Breathe

Vocabulary:
1.) Boisterous: adj. Loud and full of energy
2.) Verdant: adj. Green in tint or color
3.) Confection: n. A sweet, fancy food
4.) Pallid: adj. Lacking color
5.) Cadence: n. A rhythm, progression of sound
6.) Arid: adj. Excessively dry
7.)Tortuous: adj. Winding
8.) Frenetic: adj. Frenzied, hectic, frantic
9.) Iridescent: adj. Showing rainbow colors
10.) Wispy: adj. Weak or light


Breathe

Lost. Very Lost. The boisterous and frenetic kids surrounded and enveloped me. No, not kids. Giants. Giants swaying to the cadence of the loud, obnoxious music. Overwhelmed by the smell of sweet and greasy confections of cotton candy, funnel cakes, and candied apples. I wanted to scream. I couldn’t breathe. The tortuous maze of the metal dragon seemed to slice through the arid night, almost ready to engulf me, or anyone in its path. I couldn’t scream, so I ran. Past the laughing faces that seemed to mock my childish ways, at my pallid face dripping with salty, tormenting tears. My ears were numbed by the rhythmic melody of buzzers and alarms, and ringers, laughing at me. A verdant flash lingered the corner of my eye. I stopped. An iridescent sign that read exit flickered twice, and then ceased all together. I walked. I walked toward freedom without the slightest hesitation. All of a sudden, my humid skin felt the first wispy kiss of the night’s wind. I shivered and then sighed. Air. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Love will set us free...

Influenced by friends, books, art, and other musicians such as Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, and Willie Nelson, Brett Dennen’s music can be classified as “peace mongering folk/ pop”. His songs are filled with earnest, soulful love, and sweet, stirring peace, communicating his disgust for politics, prisons, and violence. His lyrics advocate peace and opportunity, all the while bringing hope to his listeners and the world. Dennen comments, “Songs should inspire you to start a revolution… it’s [our] job to put a message out there, to use [our] job to change the world. I mean, everyone has the opportunity to add to making the world a better place. But, we’re especially unique as artists because people look to us, people gather around us. We can really have an affect.”

In his song, “Ain’t No Reason”, Brett Dennen questions the way we as Americans live, commenting, “there ain’t no reason things are this way, that’s how they’ve always been and they intend to stay.” With this, he challenges us to see the irony in our world, and encourages us to make a change. In this song, Dennen flashes different scenes, or examples, in order to enlighten listeners of different plights in our society, highlighting our ignorance toward other nations. In one verse, he sings of the arrogance that surrounds Americans everyday, “…wearin’ paychecks like necklaces and bracelets…slavery stitched into the fabric of my clothes…” Dennen presents the oblivious nature of our nation towards the nations less fortunate than ours. In another verse. he suggests the precious value of life and how “people walk a tight rope on a razor’s edge, carryin’ their hurt and hatred and weapons.” Through all of this negativity, Dennen stresses that “love will come set me free”, indicating that love, the ultimate freedom, will unlock us from our downward slope.

As singer/ songwriter Brett Dennen puts it, “Music is the magic of change”. These six words epitomize his life and the messages that he puts forth. His song, “Ain’t No Reason” emphasizes the songwriter’s appreciation for struggle, while ultimately encouraging optimism throughout hard times.

