So Jordan, this is probably a subject you haven’t put much thought into. You’re young and you’ve got time to figure this out on your own. No worries, but I’d like to share with you what I’ve been thinking about regarding language. Tell me if this doesn’t apply to you. You talk differently with your friends than you do with mom and dad. I thought so. There is probably a distinction between the way you speak to your teachers, your friend’s parents, coaches, and so on. Why do you think this is? I’ve never put much thought into it myself until recently. I believe it has to do with respect, in that generally we can all learn from people with more life experience, so in showing respect for our wise elders, we open doors to further knowledge and wisdom. Your friends are peers who you show respect to differently because you all are figuring out life together, are living in similar shoes, walking through similar situations and exchanging your thoughts and feelings about what arises. Never let your curiosity dissolve. Your language changes due to situations that require certain vocabularies, levels of respect, and the element of love. How do you express interest and compassion for people on in each situational language? That’s what I’m working on.
Buried Alive
I floated through existence wrapped in the womb of my thoughts and emotions. The days rolled in adventures, introducing new angles of the dramatic existence we waken and sleep of. It wasn’t long until I found myself being buried alive by society, my family, god, and worse, myself. Completely aware of my homosexuality by 8th grade, judging by my hormones and the fact that all my close friends were girls, I froze, afraid and unsure. Do I look gay? Can everyone tell I’m different? I’m different?
I realized then how shallow I acted, and how deep I reach. I mistakenly toasted to loneliness, grew tired of loud girls, and moved on to quiet girls who drank and smoked illegal substances. That was attractive, and so was sadness. Rebellion with drugs, alcohol and cigarettes preoccupied my time while I continuously denied my “crime.”
The possibility that one of my siblings or I would mature gay may have been ignorantly blind sighted by my parents. Homosexuality was never mentioned in our home, and I suspect it was the combination of my parent’s dedication to our church and the struggle therein of accepting the lifestyle society largely misrepresents. I was supposed to just speak up? How? Who would care to understand? The idea of possibly “coming out” laughed in my face, so I strangled my identity and pushed away my family and friends. My heart and brain folded in on each other, arguing into a stalemate. For weeks on end my worn, numbed body, mind, and spirit mumbled their way through the days. I silenced myself, and pierced with the will to forget beyond what drugs were helping escape my reality, my mind eventually and repeatedly attempted suicide.
The few times my heart sank lower than my mind, my feelings weighed me down with the hopeless thoughts of being unknown, and ultimately alone. I wouldn’t allow my face to resemble my drowning heart and construed thoughts, so my episodes were completely misunderstood and unpredictable. I felt I was waking into a lie each day, while each night surmounted to choking cries on my bed. My mind lost in a fog, I routinely battered myself into obscurity. Soon came screaming into my pillow for god to change me, getting high in the middle of the night, insomnia, poetry, sharp edges, blood, pills, and psych wards. God never showed up or spoke up.
Eventually, I digested god, and explored myself. My hormones couldn’t lie and I didn’t want to die, so I began understanding my identity. I asked myself, am I gay? Yes. What does that mean to me? Nothing is perfect, but everything is just how it’s supposed to be right now. Each step beyond this recognition, I’ve scooped heaps of dirt back into my burial site, living exposed and falling in and out of love with reality.
The sun exposes the best of imagination. If the day’s bright, the sky blue, shades a necessity, and the my only responsibility is to inspire myself, I can relax. There’s always
Curled and propped upon the pillows of my twin sized bed that chills my 6’3″ abandoned toes, the cracked window whafs about the smell and sounds of the manic stage of this bipolar Colorado winter; geese skating along the pond’s thin ice, shouting praises for the sun, and evergreens taking long deep breathes of sound, fresh air.
A clear mind is always the place to start on my journey to create a piece of witing, however once I have the clear view on my subject, I need a system to further my exploration of ideas.
Inspiration is not easy to come by. It’s about time I grab it by the horns and start spinning. I suppose finding the time to run head on at it is a start, so hopefully once that happens my writing process will formulate into a meaningful use of my time.
As always, the start up of any project is the most exciting for me. It’s the starting up that needs some encouragement. Playing poetic music while cooking light on my toes and loud in my vocal range provides the flightiest form of motivation, so although this start up phase clears the day’s stresses, it is consequently followed by a long walk accompanied by a dangling cigarette. The cigarette is successful in immediately throwing out all unnecessary thoughts, as the smoke reminds me to simply whaft in it’s choking presence. Once it’s been a few minutes and I’ve meandered in a slow, nearly intoxicated fashion to an unplanned destination, I’ve begun seeing my being in a spectrum of ideas. Plop. Dropping to the softened ground, as if my visit was expected, I exhale, inhale and seek to open my eyes to a cosmic whole. The waving grass, rustling leaves, rippling waters, and passing bees smother my eyes, as if being performed to recite exactly what I had been searching for. It’s the sense of fulfillment of life, meaning, compassion, momentary involvment in activities and openness to emotion, thoughts to suppress or dress; I’ve finally started creating, and I cease to exist.
