Truman Show Response

Author's Note: This is a response to the movie The Truman Show. The movie really made me think about the lingering questions about our own existence, and how we can tell if life is an illusion.
Truman Show Response


In reality only one thing that is certain is that I exist. I think and process life as it occurs to me, and I have opinions, so because I think I know I exist. However there is no proof that my surroundings exist, and these surroundings and people could be figments of my imagination, or people ordered to interact with me just like a movie set. The Truman Show exemplifies the notion that reality does not exist, and that it’s an illusion.



It is natural that we question our own existence, because at times it can seem so perfect and so brutal as if it’s an illusion or dream that one can wake up from. The Truman Show shows a man living inside a dome, living a fake life that is actually a movie set, and everyone who interacts with Truman is a paid actor. This plotline is asking how we know that life is real, and that the people we interact with and love are genuine. It shows all the strange twists that life takes, and the plausible idea that there is a divine being pulling the strings in life.



Many parts of the movie show the grinding routine that humanity pulls through on a daily basis. For example Truman keeps on going to the same job each day while making the same stops along the way. In life we constantly question what keeps us in our roles in life, and what is keeping us from being spontaneous, and doing what we wish. It seems like the laws we have to follow are flimsy guidelines created by a ruler who controls us. This is exemplified when Truman constantly tries to leave the island to travel to Fiji and other places, but the creator of the movie forces him back, and the same thing seems to occur in life. The things that we desire and want to happen are crushed by outside, uncontrollable variables in life. An example of this would be if one wants to go on vacation, and one’s car breaks down. It seems as though life is being controlled by someone who decides what happens to us.

Because it seems like we are being controlled in life, we try so desperately to break free from life by challenging our limits and challenging death. People do dangerous stunts such as sky-diving or act randomly as though we are challenging the being, “in charge” to control us, and these activities make us feel in control of our own lives. Truman does this a lot in the movie like when he sails on the ocean as far as he can go even though he is deathly afraid of water. This scene is him challenging the show’s director to enforce his power on Truman, and his crossing the ocean symbolizes him discovering life again once he reaches the end of his captivity.



Because we can feel as though life is an illusion or we are being controlled, we feel compelled to take risks, and this is the only way to satisfy our curiosity about the true nature of life. When can’t be sure if the people around us really exit, and if we are being controlled, so we try to stretch the boundaries in life to see if reality can change somehow to reveal the true nature of life which is what the Truman Show emphasizes. The movie tells us that life could very well be controlled by some higher being as if our lives are being played out.

Cocoa Beach

Author's Note: For spring break this year I traveled to Orlando, Florida and went to one of my favorite places in the world: Cocoa Beach. This poem is really about what this place means to me, and my experiences there.

Hot sun beating down on our heads,
We pant like dogs while sweat drips.
The discomfort well worth the pain.
The airport jungle braved and conquered,
Armies of ignorant passengers lay defeated,
Stressful rules and regulations lay behind.

Stress soon loses itself in our heads,
while all connection to the world is lost.
Only vague memories stay but not long.
We forget all the things that ruin life,
all the people who tease and laugh,
when your voice cracks and glasses tint.

The rolling surf punches our heads hard,
but we don't care one little bit.
We live for the pain and water,
feelings of something rubbing you,
we scream, "Shark!" and people look wildly,
only to realize its a bunch of dumb kids.

Beyond the water and the sand it's special,
this beach, which is our paradise.
We don't need to worry about home.
However not for very long before,
we must brave the jungle once again.
Back to cold, stupid Wisconsin.

A Mistreated Friend- Spoof of I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud by William Wordworth

Author's Note: This is an impression of William Wordsworth's  poem I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud. Wordsworth ryhmed every other line with eight syllables per line. He also liked to change syntax in a sentence, so that's why some of the syntax in my poem is weird.
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
 
WANDERED lonely as a cloud


That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.



Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of the bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.



The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:



For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

--
 
A Mistreated Friend

He gazed on like an old statue,

Which sits so lonely in a park,

He hated the crowd, his mood, blue,

The crowd his foe, his future dark;

Watching in the corner, with hate

Sputtering, muttering, as of late.



Everlasting are the bonds made,

Which pray last on forevermore,

Though tested and upset, they stayed,

They don't split and weather the storm,

Millions destroyed, don't weather, don't last,

But he did not dwell in the past.



