Hamlet questions

a) I know that Hamlet is written by Shakespere and that everyone that could be a main character dies in the play and the name sounds like Omlete.

b) Shakespere has written some of the best plays in existence, watching them is supposed to be enjoyable but reading them is a B.U.B, Bland, Uninteresting and Boring *trademarked

c) As stated before, its a B.U.B. and most students have trouble reading his writing.

d) We could try to do the play ourselves in class, improv outfits or turn it into a groupd project where after reading it we make a satire version or parody of it in groups.

Character Study, parts 1 and 3

First thoughts, first disblief

I would like to say that I am one of those happy go lucky kids, that puts his best foot forward, well I have a face for that, but that’s not me.

I’m not the type of kid that likes to play sports, or play with animals or ride bikes.

No what I really love to do it think, odd for a kid in 7^th grade I know.

The sad truth is I’ve been dealt the worst hand in life, well not the worst I’ve come to realize in thinking, but pretty shitty, sorry, pretty bad.  I walk weird, talk weird, write poorly, mishear, don’t know how to make friends, in fact I spend most  of my time alone, just thinking… what about? Well you know…. Stuff. Anything that comes to mind I just welp, think about it.

But recently I’ve been thinking about religion and God, my grandparents and aunt always say ‘Jesus love you’ and ‘God made you like you were for a reason’

What was that reason did my parents piss him off? Oh! Sorry, did my parents make him angry? 

Well, I asked them why, and they came back with the same statement, well am I really supposed to believe if I can’t even get a real answer? How is a faceless, nameless entity supposed to help me get through a day of bullies, grouchy teachers, parents that don’t listen and a whole mess of homework?

Yeah, you could say I’m not the biggest believer, I don’t even own a pair of Sunday trousers.  Oh, well class is starting might as well get going, I’ll think more later but I gotta focus on class.

Realizations, understandings and a revelation… 3 years later

Cancer, my uncle had cancer, when I heard that my heart stopped, blood ran cold, I couldn’t believe it, my uncle had always seemed a pillar of strength to me, nothing could stop him. And how could he have cancer? He never did any wrong and me meant so much to so many people he was a marine

A Father

A son

An Uncle

A friend

So how could HE have gotten cancer, he was healthy, happy and had the most infectious laugh you’ve ever heard, you’ll hear it in another room and you’d start laughing, just because you heard him laughing.  I couldn’t believe and in the first time in years, since that day in the 7^th grade when I first stopped believing I prayed to god, offered up myself in place of him.  But no answer came, and for months my uncle struggled in pain through his treatments, his wife, my aunt weeping alone at night when he wasn’t there and his children, my little cousins, not even fully understanding why their dad wasn’t coming home every day, why his hair was gone, why he had stopped laughing, why he got thinner, paler.

I prayed every day, every night and whenever I tried to think I just couldn’t get it out of my head and I prayed, but no answer came, no salvation, he continued on in pain and suffering and I couldn’t do shit about it. I felt helpless, I couldn’t help one of the people that meant the world to me, for months it was like that then…

I was told my Grandpa had cancer, I almost fainted, I was sitting down, otherwise I may very well have toppled over, they all prayed, I prayed to, and after I prayed I cursed God, my Grandpa had a bad mouth, drank, but he was always happy, always joking around and fun to be with, when he started treatment, he stopped calling me shit head and brat, dumb ass and knuckle head, he drank less, he smiled less, and that look in his eye was so dull, like it had given  up.

And I cursed God, I sat in my bed and I cursed him, sent my hate to the heavens and I lay there thinking vulgarities no man should think.  

In time they got better, my Grandpa started to believe in God, something he hadn’t done in years, my uncle returned to normal, everyone was happy thanking God, I was happy, but I cursed god, I stopped praying, stopped thinking about him, I thought I’d be able to ignore that faceless entity forever, but as fate would have it I would send one last curse up there, just 2 years later.

Forsaken and Alone, I curse you this last time…

He was dead, one of my brother’s best friends lost his battle against cancer, he had a future, he had so much to live for, and know he was gone, an entire community was praying for him, and yet he died; only a few years after graduating high school god saw fit to take him away.

