more than one "moral" to everyone.

5] 3 Greatest Tragedies of All TIME:
1) King Lear-Shakespeare
2) Book of Jacob-Bible
3) The Brothers Karamazov- Dostroevesky

6] Read "A Good Man is Hard to Find" from text. Blog!!!

The Fall of Icarus

Now, I see some conflicting perspectives when I read the tale of Icarus, and when I examined the painting Landscape with the Fall of Icarus (William Carlos Williams in his poem "Lanscape with the Fall of Icarus" describes this quite well in my opinion). In the painting, Icarus's fall went almost completely unnoticed, the farmers and the sailers, though a boy had just fallen out of the sky, kept on with their daily chores as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Even the sheep do not seem to notice, or shy away from an unexpected splash in the ocean near by. Though, in the original telling of the story (or almost original), I don't get this sense that people didnt take notice at all. The townspeople took great interest in scene, for there was a boy falling out of the sky with disintigrating wings attached to his arms!!! The story does not go into how they reacted, but I'm almost postitive that they did not just stare in sheer amazement, and then dilly daddle along with their chores, the sailors who sail on to their destination as Icarus falls behind their vessel and meets his untimely demise.

"Like" and "Just"

We were told recently to not use the words "like" and "just". Im going to break that real fast, just to finish the quote that Prof. Sexson started in class with one of my favorite movies.

Peter: This is absurd. It's just a dog.
J.M. Barrie: Just a dog. *Just*?
(to Parthos)
J.M Barrie: Parthos, don't listen.
(to Peter)
J.M. Barrie: Parthos dreams of being a bear, and you want to shatter those dreams by saying he's *just a dog? What a horribel candle-snuffing word. That's like saying "he can't climb a mountain, he's just a man" or "That's not a diamond, it's just a rock." Just. . .

So thank you Prof. Sexson, that quote you said made my day last time. The words LIKE and JUST are way too... boring, to say the least. They're demeaning to the things they try to describe. So yes, I agree, they shouldn't be used. I only found it funny how Garrett had to keep saying "like" right when you said not to. I think I got up to 10 times in one sentence. ;-)

Baby Steps.

My first memory... well... I guess you could call it a memory.. It was when I was probably 1 yr old or so.. or slightly later. It had to be when i was less than 2 because my memory is up at my old house (I used to live in a round house by the way, it was red, like barn red, and has a central column. i was little so i just remember the tan carpet lol.) Anyway, my first memory is me crawling around on the floor next to our fireplace. Well.. I wasn't really crawling. My twin and I used to spider walk instead of crawl cause we hated the feel of carpet on our knees I guess. So imagine 2 babies wearing cloth diapers (totally eco friendly lol) with their butts in the air, "crawling" on our hands and feet. We were weird little kids.. Back to my story. In my memory, I just remember crawling on the tile around the fireplace. The tile was dark blue, and made from a ceramic material, with dark grout. The tiles were odd shapes too, as if the were broken and put into place. I remember them being really cold, which means it was probably summer outside, cuz our house is cold in the summer. And they hurt my knees and hands when i crawled on them, hence why i got off of them. But thats about all i can remember. We still have the fireplace at my new house now, which isn't really new, its just not the old one. It's a free standing fireplace, cast-iron. So it's really warm. I told my mom that memory, and she was surprised i remembered that, cuz she had a hard time remembering the tile around the fireplace by the enterance. Ill always remember this one I think.