The learning process can be frustrating. This frustration is often blown out of proportion, resulting in rather amusing elementary scenes. I recall school papers thrown into the air, a young boy’s clenched hands snapping a pencil in half while his overwhelmed face curls inward and his curse words spill out ravenously, often misdirected at the cause of such emotion, and aimed at the provider of the torment; the teacher or parent. Such rash outpourings are consequences of a learner not honestly and openly attempting to understand. As a nation, America has witnessed similar frustrations, attitudes, and injustices blown out of proportion in the nation’s efforts in recognizing and valuing the equality of man. The horrific, inhumane as well as the victorious, unifying scenes along the journey from slavery to the civil rights movement, and now the first elected black American president, displays a country of evolving individuals investing in the acceptance of personal responsibilities, the growth as a nation, and the persistence in the pursuit of achieving dreams.
As citizens of the United States it is important for residing individuals to be aware of the nation’s laws, progresses, and current affairs. More importantly the occurrences are to provoke a personal response from citizens based on the individuals’ standpoints. This is a personal responsibility that the black population took to heart in their attempts to break free from slavery and discrimination as a race. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote in Letter From Birmingham Jail, “I submit that an individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust, and who willingly accepts the penalty of imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the highest respect for law.” As seen in many of King’s speeches, he praised the idea of people taking responsibility for one’s actions, thoughts, words, and overall satisfaction of life. During the height of the civil movement, personal responsibility in relationship to one’s quality of life took the forefront amongst peacefully demanding black citizens, which instantly invoked frustration and denial among white American culture to accept the “imposing” ideas of change. Horrendous acts of violence by the white oppressors scorched America in hopes to preserve current social norms, and deflect personal and “disrupting” incoming consciences. The black movement’s determination to seek justice prevailed in the face of prolonged torture. This experience in American history sparked the empowerment of citizens to hold dear their ability to recognize and speak out against injustices in hope of forming a “ more perfect union,” as President Barack Obama puts it.
Change begins on the individual level, and has the power to influence the culture of a nation. Slaves and their supporters for freedom subjectively felt the need for change, as did white and black civil movement activists, and the current President Barack Obama. In reference to what it means for America to prosper, President Barack Obama insisted, “it means taking full responsibility for our lives,” and, “embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.” This statement reflects the thoughts and actions of leaders for social reform throughout history. It is to say the growth, be it social, political, or economical, of America, is in the hands and the hopes of American citizens. If the participants of the civil rights movement did not believe mass change to be possible, where would their will to, “seek to satisfy the thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred,” as Martin Luther King Jr. worded, come from? Hope was their driving force for change, and it was a hope that America would grow into the ideal “land of the free.” Particularly from the discrepancies of moral within the black American movement, America has learned through the constant struggle in defining “land of the free,” that personal freedom comes with responsibility to uphold individual standards of living, as well as the granted freedom to envision and pursue the belief that a new standard be met. President Barack Obama spoke, “But what we know — what we have seen – is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope – the audacity to hope – for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.”
To achieve the hopes and dreams of tomorrow, persistence in the designated direction of life is key. Former slaves knew their situation wouldn’t change over a single complaint, a letter, or from running away, but they continued in their defense to break free from immoral acts. Along the civil rights movement as well, Martin Luther King Jr. exclaimed, “We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.” This necessary act of demanding freedoms is by far the greatest influence of building frustrations for the oppressor. Throughout America’s continual learning process in accepting and enforcing progressive possibilities, individual citizens are continually seeking out growth opportunities to fulfill a personal or socially organized dream. Americans have learned to develop the attitude of Martin Luther King Jr., “I am not afraid of the word tension,” in their pursuit to fulfill a dream. By declaring such a firm position on potential outcomes, individuals of a cause have consciously mapped out words and actions that could later rise to further their dream’s actualization. President Barack Obama attests that the future of America lies in the investment of America’s children, and that, “they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.” America’s newly elected President Barack Obama speaks for the advancement of civil and social acceptance since the time of slavery, and conveys a “skies the limit” attitude for the destiny of American culture.
Before a student attempts to understand and retain the importance of new information, a new attitude, or a new standard for living, the student must have the will to do so. If the willingness is blocked due to unsatisfactory excuses such as a long day, or an untimely introduction, as in the case of the oppressors of civil rights, the tirelessly impeding force for growth and change will set off a fuse within the blocked will. Every student understands the benefit of learning. Every man understands the benefit of investing in acceptance. It is the process, the battles and the victories, which reinforce the will to attain constant understanding of the advanced benefits. For the benefit of America, President Barack Obama has been elected to continue proclaiming hope for individual and national growth through change. In his words, “This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected.”
