Journal #25

Wearing a mask...hmmm...how many times have I worn a mask? Should this be a lot, should it not? The problem with this is that I have no idea what they could have been for because I would not remember anything about it because this is a bad journal topic. I just do not like it. But, I suppose I could write about some sort of story that pertains to wearing masks. So, once upon a time, there was a sleepy fish. His name was George, and he was trying to find his way across the Pacific Ocean. Then, as he was swimming along one day, in his very melodic, hypnotic state, he discovered this sort of hidden jewel lying on the bottom of the sand bar. His first thoughts were something like "OMG WTF is this???" but as he swam closer, he found holes in his beautiful jewel, literally. There were two holes toward the top of the object, and there was another larger hole at the bottom. It was so full of colors and mystery and wonder, and little George was just drawn into its beauty. The magic in it was simply indescribable. Since the poor little fish had been swimming all day for the past eight days, he decided to finally give himself a break and take a nap. Since this thing at the bottom of the ocean appeared not to have been touched or even thought of in at least twelve years, George swam down to it, got inside of the mysterious object, and fell right to sleep. He slept so soundly that night. In the morning, when George awoke, the object was gone, and his face was really itchy. A passing crab took one look at the fish and ran as quickly as possible away from the little fishy. To his great horror, George was told that his face was horribly discolored. Apparently, he had fallen asleep on the object, and the mask surprisingly became a part of his image. That is what he gets for hiding in a mask. Now wasn't that a good story?

"The Pit and the Pendulum"

Edgar Allan Poe's great short story, "The Pit and the Pendulum," is so full of characteristics of Dark Romanticism. For example, the main character in the story is trapped in a dark room for the first rough half of the story. He has nothing to do but try to explore his vast cavern of a prison chamber. He thinks he makes one revolution around the room, but he totally miscalculated his distance he traveled, and the room was a lot smaller than he had first thought. Then, as his confidence grew, the man ventured out toward the middle of the room, but he tripped! Luckily, he tripped and fell just in time, for in two or three more steps, he would have fallen into a sort of well to meet his untimely death thereafter. The reader never knows what will come next for the narrator, which is a key part of Dark Romanticist writing. In fact, the ending seemed to have come way to early. I thought he would escape his tomb, which he did, but it ended so abruptly. I wish there was a fight with his captors or something to give justice to the poor man, especially after seventy thousand rats were jumping all over him, trying to eat the flesh from the still living character. Also, majorly tied up in this story, fear has a lot to do with Dark Romanticism. In "The Pit and the Pendulum," the narrator has no idea what would ever happen to his near future. He could have died at any time. This is true also in that the pendulum swung so very near his beating chest. The rats could have killed him, or the pit in his first chamber cell. Really, he had probably five or six possible ways of death. He could have drowned, starved, eaten, cut in half, or something simple like tripping in the cell and falling on the hard ground and hitting his head. It is extremely possible to kill yourself doing that. As he went through this traumatic experience, he had no control over his emotions, either, because he had no clue to what his future could be. His death seemed so eminent that he had no time to dwell on emotions. Finally, of course, this entire story is one big mystery in that, again, the man does not know what could happen in his future. Personally, I would have cried. It is commendable that he did not take himself out in the pit because it must have just been so looming, sitting there in front of him, practically mocking him. Then, it was mysterious for him to try to figure out a way out of his chamber. He searched and searched for a way out of the first one, and he found a slight possibility, which was just outside a small crack running all the way around the room. It was just large enough to let light in, but that did not stop him from trying to get out through it. Also, how the prison was liberated just in time was quite mysterious, but I suppose that worked as an ending, since the story was not heading in the direction of an end to the story.

Bibliography

Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Pit and the Pendulum.” Glencoe Literature. Ed. Jeffrey Wilhelm. American Literature ed. Colombus: McGraw-Hill, 2010. 263-273. Print.

