Sensing the Cycle of Life.

Supposedly one can sense the cycle of life. The first sense that comes to mind is a sweet taste.  Life is sweet because it can be full of joy. It is good to be young, then you enjoy freedoms in your 20s and 30s, then you enjoy the sweetness of family.  When we are young, we know the excitement of running through the summer grass and rolling around in the fluffy white snow.  As a teenager we get a taste of what having liberties is like. In our 20s and 30s, we fully experience these liberties and the new opportunities opened to us when we are adults.  When we are 30 or 40, most people choose to start a family.  We can find happiness in the patter of feet and the sound of kids or grand-kids playing on the lawn until we are older.  Life can also be bitter.  It is bitter when someone we are fond of dies. It is not fun knowing the pain of losing a loved one.  There are other hardships in life that make it bitter.  Life can be stressful.  When we are given our liberties at age 20 we are also expected to conform to society and get a house and a job, both of which can be stressful to the person trying to accomplish these. But what do I know. I am sixteen.  I don't know what the rest of my life will be like. I don't know how I will reflect on my early child hood in 20 years from now. I don't know what I will think about this blog post in 20 years. Life also has that taste of something you can't quite place. That is the uncertainty of the future.

Journal 18

As I pondered the multitude of eyes beaming at me from the magnificent creature, I could not help but notice the faint smell of blood. The smell of ferrous and pain came from the beast.  It is difficult to understand the smell of pain.  It is a recognition that an unfortunate soul makes once they have witnessed much pain.  It is the smell of fear and courage, of defeat and glory. I think the scent is from pheromones released by the body. That would make sense.  The body chose to alert others that this creature is injured, risky, but potentially good.  I wonder as to why this reaction was evolved. Yes, it helps friendly creatures identify that they need to help, but it could alert enemies to the weakness.  As I was pondering this, the creature stepped from behind the shadows.  Bloodied, but largely able to function.  It seemed that it had just won a fight that was well matched.  This animal would survive, but I assumed the worst for the other.  The beast, still ripe with adrenaline from its fight growled menacingly.  As I had mentioned, this creature had a multitude of eyes, all of which were focused on me.  They, it, the beast, glared at me.  It had just finished battle and was ready to start again. Obviously, in a choice of fight or flight, this creature chose fight.  I had to admire the nobility of it.  Courage is a difficult trait to develop and should be admired.  But was this courage of stupidity? I knew what I was capable of, and knew I would lose in this conflict.  However, it did not know what I had or what I was capable of.  I pondered the evolution this creature, and I must have been inactive enough in my thought because the animal growled and left.  I was not worth its time. I never saw the creature again in my life. I wish I knew the origin of the creature.

The Fuzz

As the light blue fuzz feathered through the warm current of air purring from the heat vent, I saw before me a revelation. We are much like the light blue fuzz which feathered through the warm air of the heat vent.  This little blue fuzz drifts along with no true control over where it goes, the warm air controls it, and the air is controlled by the vent.  We are the fuzz. We are light blue in modesty and freedom. Light blue in suffocation. We feather and drift through the air, semi-conscious that we have no control, but we still enjoy the freedoms allowed to us by the air and by our constant motion.  However uplifting this may be, we are suffocated. Suffocated by the lack of any control. Suffocated of the one true freedom. We lack power and asphyxiate on the hypocrisy that we feed ourselves when we say we are free. This fuzz is piteous. It has no power, no control, and no sense of emotion.  We are the fuzz, pushed along by the warm air current that is societies expectations.  The heat vent that is authority creates the warm air that is expectations, and the heat is a mutual hatred of all who have ever met.  These expectations are put upon us.  Once we have entered the air current, there is no turning back. We are swept away by the flow and change of expectations. The fuzz follows the current for a time, and then drifts out and lands on the floor beside me. After its monumental journey the fuzz is free of the draft. The expectations are too gentle to affect us. The heat is still present, but not as extreme or as forceful as it was in the fuzz's early life. We think about the time before we entered this air current from the heat vent, and reflect on how is the same as we currently exist.  We are this fuzz, and the fuzz is free.

Journal 16

A long time from now, in a galaxy far, far away, our story takes place. The setting is the Nombulus System in the Goromb galaxy. The Goromb Galaxy is a peaceful place as the Imperials had kept a stable rule for many centuries. The Nombulus System was a smallish system toward the middle of the galaxy. It too, was very peaceful.  Well, one day young Zaxbar comes to school dressed differently from everyone else.  The usual attire for boys his age was cut off bredano pants, Stellar Brand zephyr shoes, and a frotir shirt.  It was very unusual for people to show up dressed differently from this as this was the style of the time.  However, Zaxbar wore something different. He came to school with a grenthar cap, a full sleeve botnam tunic, yicur pantaloons, and sandals.  The other kids did not know what to think of Zaxbar because he was dressed in a manner that they did not understand.  This attire was very weird because his shirt was one reserved for formal dances, his hat from the military, and his pants had been used since the colonization of the system.  People asked Zaxbar what he was wearing and why he was wearing it, but he would not answer.  There were speculations that he was trying to start a new trend, or that he had gone mad. Zaxbar denied all propositions and never told anyone what he was wearing.  However, many of the kids, who were easily impressionable, acted as total jerks.  They were molded by the sardonic media of the galaxy known as the Internet.  These kids began to make fun of him by calling him very offensive names such as Beeble Bobler, and Nerf Herder.  Strangely enough, Zaxbar was un-phased.  Such names were very insulting, and if said to the wrong person would result in several days of detention.  Although Zaxbar took no heed to the bad things said about him, he never wore it again, and everyone was very confused.  We will never know the mystery behind the day Zaxbar came to school in unusual garb.

