Monday, April 30, 2012

a little brother

"She wasn't worth it" he thought to himself, she's dead to me anyway.
"But dad!" I yelled, "She's my mom!" I was pleading with him. He's this this eh.. Eastern European kinda guy. Not very tall. "Dad think bout it?" I said. I needed him to understand how much I need the money. "dad, I need this to start my business." I was upset. "Dad, you just came back from fucking France!" He didn't give a shit. "Dad, I have a kid to feed!" I was pleading.
"Son!" He'd say, "Your wrong!" He had this eastern European accent. I had this grandma back in Poland, she "sends her blessings!" it's funny the way he'd say it."She loves you!"
"She loves me!" she doesn't want to fucking know me, his mother disowned me! He got married, they were together, she was French, but fuck! My mom looked Japanese! We always told crazy stories. "Your mom hated mine, she thought, mom was beneath you DAD!" Fuck, my father believed his mother, what an asshole. I look different too, but I speak six languages. Something bout that eastern European baby boomer hippie punk type of pansy out there; always sacred of the runway, the red tape. He had a heart attack last year. Fucker!
I remember knocking at the door. It was a barren landscape, the garden, the trees, whatever they had was torn out. Up Rooted, but they never moved. The house just washed away. "Dad?" I 'd ask. "Fuck, I need you.' I called em an asshole, I couldn't help it. "Fuck he never knew," but he did. Everyone does. He never cared, he related to life like the rest of them, he gave up. "Hosed down! Eroded!"  There was nothing beneath him. "His life went bad" I watched as he fell.
"What are you taking bout?" with that accent he was an asshole. And I'd laugh. "I must survive!" He said that. He got married to stay alive. A sweetness, she brought over him. "She loves me son, and I love her!"
"He's a liar!" I yelled,  I  told him "No". He laughed at me. Our neighbor.
"No it's true!" it sounded distant, I was eating, drinking, "You didn't know? Yeah They're married!" It was for survival. He held on," to her!" Always fucking logical. 
"You were dead to her!" She had him, my father, at her first husbands death bed. I remember growing up how badly he beat her. Eventually though she killed him. A strategy! And she caught my father.
"I want to talk to him" I have to plead with him. I see inside of him. There is this heartless soul in him and I look into his eye's always trying to remember.
"Dad" I remember him playing soccer with me. "Dad! I'm a good goalie!" I try but I don't remember him. He was there for me, he still is. "Family is not logical! It's a pleasure and it hurts to breath!" But out of the black holes comes a reflection .
"Dad? .. Where is Babcia?"I could see his breath, it was cold,  he speaks Polish.

I'm a dirty proletariat. But who isn't?
"You're gorgeous!" and she is still."I bet, I love her so much!" no one's listening, idiots. I love them so much.
"How the fuck do you get out of this" This is all some dream of pent up repression. Lol. Yeah. Really no one can do a decent psycho analysis. I have everything I want.... except

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Friday, April 27, 2012

But he still had no legs!

"You couldn't have made it this far without them!" he knew it was the truth. The dust in the hot air made things seem like they were in a fog. "You know it's true." He thought about both of them. He thought about how long they had both been with him.
"It's true, I guess." he could feel the distance they'd traveled together. "I can remember the way it felt when we were all together." He smelt the air, looking at her hair. She was a strawberry blonde, "I'm a ginger" she'd say. And he didn't ever dispute that. He looked it all over. The horizon, the hills that molded into mountains and ran like horses over waves of fresh fresh air. Nothing ever disrupted them, there was never a dispute. That's why he needed to remember. "When we were young, we saw so much together, why are we so frustrated with each other  now?" the question was obsolete, he knew.
"I believe in a fairytale, I know it'll come true" she said looking at him.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

I see you baby...shaken that ass! shaken that ass!

Alfred was infatuated, she could tell, he'd been looking at the screen for several minutes. "Baby... baby, why aren't you listening?" He didn't even notice that she was asking a question. "Baby" she shouted, his face looked adorable to her the moment he turned.
"What is it?" snarling, teeth in show. "What do you want from me hun?" his face deafening in that moment.
"I ah, eh, I want you to listen to this thing I wrote for you." The sound of her voice was soft but he felt antagonized and she could tell, "You don't want to know how I feel about you?" he laughed at her question.
"Baby, I'm editing this set!" he knew that would stop her. He knew that looking back.
He was alone now, she was gone, "No more, Alfred? you stink! Alfred! Put THAT away! Alfred I hate your Job!" it was always something else or other. "You bother me!..Get away. Alfred NO!" he heard her shouting,"you were beautiful!" he sighed, alone sitting hunched over the computer, reading her, looking at the work they'd done together. "I love you so much" he whispered to himself. The morning when he reminded himself of their rain, he showered himself in a disbelief,  but he felt fantastic under it. "You were so spoiled!" He thought about how he could still see her looking up at him, so close.
"I Remember making you laugh under that bridge!" he shouldn't have told her, he shook his head "but I did I was high."holding his hand to his face he saw her screaming, "You're the liar!" she was the literate one he thought.
"Alfred why do you love me?" she'd ask him all the time.
"why do I love you ?" he'd ask himself, scratching his chin. "You make me want you, and I like that!" he scratched some more, "You also have that hair, those eyes, lips, and feet. And you're legs!" He stopped and looked around realizing he's talking to himself again. "Why do you do this?" He knew why.

