Freedom Is Slavery

I told them all, freedom of thought was a problem. That by being so free we were all trapped, enslaved by our own desires. Without thoughts we would truly be free to be ourselves. To live as truly intended. The higher ups agree with me and I know it. In the courts when we are forced to watch trails and hangings and the children turn their heads away the higher ups click their tongues. Note the names. Those children will not live long. I remember my first day in court. I saw a mans face turn blue and tongue protrude, and I knew that he was free. He no longer thought. But there was the dilemma, he was free but not alive. Even at seven I knew this was a problem. When I came of age I talked to the higher ups. I told them what I wanted. How I wanted to be free. And they said they could help me. The surgery didn't take. I don't think I'd be able to write this if it did. But immediately before the surgery I did write this-

Thoughts are like shackles
They bind you to desires
when you are covered in chains
you are not free

my thoughts dragged me to the bottoms of oceans
I could not swim up to breathe

But then the key was inserted
and all the locks fell away

I no longer question exactly how to feel, or what to say
I no longer have my own thoughts
and it's best this way

I no longer struggle beneath calm waters
every moment is a sunny day

Some question how I can feel so free
And I respond the one enslaved is them
not me.

I don't know what I thought. That maybe I'd become the poster child for the surgery. That maybe it would all be big. Maybe one day I would be in the books. Of course no one would need the books if they didn't think for themselves. They wouldn't spend hours upon hours memorizing the scripture to prevent them from doing what is forbidden. And it would all be thanks to me. My poem would be published along with a picture of me post operation looking happy, looking peaceful. Of course that's wrong of me... to want recognition. If anything I have more thoughts of my own now. I don't know why this is. But it's terrifying. I've begun to question things. Even the higher ups. But of course this means nothing now. I still have my own thoughts. Sometimes I even hear voices. Especially at night. It swirls around and around circling the drain out through my own mouth and sometimes my own voice speaks the words into the air. Sometimes it's not my voice and the words engulf me in a storm. The voices shriek and set my teeth on edge. They tell me; I wont live long.

I hope it snows soon.

An old man stands by the entrance. The cigarette between his fingers is slowly falling apart. As it becomes shorter and shorter so do the breaks he takes between each drag. He senses the approaching end. The doors slide open, close. Nameless, faceless, strangers leave and enter without much time between the two. The only difference is when they leave their arms are laden with plastic sacks straining to contain their bulging insides, the repeating logo printed on the bag expanded past recognition. They turn away from the old man. He calls to them. But they pretend not to hear. They’re engrossed in the glowing screens before them, or a tassel hanging from their hat -recently dragged out of a musky closet- or maybe just a thought suddenly occurring to them, conveniently. Things are much too loud for them to hear the man’s insistent crackling voice. Much too loud on this muted, muffled night. Cars swoosh past on a nearby highway, surpassing the speed limit. The neon sign buzzes overhead trying to push back the suffocating darkness. Empty straw nests are nestled in its nooks. Casting shadows through the twigs every time the middle letter shorts, and restarts, giant abandoned homes of winged creatures expand on the walls -a clearer signal of what the store offers then the glowing name. The display is distorted by white blobs that float through the air lazily drifting before settling to the ground, forming numerous piles and shapes all instantly mingling with the dirty slush. The fresh white will soon be stained brown like the layers underneath it. Old and new mingling in the worst way. The air inside the car is changing. Slowly the warmth that radiated from the vents is being leeched away by the creeping cold. The fight is weighted heavily in favor of the cold as it sinks into the steering wheel. The inside of the car is quite a contrast to the snowy soft outside. Sharp corners. Hard plastic. Seats that skin sticks to. Consciously cleaned, specifically stylized. No place for the light snow, or the sneaking cold. Suddenly the old man realizes he is being watched. His head swerves and his eyes meet mine through the fogging glass. The dashboard almost shatters under his sharp gaze. His stare shoots through me like a bullet and my thoughts scatter like my insides would. After a moment I realize he doesn't really see me. At least not clearly. Like the drifting white all around I am not quite solid to him. I am not yet a pile of slush slowly becoming dirty sludge. I float; an unrecognizable shape, avoiding the sharp corners and the sticky seat, soon to be melted by heat that will escape the vent when a key sparks the ignition.