LYRICS

There ain't no reason things are this way

It's how they've always been and they intend to stay

I can't explain why we live this way

We do it everyday

Preachers on the podiums speaking to saints

Prophets on the sidewalk begging for change

Old ladies laughing from the fire escape, cursing my name

I got a basket full of lemons and they all taste the same

A window and a pigeon with a broken wing

You can spend your whole life working for something

Just to have it taken away

People walk around pushing back their desks

Wearing pay checks like necklaces and bracelets

Talking 'bout nothing, not thinking about death

Every little heart beat, every little breath

People walk a tight rope on a razor's edge

Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons

It could be a bomb or a bullet or a pen

Or a thought or a word or a sentence

There ain't no reason things are this way

It's how they've always been and they intend to stay

I don't know why I say the things I say,

But I say them anyway

But love will come set me free

Love will come set me free

I do believe

Love will come set me free

I know it will

Love will come set me free

Yes

Prison walls still standing tall

Some things never change at all

Keep on building prisons, Gonna fill them all

Keep on building bombs

Gonna drop them all

Working your fingers bare to the bone

Breaking your back, make you sell your soul

Like a lung is filled with coal, Suffocating slow

The wind blows wild and I may move

But politicians lie and I am not fooled

You don't need no reason or a 3 piece suit

To argue the truth

The air on my skin and the world under my toes

Slavery is stitched into the fabric of my clothes

Chaos and commotion wherever I go

Love, I try to follow

But love will come set me free

Love will come set me free

I do believe

Love will come set me free

I know it will

Love will come set me free

Yes

There ain't no reason things are this way

It's how they've always been and they intend to stay

I can't explain why we live this way

We do it everyday

My Crayons

Colors

My hypnopaedic statement serves as a personal revelation as well as a public one. One should always strive to use their own "crayons" to reach a goal; to create an image; become themselves; or to paint a new meaning. One should never borrow or steal other's "crayons" to make their own portrait. Be yourself and everything will turn out as "pretty as a picture".

Poetry Essay

Samuel Taylor Coleridge once said, “I wish our clever young poets would remember my homely definitions of prose and poetry: that is, prose= words in their best order; poetry= the best words in the best order.” In his Songs of Innocence and Experience, William Blake often creates two poems that highlight his central ideas. Each duo would contain a different view, mainly positive and negative, to depict a common theme. In his pair The Lamb, and The Tiger, Blake rises the question of origin and creation with respect to religion. Just as Coleridge remarked that poetry consisted of the “best words in the best order”, Blake’s poetry makes use of diction that involves the best word choice, proving Coleridge’s description.

In his positive poem, The Lamb, Blake’s speaker continually questions a lamb, “who made thee?” By using rhyming couplets that give the poem a song- like quality, one may infer that the speaker is a child. The softness of the words that Blake included furthers the tranquility and mildness of the poem. The flowing l’s and soft repeating vowel sounds contribute to the effect and also create a beat that focuses on the nativity of a child’s wondering, while ultimately innocently questioning creation and religion.

On the other hand, Blake’s The Tiger makes use of harsher tones and rhythm. While The Lamb uses soft and song-like words, The Tiger uses hard and cacophonous words, alluding to the demanding nature of the poem. Along with the hard consonant sounds, the rhythm and rhyming suggest a hammering beat that contributes to the commanding question of creation. Blake’s rough adjective choice contrasts The Lamb’s euphonious diction. This negative side of the question, “Who made thee?” makes the speaker wonder “Did he who made the Lamb make thee?”

As both positive and negative sides are represented with The Lamb and The Tiger, word choice helps to convey the overall underlying theme. So, when Coleridge described poetry as using the best words, William Blake truly and definitely proved it.

A Report By Jack Burden

My name is Jack Burden.
I am a reporter.
Information and dedication is the key to my success.
Anyone, anywhere, anytime.
Three stories are mine to tell,
My life, my world, my time.

Willie Stark is his name,
and boy, oh boy, is politics his game.
But as they say,
All good things must come to an end.
Some people have such a knack
For creating the best out of a bad situation
That they go around making bad situations
So that they can make the best of them.
Willie, oh, Willie,
Why'd you have to get involved?
Knowledge was your downfall,
And power was your tool.

Then there is the Scholarly Attorney.
His weakness disgusts me.
There was no way that he could have bourne me,
He was just too good.
To follow in his footsteps
Would be wasteful and useless.
Ellis, your holy ways consumed you,
after foulness had engulfed you.
Sweet and innocent,
Too innocent for my liking.

Next comes Judge Irwin,
A real swell guy he was.
Always there for me when I needed him,
Just like a father.
Not too corrupt, and not too shy,
The perfect balance amidst the chaos.
Friendly, yet serious;
Suttle, yet powerful.