The roses floated by; but they

Never caught his hand, life was gray

Not close to his friends did he stay,

With him how long could one by gay?

Other days he had a better mood,

But didn't change his attitude.



Although poke fun at you we do,

We seem fixed on mistreatment ,

Life wouldn't be the same sans you,

Though we treat you like excrement

Don't ever live in the past tense; for

We desire, need your presence .

Response to Saint Francis of Assisi in His Tomb

Response to Saint Francis of Assisi

Alex Jones wondered what would happen after his passing. His failing heart had hinted that the end of mortal life was near, and Alex hated it. Would he rest in eternal comfort, or would the Gates of Hell welcome him with open arms, and perpetually subject him to torture and punishment; a repercussion of a life of malevolence, a wasted, friendless existence? While his vision dimmed, Alex Jones realized that he had no mourners by his side, his hands grasped and clawed in a vain attempt to save himself, but the fates were determined. The hands that had served him for an eternity failed him when he required them the most, hands that needed to pull him from his fate, and save him. Suddenly, Alex lost contact with his world, and fell into the open arms of the void.

                The room was ancient, seeing that the intricate carvings were inscribed in an illegible language, and these accompanied scenes from history, even though some artwork was recognizable to Alex, others depicted strange scenes that seemed out of a science fiction film. Even with Alex’s limited knowledge of history, pictures that came from World War ll were obvious, for there was even a sketch of the atomic bombing. Because of the immense size of the room, the carvings were allowed to become extremely complex, and detailed, and scenes that went back as far as Creation were noticeable. However, the science fiction carvings consisted of humanity with advanced technology, and it was evident that cars had become obsolete, and were replaced by quasi-spaceships that flew to and fro at ridiculous speeds. Citizens walked around with computers and circuit boards woven into their clothing. Every person seemed engaged with their own electronic tasks, and apathetic towards the natural world around them.  As Alex looked back and forth at the carvings, he realized that they were in order from most ancient to the most futuristic, and he realized he wasn’t just looking at representations of periods in history; he was looking at a timeline.

                The shock of this new discovery was very unnerving to Alex, for he fully realized the severity of his predicament. Throughout life, Alex had not been a religious man, nor had he favored any religion over the other. Although now it was clear that some kind of godly beings existed, but what effect these beings had on life on Earth was unclear; perhaps another mystery of death. Alex realized that he had been solely focused at the carvings on the wall, but now was aware of the fact that several others were in the room with him. Some of the others in the room seemed accustomed to the surroundings, and calm, while others trembled nervously and Alex concluded that the nervous souls were newcomers and didn’t know what would become of them. Alex shared the feeling. The nearest person beckoned for Alex to come and sit down and Alex obeyed.

                “What is this place?” Alex questioned.

                “Purgatory,” the man answered.

                “Please enlighten me, if this is purgatory, I’m assuming the Christian God is in control, and we simply spend an eternity here?”

                “Well in reality, the situation is much more complicated than that. Actually this is where the theological stories come into control, and we are judged to be sent to what the common man might call, heaven or hell. As to your last statement, the majority of humanity worships a god, or several gods, but there is only one God. The manner in which any given religion worships and acts towards each other and the rest of the world is the main topic that God judges, for this is what is being judged. It’s a question of whether you’ve placed faith in God because it is faith that guarantees you a spot in heaven, and not necessarily whether you’ve been a good boy or not, but obviously that plays a part in the decision, for they wouldn’t let a serial killer in heaven if he went his whole life committing truly evil acts, and not asking God for forgiveness. Even though somebody may have been evil his/her whole life, if one asks forgiveness from God and from the world, then he has placed faith, and will therefore be saved,” the man stated.

                “Gee, thanks for helping me Socrates.” Alex stared at the man disdainfully,” I asked to know what happens in this place, but not for the cliché children stories. You don’t scare me sir, because I question how you obtained this information, or are you God’s next great prophet?”

                “Perhaps you will understand later Mr. …”

                “Jones, and who may I ask are you?”

                “Call me Paul.”

                “Well Paul, tha….”

                Alex was interrupted by the opening of two large doors on the opposite end of the room. These to doors had stood prominent and quiet, but had gone unnoticed by Alex. A man marched out wearing a simple tunic. He stood tall and proud like a soldier, for he radiated authority.