"Review of 'The Raven'"

The essay starts out in possibly the best description of what Edgar Allan Poe's, "The Raven," is about. The author says, "'The Raven' is a similarly beautiful poem. Many readers who prefer sunshine to the weird lights with which Mr. Poe fills his sky, may be dull to its beauty, but it is none the less a great triumph of imagination and art." (Cooke). This might be my favorite explanation of Poe's general works I have ever read because it goes so far beyond just true. No, I would describe it as "super-true" because it describes exactly the writing style Poe uses in just one sentence. Basically, Cooke says that those people who prefer stories about happy times with endings of the main character falling in love and riding off into the sunset with his beautiful but fair maiden on the back of his trusty steed may not like Poe's work. This is very true because poe does not use anything close to that sort of plot line. In fact, Poe uses much fear and mystery in his stories. For instance, "The Raven" includes the narrator verging on the point of insanity with the bird that flew through his window. He is unsure if he should trust the bird because he is not sure the bird is work of God or of the Devil. If the bird has come from the Devil, he is certain it is there to give a constant reminder of how his wife, Lenore, will always and forever be gone. This plot gives a sense of illusion in that the bird may not even be real. It could just be an figment of his imagination because the bird is able to talk in English, which most birds cannot. Also, as Cooke points out, the word choice in "The Raven" is "well chosen" in that "(the words) bestow a touch of the fantastic, which is subsequently introduced as an important component of the poem." (Cooke). The fantastic is definitely a rather large part of the poem because Poe fills it with horror events that seem as if they have no place in a poem. For example, the raven is able to speak, but it can only speak one word and at only the perfect and appropriate times. It seems strange that the raven is almost having a conversation with the narrator, and it feels like the raven is understanding what the narrator is asking and saying (or screaming, in some cases). It could be described as fantastic to enter the raven at such a suspenseful time, as well. Along the same direction, I find the word "fantastic" to describe the poem well, but I do not think it gives quite enough justice to what Poe tried to accomplish. He wanted the reader to feel frightened, but I think "fantastic" just sounds like it is very unique or out of the box. It does not sound like how I would imagine Poe wanting it to sound. However, I still am a good fan of Edgar Allan Poe's classic masterpiece, "The Raven."

Works Cited

Cooke, P. Pendleton. "Edgar A. Poe," Southern Literary Messenger (January 1848). Reprinted in The Recognition of Edgar Allan Poe, ed. Eric W. Carlson (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1966): pp. 21–23. Quoted as "Review of 'The Raven'" in Harold Bloom, ed. Edgar Allan Poe, Bloom's Major Poets. Philadelphia: Chelsea House Publishing, 1999. (Updated 2007.) Bloom's Literary Reference Online. Facts On File, Inc. http://www.fofweb.com/activelink2.asp?ItemID=WE54&SID=5&iPin= BMPEAP21&SingleRecord=True (accessed November 23, 2010).

Explication of "The Raven"