Screw ‘god’.

I remember, seeing my brother speak at the memorial service, I thought, he is braver, stronger, and more courageous then I’ll ever be.

And for the first time in years I watched my older brother cry, he never let anyone besides my Mother, and a few others, see him cry, he was the big brother, he had to be strong for his little siblings, and for the first time in my life I heard him trip over a sentence as he held back sobs of grief. 

When everyone had cleared out and gone into the side rooms to chat and drink and eat, to remember he who me lost I reentered and I stood in front of his pictures, it seemed like a garden of flowers had been placed around it, he smiled there at me and I cried, I cried and I cried, I couldn’t stop, I looked up to him, he was creative, he was smart, kind, he was a listener, a thinker another person like me, he made me think, maybe I could amount to something.

Now he’s gone.

I remember standing there and thinking, why him, why not me, if I had died it wouldn’t have mattered.

I was useless

I’d never amount to anything

My death wouldn’t make an entire community grieve,

My parents had my brothers and my brothers each other.

My friends well, I didn’t think they’d much mind, I was always kind of a third wheel

Yet I was still here and he was gone, he had a future, I did not, I wanted to scream.

But I didn’t instead I sat down and for once I didn’t think, my mind was blank and in that empty room I felt alone. So alone, then I realized the feeling wasn’t foreign to me, I was always alone, I just realized it know.

Then I heard music, a boy, not much older than me was playing the beautiful song on the piano, I listened to it, let it fill my head and banish that feeling of alone for just a moment, I was floating on  a sea of sound, and then it stopped and the boy left I sat alone again.

Then I looked at the ceiling, looked past it to the heavens and I gave my last curse.

‘I forsake you, how can you exist.’

He that nameless entity that had long forsaken me and others, who did not show any sign or give any salvation or hope to us, why should I believe any more?

I was done believing,

I was done hoping for a better tomorrow

Life happens, it moves like a current, and we can’t fight against it.

Alone, thoughts, faces, and I am Alone….

Alone, that is what I feel at every moment. Alone in my mind. I watch others and I ponder, what are they thinking? Do they like me? No, they aren’t, they can’t, I’m alone in mind and thought, if I wasn’t alone then the last sure fact in my life would disappear.

I need to be alone to keep myself going.

So I ponder:

How will they react to a statement, so I say something inappropriate to see their reactions, they think that’s me, their wrong. And until they are right I can only ponder why they are wrong and retreat within myself as I always do.

I walk alone around in a circle, deep within my thoughts, alone. A repeating cycle, my feet move on their own, nothing ever gets in my way, I am alone. Creating a world of my own, immersing myself in that sea of thought to escape the horrible existence that is reality I for a second can go back to that bench, with that boy playing the piano, and escape it all, if only for a moment.

Then someone comes to the table, calls me on the phone, so I won’t be alone, but I am, not in body, but in mind and in thought, my mind wonders as my body talks, what is this person in front of me doing? Why are they doing it? Who exactly they are, do I know who they truly are? What makes them  who they are? Where are they going by thinking about where they have already been. But no matter how long or hard I ponder I can’t find an answer, I can’t be right, for if I was right I would no longer be alone in my thoughts.

I am alone.

They are alone.

We are all alone.

All of us trapped in our own cycle of thought, acting with multiple faces to fit in, to be loved, to belong, but those force us to be forever alone.

These are the thoughts I have realized in my years, so I’m going to keep walking, alone, and thinking, alone, because what else can I do when all words  are lies, all emotions a veil all time and action simply used to create farce images and faces?

These are the things I think, they make me, the true me.

Not the fool that cares for nothing among friends.

Not the son that strives for acceptance and love.

Not the student that gives his all.

Not the scholar that finds answers.

These are faces, farce images. Just elaborate lies I have come up with to call truths. My thoughts are me, and I am alone.

Years of solitude, but an eternity of thought

I jolt awake from my deep sleep and am left breathing deeply, just a dream, but I can’t recall it, probably something I’d rather not remember.