In Russia

Through the tic toking of the clock I sit and stare into the abyss scared shitless thinking about the future. Waiting for that destiny, realizing that this is such a coherent trip to some sort of dance where the rhymes howl and hail us all over, to see our one freedom. I can do this, I've seen my world through the eyes of a nineteen year old angry genius that reminds me of my thirty six year old brother, that had so much potential and let it fall away.
"Don't be so angry, let it go" it's all I can tell him, he can't let go.
"No one let's me go!" it's what 'he'd say. The two of us were already there, but it's the same old story. "Yeah!, blame them!" our parent's. "It's their fault you were so smart, you realized the world sucks before you could  save it." He's frown always give him away, "You 're just a little bitch! Go jerk off!" I wouldn't care about his feeling why should I care for anyone. Growing up is when you're an older brother.
"But the girls seem to straighten the pain out!" enjoying us so easily. "They didn't have good dads, and their mom were angry." "Women make me feel so insecure. Sex is something that should be fun.
"When you fell in love we were together, you thought that things were going to be different. Coherent" there was too much Billy Joel, so much talk of fatherless boys and Jesus Christ. The rules seemed clear that time is of the essences and life is strange if you really look at it. A dance with a wave of situations. It's nice to know people. People are happy.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

nervous twitch

"you feeling alright?" it was a stupid question. I knew the answer, we heard about the trouble earlier, together. "That message scared the shit out me!" It scared the shit out of both of us. "I'm scared you're going to leave us." It was a legitimate fear. I won't be able to take care of him with out the love to go around.
"I love you, don't you ever worry bout me leaving." We were together so long now.
"There really is no way that you could leave me, I got no way to remember my life without you, and I've had such a God Damn good one." Remembering the past was nice.
"that message is scary" we both agreed, as the little boy came, rubbing his eyes down the flight of stairs, his little check just hanging over the banister.
"Why aren't you in bed?" i asked, "It's way past nine, you're suppose to be in bed at eight!" He knew that.
"But I heard you guys talking!" his voice soft, young.
"What d'you here?" I wanted to know.
"Leave him alone, you know what he heard!" I did too, I just didn't want to ask him. It was horrible, I wasn't ready to know what was going on, why would he be. She knew how to tell him how it was going to be. "You're such a good little guy."

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Benny and the Jetssssssss!

I woke up again, I was alone. It was sad, such a sad situation. "I'm sorry for being, such a joke!" It was the most absurd thing I could have thought to say. Neither of us was that forgiving. I didn't really want to be heard but I was scared, so scared of feeling even more alone. We'd been together for so long that we were just a thing, one thing. Good or bad we were together. "Why'd you listen to me!" That's all I could think about. So there was someone else. We were together, so? You had somebody ready. Someone like me, except better, thinner, taller, "Yeah, you did it, for me to leave you!" We were this couple, and I ah... "Forgot why I didn't want to be alone." So you found someone else, "What do you think that's gonna be like?"
I know, so I wanted us to use protection. I wasn't ready for the consequences. It was because of you too. You looked good, though, that night. And we were right, together.
"So, why did you leave?" We didn't know each other. I had lots of other lovers, before we met. I didn't think that one person was going to make me happy. But that first night, I ah....stayed. When I woke up, it was official. Least for this long.
"How long has it been?" That's a funny question. Well a year before we met my daughter was born. That was something, I wasn't ready for. Neither of us were. And the adoption, hurt. I was alone after that. Except that night we were together, and I forgave myself. There we were.
"Spent the night?" Yeah...biting my nails. Grinding my teeth. I felt it happening again. After the sex. We slept, and I had no where to go. So I stayed, I wanted to love, I was responsible enough to try. I was the only one of us that was ready. It was something inside me. Finally, it was like a liberty. It wasn't my place but I stayed. Trust me, I knew we were gonna fight right from the start. We liked it though. There was sex too. It was a different kind then the other kind. It was the right kind. For me, from the first time. "It hurt the moment we got dirty, remember?" that's when I found out that there was someone that could love me. It didn't hurt me though. Not like it hurt you. To be in love.
The Blood in the bath tube, scared both of us. Looking back I never understood how non of the blood ran along the floor. The water was red. We we're both so scared. "I love you!" I remember hearing it for the first time. It was such an awkward moment, it was the type of moment you could tell was real. The tears were the icing on the cake, but who knows, it could have been the tear.
"What' happened here?" the doctor said with a smile. It wasn't that bad, it happens, but not all the time. I had to go to work, so we drove home. Patched up, in love.
"Whatever" I have to get some sleep.