Literal Meaning:
Once, late at night, I was thinking about the old, forgotten tales I used to read. As I was nearing sleep, I heard a noise from the door. I shrugged it off, thinking it was only someone at the door, nothing else. It was in the dismal December. The fire was burning only embers. I longed for it to be morning again. Unsuccessfully, I had searched for a way to end the sorrow over my lost love, Lenore, the beautiful woman whom the angels gave name, now without a name. As the breeze russled the purple curtains, I was thrilled - full of such terror I had never felt before. I was so scared that I simply stood there repeating "It's only someone knocking at the door just really late. It's nothing." As I repeated this, I grew more and more confident and said aloud, "Sir or Madam, I am very sorry, but I was just trying to sleep when you came knocking. It was so quiet I was not sure if someone was there." Here, i opened the door wide to find nothing there, only darkness. For what seemed like an eternity, I stood there looking into the darkness, wondering, fearing, and doubting anyone ever being there. Dreams no one should ever have came into my mind. Still, the silence and darkness from outside the room remained. I quietly whispered the word "Lenore," and all I heard was the echo in receipt. All my soul turned with me to go back to bed, but I heard another tapping, this one slightly louder than the last. I said, "surely, surely that is someone at the window. I will explore this mystery and calm myself down. It must just be the wind - nothing else." I flung open the shutters, and a dignified raven stepped into the window. He made no acknowledgement of my presence. He flew up to a perch above my door. I smiled at the bird. Because of the dark dignification of appearance it gave me, I asked it, "Even though your feathers are so beautiful, are you sure you are no coward? You old, unsightly raven, tell me your name." The raven said, "Nevermore." I was so surprised to hear the bird speak, though it spoke little and gave even less information, considering that probably no one has ever had a bird over their door with the name "Nevermore." Still, the bird spoke only that one word, like he were pooring out his soul into that one word. He did nothing until I finally said, "Other friends have come before, but he will leave by the morning, like my hopes have gone before." Then, the bird said, "Nevermore." Startled that the bird replied, I said, "Obviously, that is the only word it can say. He must have been trained by someone to say only 'nevermore.'" Still, however, the raven made me smile. Quickly, I turned a cushioned seat to face the bird. Sitting down on it, I began thinking what the bird could mean by saying "nevermore." As i guessed, the raven gave no hint as to what it could be. I sat easily in the velvet chair, continuing to ponder what the bird could have meant. Then, I felt the air grow heavier. I cried, "You are dispicable! God has sent you to make me forget my loving memories of Lenore! Drink, oh drink, this kind forgetful drink, and forget my lovely Lenore!" The raven replied, "Nevermore." "You evil prophet, being from God or the Devil! Whether the tempter sent you or tossed you aside here, tell me honestly, is there balm in Gilead?" The raven, again, simply replied, "Nevermore." "Prophet," I exclaimed, "being of bird or Devil, tell me if in the near future I shall hold a beautiful woman whom the angels have named Lenore!" Again, the raven replied only the word, "Nevermore." "Fine!, then! Make that our final words spoken!" I screamed angrily. "Get out of my room! Leave no trace of your being here! Get out!" "Nevermore," spoke the raven, calmly. Still, the raven sat there atop my door, without moving and inch, his eyes appearing to be dreaming the dream of a demon. And, the light above him throws his shadow onto the floor, along with my soul, which shall be lifted off the floor nevermore.

Poetic Devices:
The first, and probably most obvious, example of a poetic device is the rhyme at the ends of each line with other lines. Also, there is rhyme within the lines. Also, there is a lot of repitition because of the word "nevermore" that the raven repeats. Next, the raven could be symbolic of death or the Devil. Then, Poe personifies the raven by giving it the ability to speak. Finally, there is a small amount of alliteration.

Figurative Meaning:
As the poem opens, the main character is mourning the loss of his late wife and beloved, Lenore, late at night. Suddenly, there is a sound at the door, but no one is there. Then, there is a sound at the window, and when he opens it, a raven flies into the room. Since he was just thinking about Lenore, he suspects the raven was brought to him to distract him from such sad thoughts. For some reason, the character asks the raven questions about his lost love. When the bird replies only with the word "Nevermore," he interpreted it as saying that his love shall never return to him. When the raven does not leave after the character had ordered it to, he assumes it means his long to have his Lenore again will never go away.

Journal #24

Um, sure, of course my mind has played tricks on me. The problem with this journal entry topic is that I do not really care to remember a time when the mind played tricks on me. First of all, I do not care about the times I screwed something up. Also, I am sure there have been so many times in which this has happened that I probably just blocked them out of my memory. They seem to be pretty unimportant, so why would I even want to remember such insignificant times in my life. However, now that I had already written a whole journal about other things, my english teacher decided to read it and is now wanting me to rewrite it and stay on topic. So, now I suppose I should rack my mind for some sort of a story about a time in which my mind played tricks on me. Actually, I supppose this exact instance could constitute my mind playing a trick on me. What I mean by this is that it just tricked me into believing that my english teacher does not actually read any of the journals, which I previously had thought because we still do not have any grades in STI for that class. So, taking that into consideration, I would think that means he has not read any of them. Apparently, he was actually just creeping on me, which is also something my mind tricked me into believing would never happen because I thought he had better things to do during his free time. But, in reality, my mind has now learned to write journals that pertain to the topic for the entire entry. Also, my mind tricked me into thinking I would have my privacy in my blogs considering that it has my name on top of it. I do understand that it is for a grade, but I really thought I would not receive an email warning me that the previous version of this entry was less than sufficient. However, I am still thankful for receiving it instead of a less than satisfactory grade for the whole entry.

