Back to Blogging.

Note (mostly to teacher): There was an issue with this posting; that is why you do not try to post blogs on certain computers at school. As such, this blog is a re-post of one posted sometime between January 13th and 15th.

At least in a song there is a beat present, so if you don't understand the lyrics, there is not a problem. But here, now, in this book, there is so much shenanigans hiding how this poet really feels. Are you upset? That's alright, you can tell me; please, don't put it in a foreign language that I have to attempt to decipher. I will not be able to decipher it. I will not be able to tell anyone exactly what you mean, because I am not the author. I don't know what your intent was when writing this poem; I don't know what it means. If you want to vent to me or tell me something, or even explain your life story, write your poetry in more kid-friendly, latent terms. I'm sorry, I can't explain your pun in that line, I did not realize there was a pun in that line. Thank you, Larkin, I am admitting defeat.
The complexity of some of these poems is astounding. As I attempt to analyze one, I am lost, taken elsewhere, hoping to be redirected to a place where I may once again understand. You are a toad, and within you, is a spiritual toad. I fail to see the spirituality in a toad at all. By your use of a toad, are you alluding to something that resonates in the toad’s nature? I don't understand. You cannot make a lion out of a mouse. Spirituality and toads just do not mesh.

[Anxiously] Awaiting End of Finals/Winter Break/Graduation.

December 6, 2013

The end of the week is near, this does not, however, mean that the end of the work is near. So much to do, so little time; I didn’t understand this “November blues” (if that is indeed what is truly was), until my senior year. There is not enough time in the day to complete all that has to be done. Finals are coming – ready all of the internet posts – and that also means the time for stressing is upcoming, and immediate. I am beginning to feel the intensity of the work piled on my shoulders; so much to do, so little time. Waiting, and waiting, and even more waiting is all that I can do to see myself out of this horrible nightmare that is these last three weeks. Projects are due now, homework is being piled on, and social life is ultimately dead. I've said it before, and I’ll say it again; this is the work year of high school so far – not academically, but in terms of stress and business. I’m done; waiting for the day I can stand up on stage and not look back, ready to be done with school entirely; if it were possible to fast forward through the borings-academic parts of high school and college, that would be greatly appreciate, so get on that scientists. A time machine would also suffice, I wish not to take my finals; I would not, if I didn’t fail the class because of it. Saying winter should be brief should be an outlawed statement, get me some days off. 

The Beginning Posts of Frankenstein.

December 2, 2013

Hiking the beautiful and serene terrain as he had at an earlier stage in his life, Frankenstein crosses over many miles to a place he knows well, but he is being followed. The monster has found his creator. Frankenstein, hateful and full of disdain expresses his anger and threatens to end his own creation. Able to speak well, the monster expresses a story that makes himself appear as any other human, as though he has a heart; the life or death of the monster is to be determined, and was directed to be determined, by Frankenstein.

The creation/monster/creature has had a difficult time acclimating himself with human beings; those that he appears in front of are either frightened, or end up following him with torches and pitchforks in an attempt to hastily end the abomination. Running rampantly away from the treacherous towns, the creature hides in the forest, starving and parched. Discovering a small hut, its homeless inhabitant runs away, terrified. The fire taking place is savored, and warm. Berries and nuts have become the regular diet, but have provided little saturation. After continuing to move, the monster discovers another hut close to one with humans. The humans later became his friends, even if they had little idea that he existed. Having learned language and various duties of the people after intense surveillance and captivation, the monster felt attached to the beings. The one called “son” disappeared frequently, whether to obtain fuel for the file, or working for other farmers. During the high of night, the monster, having learned what tools to use to obtain wood, began to collect for the humans. Though there was little knowledge of his presence, the monster felt at his best with these beings nearby to observe. 

This Thanksgiving Break - School Edition.

November 25

There are only three days left until Thanksgiving, and as any senior high school student does, I am going to play the game and tell everyone what I am thankful for.

