A ModEst PropSal

This essay talks about unspeakable subjects. Cannibalism is not something easily accepted by society and logically, it is a good idea. You get rid of hunger and poor people that don’t do anything. The only problem is that the world isn’t ready for those type of solutions. It is barbaric to think of eating another human being. Especially a child. But this essay lets us see how barbaric we really are, it is okay to animals, kill them, roast them, piglets or pigs, mothers, fathers or sons. We have done a lot of bad things to the world, have hurt everything, humans included. In a way we should be giving thanks that the idea of eating children is still barbaric to us. Because honestly, it is a good solution. It kills two birds with one shot. And it really wouldn’t be difficult. Hitler did worse and for a worse cause.

I don’t honestly think he wrote it seriously and I think that upon reading it, it caused a lot of controversy. I would very much like to know what he was thinking or what his intentions were when writing it. Someday this idea occurred to him, Why did he think of it? What would he win?
:/

The DeMOn LoVeR

I thought it was well written but i didn't like it as a story. It wasn't exciting enough. Too ambiguos.

This story contains a lot of flashbacks and premonitions or red herrings.
In the beginning it tries to set a mysterious unknown ambience when describing the setting. The setting is full of memories of better days and is nostalgic. The house is unkept, giving us a dustier, older and scarier house than it would be in daylight and clean.

It never tells us what will happen. The only clue we have to something unknown is a mysterious letter that appears. It is new, untouched by dust and it speaks of long lost memories. These memories are awoken in a flashback where we are taken to a time when the narrator was younger and somewhat in love. Here her “soldier” reminds her what they have just accorded and tells her to not forget to do it. We still don’t know what they are talking about but with the title, and the description of his face we know something is wrong and unnatural.

The ambience becomes more and more tense as time passes and finally desperate the narrator leaves the house. Even though everything is calm, the nagging doubt tells us the end. The nagging doubt which is proven.

Tea Time my preetties

This story gives us a new view of society yet plays with a typical setting.

the typical setting is that rich people have all kinds of privileges and stuff yet they are not happy with what they have. Yet this setting only appears at the end. Throughout the story we see how this lady offers shelter and food but only as entertainment to herself. Her thoughts are superficial and not very interested in anything.

Her world becomes unbalanced as soon as her husband finds the street "urchin" beautiful..something apparently he hasn´t told her.

Human kind is defined by what satisfies it and and what it doesnt like. No matter what there is to life, it can only be filled with: love. She might have enough money to buy that little box but she wasn't beautiful enough in her husbands eyes. Her love wasn't true yet in the end that is what she really wants.

How predictable we all are...

@>----

Macbeth

If you were to be king, well nothing would stop you from being King.

I admit I havn't read the complete play, yet The 32second play and its explications provided by Mean Mr.Teacher resumed Macbeth pretty well.

Shakespear, wthere he was gay or not, whether he plagiarised or not, was brilliant. His speciality: tragedies.

Humans sometimes seem perfect, too perfect. How can you trust someone always better than you, who doesn't understand a mistake? For that matter how can we trust anyone, we have seen history written and know our own deep desires.

Macbeth is about...um... coff coff Macbeth. Said to be King, according to three witches. So maybe if destiny dictates so it shall be; yet ambition is always somewhere hidden. Lady MAcbeth knows what must be done to be King [and Queen] yet as a woman she must not do anathing except enter her husbands mind. Its plot unravels with murder, guilt and of course pe1ople losing their wits and sanity thanks to themselves.

Macduff, Blood which doesn't leave, ghosts, its all here. What makes this play so known [besides the fact that shakespear wrote it] is due to the way we see our own faults reflected there,but worse. We can understand, relate, whether it be shameful or not to.

What we will see in class is interactive, letting us divulge opinions, look into facts and play with fire, I mean imagination. It willlt us get closer to Macbeth instead of reading the book with the least skin possible touching the book at the farthest distance possible.

^^ I agree. Sounds Fun :p

You are being watched, or heard though a mike... Big Brother Is ALWAYS Present...

Ignoues, Goegre Orwell, Concepts never before seen, never before thought of in such a controled enviroment. Creating a rebel cause, fueling fire with fire. Taking it out and finally, bringing it back as a controled candel light. I really liked this novel.