Erin's Day

5:45- Wake up by alarm. Long night... even longer story. Put on workout clothes, socks, shoes, donned my coat. Grabbed my phone. Left my dorm.
5:50-Text from Kendra. I'm on my way to the gym to work out with her.
6:00-Arrive at gym via my trusty bike. Stupid bike lock isnt working, so I make it look like it's locked. Meet Kendra, and go to locker room. Strip off extra layers of clothes, and go run. Sprint a lap, jog a lap. 1 mile. Talk about why I didn't leave for basic, and about running, and how out of shape we are. We're both not used to it. Finish. Stretch. Go do crunches, side crunches, bicycle crunches, and push-ups. 20-30, two times. Go downstairs, still chatting about nothingness, and go on the elypticals for ten minutes. We feel good afterwards. Sweaty, but good. It feels good to talk to someone I know, someone who is normal (at least i feel that way).
7:00-Put layers back on. Walk out of the gym. Say goodbye to Kendra. Call Quinn. Talk on the phone while on my bike on the way back to the dorm. Again... long night. get back, bike lock still not working. Damn. go to main lounge, and sit on a blue couch. Recline feet on the table, and talk. About everything. Im comfy and warm in my coat. Get off the phone around
7:30- go take a quick shower, dont wash my hair. Hot water feels REALLY good. It's helping me relax. Get back to dorm. Jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt. It's a lazy day, and it's gonna be a long day. Lotion, mascara, get dressed, shoes, coat, coffee mug, Chem lab stuff, and call Quinn one more time. I miss him so much...
8:00-Breakfast at Hannon. Eggs, sausage, yogurt, tea, and a bagel. Good healthy food in my opinion. Listened to teh news, eat, and write this all at once.
8:30-Reading the Brothers Karamozov at breakfast. Time to kill before lab. I really like this story. Watching (or listening) or not really paying attention to the Today Show. A baby was born somewhere, and they were filming it.
9:00-Lab starts. New lab partner named Lauren. She's getting her bachelor's in Animal Science. has a pre-vet tech degree already. She has work tonight. Had to do lab twice to show accuracy (Quantitative Analysis of the Percentage of Nickel in a Substance). It was fun. Teacher remembered I was from Frenchtown. I think I surprised h im that i knew how to find the percentage of an element in a substance given only the molecular formula. Yay me!! Told us about the International Food Bazare. I intend on attending. Feb. 22. That's a saturday. I checked.
11:00-My lab finishes early for my group. We got it done faster than the other groups. Noted to self to write down calculations again to make sure they made sense.
11:15-Texted Quinn. He was still in class. Went back to my dorm. Took off my shoes. Texted again. Tried finishing scholarship application. They want my high school transcript, which I dont have and have to get. ugh... Called my mom for help. I like talking to my mom.. I miss home. Hung up. Called Quinn. Talked about our days. Say our goodbye's and hung up.
12:00- Did calculations again. Made mac and cheese via the microwave... oh well. It was good tho. Get up. Oh, and I ate a Kashi cookie ;-) yummy!! started writing in journal about my day between breakfast and now. Got ready for class. Anthropology.
12:45-Anthropology. Bones, Apes, and Ancestors. Discussion on readings assigned. "let us prey" and "the handmaids' tale". Topics on unsolved hypotheseis, why apes live in groups, and sexual selection, and different tangeants of those discussions. Once again, I know too much, and therefore am asked indirectly to not raise my hand. Ugh... I like the topic of the class, but i hate the people. they just sit there without an opinion of their own. I sat takin g notes, shouting opinions and theories into the inside of my skull. Yay...
2:00-In dorm writing once again. Quinn texted again. I'm pondering on what to do.. a nap sounds good, but... reading is calling my name, and i must unwillingly ablige.
3:00- Began reading, and fell asleep instantly from the previous night's lack of sleep. I endured the temptation for half an hour till Quinn called, then fell asleep so i could finish my homework tonight. Reading The Brothers by the way.
4:10- got a wrong number call from the sherrif's department. that was scary. went back to sleep.
5:00- Roommate came back, and thusly ended my nap. Got another call from Quinn, and began reading to finish Part 1 of the book. Did so.
5:30-research on computer for Writ 101 class. Paper on hippies. ethnograhpic essay. Wrote introductory paper (250 words, lame and pointless) to the paper i will write. ugh...
6:00-Thus ends my journal for the day. I shall now start blogging my day.

Three Tellings of Cinderella

(Oddly enough, I hand-wrote this blog in math class, it was THAT dull.....)

In the three different tellings of Cinderella, I was surprised to see the many differences in detail. (Though, that's not totally surprising, because that's the reason we're reading them, and why they're in our text. Anyway..) I did notice that the Disney version more closely resembled the original Brothers Grimm version than the Japanese version, though I know this is because Disney based their version off of the original, only taking out the gory parts and whatnot.I've noticed that in alot of Grimm stories, events or phrases happen or repeat themselves in a series of 3 or more. Perhaps this was to capture the attention of young children, as children tend to love repetition when they can connect the dots of a story all my themselves. Though, I also was surprised at the amount of violence and jealousy in the Grimm and Japanese versions. I can theorize that this is because the stories are from cultures that don't hide that content from it's youngsters, because these stories were told to not only entertain, but to be a warning and life lesson to them as well. It also struck me how the Grimm story ties itself to the Disney version and to the Japanese version, but it does not happen the other way around. The Disney version and the Japanese are very different from one another, besides the base plot that all 3 share. The Grimm versionn and Japanese version share, most commonly, a nurturing of a living organism by the main character, a tree in one story, a giant fish (what i persume to be a koi) in another. Yet the Grimm and the Disney versions share the whole prince-looking-for-his-bride theme, where-as the Japanese story does not.

