Love Song to Inertia

The main focus of  “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock” is the tension of inertia. Throughout the poem, Prufrock poises upon the edge of taking action or formulating an opinion, but time and time again, he backs down and drifts away on his underwhelming train of thought. This inaction is supported by TS Eliot’s use of repetition, imagery, and a nontraditional rhyming pattern. 

            Repetition in the poem helps to tie the stream of consciousness style of writing together, threading the entire thing together and uniting it with repeating questions and echoing lines.  The protagonist of the poem constantly asks, “Do I dare?” (676) about some unnamed action, and never really states whether he dares or not. Prufrock also asks variations of “How should I presume?” (676), somewhat echoing the thought of “Do I dare?” (676). In addition to these almost direct line repetitions, several lines are referenced or shuffled and rewritten at the ends of stanzas. For example, “If one, settling a pillow by her head,/Should say: ‘That is not what I meant at all./That is not it, at all.’” (677) and “If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,/And leaning toward the window, should say:/ ‘That is not it at all,/ That is not what I meant, at all.’” This restructuring of previous lines in the poem is a particularly clever way to retain continuity in an otherwise fractured stream of consciousness piece. 

            The poem’s use of imagery reinforces the theme of stillness and inaction. The first stanza introduces the inaction with the lines “When the evening is spread out against the sky/Like a patient etherized upon a table;” (675) This line, though strange and dissonant if you think about it too hard, immediately conveys a feeling of lethargy and inactivity. The reader is thus prepared for a long, dreamlike collection of images and phrases that slowly build and then contract throughout the poem like the deep, passive breathing of a tranquilized patient. This sleepy image is reinforced throughout the poem, with lines like “And seeing it was a soft October night,/[the fog] curled once about the house and fell asleep” (675), and  “If one, settling a pillow beside her head,” (677). The poem’s theme of inaction is conveyed with sleepy and dreamlike imagery.

           Finally, the use of rhyme in the poem imitates the feeling of thought, bouncing up and down then trailing off. Throughout the poem, the pattern of rhyme bounces from line to line, then falls dead before being picked up again.  There is no constant abab pattern of rhyme; more often than not the pattern is aabbcaa, or aabacdefe. The rhyming flits about at its own discretion, rhyming some lines, then not others, and then rhyming two lines in a row. Both rhyming and non-rhyming lines carry the poem forward and create pauses after stanzas. An erratic thought process, or a state of dreaming are brought to mind by the pattern of rhyming, further conveying a feeling of inaction. 

            The poem “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock” seems to mainly focus on a feeling of inertia, while the protagonist leads up to and down from the question of “Do I dare?”. Prufrock never comes to a decision, merely allowing his thoughts to trail off. He avoids taking action, choosing to stay still at the brink of acting. All of the elements of the poem including its use of imagery, repetition, and rhyme, help to convey the tension and release of inaction.

Abcarian, Richard, Marvin Klotz, and Samuel Cohen. Literature: The Human Experience. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2013. Print. 675-777

You Don't Understand

As much as it frustrates me when people say "You wouldn't understand", or "you couldn't/can't understand", or even "They can't understand", I understand I'll have to come to terms with this truth sooner or later.
I really believe in the power and beauty of empathy, an ability to understand other people's feelings and viewpoints.
However, empathy can only go so far, and really, it is still hard to truly understand another person's experience if you haven't had that or a similar experience.
My main problem with "You can't understand" is it tends to be a device to push people away and alienate them. It's a way to separate yourself from someone who could benefit from understanding you, or who could benefit you in their understanding, however shallow that understanding could be.
"You can't understand" tends to be a way to get out of explaining yourself or your feelings. I understand that sometimes this is just because a person doesn't want to attempt to explain themselves to another person.
I am attempting to reconcile myself to the fact that sometimes I cannot understand another person's experience or feelings, this is due to things out of my control, and this is okay.

