"I would not my unhoused free condition/Put into circumscription and confine for the seas worth" p.1461
"And you know they're running for me
You know my love won't let them keep me away
I'm a smooth rider baby..." Dave Matthews Band "Smooth Rider"
"This sorrow's heavenly; It strikes where it doth love" p.1532
"You think of things impossible then the sun refused to shine
I woke with you beside me your cold hand lay in mine" Dave Matthews Band "Grace is Gone"
"Ay, 'twas he that told me on her first. An honest man he is, and hates the slime that sticks on filthy deeds" p.1536
"I heard it through the grapevine not much longer would you be mine" Creedence Clearwater Revival "Grapevine"
"I must be found. My parts, my tithe, and my perfect soul shall manifest me rightly" p.1461
"Man I got the sun hatin' on me cause I'm hotter than the sun
Spring hatin' on me cause I ain't never sprung" Lil Wayne "Mr. Carter"
"Why, anything: An honorable murderer, if you will; For naught I did in hate, but all in honor" p.1540
"And the world will wonder how we made the tables turn
And the world will see
That we had to choose" Newsies Cast "The World Will Know"
In the play "Othello" the protagonist is a man of honor and truth, yet his demise occurs in lieu of treacherous and immoral actions. It is because of Othello’s unfailing truthfulness and unrestrained trust in others that he is able to be manipulated into an evil conspiracy. The antagonist, Iago, preys on the naïveté of Othello and through Othello’s misguided trust, Iago ruins him.
Part of Othello’s completely loyal character as he says he would not be “confined for the seas worth,” in relation to his love for Desdemona. Even though he knows Desdemona’s father is trying to “keep him away” Othello will not give up on his love for her.
Though Othello be an honorable man, he knows his own strengths and is willing to express such in attempts to prove he deserves Desdemona. “My perfect soul shall manifest me rightly,” shows the defiance of Othello’s character as he stands against the oppression of Desdemona’s father. Even though he is a brute of war, and a moor, Othello strives to explain why he’d be good for his love.
When Othello comes to the false realization that he has been dishonored by Desdemona, he concludes "This sorrow's heavenly; It strikes where it doth love.” The incredible pain he endures by suspecting his wife of cheating on him is compounded by the fact that Othello himself knows no such disgrace in character. Because Othello is pure in heart, his heart is all the more traumatized by Desdemona’s perceived actions which is mirrored in the words of Dave Matthews, “I woke with you beside me your cold hand lay in mine.”
Othello’s purity comes to haunt him yet again as he misplaces his trust in the word of Iago, saying “an honest man is he.” As he “heard it through the grapevine” that Desdemona was cheating on him and “not much longer would [she] be [his]” he took empty words and drastically acted upon the accusation. Othello’s trust in Iago would ultimately lead to his own destruction.
At the end of the play Othello’s pride comes back into play as he requests to be named “an honorable murderer” as he expresses the fact that his actions were done “naught…in hate, but all in honor.” The lyrics “the world will see…that we had to choose” summarizes the pickle in which Othello was placed. Othello had to choose between abandoning his trust in other men’s truthfulness, and ultimately his own purity, and questioning the purity of his wife.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Afghanistan
Continent:
Asia
Religion:
Majority Muslim, permeates all aspects of life
Strength of Economy:
Production of opium, not sold at bazaars
Last Jewish Resident:
Zablon Simintov
President:
Hamid Karzai, not a drone
Radical Group:
Taliban, withered by U.S. military
Asia
Religion:
Majority Muslim, permeates all aspects of life
Strength of Economy:
Production of opium, not sold at bazaars
Last Jewish Resident:
Zablon Simintov
President:
Hamid Karzai, not a drone
Radical Group:
Taliban, withered by U.S. military
Salim & Jamal
Porthos
/ Athos
We are the Musketeers / We are the Musketeers
Partners in / Partners in
Crime
/ Surviving together
Fighting
/ Searching
Killing
For restitution / For restitution
We'll find it / We'll find it
/ Through the bonds of brotherhood
Shrouded by betrayal
/ Betrayal of a brother
I know what must be done
Sacrifice / Sacrifice
My life
/ For mine
/ Athos
We are the Musketeers / We are the Musketeers
Partners in / Partners in
Crime
/ Surviving together
Fighting
/ Searching
Killing
For restitution / For restitution
We'll find it / We'll find it
/ Through the bonds of brotherhood
Shrouded by betrayal
/ Betrayal of a brother
I know what must be done
Sacrifice / Sacrifice
My life
/ For mine
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Poetry
My teacher says it's due tonight
But honestly...