1984

George Orwell

1984 is a very interesting novel. Not only does it play with control but with a manipulation beyond most peoples imagination. Whow ould have thought about erasing history? yet of course our sovereign is so smart. If there is no better past the present has always been so. I cant ask for 30 rations if BB told us last year there was going to be a reduction. Facts i thought I knew are only figments of my imagination.

With the thought police, the rewriting of history, with the difference inbetween proles and control of the marriages and the such not only is there economic control, but ind control. No one thinks outside the box to save their own life. A life if I dare say, that is a dominated life, no right or left tun, only BBs way. He is our leader andknows best after all and surely tomorrow my name will not have existed since 1993, some other child will have been born or none at all for I am sure no such free thought as mine is allowed I have read, I can think, This is no "Truman Show" for my life to be dealt out as a deck of cards. Tomorrow I shall not be, yet if you read this my futile attempt to live will also dissapear in your own doublethink. If this were a matter of blackwhite...There we go again, there can be no such thing, as love should and can be a word, there is no need or a not-good. There existe BAD, and it lies n BB.

Yet hiscontrol is so... complete, the only way to leave it is becoming a hermit, if caught things turn out worse, for besides being tortured and possibly left towander some time on earth, one is BB. I am Doublethink.

BB is complete. He has led us to war for so many years against the same country and never lost. He won by a landslide when voted for. Never has he broken a promise, always delivering, he is our Brother, part of the family, even closer than my own siblings who would lie awake to hear me murmur in my sleep. My children? Hopefully they will also bask and know his power.

BB has been re-elected two times, each time lasting two years.

He has been in power for an endless 5 years...

Digging by Seamus Heaney

Digging- Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests;as snug as a gun.

Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.

My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper.
He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

In This poem there is a lot of imagery. It plays with the colors of the flowers, the hardness of the shovel and the dirt, how time passes in routine and finally a pen resting in my hands. For that is my way of "digging", this is what I can do.

There is so much going on in this poem and yet nothing at all. So much to speculate about, yet i shall only talk about routine.

More than 20 years have passed, the field changing from a potato one to a garden of flowers. This tells us, besides the fact that life is easier now [from necesity to hobby], that digging has always been done, the fathers father and his grandfather, your typical family herloom found in nature. The father will die and the flowers and memory will live on,the own author may even take up the spade to keep the memory and so on the chain will go.

Or maybe its routine,something human kind has to do. Keep itself occupied to be able to live peacefully. No bored human is a happy. Yet if our routine is not interesting, boring it is still something we are used to. It keeps a pace in our life. Who knows what would happen with idle humans? The father has the movement down to a pinch, he has done this alwyas-or so we are led to believe.

Who are we if we don't know how to do anything?

She Walks In Beauty

She walks in beauty

By George Gordon, Lord Byron

I

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow’d to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

II

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair’d the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

III

And on that cheeck, and o'er the brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, with tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodnees spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart with love is innocent!

"She walks in beauty" is a poem about a wonderful woman...a beautiful being.

Yet how do they judge and decide how beautiful she is?
Besides the fact that she is physically appealing [or so we are led to believe] what makes her so.. perfect is the fact that she is an equilibrium in between light and dark. She is calm like the night, equally as mysterious, and pure. Most of all pure. She is innocent and we can be sure no tear has fallen upon thy brow, no frown adorned her face.

Yet is this true beauty? For the author possibly, yet this innocence sounds somewhat more like being naive to me. Can one be beautiful this way? Blondes are supposed ot be stupid due to the fact that they are beautiful and don’t have to know to get far, a little cleavage a kiss etc is enough. This is somewhat the same. She is beautiful and innocent. She has no lived life at its fullest. I may not be as beautiful as the person described but I have lived, I have known some of the world, and due to these experiences I know how to carry myself and can believe myself… “sexy”. Not necessarily sexy but great part of the allure, either in a man or a woman, is being how you want o be seen. I can do this. I have cried, I have wept, I have laughed and loved, fought and made-up.

She is beautiful, of that there is no doubt yet no crease of the forehead…how much can she know?

If what I understand is so… would you be handsome, or beautiful at the cost of being blissfully, naively happy?

I am sorry… I would not.