Never Stopped Me From Writing Before

I have gotten out of the habit of writing. I'm afraid I didn't manage to register for an English class this semester, so I haven't been doing much more than writing notes and jotting a few things down in my journal now and then.
I want to continue developing my writing. Art, what I am majoring in, is actually not my first passion. My first passion is Writing, and the skill that goes so well with it: Reading. I'm not even entirely sure why I'm majoring in art, I love it, but ever since I was in my early teens, I figured I would major in English.
At any rate, I love both Art and English almost equally, so I would like to change my major to a dual major in English and Art next semester. I've told this plan to just about everyone I've spoken to in the past couple of weeks.
I'd like to get back into the habit of writing again, in preparation for my change of major, and just because I want to continue to improve in articulation and skill. I love writing, I've always loved writing, so why stop practicing it in earnest just because I don't have any classes in it right now? That's never stopped me before. 

Family Vacations

(inspired by an upcoming Readers Write subject for The SUN Magazine.)

The closest thing my family has to a family vacation is the annual trip we used to take to Yellowstone, but we stopped going as a family half my lifetime ago, if not more. It became too stressful for my parents to haul all of us kids to Yellowstone in our aging and less than trustworthy suburban.
When I was a kid, we used to stop at my grandfather's house before continuing on to Yellowstone. We'd stay the night and visit for a day or two, eating canned raspberries and pretending we were in wheelchairs, rolling over the carpet on my grandfather's barbells. The stopover cut the grueling drive into two pieces, more easily managed by hyperactive kids. In the years since then, though, my dad tackles the trip in one long drive. It surprised me, the first time; I had no idea Yellowstone was that close. I was a kid and I measured distance in time, and time can seem impossibly long, or lightning fast depending on how bored or excited you are.

My dad still goes to Yellowstone on UEA weekend each year, and he usually brings a couple of kids along. My two middle brothers went with him in 2012, and last October, my eldest brother and I got to go. That  trip cemented Yellowstone as a happy place in my heart, as a sort of home away from home. I had so much to come back to, but I was content and deliriously happy in that wild land. 

For many years Yellowstone was that place I visited as a kid with my family and with family-friends, but that last trip was different. That was the first trip I'd really taken as an adult, semi-independent, not just someone to take care of, and I talked with my father more intimately than I had in years. I mean, it's not like I could drive for my father, but we spoke as equals, and my brother and I had an equal say in where we could go. We didn't really have anywhere in mind, though, it had been so long since we'd last visited, we just went wherever dad wanted to take us.
That last trip made Yellowstone personal to me, an escape that made the world seem full of possibilities. I matured, and although I'm still not grown-up, that trip was a significant milestone in my adult life. From family vacation to coming of age experience, Yellowstone has always been a significant part of my life, threading through the years as far as I can remember. 

Upbeat Whining: At Least, That is What I Tell Myself

The thing is, I don't want to live in a dystopia, I don't want to raise a family in a dystopic society. I don't pretend to be an expert, but books of that genre don't end well. Boy meets girl, boy gets girl and everything is wonderful for a short time until they get torn apart through horrible and inhumane circumstances involving a crippling, crushing government.  What could be more important and more dangerous in such societies besides love and friendship and human relationship in general?

In a lot of ways, this society feels like it is dystopic, and getting worse. However, even as I do my best to navigate the bureaucratic hell of emerging into adulthood, there are also bright, beautiful people growing organic gardens in their front yards, and other people building tiny homes for themselves and others out of reclaimed materials. There are organizations working for the betterment of the human race and condition, and individuals crying out for the inclusion of environment and kindness in all of our dealings instead of pollution and greed.
I'm hopelessly apathetic, but also detrimentally idealistic. Even as I despair for the future, mine in particular and the world's in general, I can see seedlings of change growing from the ashes of everything past.
I've had an allegory for many years now, related in the following paragraph, that I used to tell my mom whenever she was despairing about the direction the world was headed in. I'm not entirely sure I believe in it as much as I once did -I've gained experience and some degree of cynicism, but the allegory has become woven into my being, enmeshed within my thought processes and viewpoint;
Even as society drags humanity deeper into depression and oppression, there are vast numbers of people waking up and figuring out better ways to live and grow and cooperate. Humanity is in the midst of the creation of a new world, and destruction of the old. There's a graph in my head for this concept, a sort of crossing of lines, the gentle slope of hope and change for the better, intersecting the jagged line of corruption and oppression, fighting for every pinnacle even as it slides deeper into oblivion.
It takes time for things to balance out, and I know I won't remain unaffected by everything, but I can still hold onto hope and choose to see the optimistic light amid the sometimes overwhelming darkness. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Time Slipping By, But My Pen Is Dry