Who are you? leave a message after the Beep

"I kept your tooth brush for a real long time! It was something I just did, I didn't want to, but I was alone. I am alone. And it's ok. Except I'm like not a kid anymore. I want to do something, and that fucking toothbrush had got to go. Whatever eh." After hearing the beep, there was a disconnection. The message was over.
Listening to it gave me the jitter. The words haunted me. Our relationship was awkward too. We were opposites, just the age difference alone caused so many issues. My parents never could understand that we could be together. There was the baby too. My mom had no idea, we were bad, I definitely grew, but it wasn't just about sex. We did things together. I read out loud for the two of us. We did so well in school when we studied together.
"I don't love you anymore!" I can remember the way it sounded, "You don't know me, you never did" I can remember the way I made it sound, we were finished. I could here my heart beating, I could feel it. It hurt, that pain, sharp.
I remember my mom telling me "You're father loved running away, he said he was going to the ends of the world, and he never came back." She was right, I couldn't just go on believing in dreams. She's full of shit though, cause I know what she's still waiting for,"He's just your father."
My toothbrush, it was there for so long. I remember leaving it there, I remember leaving my glaces that first night.I knew we were going to be together I just wanted to make sure.
When we met that first night, I could see it, everything that was going to happen, except I though we were going to be happy forever, I wanted to be happy forever.
"I slept at someones house last night" I told the truth that day. It was the reason we broke up. "We had sex" I said, I told the truth. "I can't respect myself, because I don't know who I am yet!"

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Gender typing not writing

We didn't mess around for that long. It was a sensitive time. "It's almost the end of the month." I said out loud. Neither of us really cared what the other thought any more, we'd been together for way to long. I was going to think of something special for the two of us, but I couldn't. We weren't going to last. I was scared of what was going to happen. Neither of us we're ready to go out on our own. We were in love thought, not sure how it happened, but it did. "I think we were in the bar!" Least that's what I thought. When we talked about it with other people they always claimed it was them, but no one introduced us, we met at the bar. We were both so vulnerable. I bet you I looked like such fruit. I felt ugly, until, well until we met. Everyone used to make fun of my height, my hair, my eye. I'm sure they said the same stuff when they saw us together. It was that time of the month again. But I was ready. "remember that time" I asked, no reply. "I remember" I shouted, "That time I found your pubic hair in my mouth"

Tuesday, April 17, 2012


Construir construct
Hoy today
página web web page
contraseña password
antes de before
búsqueda search
dirección de correo electrónico email email
teléfono celular cell phone
aplicación application
medios de comunicación social social media
descargar download
continuar continue
primero first
segundo second
tercera third
nombre name
pensar think
persona persona
típico typical
encontrado found
apellido urname

Empuje push
crear una cuenta nueva create a new account
ayuda help

elegir choose

Nombre de usuario User name
Aquí Here
Reflejar Reflect

Género gender
política de privacidad privacy policy
demostrar que show

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Diagnostic liberty. The heart of detail

One thousand and six fucking posts, that's what I've done, and what the fuck is the point. What the fuck is the point of combing over the back of my asshole mind. My unhappy reflection of the joyous event, the zombies call life. WTF? What the Fuck is WTF, and who the fuck cares, whom am I talking to. Using mediums like facebook.
My teachers and most of my peers,don't have a fucking clue what the fuck i'm talking about. They look at me with these clueless eyes, fucking empty asshole eyes that want something that would satisfy this thing, what is it! WTF are they fucking looking for? They want to see themselves in the deep, swimming in shit. They want to hold up this thing, whatever it is, to the light and examine it, all its prestigious details, all that bullshit. You know what they fuck they're doing when they do that right? They're not looking at the light. Fuck whatever they're holding, I want to look at what's looking at me, technology made it pretty fucking apparent what that is. We want to know ourselves. All there is in you is you. Every teacher and every student, are the same thing. The art of it is to see, and to watch, cause there's a cancer that stops us from realizing that all we have to offer to ourselves is us. No on else can do that, technology gives us much to examine, we can see everything now without realizing the cancer inside our self. It's in every one of us. Don't forget that, and you're an artist.

Friday, April 13, 2012

It's cause he's the man Venus!

That was it, they were finished, he was drunk and stunned, he was too fucked up to fuck.
"What the fuck is this shit?" there was so much resentment in the air, "I want to get laid." It was all she could do to prevent herself from stabbing him. The smile on his face didn't help.
"Baby" he said drunkenly, "Just fucking relax, you know I'm ready for it." She wanted him to be but she knew him.
"It's not going to happen." she stood over his drunken body. "Why?"

looking to get it jsut right!