Now it is I who must write my own story.
The Trinity put forth,
but who to follow?
Corruption, innocence, or somewhere in between?
That's enough for now,
I dug up too much already, and it's
Time to return to the present.
But don't worry, I'll be back.

college essay

"Oh, come on, come with us!" my best friend whined as she confidently scribbled her name on the service sign-up sheet. As each one of my friends scratched their names on the list, I glanced hesitantly at the service site description: Soup Kitchen. Oh no. I had heard about that place, the grimy, filthy, diseased-filled soup kitchen. Bums and perverts filed in every day looking for a handout while greasily hitting on the volunteers. No way, not for me. But, before I had time to express a slightest complaint, my name was forged onto the list as the last space filled.

As I cautiously idled into the parking lot, my fears were confirmed. Outside, a line had already started to develop, and I considered reversing my car right back out of the parking lot, but before I could ponder the consequences, I saw my friend making her way over to where I was parked. She pulled me right out of the car and ran with me inside to where I was instantly handed an apron and a pair of latex gloves.

What I originally thought of as a headache ended up being a blessing. These people weren't perverts looking for handouts; these were ordinary people dealing with what life had issued them. Seeing mothers reassure their children that tomorrow they would return and consume one more meal that they might have not had; seeing fathers wrap up their own meal so that their child could have another meal that night; seeing the gratefulness in their eyes when families are asked if they would like another serving of mashed potatoes; seeing the heartache in parent’s faces when all of the extra bread is gone; and seeing the look of utter desperation when explaining to a child why they couldn’t eat like this at home. These are the observations that made me realize how much of life itself I take for granted, and ultimately allowed me to press forward to try to understand the human condition, and uncover a purpose behind life, beyond the basic need for survival.

I came to this conclusion: if the world and all its elements acted independently, with no other regard for anything else, there would be no hope or faith of a greater scheme. As I continue to learn from this experience, I intend to try to inspire the community around me, to reach out, as I have, and begin molding a better world for the remainder of this generation, and the ones to come.

Two-Face

Hey, you up there. Yea you.
You chip off the ol’ block.
Christ you were a smart guy,
With the sweetest little wifey,
And the swellest kids ever.
A good little bloke with a pure heart.
Can you hear the fluttering whispers of the faint angel voices up there?
Wow you left a jolly happy- brute creation down here,
But now you’re como un santito.

Yea, well ignorance is bliss, and all good men hope for peace.
If your eyes get starry with tears again, I’m gunna have to puke.

Hey you down there. Yea you.
You crazy, funny ol’ fat man.
Christ, you talk like a snot,
With your little squirt- face.
You were as dumb as a hoot owl,
And the stinkingist louse God ever let live.
You god-damned sap with your thick wooden head.
You stupid, stupid, stupid , good-for-nothing piece of sawdust.
But now you’re gone. I guess God answered our prayers.

Escaping a "Long Day’s Journey into Night"

“The right way is to remember. So you’ll always be on your guard. You know what has happened before… That’s what makes it so hard- for all of us. We can’t forget” (45-48). Throughout Long Day’s Journey Into Night, author Eugene O’Neill offers temporary escape routes for his characters to indulge in. Some, even most of these agents, introduce corruption into the Tyrone family (Thiessen). Instead of directly dealing with difficult situations, all four Tyrones isolate themselves from each other to the point where a stifling sense of loneliness and despair envelopes them. In order to provide needed relief from the hysteria, O’Neil induces different elements, such as drink, fog, or transcendence, to protect his characters from reality.

Throughout "Long Day’s Journey Into Night", the use of whisky serves as a corrupted substitute for all pain, while unconsciously distracting the characters from the real pain they face. When drunken with his father, the poetic Edmund recites Baudelaire with complete sincerity, “Be always drunken. Nothing else matters: that is the only question… be drunken continually. Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue as you will. But be drunken” (135). To enforce the effect of a temporary escape, O’Neill constantly has his characters interact while partially or completely drunken. This state of mind serves as a relaxing element. It seems as if these characters can only converse openly in the midst of whisky or some other form of alcohol. Instead of facing the true reality of their chaotic lives, the family, excluding Mary Tyrone, drink to subsidize turmoil. Another character, known for his dreaming, recalls a dream he once had of the sea. Edmund reminisces, “I became drunk to the beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment, I lost myself- actually lost my life. I was set free! I belonged… within something greater than my own life, or the life of man, to Life itself!” (156) Just as being in a drunken state helps to “deny the reality of the present” (Thiessen), another element also allows for escape.