    I am in the weirdest writing slump lately and it's reminding me of how I write often of time slipping by, or not being able to write. There are about a million different ways to explore these subjects, and I suppose they are all unique and interesting, but I think I revisit the same subjects repeatedly. This is a redundant way to write, and therefore very boring.
    I'm working on a story, but I've run out of steam and inspiration, and I really don't know where to go with it next. I have sixteen drafts on blogger, but some are more than a year old, and I have no idea what to do with them either, or never intend to publish them anyway.
    I've hit a wall with my poetry, no inspiration there either, and it all seems unpoetic, or worse, sappy and whiny. There's no heart or soul in my poetry lately, no passion or beauty due to a lack of creative inspiration and new material. I swear all of the poetry I try to write is either preachy or it reads as sterile. This has happened before, and to write about it now is repetitive, just like I fear.
    Considering how well all my other writing is going, of course essays are going to be dry and difficult. But I'm pushing on through this creative desert.
    I suppose all of my writing is just repetitive, and I don't really know how to break through that, except to keep writing and therefore repeating until I unearth a gold nugget of new amidst all of the dull old subjects in my mind. 

A Few of the Animals Living in Tibet

Tibet is home to an astonishing array of creatures, many of which seem like copies of animals from other countries in the world, dropped into harsh and unforgiving landscapes.
A species of snake inhabits the areas around hot springs generated by the massive underground activity of the Chinese and Indian continental plates smashing together. Similar to Utah's garter snake, it seems surprising for the cold-blooded creature to inhabit Tibet, one of the coldest and and highest climates on earth, but its living there is made possible by warmth radiating from the hot springs.
The Plateau, or Black-lipped Pika, related to the rabbit and belonging to a genus found all over the world, inhabits Tibet's plains, moving vast amounts of earth tiny hole by tiny hole while hunted by the Tibetan brown bear and Tibetan sand fox. The Tibetan brown bear, also known as the Tibetan blue bear, horse bear, and Himalayan snow bear among other monikers, is related to the Americas grizzly, with a similar hump on its back. The Sand fox is lightly dun colored, has a wide face with eyes set far apart, and isn't particularly territorial. The bear and fox sometimes share a commensal relationship hunting pikas.
Another inhabitant of Tibet's plains is the Tibetan Antelope, or Chiru; a snub-nosed creature with long, slender legs. The males of the species sport long, tapered horns used in the seasonal battles for females. Males guard varying numbers of females, usually two to nine, and will fiercely defend their herd from other marauding male antelope.
The animals native to Tibet are at once familiar and surprising, as if various animals from the US were scattered across the steppe. However, this comparison may be rather unfair; as familiar as the Tibetan Brown bear, Pika, and Sand fox might seem, they evolved in Tibet, filling specific niches and developing physical characteristics and behaviors very unique and well suited to them and their surrounding environment.

(Sources: http://www.bioone.org/doi/full/10.1644/817.1
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tibetan_antelope and "Wild China: Tibet" (we watched the documentary, but you can find info about it online at http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0884762/))