Sixteenth Century England was a land of change; the landscape of religion, monarchy and society were all in dispute yet art and literature were flourishing catering to the English civilization. Roman Catholicism no longer had the same kind of strong hold over the people of England. Due to complication throughout his married life the King of England Henry VIII also had problems establishing a strong hold of his patriarchal system. The people of those times were meddling in a world of servitude, class struggle, sexism and death; treason lurked around every corner. Life looked bleak until the reign of Elisabeth.
With the death of her childless sister, came the rule of Elisabeth I. A female ruler that changed the face of English culture as we now it. English was growing in popularity by the sixteenth century. Individuals like Thomas More (an Englishman) had gained reverence throughout Europe for their uniqueness, yet Utopia was written and published in Latin. The texts that proceeded those earlier works of English literates have come to be some of the most profound artistic articles of our time.
The most prolific and the most widely accepted artist of the English renaissance is William Shakespeare. There were several factors that lead to the creation of an artist pertaining such potential. The broadening of religious scope allowed authors to introduce old (classic) forms into their works.
Though originating in pagan times, those truths could, in the opinion of many humanists, be reconciled to the moral vision of Christianity. The result… is that pagan gods and goddesses flourish on pages of even such a devoutly Christian poem as Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene.(489Greenblatt)
The climate inside of Europe was harnessing itself to produce a storm of prolific literary marvels that were geared to sculpt modern society. Along with the likes of Christopher Marlow, and Sir Thomas Wyatt the Elder, Shakespeare laid the groundwork and developed a literary Canon, which modern day society has yet not seen the likes of.
Through complications with religious doctrine, the daily rituals of the common people of the English renaissance began to come into question. New outlooks on society began to pop up; new forms of rhetoric were introduced to communicate with the heads of state. Because of the zeitgeist of the times people were on their toes when reflecting their opinions to the court
Culture and power were not, in any case, easily separable in Tudor England. In a society with no freedom of speech as we understand it and with relatively limited means of mass communication, important public issues while lyrics that to seem slight and nonchalant could serve as carefully crafted manifestations of rhetorical agility by aspiring courtiers (486Greenblatt).
This newfound flexibility with language gave The Tudor dynasty many new and distinct agilities when creating their public image, it also introduced new ways for their opposition to attack
One way that courtiers and writers challenged the Queen’s representational strategies was by playing a variation on her theme: they complicated Elizabeth’s familial analogies through reference to reconstituted families(Vanhoutte 317).
Through this type of discourse over the years we begin to see the bringing up of talent like Shakespeare.

The Roman Catholic Church and the Protestant reformation were both powerful forces that impacted on the production of literature during the sixteenth century. Times were changing, and along side the printing press came the Bible. It was being translated and pumped out to supply a whole new audience of just recently literate people. Old ideas were being put into play on a whole new level. Faith was beginning to be reinterpreted and instructions on how to believe were forced to change. Luther informed the people
that the pope and his hierarch were the servants of Satan and that the church had degenerated into a corrupt, worldly conspiracy designed to bilk the credulous and subvert secular authority(491Greenblatt).
Things were going to change for sure; every religious fanatic was trying to break down the old barriers and set up their own new ones, including Henry VIII. Killing people like Thomas More definitely impacted the way art exposed its true self to the sixteenth century English monarchy. Individuals like Wyatt the Elder were introducing the hungry English culture to Petrarchan sonnets; Wyatt was also using the medium to reflect his distinct opinions. Wyatt “represents himself as a plain-speaking and stead fast man, betrayed by the “doubleness” of fickle mistress of the instability of fortune,”(593.Greenblatt), we know now “of course the eloquent celebration of simplicity and truthfulness can itself be a cunning strategy” (593.Greenbalt) Hayes tells us
Indeed, ordinary people openly read books and disputed Scripture so ear- nestly among themselves in churches, alehouses, and taverns that on 6 March 1529 Henry VIII had issued a proclamation against reading unlicensed books or preaching from Tyndale's biblical translations;(132 Hayes)
All this just religious turmoil only sharpened the wit of the sixteenth century artist, writer and revolutionary.

The theater stage then became the scene of a new age and entertainment became a way to expose English society to the world. Literature and art were began being used to distribute knowledge in a whole new way. The common people of Shakespeare’s time were exposed to inappropriate behaviors “through literary texts, many of which were saturated with the discourse of fraudulent conveyance law” (469Aspinall) In the latter part of the sixteenth century there were moments where individual freedoms became dangerous, reading material that was outlawed caused “books…to be searched for, seized, and burned; readers were to be imprisoned until they recanted, and printers and/or transporters were to be torture” (Hayes 136). Certain types of literature were being spread, many that did not adhere to what the authorities of the day strove for. Shakespeare took many risks, but he stretched the limits in ways leaders like Elizabeth could get behind and even endorse. Clerics and puritans surely objected to the rapid redevelopment of their classic structures, and forms. English was taking over as a dominant source of information. The embracing of the humanities
doctrine (especially with regards to education), with the impact of the emphasis on the individual as expressed in the Reformation, and with the image and example of Elizabeth on the throne, by the late-sixteenth century in England these accepted ideas on the sexes and their relationships were beginning to be questioned—and nowhere more astutely than in the works of Sidney, Spenser and, Donne, and Shakespeare(20Kimbrough)
The unique factor that brings the works of Shakespeare into such an incredible spot light was the fact that the characters in the play were all male. Hence the works were crafted to be presented in a very different way then we know things to be portrayed today. The stage of the sixteenth century, set under the rigid corruptible rules of a very volatile society did another incredible thing to literature; it forced the audience to become more innovative. Kimbrough says “In fact, one of the healthiest facts of drama is that the experience of theatre permits us in the audience a freer (licensed) play of our own androgynous potential than do the “rules” of everyday life.” (Kimbrough33) The sixteenth century English renaissance changed the course of history, by introducing us to a set of unique and very definitive set of circumstances our society has never seen since.