What's the point?
C'mon, really? Another poem?
You know, it's strange
Poems can range in SiZe
shape
ContenT and rhyme scheme
Punctuation: grammar too
So how can such an assignment be graded,
I submit that it cannot.
But honestly...
What's the point?
C'mon, really? Another poem?
You know, it's strange
Poems can range in SiZe
shape
ContenT and rhyme scheme
Punctuation: grammar too
So how can such an assignment be graded,
I submit that it cannot.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Bicycles
It was late. Dark. We were expected to be home by sundown, but we almost never started home until the sun had already disappeared. By the time the sky morphed into custard colored curtains, Spencer and I knew our bikes would not get us back home in time to be saved from a long speech about how it’s not safe to be out alone at night.
“It’s a scary world, out there,” my Dad would say. It became almost a joke, as he said this every time someone left the house.
I never took the warning lightheartedly, however, because one afternoon a jogger was kidnapped off of the bike trail that ran through the back of our neighborhood. Apparently, she got raped, but I didn’t understand how people knew that if she was still missing. I think parents tend to assume the worst, especially when a girl is the victim. Or maybe our parents embellished the story a bit just to prove their point.
Derek never had to worry as much about getting home on time because he lived in the back of the neighborhood, along the row of new houses. We mostly rode around in this part of the neighborhood, but I didn’t like it as much. The houses were all painted white and had two stories. They seemed to stand all huddled, all the way down the street, as if the designers were afraid there wouldn’t be enough kids to fill up the playground.
I liked living in the front of the neighborhood. Spencer’s house lay on the row behind mine, a couple of houses down. Almost every day, after school, I ran down the street, cut through his next-door neighbor’s yard and knocked on his door.
They were called “chromies”, a name probably dubbed by some middle schooler, or maybe Derek’s older brother. Chromies screw onto the inside of car tires, where the air is pumped in.
The three of us, and probably kids from other neighborhoods, stole these fascinating, little objects. The greatest one we ever found was an eight-ball; well, Derek found it. Usually we scouted for these treasures together, but it was whoever had the guts to run up to the car, take the time to unscrew them, and escape before anyone ever came out of the house, that got to flaunt their merchandise on their bike tires the next day.
The eight-ball happened to belong to a huge black truck and, as my dad said, men with big trucks have something to prove; except, the exact quote goes a little differently. With both kids behind you, on their bikes and already in position to make a quick escape, nerves go crazy and your adrenaline starts pumpin’ real hard when it’s your turn to make a steal. There were many kinds; flat-tops and round-tops, those didn’t receive a great deal of respect; rubber ones, which basically were not even worth stealing; and once, Spencer found a yellow with a smiley face. It remains debatable whether the smiley face was actually stolen. He could have easily bought it at the Bike Doctor.
The chromie days ended the day we took them off of Spencer’s mom’s car. Derek stayed home that day and as a result we had nobody to tell us that this was a bad idea. It happened to be the day before Mrs. Evans took her car to get the tires filled up with air.
Needless to say, Spencer had to spill the beans. I don’t blame him; I would have done the same. Actually, if he had stolen from my mom I probably would have knocked him out. Having to apologize to your best friend’s mother, however, can turn out to be quite humiliating.
Mrs. Evans could have been my second mother. I could be reached at their phone number about as easily as my own. Stealing chromies was like a game, but having to confess our involvement took the fun right out of it.
The neighborhood became our town. Bikes were our vehicles. As with all vehicles, the bikes had to be tested. Spencer’s bike was light and cheap, but good for getting air off jumps. His bike usually became the candidate for destructive tests; however, Spencer took pride in his bike and no one used it for those tests. Derek’s bike was one of those real BMX bikes which were heavy and hard to ride. He always could perform nice tricks, but when I hopped on the magic had left. Each of us fit our own transport perfectly.