It’s been 30 years since I left it behind, it forsook me, so I forsake it.

I have traveled the world, writing of places and of people, learned how they think, but I myself have hardly spoken. I spend my time away from home, I have a family now, three children and a beautiful wife, but I am still alone.

They give me happiness, and in return I try to smile for them and try to return the favor, but I can’t so I travel and send money, send letters where I can lie about my own happiness so they will not worry.

I am a truly miserable creature, alone, cold and scared in a foreign land, that land that is reality. What I would give to escape it if only for a moment.

I wish I didn’t miss so many of the things my children have done, the youngest is 16, the twins are 19.

Why do I travel when I miss so many moments I wish I could get back? I travel seeking an answer, and someone like me in thought, yes it is the one constant in my life, but I can’t help it, I would give it away if for a moment I can cast away the feeling of Alone, it is heavy now, heavy because it is important, or heavy as a burden, I cannot tell, I cannot know.

I travel and I have realized that there is no hope to know, there is no hope at all. I see people in all countries poor and cold on the streets, I see people praying to innumerable Gods and Idols for help, for salvation, for hope. There is salvation, there is no hope. I sometimes find myself asking the question. ‘If there is a god, or some being out there that created us, does he love me? Does he love them? Does he love us?’ I’ve never found an answer, it could be that he doesn’t, then again it could be that he loves us, but wants us to live on our own, forging our own path through life. I don’t know, I can’t know.

Yes we are alone, I know that, the one thing I do know. I am alone, and my family across an ocean, mountains and rolling plains of grass are alone.

How the twins hate me, how my wife must hate me as well, but for the life of me, I don’t know why my youngest still cares, how he could say he wants to be like me, it’s another thing I ponder, but I can never find the answer to, I guess it doesn’t matter, after all, he’ll be alone, just as we all are.

Achievements and tears

My lungs hurt, cancer they say, stage 4. I’m not going to live, but I don’t mind, I’ve had a good run, eighty something years old, I stopped counting, and I saw the world, wrote books, got awards, hell my name is known worldwide, I would laugh if it didn’t hurt so damn much.

Yeah I’m happy know, you could say that I have lived a full life, I still feel alone, my wife left me, years ago ,good go how long ago… 40 something years?

My youngest was only 18 so yeah, just about 40 years or so.

The twins haven’t said a word to me, haven’t seen them since then, she, my wife that is, got custody of the kids, after we got divorced I mean, but the youngest looked me out, found me in an old warehouse in down town New York I was renting. That was a day to remember- oh wait ah yes that’s right I need to watch the TV, damn it hurts to move.

Did I mention I have cancer? Well I got Shingles to, ain’t that a double whammy for you huh?

Well anyway, I buzzed the nurse and she got it there for me, I smiled and thanked her, she’s cute, and nice always smiling, I enjoy it when she’s here, more than the big male nurse, god I hate it when its his turn on bath day, why can’t I have that lovely flower every day its bath day?

Oh its starting, yeah, I won another award, take that parents and teachers, said I wouldn’t be anything, stupid bastards. Ow! I laughed, see it hurts.

Well doctor said I’m too sick to go get it, but my son went instead, yeah that boy is one in a million, I’m leaving everything to him in my will, old cousins and great grand kids and grandkids of my cousins twice removed have looked me up, trying to get my stuff, well screw um. Nope every things going to my youngest.

Oh shush up now! My boys speaking, I sent him a few lines to say to the crowd, then he gets to say whatever.

‘My father, as many of you know, can’t be here today, he is sick and I wish him the best and I hope that he is in your prayers.’

Damn it, I don’t want their prayers, or their pity.

‘but if he was here he’d say something like. ‘Er thanks for the award, where’s the alcohol?’ then he’d lumber off back to his seat.’

Well he was right, that’s what I told him to say.

‘but I’m going to share a story with you. When I was just a little kid, my dad was never home, he was out traveling, but he always came back for my birthday, for my siblings and mothers birthday to, and he’d come back at other times now and then. I never forgot how much I looked up to him, he always seemed strong, able to face the strange big world alone.’