What sets us apart from the people of the sixteenth century is our social landscape. Since the world of Elizabeth is no longer available to use, we are finding it difficult to expose the follies of out culture. Four hundred years ago, religion, language and lineage meant everything. The degradations and rearranging of some of those old ideals acted as catalyst to one of the most progressive cultural movements the English language as a whole has ever had. In part, language made its way back to its origins, finding its place amongst the classics. The revolutionary steps taken forward in the sixteenth century act as an inspiration to modern readers, to not only reach out and just make art, but to reach out and find the new language to tell the same old story again.

Works Cited

Aspinall, Dana E. Elizabethan Literature and the Law of Fraudulent Conveyance, Sixteenth Cent J 36 no2 Summ 2005, web.

Hayes, T. Wilson, The Peaceful Apocalypse: Familism and Literacy in Sixteenth-Century England, The Sixteenth Century Journal, Vol. 17, No. 2 (Summer, 1986), pp. 131-143, web

Kimbrough, Robert Androgyny Seen Through Shakespeare's Disguise Shakespeare Quarterly, Vol. 33, No. 1 (Spring, 1982), pp. 17-33.Web

Greenblatt, Stephen.The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The sixteenth Century The Early Seventeenth Century. Ed. Stephen Greenblatt. 8th ed. NewYork: Norton 2006. 484-511. Print

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Im an artist and Im already lonely! get your sping on already kats!

Honestly get a Liberal Education
In 1846 John Henry Cardinal Newman left Trinity College, Oxford but he left under the impression that he was for the rest of his life to be surrounded in his travels with the monuments of his education. The Cardinal believed that reason is relied upon to act as a catalyst to knowledge. He found dignity in the pursuit of Science. Newman’s account of a University education is not to manufacture great artists, or infallible critics; no, the goal of the Liberal education is to hone in on the cultural tone of society. Many men and women of the Victorian age were interested in identifying the highest form of thought, to maintain a cultural energy that worked to hold the highest standards of living. A liberally educated individual is suppose to be capable of maintaining themselves appropriately in all situations, holding the reigns of reason over knowledge.

Newman was brought up in London where he attended Trinity College, Oxford. He believed in the scientific way of reasoning
“Such a power is the result of a scientific formation of mind; it is an acquired faculty of judgment, of clearsightedness, of sagacity, of wisdom, of philosophical reach of mind, and intellectual self possession and repose— qualities which do not come of mere acquirement.”(1037Newman)
At Trinity the young student developed a habit of perusing truth and he wrote out a passage that stated
“There used to be much snapdragon growing on the walls opposite my freshman’s rooms there, and I had taken it as the emblem of my perpetual residence even unto death in my University.” (1035Newman)
Oxford offered Newman a vantage point from which he could look down, a place he could use reason to peruse knowledge and science, “It expresses itself, not in mere enunciation but by an enthymeme: it is of the nature of science from the first, and in this consists its dignity”(1036Newman) To Newman it wasn’t the particulars in the science, but the reason to peruse the science itself, he had an ideology that within reason everything was already known. “This is how it comes to be an end in itself; this is why it admits of being called Liberal. Not to know the relative disposition of things is the state of slave or children; to have mapped out the Universe is the boast”(1036Newman) This is one of the foundations Newman built his philosophy on an ideology surely introduced to him throughout his residence at Oxford.

Newman sees the “Liberally” educated mind as a “useful” tool, not as a professional piece of equipment, but adaptive and useful in all the “good” ways. Newman classifies “Good [as] not only good, but reproductive of good; this is one of it’s attributers; nothing is excellent, beautiful, perfect desirable for its own sake, nut it overflows, and spreads the likeness of itself all around it.”(1038) What is meant in this statement is that the mind and the ideas of the educated individual need to feed the overall world in the best way. Newman is stressing the importance of on overall sense of greatness that can be cultivated and nurtured for eons to come. Ideas like this are useful beyond any practical form of measurement, to Newman “it excites first our admiration and love, then our desire and our gratitude, and that in proportion to its intenseness and fullness in particular instances. A great good will impart great good”(1038Newman). They type of education being defined here is capable of harnessing the power of society and focusing it to nurture itself.

We tend to want to look to the faculties we find in modern institutions and ask, “well, if an education is so great, why can’t all of us write like Shakespeare?” Newman stands firm that “university is not a birthplace of poets of immortal authors, of founders of schools, leaders of colonies, or conquerors of nations. “(1040Newman) The role of a Liberal institution is to maintain the frame work created by geniuses like Shakespeare, Aristotle and expose it to developing minds in a way that ensures that student can absorb, work with and mold the information for the common good of his people. A positively developed mind should have “a clear conscious view of his own opinions and judgments, a truth in developing them, an eloquence in expressing them and a force in urging them.” (1040Newman) This type of groundwork when enforced in the right way creates environments form which great thinkers like Shakespeare can develop from and continue the perpetual cycle of “cultivating the public mind”(1040Newman).