Near the back of the neighborhood there stood a three foot lip on the side of the road. Other kids had carved through it with their bikes and had made a perfect launching ramp. It was a perfect place for us to show off our tricks.
I needed to practice jumping the ramp, alone. After school, when I knew Spencer and Derek were not home, I rode to the ramp and started practicing. On the first jump, as I lifted off the ground my foot slipped off the pedal and the metal spikes went into my knee as both the bike and my body soared through the air. The cut went deep, but it took a second for the blood to start. Riding home, a bit shaky from the accident, ideas for what I would tell my mom flowed in and out of my head. I had a few ready, but the compassion came as a surprise. There was no need for a story. No need for an explanation.
The stitches earned me some respect. There were four and all metallic blue.
“It’s a scary world, out there,” my Dad would say. It became almost a joke, as he said this every time someone left the house.
I never took the warning lightheartedly, however, because one afternoon a jogger was kidnapped off of the bike trail that ran through the back of our neighborhood. Apparently, she got raped, but I didn’t understand how people knew that if she was still missing. I think parents tend to assume the worst, especially when a girl is the victim. Or maybe our parents embellished the story a bit just to prove their point.
Derek never had to worry as much about getting home on time because he lived in the back of the neighborhood, along the row of new houses. We mostly rode around in this part of the neighborhood, but I didn’t like it as much. The houses were all painted white and had two stories. They seemed to stand all huddled, all the way down the street, as if the designers were afraid there wouldn’t be enough kids to fill up the playground.
I liked living in the front of the neighborhood. Spencer’s house lay on the row behind mine, a couple of houses down. Almost every day, after school, I ran down the street, cut through his next-door neighbor’s yard and knocked on his door.
They were called “chromies”, a name probably dubbed by some middle schooler, or maybe Derek’s older brother. Chromies screw onto the inside of car tires, where the air is pumped in.
The three of us, and probably kids from other neighborhoods, stole these fascinating, little objects. The greatest one we ever found was an eight-ball; well, Derek found it. Usually we scouted for these treasures together, but it was whoever had the guts to run up to the car, take the time to unscrew them, and escape before anyone ever came out of the house, that got to flaunt their merchandise on their bike tires the next day.
The eight-ball happened to belong to a huge black truck and, as my dad said, men with big trucks have something to prove; except, the exact quote goes a little differently. With both kids behind you, on their bikes and already in position to make a quick escape, nerves go crazy and your adrenaline starts pumpin’ real hard when it’s your turn to make a steal. There were many kinds; flat-tops and round-tops, those didn’t receive a great deal of respect; rubber ones, which basically were not even worth stealing; and once, Spencer found a yellow with a smiley face. It remains debatable whether the smiley face was actually stolen. He could have easily bought it at the Bike Doctor.
The chromie days ended the day we took them off of Spencer’s mom’s car. Derek stayed home that day and as a result we had nobody to tell us that this was a bad idea. It happened to be the day before Mrs. Evans took her car to get the tires filled up with air.
Needless to say, Spencer had to spill the beans. I don’t blame him; I would have done the same. Actually, if he had stolen from my mom I probably would have knocked him out. Having to apologize to your best friend’s mother, however, can turn out to be quite humiliating.
Mrs. Evans could have been my second mother. I could be reached at their phone number about as easily as my own. Stealing chromies was like a game, but having to confess our involvement took the fun right out of it.
The neighborhood became our town. Bikes were our vehicles. As with all vehicles, the bikes had to be tested. Spencer’s bike was light and cheap, but good for getting air off jumps. His bike usually became the candidate for destructive tests; however, Spencer took pride in his bike and no one used it for those tests. Derek’s bike was one of those real BMX bikes which were heavy and hard to ride. He always could perform nice tricks, but when I hopped on the magic had left. Each of us fit our own transport perfectly.
Near the back of the neighborhood there stood a three foot lip on the side of the road. Other kids had carved through it with their bikes and had made a perfect launching ramp. It was a perfect place for us to show off our tricks.