Whom Do I Miss Greatly?

I have to admit I don't miss many people. I have a good friend who moved to Alabama a few years back, but he and I keep in touch a few times a week, and he comes up during summer and winter break.  Sometimes, right after the end of summer, I think to myself, "I should go to Wade's house." However, Wade isn't there, and I'm OK with it.  The one person I could say I legitimately miss is my cousin Cameron.  Cameron was and still is a very smart guy. He knew all kinds of stuff about biology and wildlife and he was a really good artist. He is my older cousin, so when I was a kid I looked up to him. I only got to see him at family occasions such as family dinners at Christmas and Thanksgiving.  He graduated highschool and joined the Marines.  I don't get to see him now at family holidays because he is still training to be a helicopter mechanic.  He really likes the armed services, and I am happy for him.  But I don't get to see my cousin and I hope he stays safe.

Poe: Transcendentalism

"The Pit and the Pendulum" is an excellent work by Poe showing the writing style of the Romanticism era, specifically that of transcendentalism.   The transcendental writing style focuses on the concept of metaphysical experience.  Poe experiences and conveys the feelings that one would get if one experienced the Inquisition first hand.  

This work is generally romantic.  Poe is eloquent and aloof with his wording with such descriptions as: "the sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy indeterminate hum." (Poe).  This is notably romantic because many people today would view this a very wordy and not concise enough to be used in literature. However, this is what helps Poe to make his superbly finite description of the infinite.  This is one of the first references that Poe makes to the transitional state of consciousness and fear experienced by the narrator.  This story belongs in the Romanticism category of Transcendentalism because it focuses on the metaphysical.  The narrator does not focus so much on his surroundings as he does trying to make sense of his internal experiences (Poe).  

Poe also demonstrates transcendentalism very well.  The majority of the story is the narrator trying to figure out what state of mind he is experiencing (Poe). At one point the narrator states, "What of it there remained I will not attempt to define, or even to describe; yet all was not lost. In the deepest slumber -- no! In delirium -- no! In a swoon -- no! In death -- no! Even in the grave all was not lost." This is the narrator attempting to identify his state of mind.  The entire story weaves in and out of dream and reality, where the two collide often enough that, if it seems like one, it is probably the other.  On the table beneath the pendulum, when the are climbing over him, Poe slips in and out of reality (May).  Another example of this transitioning in and out of consciousness is a the beginning.  The trial seems vague, like a dream, but the narration of being transferred by the guards seems like the narrator is gaining consciousness (Poe).  Poe references this in his work and talks about awaking from sleep and "breaking a gossamer web" but should the web be unbroken, one experiences such fantasy that it can not be put into coherent thought without a work of great length (Poe).  

"The Pit and the Pendulum" is a remarkable work by Poe.  It uses transcendentalism to identify with the the metaphysical experience of fear and intermediate consciousness (May). This transitional state of reality truly makes this story transcendental because it does not even necessarily focus on the familiar.  The unfamiliar is embraced by the narrator and analyzed with little success.  The narrator makes the identifications of new experience common to transcendentalism writing.  Poe's "Pit and the Pendulum" is literally a textbook example of romanticism.

May, Charles E. "Alternate Realms of Reality." In Edgar Allan Poe: A Study of Short Fiction. Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1991, pp. 96–97. Quoted as "Dreams and Reality in the Story" in Harold Bloom, ed. Edgar Allan Poe, Bloom's Major Short Story Writers. Philadelphia: Chelsea House Publishing, 1998. (Updated 2007.)Bloom's Literary Reference Online. Facts On File, Inc. http://www.fofweb.com/activelink2.asp?ItemID=WE54&SID=5&iPin= BMSSEP39&SingleRecord=True (accessed November 4, 2012).

Poe, Edgar Allen. "The Pit and the Pendulum." American Literature. Columbus, Ohio: Glencoe, 2009. 263-73. Print.

Journal 14: Scared

The time when I was most scared was when I was 14.  I was at a summer camp with the Boy Scouts in Camp Bunn, Illinois.  Summer Camp was going well, but as always, the weather became rainy.  However, this time it got bad.  The sky turned green and the thunder was very close.  The camp's tornado sirens began to wail.  At the beginning of camp, all of the scout leaders were given instruction on where to take shelter in case of bad weather because tornadoes are not that uncommon in southern Illinois.  Our troop was supposed to take shelter in a runoff ditch in the woods behind our camp.  Great.  The sirens go off and we are guided a few hundred feet to the ditch.  We are instructed to lie down and cover our heads; we do so. I am on the bottom of the pile of young men and am face-down on my stomach at the bottom of the ditch.  The rain is coming down in buckets, the wind is, well, tornado-like.  A stream is swallowing the lower half of my body, trees are blowing over and landing across the ditch, and lightning strikes only 200 yards away at the climbing tower.  This was terrifying.  I was drenched, muddy, under a pile of bodies, trees are nearly landing on me, lightning is very close and I can feel it through the ground, and I was 14.  I seriously thought I would die. I didn't.  I'm pretty sure it's blatantly obvious why this was scary, but in case it wasn't: I am not usually afraid of storms, I haven't been since I was five.  However, I do have a fear of suffocating, drowning, and getting smashed by a tree.  Its a bit irrational, I know.  This is the time when I was most scarred.  I think it was a fairly acceptable time to be afraid.  Summer camp that year was exciting to say the least.