For a man so strongly associated to the church, Newman’s views on the liberal education really reflected his knowledge of the society he was living amongst. The Idea of a University is not a religious document, and it’s easy to forget that the author was well on his way to becoming a saint while writing it. Newman remains relatively neutral when defining distinct figures in society, “Hence it is that it is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain.”(1041Newman) No divinity there. No reference to any historical poets either, or Greek or Roman languages. Newman held similar beliefs that adhered to the principles of some scholars like Thomas Huxley. Huxley like Newman had a good reason for perusing educational reform, “the nemesis of all reformers is finality; and the reformers of education. Like those of religion, fell into the profound, however common, error of mistaking the beginning for the end of the work of reformation.”(1434Huxley) Huxley coined the term “Agnostic” almost forty years after Newman was leaving Oxford, yet Newman could already understand the mind of the Darwinian scholar,
“Not that he may not hold a religion too, in his own way, even when he is not a Christian. In that case his religion is one of imagination and sentiment; it is the embodiment of those ideas of the sublime, majestic, and beautiful, without which there can be no large philosophy.”(1042Newman)
He remains relevant to this day, Cardinal Newman because of his extremely liberal position and his extremely forward thinking vision.

Looking around the river valley surrounding Concordia one can easily realize in ones own mind what Newman meant when he wrote “On the morning of the 23rd I left the Observatory. I have never seen Oxford since, excepting its spires, as are seem from the railway.” In this day and age we can find those spires, those downtown reminders of our relationship to our knowledge. Concordia is that institution that bridges that instrumental theory into a source of reason. It’s where as a person can attribute himself or herself to a cause. To peruse the steps that cause the reaction they wish to analyze. Newman influence over a liberal education was great and in a positive way. He ensured to leave statement that maintained an open end to the reform of educational institutions. Those spires we see around us throughout our travels are the reminders that the liberal education never ends. Concordia offers us a modern look at the past, a reflection of our society that we can trust. Allowing us to move forward, within reason to use science right. Newman’s foresight infringes us from stagnating our minds into the particularities of science and religion. Newman saw himself as liberally educated man that because of his education was able to standalone and radiate the truth within his society.

works Cited
Newman, Cardinal, The Idea of a University, Eight Edition The Norton Anthology. ED
Stephen Greenblatt. New York .2006. 1035-42 Print.
Huxley, Thomas, Science and Culture, Eight Edition The Norton Anthology. ED
Stephen Greenblatt. New York .2006. 1429-35 Print.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

and lit her smoke!

She let out this huge breath, it was sad. She was alone. her body hung itself against the wall, on the corner. She was dirty, and she stood there alone. He saw her there in her sadness and it made him smile. She was younger then he expected her to be, but he understood everything he needed to know just by looking at her.
"What you smoking?" he asked tearing into her. She just jumped and took a drag of her smoke.
"What do you think?" the smoke just drained out of her. She was lovely, so angry and alone.
"I don't know?" he stopped moved closer. "I'll have whatever you're having."
"I'm having it alone." She knew exactly what he wanted. "Actually!" she stopped and raised her eyebrow. "I know what I want, wanna help me get it?" she was thrilled by him.
He wanted it too. "Let's go."
The doors to the basement were locked but he found a base board that was torn apart, there was enough room for him to pinch through. He did it so quickly, for being so tall. He tore it apart so that I could fall, It was exactly what I had imagined.
"the room was filled to the brim with jewels and necklaces and ornaments.
"None of it is real!" she said, holding one of to the plastic stones to the light radiating from the trench he had torn out for her.
"No?.. Nothing!" there was this look in his eyes, he smiled as he went looking through the graveyard of ruble.
"There is so much dust in in here." she said whipping at her nose, he just kept digging through the mess, the light reflecting of the stones and into her eyes. "Wa...What are you doing, you 're making me sick," she was getting ready to light up again.
"Don't!" he yelled.
"What?" she demanded, "do you want!"
"Don't smoke in here" his voice echoed through the space, the soot was making her feel wrong, closed in.
"I just want a fucking smoke!" she was yelling.
"Just wait!" he was reaching back into everything shining behind him. The light from outside was still there, pushing against them for her to see him through the dust. He loved her.
"I just think that, I I..." her voice wavered
"Look at it!" he yelled pulling out and opening up his hand form the pile of shinny relics he had collected over the years. He held it out to here, his breath clearing the dust that surrounded them."It's mine..." he smiled to look at her, so small, not innocent, but still sweet. "Look at it, I found it for you."
She looked at it,

Sunday, April 8, 2012

o conner!