I needed to practice jumping the ramp, alone. After school, when I knew Spencer and Derek were not home, I rode to the ramp and started practicing. On the first jump, as I lifted off the ground my foot slipped off the pedal and the metal spikes went into my knee as both the bike and my body soared through the air. The cut went deep, but it took a second for the blood to start. Riding home, a bit shaky from the accident, ideas for what I would tell my mom flowed in and out of my head. I had a few ready, but the compassion came as a surprise. There was no need for a story. No need for an explanation.
The stitches earned me some respect. There were four and all metallic blue.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Finals
Do not think too hard about the race,
Thoughts consume and torture the mind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.
Do not fret coming in last place,
Confidence is key for our kind;
Do not think too hard about the race.
You want to feel as though in a chase,
It's not propitious to fall behind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.
A tyrannical training routine you have had to face;
By competition day all facets will combine-
Do not think too hard about the race.
Bananas for breakfast will suffice,
Tighten your goggles or else you'll go blind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.
Up on the blocks hold resolute as one who prays.
Make sure you stretch to loosen up in line;
Do not think too hard about the race,
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.
Thoughts consume and torture the mind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.
Do not fret coming in last place,
Confidence is key for our kind;
Do not think too hard about the race.
You want to feel as though in a chase,
It's not propitious to fall behind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.
A tyrannical training routine you have had to face;
By competition day all facets will combine-
Do not think too hard about the race.
Bananas for breakfast will suffice,
Tighten your goggles or else you'll go blind;
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.
Up on the blocks hold resolute as one who prays.
Make sure you stretch to loosen up in line;
Do not think too hard about the race,
Dive in, swimming with a flailing pace.
Monday, October 5, 2009
A Land Down Under
Some while ago lived a seaman in a dockside shack with his wife and small boy. This boy was named Aquarius. The man found his only income from the few crab pots he set in the sea just outside the bay. A certain jewel was said to exist deep in the sea, which maybe was the reason the father insisted so strongly on sticking to such a low-paying job. The pots were absent from view one morning as he set out to collect the small creatures; for the past weekend had been deeply overcast with intense fog, and the man unknowingly had set the pots way beyond his normal spot. The man knew he had not the time to search for these misplaced cages as the catch was due to the market before sundown. So the old seaman gathered what he could and headed back to the docks. Upon arriving home that night with what he managed to earn from his miniscule catch, his wife complained, “And you suppose this is enough to support this family?” “The best pots I could not find…I don’t understand. I set them last night,” the old man answered with a defeated tone. Motioning to the young boy the wife proclaimed, “Have the boy search for them.” “And how do you suppose he do that? We have one dinghy which I need to collect the remaining crab pots,” retorted the man. “He can swim, moron!” Thinking about the presumption, the old man thought to himself how far he might have actually set the traps.
Aquarius had always enjoyed boasting of his skill in the water. Because of this conceit, his step-mother was always trying to find a way to use this against him. She knew by challenging Aquarius, he would be unable to resist an opportunity to flaunt his gifts. Aquarius had attained certain knowledge about swimming outside the bay, however, and knew to bring buoys on his journey. Every two hundred yards or so the boy would place a buoy in the water, swim to the bottom of the sea, and anchor it to the bottom; the first buoy set just as the flash of the light house met the horizon.
A task requiring a skill unknown to most people, swimming to the bottom of the sea scared even Aquarius. Every buoy, even though deeper still, became easier and easier to the boy. Not until more than three buoys had been anchored, Aquarius assimilated this increasing facility with a strange sensation which, as he swam deeper, grew in intensity. The feeling’s significance reached Aquarius as he anchored the tenth buoy. Reaching the floor, the boy realized he had no need to return to the surface for a breath. Aquarius felt as though he had the ability to breathe underwater; however, the shear thought frightened him back to the surface. Yet, this discovery led Aquarius to forget his mission and continue further into the sea. The eleventh buoy was his last, and this time he went to the bottom with a newfound confidence.
About half way down, Aquarius spotted a glimmer towards the bottom. Feeling completely free of the need to return to the surface, he explored. The glimmer grew until; at last, Aquarius had reached the glistening palace of Ubombay. Not people, but similar, the inhabitants were a new sight to Aquarius.