I am thankful for a five day break; I would have been more thankful had it been a full seven days, but you can’t get everything you want in life. I am thankful that there is a day dedicated to eating – few celebrate unité this millennia. I am thankful that tests are over with for the next five days. I am thankful for the ability to sleep in and walk around all day in my pajamas if I so please. I am thankful for the future five day avoidance of the noise and stupidity in the hallways – seriously, some people need to grow up. I am thankful that we will all get a break. I am thankful Thanksgiving is so close to winter break now that the district has decided to make it a week longer – so few school days left! I am thankful for the math I won’t be required to do, but not even math. I am thankful for the halt of biology labs and the cessation of counting of cyclic cells – even if it is only temporary. I am thankful that this break affords so many freedoms from school, as long as the homework is done ahead of time. I am thankful for the advent – or rather recognition – of rhetorical devices, without anaphora, none of this would have been literary or shaped in any way or form to any English class I have taken since first grade; so thank you, Aristotle, Martianus Capella, and their teachers (or whoever the first to use this rhetorical jargon were), I appreciate you. 

The Finale of Hamlet - Act 5 Analysis

November 21

“No, faith, not a jot”

            In the first scene during the final Act of Shakespeare’s play “Hamlet”, Horatio and Hamlet are in a churchyard discussing the death of Alexander the great, and whether or not he died and was buried just as any normal man. “Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust, the dust is earth, of earth we make loam”, Hamlet explains that Alexander died, and was buried just as any other man. Man rots and turns to dust in the earth, and that very same dust is used to fill in the holes in beer barrels. Caesar, a great king as well, died and was buried under the same process; his body could have been clay used to keep wind away by the construction of a house. “Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay, might stop a hole to keep the wind away.” They come to the conclusion that all, noble or peasant, end up as dust in the earth, and are used to keep others living and for the benefit of others; there is no difference between the poor and the haughty.

            “Here comes the king, the queen, the courtiers—who is this they follow, and with such maimèd rites.” The pair comes across the sight of the royal family, Laertes, and a priest; there is much question as to why the four are in the churchyard with small ceremony. Smaller ceremonies led to the belief that the deceased had committed suicide. “The corse they follow did with desperate hand fordo its own life”. Curious to see who was being buried, Hamlet and Horatio remained in the shadows, waiting to see the identity of the lost soul. 

Issues with Memorization.

November 19

I have been sitting here, for the past few hours, attempting to memorize these four lines with no luck. I am ready to be done, ready to be finished. Instead, they give me nothing by difficulty. It has been written out, still no luck. Thanks, Shakespeare, I appreciate these four (some aren’t even full) lines.

Tis sweet and commendable in your nature hamlet to give these mourning duties to your father, but you must know, your father lost a father, that father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound in filial obligation for some term to do obsequious sorrow. But to persever in obstinate condolement is a course of impious stubbornness, tis unmanly grief, it shows a will most incorrect to heaven, a heart unfortified, a mind impatient. An understanding simple and unschool’d. for what me know, must be and is as common as any the most vulgar thing to sense. Why should we in our peevish opposition take it to heart? Fie. Tis a fault to heaven, a fault against the dead, a fault to nature. to reason most absurd whose common theme is death of fathers and who still hath cried. From the first corse till he that died today. ‘this must be so’ we pray you, throw to earth this unprevailing woe and think of us as of a father, for let the world take note, you are the most immediate to our throne, and with no less nobility of love than that dearest father bears for his son do I impart toward you. To your intent of going back to wittenburg, it is most retrograde to our desire. And we beseech you, bend you to remain in the cheer and comfort of our eye our chiefest courtier, cousin and our son. 

(Very) Short E.R. Story and Miscellaneous.

November 14

All of this year, I have yet to turn something in, an assignment specifically, late. Assuming blogs do not count. On top of all of the other work, college shenanigans and life, blogs aren’t exactly something I am remembering to do anymore. Behind a week, or a few days, who knows; all one can do is hope that it doesn’t have some adverse effect and ruin everything I’ve tried to work for. That reminds me, I have to wake up early to finish homework. I thought senior year was supposed to be fun.

On to something exciting – I saw a man with twenty-four broken ribs. His entire chest, completely bruised, his skin, beginning to peel and bleed. His heart began to beat. How much strain it must’ve gone through for that man to have gone through what he did. More than three hours of CPR, a pulse caught and lost a minimum of six times within those few hours; Enough epinephrine to make up 90 per-cent of his blood, so much epinephrine. After an ultrasound, a lung x-ray, and being diagnosed with both pneumonia and sepsis, it is difficult to determine if he will make it through the night. I can only imagine that, if he does indeed wake up (not that I will find out anytime soon, if at all) he will be hurting, a lot, and for an extremely long time; doctors cannot do much about a broken rib, but this man will have to go through many surgeries.