I really loved all 3 of the stories, though Cinderella was never my favorite story from childhood. Obviously, as it usually goes with me, I enjoyed the Brothers Grimm version the most.

One Word Changes ALL

Testicles. Yes, early Friday morning, that word changed my morning. Well... for that little moment anyway... minding my own business, writing assignments down or whatnot... I heard it. In my Writ 101 class, a guy next to me was talking to a girl sitting next to him. I don't remember how their conversation started, because I wasn't listening as usual. That was, until I heard the word TESTICLES. Yes, I know, think what you want... but it only caught my ear cause it's not every day that the opposite sex uses proper anatomical terms unless they're in Anatomy or Biology where the act is sort of required. So anyway, apparently there is a poster or billaboard or cork-board-display-thing with the words "Know Your Testicles" (the emphasis was apparently on testicles, because it was in the biggest letters), in one of the wings of the Johnstone Center that's about testicular cancer, and how to check,and what to do, and facts about the disease... things of that nature. How about that? What a way to start my morning. Drinking my chai tea, minding my business, and hearing a 21 yr old army guy telling a 20 something worman about what he observed that morning. Needless to say... class started, and my ears were saved.

So Mr. Sexson, my hat goes off to you. If I would only listen, and try harder, I would hear interesting things. Even though I'm not as talented as Garrett as to brighten other people's day by telling white lie fibs, I can see how one could go about doing so. And hence making the entire world (or maybe just campus) a little more interesting. So, kudos to you.

Dreams-Not a Place I Wanted To Be

I went home to Frenchtown this weekend, and I got to reunite with my beloved grey mare (though I'm positive she didn't miss me much.. but I could tell that she missed me a bit by being patient, and calm. Anyhoo...) For 2 nights in a row i dreamed about bringing my horse to college. At least I think it was 2 nights.. it might have been twice in one night. Ok, all I know is that I dreamed the same dream twice. Once last night, and once another time, who knows when. Of course, there were tangents of the dream to other parts of another dream, but i don't remember those. I remember gaps of time in the main dream. I do remember my mom and I driving my silver 4 Star trailer, with black and red pinstripes on the side, to the place. It was no place in particular, but you know that sensation where you never said something aloud in your dream, but know it happened and it's true anyway?? Anyway, we were in Bozeman, but not in Bozeman at all, but that's what the place was. I felt like I was in Kalispell though, or Washington somewhere, or a mixture of both that my mind decided to concoct and call Bozeman. Who knows...

The grass was very long, and green, and lush, like it gets in both places of my imagination. The kind of grass I know my mare, and any other normal horse, would love to eat. It was an overcast day, but not like it was going to rain. The air was slightly muggy, but cool. A jeans-and-tshirt kind of day. There were horse pens set up on a hill. There were no trees. The horse pens were not plentiful, and definately not enough. They were made of temporary pannels, the bars being a brown color that is common with those pannels. They were made very small, long enough for a horse to fit lengthwise, but not much more, and only 3-4 feet wide. I thought in my mind "STANDING ROOM ONLY". I thought they were temporary stalls till the officials (whoever they were) told us which barn to go to. I found out (or knew because my mind had told me so) that this was not true. They were MEANT to be temporary, but no longer were. This was where we were supposed to be. There were other horses in the stalls, all filled. I recognized a few of them, but many were just horses. I recognized many people from my pony club days, and their moms. I remember I was surprised that they had come to college (or wherever this place was.) They had already set up camp next to their trailers and their ponies. They hadn't been there very long, but were going to be and knew more than I did since I had just arrived. There was no place to put my horse, though somehow I found a spot. I remember a chestnut horse with a flaxen mane. His coat was a little unkempt, unlike the other horses, and he was a little undermuscled, though not in a completely bad way. His stall had golden straw in it. These things pointed out to me that he belonged to a little girl who didnt know how to groom yet, and parents who were novices at horse owning. (Though, now thinking about it, why was a novice horse with a college group?? It must be my mind mixing up stories and details in one dream.) He was laying down, and I remember pondering how he managed to do it. I put my horse next to him, though I don't remember seeing my horse in my dream, or handling it. I also know that the horse in my dream wasn't my mare from real life, but either way it was my horse. I needed water for him, because I noticed other people had filled theirs. But I couldn't find the faucet, and there was a fountain made of metal horse troughs, but there was no way to fill up a 5-gallon bucket in it. The sky was still over-cast, the grass still long.