“Why is it fog makes everything sound so sad and lost, I wonder?” (123) Mary’s response to the fog creates a certain ironic twist that ultimately forms a wall around her and her family (Thiessen). While in one situation, Mary criticizes the fog for isolating her from happiness, the next she praises it for protecting her. “I really love fog… it hides you from the world and the world from you. You feel everything has changed and nothing seems to be. No one can find you or touch you anymore” (100). In a sense, Mary’s love-hate relationship with the fog parallels an oscillating vehicle of her “drug-induced escape”: morphine (Thiessen). Just as the fog acts as both a protector and a barrier, Mary’s morphine addiction ironically represents both relief and isolation. Mary’s family express their resentment towards her addiction by subconsciously alluding to her love of the fog. “The hardest thing to take is the blank wall she builds around her. Or it’s more like a bank of fog in which she hides and loses herself” (139; Thiessen). Along with Mary’s appreciation of the fog, her son, Edmund, also comes to love the feeling obtained when wrapped in its darkening hold. “The fog was where I wanted to be… Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted- to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue, and life can hide itself… [it was] as if I was a ghost belonging to the fog…It felt so damned peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost” (133).

Rather than confronting the overwhelming pain directly, each Tyrone reverts nostalgically to a dream or some lost memory (Thiessen). “The past is the present, isn’t it? It’s the future too. We all try to lie out of that but life won’t let us” (87). Throughout the play, the members of the Tyrone family each desire to transcend in order to “escape the reality of the present time… and remove themselves from the community of the present” (Thiessen). To describe these characters completely, one might refer them to be ghosts of their own past. As the play unfolds, readers discover how truly unhappy these characters are by their constant desire to be somewhere or somebody else. Mary continually remembers her girlhood, at times reverting her behavior to that of a schoolgirl (Thiessen). She also reminds herself of her dreams before she married James Tyrone, “I had two dreams. To become a nun, that was the more beautiful one. To become a concert pianist, that was the other” (104). Although Mary seems to be the ultimate “ghost” in their lives, other family members also journey into their past to resurrect old memories of happiness. James reminisces his old acting days, where people respected him, “That young man is playing Othello better than I ever did”, and recalls it being one of the greatest events in his career. “I had life where I wanted it” (150). On the other hand, Edmund’s transcendental memory is solitary, “isolated not only from his family, but from each individual living person, so that he could be united with all people through nature, escaping his own human body” (Thiessen). “[I] became the sun, the hot sand, green seaweed anchored to a rock, swaying in the breeze… For a second there is meaning… It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish” (156-157).

Even though drink, fog, and transcendence supply the Tyrone family with a temporary escape, the painful reality is that it encourages a dependency on those reoccurring elements. Rather than immediately addressing the factors that “perpetuate their misery” (Thiessen), the family rotates through the dependency cycle, until it ultimately smothers and ruins them. So, in fact, the sources of escape do not aid their survival, but eventually lead to their destruction, isolating the Tyrones from all hope.


Works Cited
Alone in the Dark: Isolation in O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey into Night. 1999-2008. Trinity Western University. Bryan Thiessen. eOneill.com. 21 Sept. 2008. <http://www.eoneill.com/library/essays/thiessen2.htm>

You see me, but you don't see Me

I am Tired, I am Weary, I am Restless,
And I am Still.
I am Confined by Bars, I am Imprisoned,
And I remain Calm.

You see me, but you don't see Me.

Inside I have Hopes, Inside I have Dreams,
Inside I'm an Eagle, Inside I am Free.
I Soar over valleys, I Perch on Mountains,
I Dive for Prey, and Stand for Pride.

You see me, but you don't see Me.

Instead I am Here, I am Stuck behind Bars,
Instead I am just a Bird, I am just a Display.
I Climb on the Walls, I Perch on the Poles,
I eat when I am Fed, and Stand for Nothing.

You see me, but you don't see Me.