Inadequate or Inevitable: wearing windows

Basically, little one, none of my words are adequate. Maybe they never will be. I am worn to apathy once again. This week has been a different sort of supernova and collapse.
A little bit dead-eyed behind my windows, and artificial pats on the back saying it'll be okay, I am okay, but really no. Still, I suppose it could be worse. But that does not mean my current feelings are rendered insignificant next to all the other pain in the world, relatable or not to my situation.
I am attempting to ground myself better, to stop dancing around everything and plant my feet and steady my gaze. Perhaps I will be successful in my efforts, perhaps not. The only thing I can count on is nothing will ever stay the same, not even for a minute at a time. I will always miss homeschool group, being in plays, having the friends I did back then. I will always miss scholar class. Perhaps I will find something similar to or better than everything swept away in the passage of time, but I won't count on it.
For all of my life I've felt like nothing was permanent, either beginnings or endings. Nothing would stay the same, and on the other hand, nothing was permanently lost. Things had a habit of returning to me; a necklace I'd made with my mom, lost, then found two years later in the pocket of my overalls. A hand-made tiara essential (I felt) to a minor princess character costume for a play, found two days before the performance. A black comb I bought at a fourth of July celebration, lost and found and lost again. (currently lost, but I hold to the stubborn belief that I will find it once more.)
I suppose it was my hope that the right words at the right time in the right shape could repair anything. I suppose that's been my experience growing up as I have with the family I am a part of. Naive homeschooler... How very much I am learning this year that the world is not what I want it to be. I guess that's good, or something. But not really, because it seems like the world wears tender souls down.
The clearest my voice will ever be is in writing, as much as I hold back from that when I feel my voice lacking. A slanting sort of truth and all that... Still, I am not the only one to ask the questions I have asked. As unique as we little snowflakes are, fragile too, we are all made of the same stuff. Perhaps this makes my words inadequate, or maybe this makes them inevitable. 

(Titles, titles, someday they will not seem always so saccharine)

I feel so trapped on so many levels. I know this isn't always the way I feel, but when I feel like this, it feels like it's how things are always going to be, and possibly how things always have been. I know that's not true though, I've had times of immense happiness and freedom, when all else didn't matter, and all things worrisome became inconsequential.

    I've been having a difficult time lately adjusting my voice to say what I really mean. Another side to this problem is I become disgusted and angry with myself for everything I try to do or think. I feel like I can't write anything worth sharing, and nothing flows as smoothly and clearly as I expect it to. I have an aversion to writing anything remotely like what I've written in the past, but everything I say, I have said at least once before, or I have said in a similar way. 

    I dislike using any format I'm used to working in; stream-of-consciousness, free-form poetry, or loose essay. However, I can't seem to apply myself to anything new or difficult, which only worsens my frustration with myself. 

    I don't know how to end this. I see many pathways, but like I said, I feel trapped and every voice I try seems loathsome in a way. I mean, even just writing all of this out awakens insidious thoughts. Saying anything at all seems demonstrative, but holding everything in isn't working either, and at least writing is a confrontation of fears and thoughts and feelings. 

Room For Improvement (I'm still pretty bad at titles...)

Regardless of how inane or useless writing posts on this blog -or writing in general, may sometimes seem, the very act of writing always improves my skill by that much every time.
I'm pretty impressed by how far I've come in the years since I began this blog, and I'm equally impressed by how much I've improved in just the past year. I think I've become much better at flow and the essay format in general, however loosely structured I still write.
The past few months I've sort of made it a goal to write something on here everyday, and be it poetry, essay or stream-of-consciousness, I think that practice has been very beneficial. It's a great way to set aside time to just sit down and write and try to bring it to some sort of a conclusion and structure.
I still very much remember when I felt it was impossible to write an essay, let alone come up with a good title or a coherent ending to said essay. However, just writing every day and not quite holding myself to the essay format has helped me to feel out the structure of an essay for myself, and gain a better understanding of the how and why of essay composition.
Quite often, I feel like my writing gets me nowhere, or isn't of any real relevance or use to the world and its people, but honestly, that feeling doesn't usually last long, and it generates the need and thirst to write. I improve every time I write, in everything I write, and this, I think, is enough to keep me going.

(Feeling Out This Essay Thing Still) Early Morning Discussions

Oftentimes, when I converse with my mom, we'll be discussing something, and I'll sum it up, and she'll tell me "You should write that!". I'm always a little taken aback, but I also think "hey, that subject," (whatever it is) "would be kinda fun to write about." The problem is, I never seem to get around to writing that stuff down, and by the time it occurs to me that I ought to try, I've forgotten ninety-percent of it and it's muddled besides. I can't figure out how to word and organize it, let alone write a draft of it, and the more I try to write, the more I forget.