There wasn't really and ending to the dream, cause I don't think your mind ever ends them like a story. It just keeps coming up with details to stuff into your already full head. In the dream, there were only reoccuring images and thoughts. That place isn't where i wanted myself or my horse to be. She didn't deserve it. I had taken her with me, but I had screwed up somehow, and though she didn't really know better, I wasn't satisfied at all. I knew I had failed as her mom.

Trying to Listen...

Ever since we got the assignment to eavesdrop on people, anywhere on campus, I tried, and tried, ad tried. And I'll keep trying, but... I honestly don't find people's conversations interesting. I lose interest whenever I try to listen. All of the ones I've tried listening into are either mundane, immature, or a very good mixture of both. By the end of 30 seconds I'm left with either a feeling of awe (and not in a good way), or boredom. People really talk about these things??? All I hear is homework due, silly conversations such as "Give me back my pen!!" (and sincerely, this girl across the hall was freaking out about it, instead of just grabbing another pen...). My reaction?? "Wow.." I said to myself. "Really?" I guess I spend so much time trying to tune other people out, either by music, or homework, or the TV, that it's hard to get back into it. I REALLY don't like listening to people. And it's not that I think myself better than other people, it's just... I don't like meaningless conversation. Though I guess one could argue that no conversation is completely meaningless. I guess one could say.. I dont like... petty conversation. Irrelevent conversation. Mundane small talk. I even try to listen in on talk in the dining halls, especially Harrison, and nope! cant do it. I just get mad and frustrated from the amount of talk and I usually end up leaving still hungry ;-P. I don't know why I've developed this attitude towards other people, maybe it's just my history with petty girls who can talk about nothing else but partying and boys. . Ya.. that might be it. And it's not like I don't like talking to people, or showing my views, and giving my opinions, and getting to really know someone.. I guess you could say I'm just.. Picky. And have little patience for people I might think are a waste of my time.

In Just - e.e cummings, & Death - Emily Dickinson

In e.e cummings poem In Just, I was reminded yet again of the never ending and constantly retold story of the bad guy (in this case the lame and old baloonMan). The baloonMan, I think anyway, is luring in playing youngsters (the word INNOCENT comes to mind here yet again...), by whistling "far and wee". It seems... odd... that a baloonMan would do that, though I myself find balloon people and clowns extremely scary and weird thanks to the movie "It" when I was five yrs. old... And yet in the end, the baloonMan's "goat-footed"-ness is revealed to us. Again! Here is reference to Pan, or satyres, or even Satan himself, in the guise of a baloonman. This is just another story of the Pied Piper, and of Connie and her experiences, and the Demon Lover.

In Dickinson's poem Death, I was instantly reminded of the Greek myth of Demeter and Persephone, at least Iwas reminded of Persephone's point of view. With Hades (aka Death) dragging her down to the underworld to be his queen. Though, in Dickinson's poem, it sounds as if Death is taking her permanently, as if she is dying, and not just going for a trip, that this woman being taken is human. So, in that mind, it could also be a retelling of the Demon Lover, though all of these stories are related to one-another one way or the other, like a lover's triangle.

Why so many retellings???Is it just people's imaginations being inspired by the tales and stories from their youth? I mean, in the end, you can only beat the details and fragments out of something till it's dead.. and then it's done. But is this always true?? Sometimes there seems to be new life w/ every retelling of a story.. and .. in the end.. I think this is the whole reason of the class. To not only to recognize stories for what theyare, but also to understand that these stories, or at least their basework, can be old as dirt itself, and there still seems to be life in them yet, with every version a new author puts out. And with each new version, though very similar to others of the same genre, each story is meant to be interpreted completely differently, and for different reason, just as each was, in a way, written for different reasons. So even though reading all these damsel-in-distress stories may seem redundant, I know deep down that they're all different. . somehow. .