The two stood there waiting for the taxi, it was so cold, so calm. The whole night was a blur, she was kneeling by him, finishing being sick. He was standing over her holding a hotdog. "Get up!" his mouth was full, and bits of his bun were bouncing off of his leather jacket onto her. She was being sick. "Jesus Lindsy, why you gotta drink so much?" He was asking her seriously, under his drunken breath. The two of them were meant for each other. "I told you not to do those shooter things with Jimmy, he does that to you every time!" He was right and she knew it. She was getting cold, and she knew he didn't care, he never cared about her. "You know I'm never wrong baby" he said laughing. She did. She knew he knew her, and she hated him for it. "How come I'm always left standing?" he asked arrogantly. She was kneeling under him so unhappy, and he was standing over her smiling.
"I'm so cold!" her voice was drunk, her hair was in her mouth, all she could see was the light from the cars coming forward on the other side of the street. There were so many of them. She felt dizzy when she shut her eyes, she squeezed them tight. "I..." Nothing could find it's way out. She held onto his shin, her heels laying next to her, she could feel him reach to try to hale a cab.
"No one will ever pull over for us baby, they can tell you're so fucked up." He sounded angry but she didn't care.
"I'm cold!" she said shivering, inside she was yelling, begging and pleading with herself. She hated him, she never wanted to go out with him, and she knew he knew that. "you're always right baby"

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Before it was Fulltime Employment

Over most of the last millennia there has been a struggle to equalize the sexes. In the late 14th century the struggle was on possibly for the first time in the public domain. Christine de Pisan stepped into the literate world to rebel against the common prevailing views of her time. The view was that women were in many way’s inferior to men. Pisan argued that women were equal. The movement slowly made its way to become common knowledge. Women given the same opportunities as men can achieve an intellectual equality. By the later part of the 17th century a few vivacious women had stepped into the world of professional writing. It was defiantly a turbulent life for the likes of women like Aphra Behn, who opened the door for the future female authors to step through.

One of those writers was Virginia Woolf, an early 20th-century female author who agreed with what the English romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge had to say in Specimens of the Table Talk of S.T. Coleridge “The Truth is, a great mind must be androgynous.” He wrote that in September of 1832. The way people see sexuality has undertaken a massive transformation since Coleridge introduced the idea of androgyny and its association to perfection.

Virginia Woolf called that homeostatic relationship within the psyche “the unity of the mind”(Woolf 607). Woolf offers us a reflection of the soul as she understood it,
so that in each of us two powers preside, one male, one female; and in the man’s brain, the man predominates over the woman, and in the woman’s brain, the woman predominates over the man. The normal and comfortable state of being is that when the two live in harmony together, spiritually co- operating.”(Woolf 607)
A good example of the type of mind Coleridge and Woolf are defining is the mind of William Shakespeare, Woolf say’s “it would be impossible to say what Shakespeare thought of women.” (Woolf 608) The qualities that lead exceptional literature through the ages seem to hold an ambiguous characteristic. Shakespeare is to this day a mystery as an individual yet his literature still encompasses much of our currents belief and culture. That transparency is something that critics like Virginian Woolf believe is necessary in the production of quality literature. An invisibility of the author, a directive she believes men of her time failed to adhere too. The male’s world of “I” is forced upon her,
honest and logical; as hard as a nut, and as polished for centuries by good teaching and good feeding. I respect and admire that “I” from the bottom of my heart. But --- here I turned a page or two, looking for something or other-- - the worst of it is that the shadow of the letter “I” all is shapeless as mist. Is that a tree? No, it’s a woman. (608 Woolf)
The contrast is to her so apparent that to her the male authors of her time were preforming “indecent” act’s, in plain daylight. She goes on to talk about how “Shakespeare’s indecency uproots a thousand other things in one’s mind, and is far from being dull. But Shakespeare does it for pleasure.” Woolf says a typical tactless writer “does it in protest. He is protesting against the equality of the other sex by asserting his own superiority.”(Woolf 609) Equality within the mind pertaining to both sexes creates a unity that produces the most powerful works of art.
Bringing the sexes together is an art of its own and Woolf uses several unique ways to guide us into a world where our minds are in tune with both sexualities. A male dominated fascist regime for example is incapable of manufacturing poetry without nurturing it, “Poetry ought to have a mother as well as a father.”(610Woolf) She goes on to say “The Fascist poem, one may fear, will be a horrid little abortion such as one sees in a glass jar…such monsters never live long.” Woolf also recognizes that the issue isn’t one sided, that women need to step out of the shadow of mans ego and into a light of their own, yet in an androgynous female male way. Uniting the minds of people to think in a way where both sexes are at peace with one another seems to grant any artwork that can do it, a right to longevity and life within the creative world of literature.

In accordance with the literary world Woolf made a declaration that humanity needs to hear the female voice from the source to create a more accurate portrayal of reality. Woolf looks back into the past to produce a portrait of the women who were on the forefront of literature by the 20th-century. Bronte, Austen and Eliot are all put under the spot light to help her produce a perspective of the female mind as it was by that point in history. Though she has a small selection of female authors who’s works were accepted into the mainstream culture, she is able to assume several valid points that will reflect her ideology. Woolf paints out the characteristics of the female novelists through their flaws, as she perceives them, throughout their pros. According to Woolf, all three authors are genuinely geniuses, yet not all the women are capable of fully expressing themselves without exposing their resentment towards the other sex; in turn deforming their prose to reflect a twisted a disjointed piece of art.