I'm not sure I've ever managed to write the things I discuss with my mom. It's reoccurring, but I don't think I've ever really tried. It's not like I totally ignore mom and forget; I often make note and think "Yeah, I should write that. I'll have to try that out tomorrow...". But tomorrow never comes, and I never even make note of the subject or idea in my journal. 

As I write this, the idea occurs to me that the essay formula has the potential of being a problem-solving tool in that it forces you to map things out and come full circle with some sort of a solution to a dilemma. First you present the idea, or problem, sum it up and then come to a conclusion. Unfortunately, this idea is sort of muddy in my head right now, I think I've been carrying it around for a while, but this is the first time it's sort of emerged and it's still not developed. 

Now, if I could figure out how to properly explain and outline this idea, I could use it to actually write about the things I talk about with mom sometimes. I could state what I've already figured out with mom, and then extrapolate and draw them out further. I could develop my ideas in-depth, and in doing so, share them a bit with whoever feels like reading about them. 

I don't usually get around to writing the things my mom tells me I should. Since I've become aware of this, I can now figure out what to do about it, because I would like to start writing more thoroughly about anything I can think of. Perhaps what I should do is write things down when my mom and I speak of them, and then afterward, sometime during the day when I just sit down to write anyway, I can pull out those notes and use them to explain and further explore the philosophies and concepts we discuss. 

Trying to Fit into this Crazy, Beautiful World

It may not look like it from outside appearances, but I am fierce. This ferocity of character is manifested in both my mind and heart. In life I am struggling to come to terms with my intensity and my wish to allow things to be, as well as who I am and who people think I am, or what the norm in people of my age and sex is. 

In love I am fierce, loyal, and dedicated. I care deeply about my friends and family, and I have an intense will to protect and help them in their life paths. Deep respect for everyone I love prevents me from trying to protect them, however, because I have learned that it is not possible to protect anyone from everything. They will do and feel as they will, regardless of what I want. Because of this ferocity in relationships, I tend to hold myself back, afraid of imposing on or scaring away the other person.

In learning, as in loving, I am fierce and focused, as much as I possibly can be. I pay close attention to everything. As a baby, I was wide-eyed and intensely interested in everything going on around me. I never really left behind this trait, though I think I’ve learned to tone it down. I am afraid of alarming other people, sometimes I feel like I’m far too strange, far too out of the norm in my interest in life and people and this crazy, beautiful world. This is tempered by the fact that I will never stop, couldn’t possibly stop being interested in learning all I possibly can in everything available to me. I treat everything as a learning practice; the study of people; the study of animals, their personalities, habits, and quirks; the study of history; the study of spirituality and the universe; the study of math: Everything. I learn from everything I encounter. 

In these two things, which encompass the whole of my life and purpose (what ever that is), I have struggled to come to terms with who I am, who I’d like to be, and what the majority of people can deal with, or truthfully; what I think they can deal with. In some ways, I have found a good balance between the two; in others, not so much. I have gotten into a habit of masking myself because of what I perceive other people can handle, which isn’t really fair to them or me. Why should I choose to hide myself from someone who could possibly like me all the better for who I am? And why should I lead them on with something that isn’t true, and possibly hinder them from finding what they’re actually looking for? By keeping these two things in mind, I have been able to emerge from the shell I’ve hidden in since I was eleven a little bit more everyday, and as a result, my life is a lot happier and more interesting than it had been. For the most part, I’m balanced pretty well, though there’s still some stuff I’d like to tweak; I hold back my thoughts and words too much even though I am very talkative by nature.

I am intense, fierce, passionate, though it isn't all of who I am. I seek a harmony between who I am on all levels; I am both fierce and cautious; both intense and calm; both focused and wandering. I’m not very outgoing, an encompassment of all these traits, at first glance or first meeting; but these things are, at the core, a very big part of who I am. I am fierce.

One way to write down my philosophies and beliefs

There is life to be lived; I am so cautious, though, and I'm looking and searching and hoping and praying and waiting and writing, because there is an answer in my bones, the air, my heart, the music I listen to, the books I read, and you.

