Justification for Crime

If you felt prejudice against yourself, and there was no way to draw attention to the injustice other than commiting a crime, would you follow through with the violation? What if in that small moment you changed the world just by standing up for yourself? That's what Rosa Parks did. What about Henry David Thoreau, who was jailed for not paying his taxes? How can we live with ourselves if we cannot escape our own consciences because we don't listen to that "gut feeling"?

Although we constantly look to our peers for examples on how to behave and look, it is our thoughts that set us apart from everyone else. The true induviduals take it a step farther, by actually acting out those thoughts. These induviduals are the ones who shape public opinion, make brilliant inventions, and are at peace with themselves.

I'm sure we all want to feel like we have our own specialized "niche" in the world, and I believe that the only way to achieve this is to listen to our hearts, therefore ignoring the consequences.

The True Meaning of Freedom

"Ocean" oil painting

"Road to Wonderland"

Seas of green,
waving in the wind.

Blown away, all seen;

the sun mostly thinned.

Winding trails,

lead to wilderness.

Beneath that veil,

before the kiss, it's tenseness.

Contracting irises focus on the untold,

glistening like jewels, just untouchable.

Impossible to behold,

the process is cruel.

Investigating honesty,

only revealed dreams conflict with reality.

Ruthless world we made was bought cheaply,

staring at silvery reflections briefly.

Returns to the open sky,

free, yet unable to move.

No reply,

to burning questions due for disprove.

Just in case your head is humming,

I'll lead you to the stairway that's calming.

I thought from now on, I'll start writing a new poem for each blog. Each poem will relate to class discussions in some form, and "Road to Wonderland" incorporates the existential them of "we are free but responsible." The clearest incorporation of this theme is the "free, yet unable to move" line. Kathy, the narrator in Never Let Me Go, dealt with this theme every day of her life. Kathy was free to live her own life, to drive around aimlessly, yet she could not stop the impending doom of her donations. The "completion" discussed by all the clones was essentially the day they died from donating their vital organs. None of the clones were free from this fate. Furthermore, they were free to fantasize about being "deferred" or excused from donations by volunteering to participate in social experiments, but this dream never came true for anyone. Even the lucky clones, who were raised in Hailsham, had no hope of becoming normal. My painting shows a mermaid swimming towards the surface of the sea, symbolic of her yearning to be human, and to reach the land. Kathy and the clones also yearn to be human, yet their purposes in life do not allow them to become human in any way.

The Purpose of Work

All of us have purposes in our life's work. For example, we all work towards a goal by working for it. But what if that goal is unattainable no matter how hard you work for it? That is when the question of "what is the purpose of life?" comes into play. Furthermore, people become disillusioned when the realize they cannot reach their full potential. Likewise, "Never Let Me Go" contains characters that realize that their purpose in life is to donate their organs to the "normals". Kathy, who is shocked that she cannot be "deffered" from donating her vital organs when she speaks with Madame and Miss Emily realizes that she is not viewed as a human being by the outside world. In fact, Kathy's and the rest of the donor's "rock" is the donations they give. Each one of us has a rock to push up the hill, and it the quality of our work that keeps the rock from falling down the hill over and over again.

"Under the Wing"

The daily poem explications in class have reminded me of my own poems.

"Under the Wing"

Floating without an anchor,
she dreams without fantasy.
Waking up is only agony.

Wishing for the sun to warm her soul,
only delays the anticipation.
All isn't broken.

Departing from the wonderland,
the sweetness of youth disintegrates.
She wants to hold the water in her hand.

One more step, one more restraint,
until she is all chains.
Desperately pulsating against the veins.

When will she learn to fly?
Fly far, far away just to get lost.
Never mind the darkness, never mind the cost.

She has forgotten to breathe,
the wings melt.

Her eyes flutter open, not knowing what she felt.

I specifically hint at the story of Icarus in this poem. I did so because Icarus tried to escape from inhumane imprisionment and lost his son in the process. I thought that this story is an underlying motif for most of humanity because we all have to sacrifice something in order to "escape" or to achieve our dreams. Furthermore, if we push against our natural barriers to the point of breakage, we will discover nothing but failure in our lives, exemplified by Icarus's son.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Mirrors, in retrospect, are essentially vain materialistic objects. Mirrors were created for people to stare at themselves in pain or in relishment. Those who suffer the pain in the mirror believe they are looking into their souls, however, they are only looking at the aspects of themselves picked upon and judged by society. To quote Plath, a mirror "[is] not cruel, only truthful", exposing the unsatisfactory traits of mirrors. Humans want to be lied to. We crave to be complimented, even if it is a complete fib. Although some may plead for the truth, they become sulky when told the truth and it displeases the person. The only way to overcome this vain tendency to stare at the mirror on the wall is to look inside of us and trust the beliefs that drive our exsistence. In essence, we cannot judge our own souls through a mirror because it only shows our exterior, not our inner personality and thoughts.

Modern Savages?

I like to think of myself as civilized, and well cultured. But what if I was isolated from society? How would I obtain nutrients? The answer is, I would do whatever was necessary in order to survive, which is generally true amongst most humans. If we think about it, if you had the chance to gather riches and fame, would you do it at all costs? Would you exploit and entire people, raping the land and murdering the men? If your hedonistic behavior bore no consequences, and only boosted your ability to succeed, I doubt anyone would hesitate to gather that power. We're all animals, we're all here to survive, and we do that by competing against each other. Essentially, the weaker beings have no chance against the educated kings of commerce. There is no calming the beast that lies within us because we are all born with the inherent barbaric tendency to survive against all odds.

"We Die Soon", "We Soon Dead"

We Real Cool

The Pool Players.

Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We

Left school. We

Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We

Thin gin. We

Jazz June.We

Die soon.

By: Gwendolyn Brooks

We Old Dudes

We old dudes. We

White shoes. We

Golf ball. We

Eat mall. We

Soak teeth. We

Palm Beach; We

Vote red. We

Soon dead.

By: John Murray

What I find interesting about both of these poems is their rhythmic quality. It seems as though the lyrics should have a beat behind them, giving the poems a chantlike feature. The beat could be the hearts of these people, quickly reaching the inevitable destination of death. However, for the old dudes, they don't have a choice. The old dudes lived a long life, and are quietly appeasing death. In contrast, those slick cool dudes want to die young. It's their choice, going with the flow. Their hearts beat faster and faster until their bodies can't take it anymore. Live fast, and die young. Isn't that just the consequence of being cool?