Author's Note: This supposed to be from the vantage point of Big Brother, the leader of the country Oceania in the book 1984
Diary Entry, Nov 14, 1984,
I wake in my bedroom, in my palace, in my country. The grey sky seems grotesque, for the sky is in this constant form, though it contradicts my mood because in a report from the front lines, I learn that my forces have one a glorious victory over my former colleague, Emmanuel Goldstein's, military. Closing my eyes in ecstasy, I lean back and enjoy the feeling of having the world at my fingertips, the feeling of having nobody to challenge you, or enlighten you on the proper way to run a country. Unbeknown st to me, my primary advisor steps in and attempts to give me an account on thought criminals. Apathy courses through my veins until I burst and have my security force escort him to the streets, for I have greater issues. Several individuals are taking a liking to Goldstein, and I have had them "vaporized" as my staff like to call it. Therefore I incorporated the "Two Minute Hate" into the daily schedule, to increase hatred between the two warring countries. It seems as though this has been my most stellar idea yet as people gain a prejudice against the people of Goldstein.
Diary Entry, Nov 21
Striding through the streets of my capitol, London, I watch in horror as a screaming women is taken from her children by a tight-lipped thought police officer. His attire and manner are blunt and give away nothing, for him this is routine I realize.
Later trudging back to my palace I spy on a regular citizen walking sadly with his head down, he walks to work and back every day in a never ending cycle. His sanctuary is sleep, a time when life doesn't involve interaction. I stroke my moustache and wonder if I'm the monster, if I'm doing the right thing?
Monday, March 29, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Brad's first poem (Don't expect much)
Author's Note: this was inspired by reading the book 1984; realizing how the amount of power that the government has in 1984, is similar to the amount of power in reality.
Winston Smith, 1984
Staring blankly at the wall
In a grey, dark world
Staring blankly at the future
Standing bleak before me
Staring blankly at Big Brother
Hatred boiling inside me
Staring blankly at Emanuel Goldstein
Charsimatic, Deceptive, Freedom
Staring blankly at escape
Desperate longing coursing within
Staring blankly at fear
The hand controlling me
Staring blankly at the mirror
I see the captive of a government, the victim of insanity
Winston Smith, 1984
Staring blankly at the wall
In a grey, dark world
Staring blankly at the future
Standing bleak before me
Staring blankly at Big Brother
Hatred boiling inside me
Staring blankly at Emanuel Goldstein
Charsimatic, Deceptive, Freedom
Staring blankly at escape
Desperate longing coursing within
Staring blankly at fear
The hand controlling me
Staring blankly at the mirror
I see the captive of a government, the victim of insanity
Friday, March 19, 2010
Catcher In The Rye
Check out this SlideShare Presentation:
Catcher In The Rye
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Thursday, March 18, 2010
Another Moonless Night in New York
Author's Note: This piece emphasizes the importance of emotion by creating an distopian world sans emotion
The clouds shrouded the city in darkness, the ocean water looked black, and a barren wind blew through the city, but it's not as though they could feel anything. The water poured down relentlessly through the night, the dirt swept the city, cold pavement, but it's not as though they could feel anything. New York was just another collection of old buildings and dirty streets to Claude Marlet, people walked around in the same grey cycle. Upon meeting people the standard greeting was a concise shake of the head, a brief gesture to acknowledge one's presence. Marlet remembered the day he was married, his number had come up in the system with his wife's number. The government had contacted him that his number had come up and that he would be married. This of course was not due to emotion, it just happened that the two families had similar social status, and one's social status was based on occupation. Social status stood for nothing except the way you were dealt revenue which in turn was for the work you did.
Claude had received another letter from the government telling them that he had been chosen in the draft which was what most Americans waited for, the government to throw a flag in their face. His date to report to boot camp was February third, but the date meant nothing to him, life meant nothing, all that Claude could tell was that he was looking at another moonless night in New York
The clouds shrouded the city in darkness, the ocean water looked black, and a barren wind blew through the city, but it's not as though they could feel anything. The water poured down relentlessly through the night, the dirt swept the city, cold pavement, but it's not as though they could feel anything. New York was just another collection of old buildings and dirty streets to Claude Marlet, people walked around in the same grey cycle. Upon meeting people the standard greeting was a concise shake of the head, a brief gesture to acknowledge one's presence. Marlet remembered the day he was married, his number had come up in the system with his wife's number. The government had contacted him that his number had come up and that he would be married. This of course was not due to emotion, it just happened that the two families had similar social status, and one's social status was based on occupation. Social status stood for nothing except the way you were dealt revenue which in turn was for the work you did.