                “Hello departed souls, I am Matthew. You have all gone through the course of your lives, and died like any human being. However today you begin the afterlife which is initiated by your trial, or in other words a recap of your life ending with a verdict. This is the opportunity to look in retrospect at your life and how you have fulfilled your destiny on Earth. Now, we will be calling you all in, so make yourselves comfortable in the waiting room until you are called to come forward.”

                There was at least several million people in the room which was as a result, immensely large, and Alex now realized why there were stories of people waiting for thousands of years in purgatory. The individuals waiting were simply waiting to be called forth to complete their trials. He had assumed that people were acting facetious, but now realized that this was a mandatory dilemma that every man must go through. Days and even years passed without Alex’s name being called, but he watched people sob and smile as they passed through the doors, confident or doubtful that they would make it into heaven. However after a seemingly endless period of waiting, his name was called, and Alex was ushered through the doors. 

                Upon entering the room, he was greeted by several men who sat behind a panel, obviously the judges. They were dressed in simple white clothing which matched the color of the surrounding walls. In between the judges was a dove. A pure creature, an earthly being in this cosmic palace was strange. Alex felt the immense power being cast by this creature, one unlike anything he had ever experienced. This foreign presence touched his consciousness, but instead of being terrified, he was in a state of calm. The man on the left, Alex recognized as a preacher, a martyr, and a saint. It could only be John the Baptist. His counterparts were unknown religious figures to Alex.

                “Alex Jones, you have died and passed to the afterlife. Construct your first statement. Do you believe that you have given faith throughout life, and acted morally to the best of you ability?” asked John.

                The randomness of the question startled Alex.“Well, I um.”

                “Enough,” John interrupted. “We have known what has occurred in your life, and are aware of what you have done, but perhaps you do not know what you have done.”

                Alex stared silently in shock.

                “From adolescence you ruined lives, and influenced others negatively. At age twelve, you knew that you came from a family more balanced than others, at age twelve you knew you came from a family more wealthy than others, and at age twelve you knew you came from a family more respected than others. Your parents were recognized for being powerful members of the community, and you used the natural influence that accompanied this status to manipulate your peers. Because one of your classmates was homosexual, you bullied that young man to the point of insanity. Even if he was already ostracized because of his sexuality, you increased the level of abhorrence tenfold,” shouted another judge.

                “That’s outrageous, you could not possibly believe…”

                “Do you know what transpired in that child’s life? Do you have the slightest idea what became of him? He killed himself because of you. Throughout his life, others felt the need to humiliate this man, and follow your suit. In fact to the point where he convinced himself that he didn’t deserve to live, seeing that everybody spat on him and avidly attempted to tear him down, and that child took his own life. He felt as though he could carry on no longer, and ended his troubled existence. You knew perfectly well the pain inflicted upon that young man, and watched as his mental conditioned worsened, and you knowingly worsened his condition just because he followed who he was made to be. Mr. Jones, you didn’t realize that the only thing fueling your prejudice was your own ignorance!”The judge was outraged, and didn’t hide his contempt for Alex.

                Another judge began to speak, “Fourteen years into the future, you fell in love with a prodigious, beautiful young woman who truly loved you, and cherished every moment she spent with you. You were young and infatuated, for this were the first time you had ever loved someone, and felt compassion for another human being, but the feeling was foreign and you felt as though you were pouring out your heart to quickly, or breaking open the hard shell you had lived under for the whole of your life. Did you not realize that the feeling was natural? Clearly this intruded on your troubled conscience, but you pushed the feeling and hope away like it was some horrible poison. Because after your proposal she became terribly sick, and became the victim of a terrible disease, but when her ailment was diagnosed, you realized the costs of healing her, and abandoned her when she needed you most, because you didn’t have the courage to brave the battles that love brings, so instead of aiding her through her time of trial you instead left her, and ran out into the grasp of loneliness once more.”

                This last proclamation left Alex silent and listless. He had run out of fight and was no longer irate, no longer left questioning the fairness of the trials. The final judge had not spoken. Alex raised his gaze and realized it was John, who looked at him sadly.

                “Alex, I have seen the lives of many people pass by before my eyes, and seen those who stood proud and firmly for the things that they held important, while many opposed them and dishonored them for what they believed in, they held stubbornly, because they believed their actions were correct, and many times they were. These people lived their lives with a purpose, and supported this purpose with all the help they could give. This is one of the main reason we have life, and the main reason to act in life. We need to stand for something and take risks in life, because without a purpose, life is truly wasted. When I look in your eyes, I see nothing. Your eyes are blank, and you don’t deny your actions. You do not stand behind what you have done, or even seem to care about the consequences of your actions. However, the action that disappoints me most throughout your life is the fact that anger and hatred burned inside you during your whole life, but not once did you ask God for guidance, and not once did you pray for forgiveness. It is asking for forgiveness which is the very thing that gives you a spot in heaven. With all the evidence in place, I leave it to the Judge to make a decision. Please exit the room through the doors behind you.”