"Thoreau's Walden and the American Dream: Challenge or Myth?"

The author, Michaela Keck, begins the essay with an opening statement, basically describing the centrality of Thoreau's thoughts around society and nature as two completely separate creatures. "The interconnectedness between civilization and nature is as central to Thoreau's thought as the interconnectedness of mind and body, the ideal and the real." (Keck). First of all, this is a sort of odd way of describing it here. Personally, I do not believe that the mind is connected to the body in any other way than its physical attachment through the spinal cord and whatnot. I think our minds will die when the body dies because there will be nothing left for it to do, essentially; in other words, I believe in science as making the most sense. Next, in every sort of way, the ideal is not the real. It is practically impossible to assert that we live in an ideal world, but we certainly live in a real world - one, in fact, that is so full of miscalculations and dillusions, that it seems this so called "ideal" is so widely ranged in definition according to religion and philosophy. It is darn near the point of not even using "ideal" to describe something because my version of ideal can be (and probably is) different than that of ninety-nine percent of the school I attend. There are so many things to disagree on that it actually seems like a useless word. Despite all of this, however, I see the point Keck is trying to make - that Thoreau is extremely centered around the connection between civilization and nature. Also, in a line following, Keck embodies my point of impossibilities by saying, "And in fulfillment of the American Dream, Walden embodies both success and failure." This just goes to show that it is impossible to please everyone and everything because you even, sometimes, hurt yourself by failing yourself. One other thing that I like about this essay is that Keck included both sides of Thoreau: "...Thoreau, the nature lover on the one hand, and Thoreau, the social critic on the other, calling for 'Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!'" This draws out the point that Thoreau did not only go out to the woods simply to bond with nature, no. But, he did go out to show the world that it is just as easy to live without the luxuries of everyday life and because he limply enjoys nature. He went out to the woods to say "hey, I can do this, so why can't you?" I really like this about him because the world, especially today, is so full of unnecessary luxuries, such as electricity, including everything that also runs on electricity. It is not totally necessary, but it is awfully useful. Also, he chose to go out into nature because he would be able to grow back closer to himself. That is another thing that a lot of people probably need. I do not, however, agree that the time spent alone in the woods should equal anywhere even close to two years, two months, and two days. No, I think just a weekend would be extremely sufficient.

Works Cited

Keck, Michaela. "Thoreau's Walden and the American Dream: Challenge or Myth?" In Bloom, Harold, ed. The American Dream, Bloom's Literary Themes. New York: Chelsea Publishing House, 2009. Bloom's Literary Reference Online. Facts On File, Inc. http://www.fofweb.com/activelink2.asp?ItemID=WE54&SID=5&iPin= BLTTAD021&SingleRecord=True (accessed November 17, 2010).

Journal #23

How could it be possible to live without any technology? I did not think it could be possible because there are so many things that run on or at least just use electricity. Also, in my normal life, I run on those things that run on electricity because there is pretty much nothing else to do at home. I am on Facebook about once every two hours, and I am sometimes on it for hours at a time. It has really become my fourth love, behind my Xbox360, the television, and the obvious one, my girlfriend, who I certainly love the most. Now, I ask of you to remember that this exit from the basic "society" would include living without a cell phone for the time because of the rules of the trip. But, hypothetically speaking, of course, a bear were to maul you when you were in your tent sleeping? Let me say that you are perfectly living but only with a large gash in your right leg, crippling it to the extent that you are unable to walk. What are you going to do? In this "unplugging from everything," you would also be completely alone out there in the woods. How would you live? How could you survive? Hmmm... oh that is right. YOU WOULD DIE. So, because of these simple reasons as listed above, I have decided to stay home from this horrible idea and live peacefully and still with the ability to walk. However, if under some stupid circumstances, I were forced to go out into the woods for a whole week, I think I would do just fine without my phone or computer or even the television. It would probably suck, but I do not think I would totally cave in and make a break for it back to society and electricity. I would simply be extremely lonesome out in the woods. Much of my time would be spent sleeping or at least resting because that is usually what I like to do when I am bored. In the time I am not sleeping or resting, I would probably be out hunting or looking for some form of nourishment.