Claude had received another letter from the government telling them that he had been chosen in the draft which was what most Americans waited for, the government to throw a flag in their face. His date to report to boot camp was February third, but the date meant nothing to him, life meant nothing, all that Claude could tell was that he was looking at another moonless night in New York
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The Phrase of Hope (A cheesy comedy)
Author's Note: This was inspired from reading about FDR and his sayings
November 7th 1934 Voice of Rupert Finnigan
Sunny rays of light squeeze their way into my room and usher me into consciousness, with the help of a unforgiving mom slapping my face. It's a regular Thursday morning, and my brother is still asleep because I have a job as a "newsie" and I have to get up early every day to deliver the paper to people around my neighborhood, the south side of Chicago, to support my family. My dad has a job as a bartender and isn't home often, my mom is unemployed because she has to take care of my sister who has some kind of autism. I grogily pull my clothes over my head and put on my cap and stride over to the newspaper office. Dozens of other boys around my age have had to skip out on school to support their struggling families, and the situation has gotten worse since some kinda money crash just happened during this past year, so people can't pull in enough money. A man with a look on his face that said no nonsense motioned me to come forward and retrieve my bundle of papers. He places them in my hands and I am taken aback with the weight of the papers, but that's only momentarily.
I already know my route and turn left down Cleveland Avenue and begin to heave the papers to their customers, and this begins to feel like I am going through the same cycle every day. Get up, deliver papers, etc, until I go to bed. As I turn a corner I feel a fist connect with my arm, and I drop the newspapers, sending them tumbling on the ground. I look in to the face of the neighborhood bully Norman Rolliney and reluctantly put up my fists ready to defend myself. Gosh what a sight that Rolliney is. He always has a cigarette clamped between whatever teeth he has left, and he is five years my senior. I'm twelve. He asks why I'm such a hurry and I tell him to shove off, so in turn he knocks me down to the ground being the jerk that he is. I take off, running as fast as I can towards my house, towards sanity, towards whatever I can find that won't depress me, hurt me, or ruin me. I stride in the front door to be met by a bloodcurdling scream. My sister is having another seizure, and my mom stands over her in a futile attempt to bring her around.
It feels like my life is spiralling down into chaos, for nothing has ever gone right into my life and the events slowly get worse. The worst part about my life is that it seems as though I've brought many of the troubles on myself by bad decisions on my part. I provoked the bully about two years ago by telling a police officer that he had picked off somebody's wallet. He really did, and spent three nights in the slammer. Since then he's had a blood feud with me and taken every opportunity to make my life miserable. Suddenly and idea pops into my head. I rush into the nearest telephone booth out onto the street, pull out a quarter, and pop it into a machine. I feel silly asking the phone if the operator's there, and suddenly I here a click. A man's deep voice sounds in my ear.
I ask "Hello is this the operator?"
The voice replies," speaking"
"Can you patch me over to the police department?"
"Why mac?"
"I'm reporting a theft."
"Alright, ya being patched over right now"
A different voice comes on the phone, one full of confidence and authority. The police department listens to my story and says they'll be over to Rolliney's place at sixhis gives me time to carry out my plan.
I walk tentatively to Rolliney's flat, and he's sitting out on the stairs eyeing the pedestrians walking by. I grab into my pocket and take out an old family heirloom, a gold studded watch, and out of the corner of my eye I see Rolliney cracking his knuckles in ecstasy. He waddles over with a suave look on his face.
"Watcha got dere Finnigan?"
"My watch, whatsit t' ya?"
"I'd like t' examine it."
With a practiced hand he snatched it out of my grasp and jogged back into his house. My plan had fallen into place all I had to do was wait.