This god I am learning, this god is everywhere, this creator is everything and creation itself. This god is me and you and our parents and siblings, this god is Zooey, her friend, and the people in my Ekklesia, this god is relationship and loneliness, the universe, my love, and every atom, as well as the space between atoms, and the spaces between spaces, and the spaces between those spaces.
I am looking within and without and all around for answers, every step I take. All is good and all is strange and all is impossible to put into words, but that is the only thing I can do, put all into words. That is the way for me to learn and communicate and shape. But all is feeling; so staggeringly abstract. So this is my struggle, to give form to the formless, and decide if it is worth it in this world of material goods and science and skepticism, this world in which man's purpose is to make money and he suffers, and he who does not follow this purpose, or he who tries to use the purpose to bring about the things of his heart also suffers.
The weaving, winding voice of contradiction in all things, my love, this is what fuels the ludicrous act of struggle in a web that doesn't actually exist, but we created it, so here it is.

All I can do is search blind and fingerless for myself and hold it out to you, inviting you to take of your own free will, and share whatever you desire with me, but nothing, my child, is required.

Nothing is required. 

Learning often takes you by surprise

Since I began school this past week, after a long (though not entirely unproductive) Summer break, I've noticed something: this year, I am able to read whole chapters and sections of my school books at one time, during one sitting. This was unheard of for me last year. I read pages, or small sections of chapters. I didn't have the attention span or motivation to read more than two pages of most books, novels being the exception of course.
I imagine this is partially because I am not holding myself to a timescale, or a certain number of subjects to be completed in that time span. School is all day now,  sometimes even during the weekends. I record all I can, and don't worry about it when I can't. This is also what I did all Summer long, and I think this has established a new, healthier, fuller relationship with my personal education.
The point is, I did not actively try to teach myself better study skills of habits, they've sneaked up on me over Summer break. I have this mindset that learning is difficult, practice is tedious, and the study and subsequent mastery of subjects is nigh until impossible. But this is not the case, learning and the integration of skills and knowledge are a natural and almost unconscious process. 

Redemption Song

How many songs have been written for redemption, or to inspire revolution, a new world, peace, and new ways of thinking? How many artists, writers, and musicians have hoped to inspire millions, perhaps even the whole world, only to have had their works fall flat,  or to have inspired just a few of the hundreds of people who follow them and their works?


Just how do you bring people together? How do you unite a nation, much less the entirety of mankind?


It really shouldn't be all that hard, after all, we all come from the genus homo sapiens, we all live on the same planet, we all live and breathe and eat and reproduce, more or less.

Most of us are taught the same basic truths through our religions; love, compassion, the golden rule. That ought to bring at least a great majority of us together.
And yet religions set themselves far apart from each other, refusing to acknowledge their similarities, refusing to work together for the same end, the end that, really, all of them are looking to achieve.

Once again, we really aren't all that different.

So why hasn't anyone been able to accomplish world peace or unity as of yet?

Sneak peek of something I've been working on for a very long while. (can't remember what the inspiration was.)

The canvas he had found was dingy and old, he had once started halfheartedly painting a Chinese bowl with a daffodil design over a dark blue background a little toward the top corner of the left hand side, but he had never finished it.

"It is important to question the ideas and decisions of people in positions of authority?"

    "Question everything", as my mother has repeatedly told me throughout the years. I have taken that sentence to heart, I even question my own actions and thoughts.
    Questioning my country, state, and town leaders is no exception. Examining every aspect of their words and actions, are they moral, ethical? "Do they resound with my opinions of right and wrong?" "Do I have clear ideas of right and wrong?"
    Sometimes you may even have to revise your own opinions of right and wrong. I've come to learn that nothing is a fact, everything changes with time and with new perspective. Constant change is an important part of our world and our lives.
    Some of our country's greatest triumphs have come from questioning old ideas and beliefs, as well as the authority figures of the time, Take, for example, the Declaration of Independence, and later on in our country, the civil rights movement. Both are powerful events in history. Both times, the people pf our country decided to question laws, customs, and authority figures, and they decided that it was time for change,
    The ability and right to question one's government, and that governments laws, is an important aspect of our society. Use it well.