Cards of Darkness and strategy games

The natives were of no concern to me. As they were not real. My only goal was to win the game. At first I wondered if there was a trick – a secret to beating the game. I thought through strategies. I thought Mr. Lindsey likes video games. In video games if you choose the nice options like not harvesting ‘Little Sisters’ for the maximum amount of eve in Bioshock 2 and instead having them thank you and crawl away giving you less eve therefore less chances of upgrading your skills, good things happen. Like your daughter doesn’t kill you in cold blood. Or if you don’t steal random things or kill many people in Fall Out 3 you get good Karma which helps in numerous ways even if you have to run from scavengers instead of giving them what they deserve. But then I realized this was not a video game. These were cards. Mr. Lindsay made this up over Christmas. There is no way that much time spent near relatives in close inescapable quarters would lead anyone to create a game that encourages a true and honest path. So that’s when my team and I got to work. We pressed the natives from the get go. We realized there was no way for us to get resources without using force. We took our chances with the Native Relations pile and we used our ammo unsparingly. We fell into a lulling routine. Quickly gaining and losing our resources and tainting our native relations pile with clubs. We were power hungry. We wanted those diamond cards. Much like Romeo portrayed by Leonardo Dicaprio in the death scene of the 1996 version of Romeo and Juliet we had nothing left to lose.

Except our ammo. And when we were out of ammo; we had our precious diamonds taken from us. One by one our beautiful resources pile was diminished. It was painful. Each Diamond card removed from the deck to satisfy angry natives or recover from rainy weather was unwillingly given up. Shaky hands replaced the resources back in the hands of the now livid natives. And almost at the end of our second to last round was when I had my realization.

this was my face after the realization

IT WAS ALL CHANCE. Dang it. There was no strategy. Even if you had the worst strategy in the world if your weather was great and your natives were happy (even if you had been mean to them) you would win. THE ONLY THING YOU NEEDED TO WIN THE GAME WAS GOOD LUCK. (Or a cheater’s shuffle who knows – I mean I’m not pointing fingers at any other teams but…) 

I realize I got a bit caught up in the game. I wanted to win. I wanted resources.
I thought a while. Would I really act like this if put in a real life situation similar to it? And the answer was no. I could never threaten another person for no reason. Just like I could never actually skin and kill an animal like I was forced to do in Far Cry 3 to survive. Or if I was faced with zombies like I was in Left 4 Dead? I would be alone in a bathtub crying while the AI fought the zombies eventually leaving me alone as they were killed off one by one. And then I would die - because I would probably startle a witch. 

this is how cool we looked

It's important for me to remember it was just a game. I acted like a horrible person. We did get a hella rad amount of resources though. If it had been real? And I was a stone cold witch? I would say we did a pretty good job.

I was a weird kid...

Anthropomorphism- the attribution of human characteristics or behavior to a god, animal, or object.

I believe everyone is an anthropomorphist starting from a very young age. By the time we can talk we are conversing with teddy bears, and tucking our Barbie in at night. None of our toys are alive and yet we believe them to be so. You can chalk this up to the imagination but I chose to associate it with anthropomorphism. I found it very hard to get rid of stuffed animals and dolls and I still have several –in my attic granted- because they were too real to me to give away. It is not just an attachment; you feel attached to things. For me these toys have personalities. Starting at a very young age I believed all of my dolls and toys to be alive in some way. Maybe not even with the personality I was assigning them when I played but I believed they had a consciousness. I guess I was a weird kid because it was not just my toys. It was the rocks on the playground the tire swing the trees. All of these things were very alive and aware to me. I thought everyone felt that way. Boy was I surprised when I expressed my feelings and people were confused.



Toy Story 3 was one of the best movies ever am I right



Good thing anthropomorphizing is normal in writing. Things like swords and items of power in books like Eragon tend to be given personalities and life. A good example is the ring in Lord of the Rings.  It’s just a ring and yet it is characterized as evil and dangerous. Downright detrimental. Not just because dangerous people wanted it but because it itself is hazardous. The whole Toy Story series is anthropomorphized! They are toys! Speaking! Alive! Doing human things! This was very exciting for me as a child because finally someone got it! Yes, toys were alive!  Now you have movies like Monster House where houses come alive and try to eat people. Granted it’s attributed later to the idea that the scary old guy’s dead wife is the spirit of the house but before that the house is just considered evil. It had human features like a face and a tongue and a uvula and had a personality to match. Anthropomorphized to the max.  