At precisely six o' clock the authorities came into his flat. I watched out of the window. Rolliney struggled, but was not an issue for the police as they gingerly took the watch from his pocket and approached my house. After it was returned my mom turned on the radio, and President Roosevelts booming voice filled the room. I listened for the first time, this was another one of his "fireside chats."
"The only thing we need to have to fear is fear itself, I would like to assure you America, that there will be a chicken for every part."...
After listening to Mr. Roosevelt I realize that he is right, we can control this life, we can make it better, humanity will adapt. We shall overcome.
November 7th 1934 Voice of Rupert Finnigan
Sunny rays of light squeeze their way into my room and usher me into consciousness, with the help of a unforgiving mom slapping my face. It's a regular Thursday morning, and my brother is still asleep because I have a job as a "newsie" and I have to get up early every day to deliver the paper to people around my neighborhood, the south side of Chicago, to support my family. My dad has a job as a bartender and isn't home often, my mom is unemployed because she has to take care of my sister who has some kind of autism. I grogily pull my clothes over my head and put on my cap and stride over to the newspaper office. Dozens of other boys around my age have had to skip out on school to support their struggling families, and the situation has gotten worse since some kinda money crash just happened during this past year, so people can't pull in enough money. A man with a look on his face that said no nonsense motioned me to come forward and retrieve my bundle of papers. He places them in my hands and I am taken aback with the weight of the papers, but that's only momentarily.
I already know my route and turn left down Cleveland Avenue and begin to heave the papers to their customers, and this begins to feel like I am going through the same cycle every day. Get up, deliver papers, etc, until I go to bed. As I turn a corner I feel a fist connect with my arm, and I drop the newspapers, sending them tumbling on the ground. I look in to the face of the neighborhood bully Norman Rolliney and reluctantly put up my fists ready to defend myself. Gosh what a sight that Rolliney is. He always has a cigarette clamped between whatever teeth he has left, and he is five years my senior. I'm twelve. He asks why I'm such a hurry and I tell him to shove off, so in turn he knocks me down to the ground being the jerk that he is. I take off, running as fast as I can towards my house, towards sanity, towards whatever I can find that won't depress me, hurt me, or ruin me. I stride in the front door to be met by a bloodcurdling scream. My sister is having another seizure, and my mom stands over her in a futile attempt to bring her around.
It feels like my life is spiralling down into chaos, for nothing has ever gone right into my life and the events slowly get worse. The worst part about my life is that it seems as though I've brought many of the troubles on myself by bad decisions on my part. I provoked the bully about two years ago by telling a police officer that he had picked off somebody's wallet. He really did, and spent three nights in the slammer. Since then he's had a blood feud with me and taken every opportunity to make my life miserable. Suddenly and idea pops into my head. I rush into the nearest telephone booth out onto the street, pull out a quarter, and pop it into a machine. I feel silly asking the phone if the operator's there, and suddenly I here a click. A man's deep voice sounds in my ear.
I ask "Hello is this the operator?"
The voice replies," speaking"
"Can you patch me over to the police department?"
"Why mac?"
"I'm reporting a theft."
"Alright, ya being patched over right now"
A different voice comes on the phone, one full of confidence and authority. The police department listens to my story and says they'll be over to Rolliney's place at sixhis gives me time to carry out my plan.
I walk tentatively to Rolliney's flat, and he's sitting out on the stairs eyeing the pedestrians walking by. I grab into my pocket and take out an old family heirloom, a gold studded watch, and out of the corner of my eye I see Rolliney cracking his knuckles in ecstasy. He waddles over with a suave look on his face.
"Watcha got dere Finnigan?"
"My watch, whatsit t' ya?"
"I'd like t' examine it."
With a practiced hand he snatched it out of my grasp and jogged back into his house. My plan had fallen into place all I had to do was wait.
At precisely six o' clock the authorities came into his flat. I watched out of the window. Rolliney struggled, but was not an issue for the police as they gingerly took the watch from his pocket and approached my house. After it was returned my mom turned on the radio, and President Roosevelts booming voice filled the room. I listened for the first time, this was another one of his "fireside chats."
"The only thing we need to have to fear is fear itself, I would like to assure you America, that there will be a chicken for every part."...
After listening to Mr. Roosevelt I realize that he is right, we can control this life, we can make it better, humanity will adapt. We shall overcome.