Bob Dylan’s Oxford Town draws a portrait of a town swept with racism, violence, and sorrow. The lyrics convey a story of people’s experiences in this town’s depressing setting in the lines the song begins and ends with, “oxford Town, oxford town… ev’rybody’s got their heads bowed down… the sun don’t shine above the ground… ain’t a-goin’ down to Oxford Town.” The up-beat rhythm combined with the confidence of Dylan’s voice adds to the matter of fact story he tells. Dylan’s voice rises and falls to the emotion behind the words by lowering his tone on words and phrases displaying the dreaded scenes, and singing with a hopeful tone on words such as, “oxford town, brown, skin, me and my gal, singing, and moon.” Dylan tells of a troubled situation, and a deadening feeling of the heart with the “forget it” attitude that shines through in his message, “better get away from Oxford Town,” and “goin’ back where we come from.” To engage his listeners he asks, “what do you think about that my frien’?” This line unites the audience and lifts the spirit of the song, exploring the feeling of the time; desire for change.
Contrasting Bob Dylan’s Oxford Town, Blowin’ In The Wind explores a vast misunderstandings and issues relating to his time and the people who seemingly don’t care for a better life. Dylan holds out notes for a while, primarily “how,” which rings with a dramatization of searching for answers to the brutality of people’s actions, words and insincerities. The song’s flow works well with the lyrics in creating the sense of wandering, or searching for the answers to the most staggering situations presented. Dylan’s recurring line, “the answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, the answer is blowin’ in the wind,” is a very powerful, fulfilling answer to the questions he presents. His voice is so distinct, emotional, as if literally blowing in the wind when he sings these lines. Wrapping up every set of questions with the answer so bluntly before the audience, there is no question he is exposing the ignorance, denial, and ego of a vast group of people in his time period.
In comparing both Oxford Town and Blowin’ In The Wind, Oxford Town had a more specific focus on the issues of violence and racism, and Blowin’ In The Wind drew from many categories of the same depressing circumstances of the nation. Whereas Oxford Town’s lyrics included stories describing practical events such as “tear gas,” and “guns and clubs,” Blowin’ In The Wind took such events and transformed them into metaphoric descriptions and questions. Dylan speaking directly to his audience in both songs is an effective, empowering tool that often times invokes emotions out of the listener. The songs maintain consistant rhythms that add to the emotion in Dylan’s voice, powerfully capturing the message and attitude behind the lyrics through invoking hopefulness and passion for the causes of peace, justice, and love that were desperately being fought for.
After reading my fictional response to Homework BA1, I noticed the piece presents my writing voice clearly. I am happy with my decision to use the recurring introductions and farewells to the paragraphs, because it maintained a consistency of light fun in my description of “who, what and where.” I like my word choice throughout the piece as well. In some places I feel I am redundant, and certain sentences could be clarified better by shortening them. Overall I crafted a well organized, figurative, fictional piece and am happy with the outcome. I wonder how I could expand on this…
To create voice:
1.use figurative language
2.perspective- view point
3.cockiness and sarcasm
4.strong opinions
5.word choice and diction
6.correct grammer
7.punctuation
8.sentence structure
9.fluency/flow
10.rhythm and beat
11. style
12.delivery
13. subject
14. emotion
15.age
16.humor
17.wit
Comprised of these figures spilling on this page, falling in a distinct order to produce an effect; here I am. I can be frustrating or a breeze to create, a scratched and undecipherable mess when handwritten, and depending on the effectiveness of my creator, I am emotional, reflective, descriptive and famous. I’m a slave to this creator. I am a middleman who captivates audiences with a compelling visual show, or a lengthy monotone account. I am the presentation of diverse wealth of creatively crafted characters and well-expressed experiences, wisdom, and knowledge, however I am never the subject of talk. I simply encompass the talk. I am expected and consciously routine, but I don’t let these characteristics bring me down. I will always play up to my potential. It may take time, so until then I enjoy my reincarnated life, moment to moment. Farewell, for now I have died.
I’m alive again! My purpose is to confine the words of my master into a well organized and primarily spontaneous, eventually systematically, organized jumble of ideas and language. I confuse, enlighten, tire, destroy, recreate, excite, turn on, pain, sicken, and pretty much transfer every possible emotion arising in a story or factual account onto anyone open and engaged enough to feel it. My job is to be clear, so I am constantly being re-shaped, picked at, stretched, and completely chopped and eaten by the delete button. I have to go with the flow of my master’s fall of fingers. The early moments of my life’s work is to hold onto the crafted current, not judge, just be still. I love this stage, because I’m fed pages full of food for inspiration. It’s free too! Half the time however, I’m given the Heimlich maneuver until a good portion of my plumpness is projectile vomited into the trash.
The insistent tapping at the keyboard, or the push of the sharp tip of a pencil is where I come from. They are the means in which I am created. Luckily I am deaf and free of a nervous system. I’m the bi product of a human’s desire to subject them to the freedom in portraying reality in words, as well as criticism of others. A human develops me, laughs at me, and cries on me (smudging me up and down, messing up my dew). The best of me comes from spontaneous moments of motivation behind an idea. For the most part I come from good energy, even if my subject is depressing. I come from reality and then become reality. Weird? No, that’s life. Oh, and I’m a paragraph who’s master has now fallen short of words. Goodbye!