Whoa Scary

Anthropomorphism can really contribute to a piece of work. It can make an object such as a sword or a ring even more important and add clever plot twists (such as making Frodo go crazy.) However doing it personally in your everyday life can make you one weird kid… and teenager. Bugs for instance. I cannot kill them it’s not just the act of taking a life or whatever it’s because they have personalities to me. I think about it if I accidentally kill one I feel really, really bad. This leads to a lot of jaunts carrying bug filled cups outdoors and clearing snails off the drive way – at least mosquitos personalities are annoying.   



Disgusting



therefore aliens



this is a meme

    Aliens. They represent the unknown, foreign powers, whatever. The best example of fear of the unknown is ‘religion’. Very religious people hasten to fill the void of the unknown with beliefs. And that’s cool. But I imagine part of their conviction comes from wanting to be sure of something. Aliens – from somewhere we know nothing about, who do things we know nothing about, and could or could not exist for all we know… a huge void to fill.



this is Paul

   In literature; they are often presented as evil corrupting forces. We have our typical come away with me I’m gonna abduct you and probe you and other awful things. (Scary stuff.) However one of my favorite raunchy movies: Paul; is about a good alien –who is being hunted down by the CIA. Paul is a cool dude –er, alien. He’s from another planet (obviously), and has been trapped in some CIA base making powerful friends and enemies. He meets our main characters while they are on an alien sightseeing tour. So I guess they get lucky. He meets them and freaks them out totally but eventually they become friends. So, relating back to my idea; he is mysterious, weird, disturbing looking, and he represents everything humans fear. We even address the whole religion thing when we meet a character played by Kristen Wigg named Ruth. Ruth lives in a trailer park and is a Christian fundamentalist. She is totally convinced that there is a God. Paul says; 'sorry, nope'. He’s messing with her convictions see? Basic human fear right there –doubt. He’s making her question what she has known for sure all her life. The funny thing is this movie is set up perfectly to prove my point. The basic structure of all of our main heroes is they meet Paul, freak out, but then he does this mind meld thing on them. He touches their foreheads and “copies all his knowledge and experiences into their mind.” After this they like Paul. Because they KNOW him. They UNDERSTAND him. He no longer represents a huge void to fill with explanations. So along with being a ridiculously entertaining movie the movie Paul helps me explain why we as a society fear aliens.               
    Now I know the example given to us as a class was foreign powers. That as a society we fear the foreign. And aliens represent that. And my idea is similar- you could argue foreign things are ‘unknown’. But do we really fear foreign countries? Or do we fear what we do not know about them? I’m not trying to prove you wrong here- but I have to get you back for that eye roll comment Mr. Lindsey!  I think that we don’t fear foreign countries. At least not today. Look at America – we love foreign countries! We’re practically a foreign country ourselves, American has become such a huge blanket for a bunch of different cultures. However we do fear change, racism is real and it comes from fear. The fear that things that we are so used to will change and a lot of the blame gets put on immigration or whatever. Wow I’ve gone off on a tangent. I better wrap this up. So basically – I don't know; therefore aliens. 

this is an adorable breadcat




Creepy Martyr Behavior

Chapter 21: Marked For Greatness

               In this chapter Foster suggests that if a character has a scar, or a physical disability, it’s always for a reason. This idea I can totally get behind. As he points out, no one would put their character in say, a wheelchair for no reason, because this gives your character immediate depth and a series of choices. Are they bitter? Do they see every day as a gift? You cannot just have an ordinary character with a disability, because the disability will always shape them in some way. Even if they do not get something out of their disability the characters around them can either pity them to a point of frustration or simply ignore them to the point of neglect. It’s impossible for the disability not to influence the story, no matter how minuscule.

Overall it can work two ways, the disability can reflect something about the insides of the character, maybe something blatant or way deep down. Or the physical can be the opposite of the character, turning him into a martyr. Quasimodo is the bell-ringer of Notre Dame and rarely ventures outside the Cathedral since people despise and shun him for his appearance. We pity him, we feel compassion for this unlucky hero, so pure and in love with Esmeralda on the inside and so twisted and deformed on the outside. SIDE NOTE Did you know that “it is revealed in the story that the baby Quasimodo was left by the Gypsies in place of Esmeralda, whom they abducted”?! Because, I sure didn’t know that. END SIDE NOTE  Eventually he completely overcomes his shut-in behavior when Esmeralda is killed and he leaves his sanctuary of the tower opening himself up to ridicule and hatred (which happened each time he saved her as well) to go and die by her corpse. Creepy, but definitely martyr behavior. None of this would have happened if he was a “normal” young man, especially assuming that the gypsies wouldn’t have left him in place of Esmeralda if he hadn't had disabilities.