A Dabble in Romance
Author's Note: This piece was a romanticized version of Florida, this was created after a spring break vacation there.
John Marou had always been they adventurous type of person. The type of person who would break away from life to do something extraordinary, for he seemed to not be content with his life as an office worker. He wanted to escape into the sunshine and tranquility of the ocean, the simple life of floating like a butterfly through the earth's most beautiful sea.
Eventually he quit his job and trekked down to Florida with the sun shining on his back. The greenery and natural feeling of Florida appealed to him and here he would stay until he could find a boat that would take him farther south into the light blue sea. Upon finding a boat he left the country and sailed away in peaceful isolation. Dolphins played and hunted alongside his boat in blissful ignorance of the complex life of a human living in America. How John longed to be a dolphin, and play forever while the waves cascaded over him.
After many wonderful days spent drifting among the ocean until one shocking sight lifted his spirits yet higher. Land. Pure white beaches and palm trees standing tall against the golden sun beckoned him closer. He steered his boat closer and ran into shore. The island was small, yet big enough to accommodate him if he chose to survive here. Dense foliage covered the island, and the variety amazed him here. Nature had grown its own orchard as bushes full of rotund fruit, and vines of various berries surrounded him. Exotic looking birds sang their compositions in the tree tops and baby monkeys wrestled in the tree tops. While pushing back a fern Marou discovered a small deer and its fawn, and Marou wondered if he'd found his true purpose in life, his true desire that had seemed to be tugging at his conscience ever since he had first gone on a hike in a small forest in his native state of Oregon. Marou wondered if he was meant to live a quasi- Robinson Crusoe lifestyle. Living off of the land in paradise seemed much more logical than struggling against a perpetual standoff with the IRS back home in Portland. It seemed ironic to Marou that humanity had evolved to live in a stressful lifestyle when Utopia could be found in the way indigenous peoples lived hundreds of years ago.
Marou found bedding simply by sleeping under the stars that night, and my! were they beautiful. Confusing planets with the many stars that dotted the majestic scenery above him, Marou realized that for the first time in his life he was in ecstasy, consumed by natures wonders and a lifestyle that was lost with the Mayans.
John Marou had always been they adventurous type of person. The type of person who would break away from life to do something extraordinary, for he seemed to not be content with his life as an office worker. He wanted to escape into the sunshine and tranquility of the ocean, the simple life of floating like a butterfly through the earth's most beautiful sea.
Eventually he quit his job and trekked down to Florida with the sun shining on his back. The greenery and natural feeling of Florida appealed to him and here he would stay until he could find a boat that would take him farther south into the light blue sea. Upon finding a boat he left the country and sailed away in peaceful isolation. Dolphins played and hunted alongside his boat in blissful ignorance of the complex life of a human living in America. How John longed to be a dolphin, and play forever while the waves cascaded over him.
After many wonderful days spent drifting among the ocean until one shocking sight lifted his spirits yet higher. Land. Pure white beaches and palm trees standing tall against the golden sun beckoned him closer. He steered his boat closer and ran into shore. The island was small, yet big enough to accommodate him if he chose to survive here. Dense foliage covered the island, and the variety amazed him here. Nature had grown its own orchard as bushes full of rotund fruit, and vines of various berries surrounded him. Exotic looking birds sang their compositions in the tree tops and baby monkeys wrestled in the tree tops. While pushing back a fern Marou discovered a small deer and its fawn, and Marou wondered if he'd found his true purpose in life, his true desire that had seemed to be tugging at his conscience ever since he had first gone on a hike in a small forest in his native state of Oregon. Marou wondered if he was meant to live a quasi- Robinson Crusoe lifestyle. Living off of the land in paradise seemed much more logical than struggling against a perpetual standoff with the IRS back home in Portland. It seemed ironic to Marou that humanity had evolved to live in a stressful lifestyle when Utopia could be found in the way indigenous peoples lived hundreds of years ago.
Marou found bedding simply by sleeping under the stars that night, and my! were they beautiful. Confusing planets with the many stars that dotted the majestic scenery above him, Marou realized that for the first time in his life he was in ecstasy, consumed by natures wonders and a lifestyle that was lost with the Mayans.
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