Aw damn it, he’s getting sentimental, yeah he does that.

‘And never did I think, why isn’t daddy home? Because in a way, I knew I wasn’t alone, and neither was he. We were always with each other.’

What’s this now? Has he blown a fuse or something…

‘That’s why I found him, that’s why when I could after I was taken from him I searched for him. When I found him I couldn’t be happier. I remember him talking about how he was always alone, a philosophy that has come up several times in his books and that is the same idea he focused on in the book he’s being awarded for tonight. But I could never agree with him; that is the one thing I never agreed with him on.’

Now I’m listening, really I am, what just cuz I’m old means I don’t listen? Bah your arrogant as always know that?

‘We are never alone, when we truly care about each other, when two people, whether they be related or not, truly care for one another, no distance or circumstance will separate them, because they know the other is out there, when you clear your mind and think you can feel it, on the fringes of your perception, you can feel them there.’

Now that was something, you know he was probably right, I’ll have to congratulate him later.

Final Thoughts, and an apology

I don’t know how many people were at my funeral, know my boy was, know he spoke, and hell that’s all that matters, well cancer got me, bit me right in the arse, well lungs but whatever, suppose it doesn’t matter now, the point it though, I wasn’t alone, my boy was with me. It’s a good feeling, not being alone. Have someone with you, it can really brighten up a day, I spent so many years thinking I was alone when I didn’t realize, my boy was always there with me.

This bench is hard, when’s that damn train gonna get here I’ve been waiting for ages…  No one else is here, maybe I’m early?

Well enough of that; how’s my tie? Is my hat on straight, sorry guess I’m a might nervous, going to meet my maker and all, oh well here he comes, Hm, trains not here yet, guess we are taking it together.

‘Been awhile.’ That’s what I said.

He only nodded and said ‘Yes’

‘You angry with me.’

‘No.’

‘Well why not’ I asked him, I really did you believe it.

‘Why should I be angry with you? Are you angry with me?’

‘Well, don’t suppose no not anymore, though I have to say, you were a little late on the killing me and all.’

‘It wasn’t your time, we all have things we need to do.’

‘Hrm, well I guess you’re the boss. Why the hell isn’t the train here yet’

‘Are you ready to get on the train, do you have a ticket?’

‘Oh well no, guess I don’t…. say how come you never answered me, all those years ago but you answer me now’

‘I did, you just weren’t listening.’

I stopped at that ‘oh, well guess that makes sense, can I ask you a question since I’m listening now’

He only nodded

‘Did you love them, did you love me’

He only smiled and I heard the train coming, I looked down and there was a ticket in my hand, well gotta catch this train, don’t know when the next ones coming and all.

Literature Analysis #1

Literature Analysis #1

The Good Soldier by Ford Maddox Ford

                The Good Soldier is by no means a straight forward book, and it also has no true discernible plot.  The events and chapters in the story are not written in chronological order, leaving it up to the reader to piece together when certain events happened and what led up to them.   However I am able to construct a general idea of the story and its events.

The story follows a nameless narrator through his adult life as he retells the tales of two people whom he was close to, you could say his best friends, the Ashburnham’s , Edward and Lenora.  The narrator tells of his life with his wife, Florence, a woman he believes to have simple joys and wants, cursed with a weak heart, for as long as he knows her they never engage in sexual relations, even though they are married, because all of the doctors he asks tell him “It will be too hard on her heart.” But he enjoys his life with her, taking care of her, they travel all over Europe but spend most of their time at a spa town by the name of Nauheim.  Together they witnessed the trials and tribulations of the Ashburnham’s, Edward, a Captain in the British Military who enjoys simple passion and is somewhat of a romantic, having dreams similar to the stories of old where the hero whisks the maiden off her feet and off to some far away fairy tale land.  He gambles and drinks and dances simple because it is expected of him to do so with his class.

But his life would be like a night on a stormy sea, an endless night of torturous winds and massive waves.