“Welcome stranger,” said a creature that slightly resembled an old man.
“What are you?” the boy asked, without a sense of respect.
“Well, young boy, we represent the land down under, where women glow and men plunder.”
“I feel like I’ve heard that before…” the boy chimed thinking of a popular song he recently heard.
“Not unless you’ve been here before,” replied the ubombayan.
Aquarius then made his second encounter in Ubombay. Very quickly he recognized this to be the female version of the ubombayans. “Aquarius? Really?” piped the girl, who now closer could be described as younger looking. “Uh, yea? How in the world do you know my name?” he barely could speak. “English class silly,” she said. “Wha…wait, Christie? You serious?”
After describing how she was in the same fog as his father, got lost sailing, and took refuge in Ubombay, Christie told Aquarius she had no way of knowing how to find her way back to the bay. She had been there once before, but had found her way back. At this point he realized Christie was the one who sang him the song about a land down under a week before at school.
Aquarius then explained to Christie the buoy path he had created. When they returned to the bay, Christie showed him pieces of the palace that shined like stars. Now this is what the girl had sold upon return of her last trip. Aquarius gave a portion to his father, and told him not to worry about crab pots anymore, for crab pots couldn’t reach such jewels. The father was now to rely on his son’s extravagant skill of swimming, as he observed from his perspective. Aquarius and Christie kept the secret of Ubombay to themselves.
Aquarius had always enjoyed boasting of his skill in the water. Because of this conceit, his step-mother was always trying to find a way to use this against him. She knew by challenging Aquarius, he would be unable to resist an opportunity to flaunt his gifts. Aquarius had attained certain knowledge about swimming outside the bay, however, and knew to bring buoys on his journey. Every two hundred yards or so the boy would place a buoy in the water, swim to the bottom of the sea, and anchor it to the bottom; the first buoy set just as the flash of the light house met the horizon.
A task requiring a skill unknown to most people, swimming to the bottom of the sea scared even Aquarius. Every buoy, even though deeper still, became easier and easier to the boy. Not until more than three buoys had been anchored, Aquarius assimilated this increasing facility with a strange sensation which, as he swam deeper, grew in intensity. The feeling’s significance reached Aquarius as he anchored the tenth buoy. Reaching the floor, the boy realized he had no need to return to the surface for a breath. Aquarius felt as though he had the ability to breathe underwater; however, the shear thought frightened him back to the surface. Yet, this discovery led Aquarius to forget his mission and continue further into the sea. The eleventh buoy was his last, and this time he went to the bottom with a newfound confidence.
About half way down, Aquarius spotted a glimmer towards the bottom. Feeling completely free of the need to return to the surface, he explored. The glimmer grew until; at last, Aquarius had reached the glistening palace of Ubombay. Not people, but similar, the inhabitants were a new sight to Aquarius.
“Welcome stranger,” said a creature that slightly resembled an old man.
“What are you?” the boy asked, without a sense of respect.
“Well, young boy, we represent the land down under, where women glow and men plunder.”
“I feel like I’ve heard that before…” the boy chimed thinking of a popular song he recently heard.
“Not unless you’ve been here before,” replied the ubombayan.
Aquarius then made his second encounter in Ubombay. Very quickly he recognized this to be the female version of the ubombayans. “Aquarius? Really?” piped the girl, who now closer could be described as younger looking. “Uh, yea? How in the world do you know my name?” he barely could speak. “English class silly,” she said. “Wha…wait, Christie? You serious?”
After describing how she was in the same fog as his father, got lost sailing, and took refuge in Ubombay, Christie told Aquarius she had no way of knowing how to find her way back to the bay. She had been there once before, but had found her way back. At this point he realized Christie was the one who sang him the song about a land down under a week before at school.
Aquarius then explained to Christie the buoy path he had created. When they returned to the bay, Christie showed him pieces of the palace that shined like stars. Now this is what the girl had sold upon return of her last trip. Aquarius gave a portion to his father, and told him not to worry about crab pots anymore, for crab pots couldn’t reach such jewels. The father was now to rely on his son’s extravagant skill of swimming, as he observed from his perspective. Aquarius and Christie kept the secret of Ubombay to themselves.
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