What Stuck... Scanning, reading, and flipping pages

Wow... I read SO many stories that weren't assigned, I'm thinking I lost a little bit of time to actually DO the assignments... Oh well. I read and scanned through the Odyssey segments ( cause i really loved that poem in high school), and read an excerpt from the speech of one of Penelope's suitors after Odysseus comes home. I also read Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, which I have read before and didnt like in context to the real Odyssey, but I decided to give it another go... and ya.. I still don't like it. It doesn't personify the entire feeling of longing for home that the Odyssey did, instead it had Odysseus wanting to see the world more, even though he was now old.. Anyway.. i wont get into an argument about that. That's for another time. I also read some of the Little Red Riding Hood stories, which included the original Little Red Cap by The Brothers Grimm. I didn't finish all of them however, once i realized how many other stories realted to that topic there were. After more scanning, I came across Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie. (Finding Neverland, Disney's version of Peter Pan, and Hook happen to be a few of my favorite movies of all time..) I haven't read the original play version in the text yet, I'm saving that till i have more time, but I did read and exerpt from The Little White Bird, which goes on to explain why Peter Pan could no longer go home to his mother.. it gave great insight as to why Peter had to stay in Neverland with his band of Lost Boys.

I also read a number of random poems, though the one that sticks in my mind the most, and maybe hit me the deepest (maybe because I'm a woman), is a poem of the same name by Nikki Giovanni. It just struck me as a very liberating poem, one of a woman finding freedom from a seemingly suffocating relationship. Or maybe it touched me because I myself can relate to it, as so can many other women in teh world. I love the ending, it says: she decided to become/a woman/and though he still refused/ to be a man/ she decided it was all/ right.

Catching Tigers in Red Weather/ Dissillusionment at 10 o'clock

I read the poem with the rest of the class, and low and behold... I loved it. I love the feeling it portrays, which isn't much of a feeling rather than a strangeness and an acute ability to leave the reader going "huh...???". When I read it, I understood that the poem wasn't supposed to have a big meaning behind it, other than the imagination is a strange and wonderful and fearful place.

So, as ordered or asked, whichever you would prefer, I googled the ending of the poem "...catches tigers in red weather.", and here's what I got: The ending is no more than just that.. an ending. It basically describes what the drunken sailor is dreaming about, the red weather probably refering to a day he experienced, when the sky and the weather within it were red from the setting (or rising) sun, depending on the weather at hand. And yet, it follows the strange feeling of the poem, that at first glance, it makes no sense at all until one is willing to sit down and at least make some sense of the poem.

And while searching the ending, I came across Wikepedia's description of the poem. Basically it described teh poem as that of a poem that was written and meant for the reader to linger on the strangeness, the possibility of colors w/in one's own imagination, and unusual dreams that we are all accustomed to having. I mean, need there be a REAL meaning behind a poem other than pondering the meaning of the poem??? According to wiki, the poem shows that imagination takes it's own course, form, and order, especially in dreams, and it matters not that it makes sense. "thus following one of the main facts necessary for modernist literature to function: taht the object or idea being represented exists in and for itself, and only for itself." The reading suggests taht the "haunted house" with the white nightgowns represents life without imagination, and maybe showing the mind of the owner as being barren, and desolate, and hopeless, filled with cobbwebs and dust, due to the lack of imagination and color of a life.

Where are you going, where have you been?

So I just read the Connie story.... wow. The sense of innocent fear runs rampent throughout the text,and yet, you know deep down that this is how 15 yr. old girls are... innocent, but they dont want to be. They think they have control over their lives, when they really have no idea. While reading the story, you just keep crying out to yourself "CALL THE COPS!!" or "LOCK THE DOOR! DO SOMETHING!!" but with her mind so full of shock and fear, you can tell that she has no idea to do, or how to do it.
You begin to feel sorry for Connie, because she is the representation of every girl on the news you have seen go missing, or found dead, or raped, or assaulted. To come to the realization that monsters like Arnold Friend are alive and , for lack of a better word, well in the world.. is horrific. And they will always be there... lurking. Hunting. Searching. And they will always find what they are looking for, cuz their prey never changes, and is alwasy abundand.
Im thinking this reading hit me a little hard cause I just went and watched "The Lovely Bones", which is a story of a 14 yr old girl who is murdered... and its hard to get over stories like that that you see all the time... so ya. Blogging to say my thoughts on the subject matter. I have more thoughts in my head, but ill save them for another blog time...

So... first time I've gotten this thing figured out. I still haven't figured out how to add people onto this so they can read it... Im working on that. So far... I like this class.. it makes me think. The professor REALLY has you analyze what he's saying, or talking about, and I like that. I hate teachers who spell things out for you and really treat you how they THINK about you (i.e, College algebra class professor, genuinely thinks people are stupid in that class, I'm certain of it...). I haven't looked at the text yet, so when I get to that I'll blog more. As for now... I'll end it here for the first entry. So long for now..