It is revealed that the Edward and Lenora’s marriage is one of convenience rather than love, and Edward often takes mistresses throughout the story, he is seeking his true soul mate, someone that will listen. And for a good time all is well, until the day the treachery of Florence is discovered.

The narrator discovers everything he knows of Florence to be a lie, while he has been faithful she has had affairs with multiple men, including Captain Edward Ashburnham, a man by the name of Tom that once rented a loft in their home and several men of Noble class they met through their journeys of Europe.

Upon the narrators discovery Florence commits suicide and that is when the Saddest Story truly begins, Edward falls to depression and seeks a new flame, he finds it in the arms of a Spanish Dancer, wed to an Archduke, however for a hefty fee she shares a bed with him and listens to his woes, when she tires of him she cuts off all dealings and leaves him alone in a city foreign to him, his body drained of passion and love, he takes to drink and gambling where he gambles away his families fortune, his wife Lenora is forced to step in and take care of finances and sadly this is how his affairs continue, till his heart can no longer take the loss and he dies in his bed, after a lifetime of pain and loveless affairs, he never found his soul mate, and was not once faithful to his dear wife Lenora, who never took another man.

                The story is written, as I said before, in a non-chronological order, it is a style called “unreliable narrator” where for some reason what the narrator says cannot be taken as fully truthful or correct. In fact in the beginning of the book the author states that “I cannot assure you that everything in this will be true to as what really happened, but it is what I perceive to be the true events that took place.” He openly admits his words cannot be taken at face value.

Not several pages later he asks “I would implore you to listen to me beside this hearth…” implying that the reader is in fact a nameless friend to him whom he is regaling with the story of the Ashburnham’s, the story he calls, The Saddest Story.

I did a little research and discovered the original name of the book was actually “The Saddest Story” but was changed to “The Good Soldier” after the onset of World War I to promote patriotism in Britain.

The style of writing stays constant throughout the book, however as Edward sinks deeper into a pit of sadness and loneliness we can see a noticeable change in diction by the write, as he uses less light and happy wording and moves toward using heavy, more depressing words.

                The author’s style is something I have not seen before and it was one of the things that kept me reading the book once I got started.  One of the things I enjoyed was that the tone of the story didn’t change with the views of the characters begin affected by the events but was only changed by the narrators point of view on the situation.  So at times when the reader expects a sad tone, perhaps a mourn tone, such as when Florence dies, we get a tone of indifference.

                One point of interest for me was the conflicted feelings of the writer, he would often state an opinion before openly contradicting himself with another, such as when speaking of Florence after her death he says “She was a wretch, she took me around Europe and refused me happiness, and I only gave her joy.” To in the next few sentences say “I suppose I still loved her, despite her deceptions, I love her with all my heart.”

                The writer was also not one for physical description, only giving light direct description he enjoyed using nature when describing actions or feelings and sometimes alluding to other objects, such as his description of Florence “She was like a small flower sitting in her study alone, her scent was something of a summer breeze lightly billowing past my nose, and when I touched her I found her to be made of silk.” And he describes the Spanish Dancer Edward pays to share a bed with him as “A rare creature rarely seen, delicate, yet ferocious she hunted Edward down in a time of weakness and a predator stalks its prey, her cheeks holding a setting sun and her body swaying as tree branches in a soft breeze.”

What is the world coming to?!

Hello, you may remember the post about the Wonderful piece of Artwork that was ruined... erm, messed up, by a caring elderly woman that wanted to help and do her part by restoring an old picture of Jesus, well now she is sueing for royalties, look here
I would like to thank Susie for pointing me toward this article.
http://www.slate.com/blogs/the_slatest/2012/09/20/cecilia_gimenez_ecce_home_81_year_old_woman_who_restored_sanctuary_of_mercy_church_s_fresco_suing_for_royalties_.html

Chicago Teachers Strike

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/breaking/chi-strike-updates-pickets-up-as-more-talks-scheduled-20120910,0,4173856.story
please read through this article and share your opinions with me, do you agree with the teachers strike, it is hurting or helping the  students, i will be lookin for follow up articles on this strike