            In House of the Scorpion young Matt is a clone. He is branded as “Property of The Alacrán Estate” on the bottom of his foot. This is inevitably his mark for greatness, and it is the basis of the whole book. If Matt wasn’t a clone he wouldn’t face the (many) problems he does. The mark itself comes in to play specifically in two instances:

1. The Alacrán family treats Matt kindly after he is brought into the house wounded until Mr. Alacrán, El Patron’s great-grandson, recognizes him as a clone as soon as they see the branding and reduce his life to a living hell, causing trails that shape his moral fiber.
2. The “Lost Boys” he makes friends with later in the book (after many obstacles) lose faith in him after they see the tattoo, as clones are considered “zombies”, giving him the mission of earning their trust back and strengthening his relationship with them.  

These shape Matt’s adventure and his character. Without the brand he would not be recognized as a clone in these two situations therefore leading a less exciting life (and basically no book).

            Lady Macbeth marks herself (through insanity) when she believes she cannot wash the invisible bloodstains off of her hands. Inevitably this marking leads Lady Macbeth to kill herself, throwing her husband into despair. Thus influencing the ending of the play Macbeth, all because of a mark, which she has imagined but reflects her inner turmoil.

                  In the end of the chapter, Foster asks us to go find out what Harry Potter's scar meant and as a Harry Potter fan I believe the scar is a token of his mother's love; and of his tie to Voldemort. The scar through hurting him helps him realize danger, thereby affecting his character marking him so visibly as someone special. (Not to mention it’s basically a horcrux so that’s really important but we don’t learn that until the last book so…)

              

BLARGH I SAY

Chapter 12: Is that a symbol?

              Well of course it is says Foster. Great. I am not one who enjoys generalities. I like specifics, and being precise. Either you're right or you're wrong, and I hate being wrong. In the world Foster proposes nobody is wrong, but by default nobody is exactly right either. He claims the symbols are open to interpretation, that whatever a symbol means to an individual is right. BLARGH I SAY.

I like my symbols categorized. I understand the need to be unique, and to let everyone have their own opinion, but in this case I can get something totally different from the text then the person whose opinion matters the most on these things – the person giving me a grade and determining part of my future. So this frustrates me a little. One can find a multitude of charts on the meanings of symbols, and typically what the chart says; rain = rebirth, spring = new life, white = pure, is generally true. But now Foster is saying I could be in a lit class somewhere and say, oh yes this white flag in this story is signifying that the enemy is NOT giving up, they are saying, “come at me bro” because to them white is the void and they are daring their opponents to run into it. And this could be correct? When white is supposed to mean surrender? I haven’t read Animal Farm but if it’s not super open to interpretation I think maybe I should. Perhaps I will always prefer allegory over symbolism. No I definitely will, but this chapter was about symbolism so back to that.

I can see symbolism’s advantages. It lets each person imprint a little bit of themselves into the story, making it relevant to them. The white flag that’s so easy to use as an example is a good example again; in America we typically put our heroes, our virgins, in white whether on paper or screen, and our villains in red (or black -just go with it). However in Asia heroes often wear red; it’s the color of bravery. So this is eternally open to interpretation, because I guess no one is wrong, and again no one is right. (I hate that.) One could look at symbols from any angle as symbols are theoretically a circle. Whichever way you look at it, it’s still a circle, but each angle gives you a different perspective depending on your or the circle’s surroundings.

 

Now I suppose you want specific examples of symbols; well you have your classic “undisputables” like Holden’s red hat in Catcher in the Rye symbolizing protection, or beans in The Bean Trees representing a chance for growth, new life. These are used time and time again. What Foster says though is I could look at them in a totally different light, say the beans represent hmm… abandonment because they are plucked or dropped from the tree (essentially their mother) and therefore they still represent Turtle, as she also dealt with abandonment. So am I still right? Even though I disagree with scholars and sparknotes about the symbolism of the bean? Maybe if I always get to be right, open interpretation isn’t so bad after all.