                Alex shuffled slowly through the doors with his eyes glued to his feet. Looking up he received a terrible shock. He was no longer standing in a waiting room, with white walls, and potted flowers. He had appeared in what looked like a garden, but this was some convoluted garden. Rows of thorn bushes lined a large, black fence while dead plants and wilted flowers made up a sickly front lawn. The sky was a strange red color, and dust blew constantly across the wasteland. Alex walked along a path, and a gate appeared in the middle of the fence. As he moved forward ravens scattered, and cawed angrily. A sense of isolation began to infect him because Alex looked around, but realized that the dove he had seen was no longer present.

                 

Memories by the Lake

Author's Note: I wrote this poem because I felt I needed to work on my poetry skills. In addition, I've been thinking about my great-grandmother and other relatives who passed away around this time of year, and they really enjoyed staying at the lake my grandparents live on, so this is looking in retrospect at the memories shared there.

The tranquil silence, peaceful reminiscence, memories of old
Those who ate the fruit, who left unnoticed, friends passed for the flag
Rosemary scents, wafting through the breeze, and I float back years
To youthful joy, with those loved, lost
Surreal is the comfort, of those desired friends
Brought together in my old weathered conscious
To play a role once again on the stage
They flawlessly transfer to death
Played before my tormented eyes
Thrust into isolation
Barred, kept, from merriment
As I remember them
Carelessly happy,
As I lay here,
In silence,
Near the
Lake

Author's Note: This is a post that combines characters from several different fiction posts that I have written and combines them into one novel. In addition the element of racism in this piece is purely to assist the authenticity and plot of this story and does not reflect my own beliefs etc.
September 1, 1963
They came and went, the summers, the winters, and the residents. Crisp autumn air and painted leaves gave way to sleepy hot summers. The perpetual cycle of a town that most folks went when they were running away from previous lives, or if they didn't have anywhere else to go. All the residents kept to themselves and their core values, they didn't mix with those deemed inferior by race, finance, or religion. This was common of most sleepy Alabama towns of the sixties. Prejudiced against people of African descent and non-Christians, in fact they spoke of them like criminals, so one could assumed that the town was Caucasian and strictly Baptist. This was true of most members of the community, but this delicate balance was severely fractured on September 1st, 1963. Town citizens were shocked and angered by the moving van stationed at 617, Park Street. This however was not the reason for concern, it was the new residents. It was a tall colored man of about thirty. The townspeople knew what was socially acceptable, but to cross the not-so-subtle racial boundary was inexcusable. The man could try, but he certainly couldn't last.

John Marou enjoyed a good laugh as he was a light hearted man, until his beloved wife perished tragically,extinguished during a inter-racial scuffle in Birmingham. She had been a pedestrian until she was struck by a drunken fighter. Ever since he had become an avid enemy of racism and the civil rights dilemma that had taken his wife's life. He strongly disagreed with his fellow townspeople and privately agreed with the preachings of Dr. King, but to publicly announce his secret allegiance would lead to his exile and he would be ostracized by the town. His psych told him to leave, he deserved better than the life he currently owned. Marou had a desire to leave, explore, do something with his life. He could tell the times ahead were bound to be turbulent, the new neighbors proved this theory. Marou watched his neighbor step out of the van with an air of grim acceptance. He knew of what was to come.

The big city life hadn't suited old Rupert, he'd kept his head down and waited for his time. The draft had given him a opportunity to escape and make something of his life... or end it. World War 1 had left Rupert Finnigan a grizzled war veteran, living in a world that had lost its color. He couldn't adapt back from the explosions and adrenaline. He turned to crime, armed robberies and smuggling alcohol during prohibition had earned him a spot in the state penitentiary and he did thirty years. His transient spirit turned sluggish and he spent his freedom on the rocking chair watching and waiting for another chance to escape. From observing the new neighbors, he could tell that this might be his chance.