George Eliot was woman who used a male name to represent herself. Right away we find her to be disjointed, broken away form the “unity” Woolf talks about. Middlemarch is a village set in England in the 19th—century. Eliot paints a world that radiates reality, “but” as Woolf would say, Dorothea, Eliot’s main protagonist seems to exemplify the repressed woman. Dorothea is a strong-minded young woman who decided to marry and old nasty backward clergymen. Her uncle, an old bachelor, Mr. Brooks can see she’s making a mistake but willingly participates in the union. Dorothea realizes her mistake within a few weeks of her honeymoon in Italy, from that point on Eliot locks herself up in a character that is forced to repress her desires to remain in the patriarchal light the novel sets itself in. Eliot’s work is genius, here characters are real as can be, but they are set in the world of man. There is no room in it for the author. She’s not playing for the right team, so any advancement she might be making well only be seen as helping the other team (men) define themselves with more clarity. Throughout most of the novel Dorothea lives like this
She entertained no visions of their ever coming into nearer union and yet she had taken no posture of renunciation. She had accepted her whole relation to Will very simply as part of her marriage sorrows, and would have though it very sinful in her to keep up an inward wail because she was not completely happy, being rather disposed to dwell on the superfluities of her lot.
The break in unity of the mind of Dorothea is clearly evident. This is a direct reflection of the mind of George Eliot, or the disjointed and twisted psyche of Mary Anne Disreali.

Bronte’s Jane Eyre also can’t seem to hold herself together and is found to betray her creator and subjugate the audience to the anger and resentment of her inexperienced female author. Charlotte Bronte exposes us to the life of a woman who wants to witness the world. She does it pretty well, drawing out the oppressive world of the young girls who were force to live out their lives without a father figure. Bronte depicts the life of the noble family in a way that allows the modern reader to sense the level of hypocrisy that was formed throughout the Aristocratic ages. Jane Eyre is perfectly forgotten, a young orphan looking to be shaped by her surroundings, yet every step of the way she’s forced to embark in menial small-minded tasks, that is until she meets Mr. Rochester. The king of a castle, he opens the door to the mind of Jane Eyre. It is he that set’s her free. Her mind is capable to wonder, but it doesn’t, not really until Mr. Rochester accepts her, “The ease of his manner freed me form painful restraint: the friendly frankness, as correct as cordial, with which he treated me, drew me to him. I felt at times as if he were my relation rather than my master: yet he was imperious sometimes still, but I did not mind that; I saw it was his way.”(171Bronte) This relationship is not healthy in a modern sense, Eyre isn’t in control of herself and Rochester is. Bronte developed the character in such a way to live up to the lie of the Victorian crowd of men that she needed to impress to get the book published. This lack of unity, this pull to make her intentions pronounced diverts the attention of the reader from what Charlotte Bronte was actually trying to offer us, her view of the horizon, the everlasting landscape of life.

One author of the 19th—century can hold the right light emitted by her genius to the message imprinted on the minds eye and her name is Jane Austen. She was a woman who had the audacity to call herself by her real man, exposing her sex, and the truth through her eyes as a woman. Woolf argues “Jane Austen looked at it … and devised a perfectly natural, shapely sentence proper for her own use and never departed from it.”(606 Woolf) She was someone who stuck to her guns, “with less genius for writing then Charlotte Bronte, she got infinitely more said.” (606 Woolf) Austen’s ability to carry her femininity into all the parts of her novels with so much integrity gives them the honor to hold tremendous weight. Her pros speak volumes to men about women, “Emma fancied there was a something of resentment, a something bordering on it in her style, which increased the desirableness of their being separate .—It might be only her own consciousness; but it seemed as if an angel only could have been quiet without resentment under such a stroke.” (Austen 422). Austen reveals how closely she reads here, she knows how to stand her ground because she is always focusing on maintain her connection to Emma, the character, not here own connection to the life she is creating for Emma. Jane Austen said what she wanted too, she wanted to leave a message that wasn’t going to be replaced, to do so she cut off all ties to herself as she managed to scribble out the manuscripts of her books. She developed a tradition for women, and gave Woolf a portrait of reality she can trust is 100% authentic, not a reflection of some other guy’s idea of what to write.
The rise of a cultural revolution begins in the heart of the artist. Pisan’s realization that submitting ones ideal to maintain the ideal of the next guy could only be combated through a lack of complacency and an aggressive personal ideology that relates to oneself as an individual honestly. In other words if women want freedom they got to fight for it every step of the way. Through the ages there hasn’t been a tremendous amount of real geniuses. None really that amounts to individuals such as Shakespeare, people like Woolf and Coleridge understood that, and clued into why. Integrity to ones true self is fundamental to the success of the work being produced. Accurate portrayals of the events being carried out in a storytellers mind can make the audience truly believe in the existence of the artist’s reality. The possibility are there, as long as we reflect what we actually know, not what they tell us to say.

Work Cited

Austen, Jane "Emma". London:Penguin Classics, 1996. Print.

Bronte, Charlotte “Jane Eyre”. London:Penuine Classics, 1996. Print.

Eliot, George “Middlemarch”. London:Penguin Classics, 1996. Print.

Woolf Virginia. From “A Room of One’s own.” The Critical Tradition: Classic Texts and
Contemporary Trends. ED. David H. Richter.3rded. Boston:Bedford, 2007. 1933-35.Print