Earvin Wesley had had a stressful day, moving was difficult as it was, yet offending the various biased citizens of St. Saswes had left him on edge. He was felt as nervous as a jack rabbit, for he felt as if he was being stalked by a predator waiting to strike. Earvin poured himself a glass of wine and felt his nerves begin to unwind. Earvin felt that he had nowhere left to run from segregation, for he had hoped that this sleepy town would not be as prejudiced as his previous places of residence, although it appeared that it would be impossible to differentiate between towns because they acted the same way. CRASH, the window closest to Earvin shattered as a bullet traveled through the glass and into Earvin's chest. Earvin cried out in pain and ran to the window. Someone had lit a wooden cross on the front lawn which served as a solemn reminder of Earvin's place in contemporary society. As Earvin turned to enter his car, he saw to figures approaching him, yet they didn't seem as if they wanted or liked the skirmishes and violence that had occurred.
Rupert Finnigan and John Marou had met each other at one of the several social gatherings that occur each year in St. Saswes, and after talking... and drinking for several hours at the social, both realized that they had similar desires and interests. Both planned on leaving St. Saswes for somewhere different, somewhere exotic, somewhere that didn't have a perpetual cycle of working until sundown and then leaving to rest for eight hours until the cycle repeated itself. Rupert Finnigan and John Marou wanted the gift that is granted to few fortunate souls, true freedom. True freedom exists out of society, for in society rules and social barriers held Rupert and John motionless. Both felt that the racism, crime, and basic daily life were unnecessary for life to continue. Therefore the two individuals had hatched a plan to save up money until they could escape to Jamaica. Although air travel was out of the question(the airlines wouldn't serve african-americans) the pair agreed that they could buy a boat that would take them to their destination, but after observing the hatred thrust at this man, they both figured that there was room for one more on their boat.
"That was quite the disruption you had there," said Rupert

"Well, seems like most of y'all folks seem to dislike people like me," Earvin pointed out.

"That's the point, Rupert and I are different. We're ain't exactly fond 'o the way society works," added John

"That's just great, people who sympathize with my cause, but isn't this risking whatever social status you have. Folks can obviously tell you aren't spitt'n at me, so why risk it?"

"We have a plan to escape from this here town, and we was wondering if you wanted in?" inquired Rupert.

"Sure I would give a lot of money to escape from this cursed country."

"It seems like its settled, I live three houses to the left, meet us there tomorrow at 6:oo AM, sharp," commanded Rupert

"Sounds like a fine idea, but how much of my personal stuff am I supposed to bring with me?"

"The clothes on your back, no more."
The conversation abruptly ended and Earvin went into his house but could not sleep due to the fear of more injury via the many racists in St. Saswes.
To be continued
Thanks for reading, please give suggestions on the writing and the dialogue seems cheesy. Thanks

An attempt at Satire

This is from observing different personalities in school, and observing the outspoken students, and those who are less observed. The parallel situation is in the adult world at an insurance firm.



Closing my eyes felt like an escape, a reprieve to some cosmic joyful world, but my attempts were futile, his cold voice, a needle, penetrated my skin. John Bartelt is unforgiving, his intellectual, manicured voice makes the blood run cold. He's not the only one who makes me fastidious. It was Them. Aloof and unapproachable, they make me want to hide in my chair. I desire to come to work with an immaculate sense of what to say and what to where, but I am not blessed with the necessary social skills it takes to find a companion. I shivered as I walked past Her desk. Jennifer Jalos spent her college days as a varsity cheerleader, she was also distinguished as prom queen. Now, I get along fine with the men of the workplace as we all share similar hobbies etc, but I happen to be the only one who fears Them. My friend Cooper Gomez was the socialite of the office, he talked to everyone. I mean everyone, Them, the guys, he even got along with Bartelt.



As I strode away from villainous cave in which resides Bartelt, I felt a pair of eyes follow my path, 'twas Large Marge the only woman who had taking a liking for me. Her eyes followed me over the top of her newspaper, and rightfully so as I had rejected a offer to go out on a date. Ever since had been the receptor of indignant text messages and heated letters. With downcast eyes I bumped into Chuck Henhamper, who incidentally was a towering six five, yet he spent his spare
time writing comic books that he sold online. He was the only one I felt shared my problems, my insecurities, yet I could not associate with him for I would lose my standings in the office, such were the subtle rules of social life of any age which is what bothers me, the way society dictates who one shall mingle with and who one shall not. It proves to me how fragile life is, and I wonder, is this the "American Dream?"