In my early years, my wealth primarily consisted of Bible bucks, yielded from successful ventures in the world of Bible trivia at Applegate Community Church. Making a living as a trivia competitor was tough, the I felt I had reached my ceiling. Even if I swept the competitions, I could only pull in 5 Bible bucks a week. Besides, at the rate Ms. Jennings was printing out bucks in the office, Bible bucks could only land me bible verse bookmarks that I'm pretty sure were the results of the 6 and 7 year olds' craft project. I decided to move to a higher market. I wanted to make my Bible bucks work for me.
Across the street there was a new Korean church. Their Sunday School compensated juvenile spiritual growth with Disciple dollars. They didn't offer much that enticed me, mostly just leather Bibles and personal organizers, but I was so tired of my trivia-for-bookmarks, that Disciple dollars looked like gold. The Korean kids were darn good Bible scholars, but their Sunday School teachers were far more conservative in their payments than Ms. Jennings. The kids were also reluctant to spend, preferring to hoard dollars for security and larger purchases at a later time.
I saw a great opportunity to do business. I wanted goods, they wanted savings. I was loaded with Bible bucks by this time, it's just they couldn't buy me much. I approached one of the more scholarly Koreans, a boy named Timothy, and made him an ambitious offer: I'd trade him all 50 of my Bible bucks for all 10 of his Disciple dollars. He got to beef up his balance sheet, and I got to spend 5 Disciple dollars on an illustrated kid's bible. Turned out that I got the better end of that deal. The next Sunday our class was so well-behaved that she gave us all 100 Bible bucks each. Most of the class raided the goodie store. When the goodie store clerk, Mr. Clark, saw everything getting sold out, he jacked up the prices to slow the run. Just after that Timothy came over to see what he could get with the Bible bucks I traded him. By that time, 50 Bible bucks couldn't get you more than one bookmark.
Sep 13, 2009
Mar 16, 2009
Dwindling Inheritance
Since the current economic recession has given weight to blanket statements about the American people, I can boldly generalize modern Americans as spoiled heirs to a fortune, who have blown through enormous amounts of money that they never earned and mistakenly believed that eternal prosperity was part of their inheritance. This may sound harsh, but how else can I explain America's ranking as the world's greatest debtor? For the most part this is not the debt of young entrepreneurs whose ingenious businesses will yield products of value to repay and exceed the debt in the near future. To this observer, it looks a lot more like the debt of a compulsive gambler or drug addict; all the borrowed money is destroyed in needless or even harmful consumption that mandates new and bigger loans.
Mar 9, 2009
Fleur de Fromage
I write this poem to win the heart
Of my precious-sweet honey-dart
She walks like brandy, flowing free
She talks like rosebuds, soaked'n'tea
Of my precious-sweet honey-dart
She walks like brandy, flowing free
She talks like rosebuds, soaked'n'tea
Jun 7, 2008
Temporary Insanity
The Revolution begins anew
Writing to do’s
A scene outline:
1st act general guidelines: introduce Chris, Gabe, Mr. Godfrey, Constance, Janice and Dr. Liberty Trung. Incite with the “terrorist” act. Conclude with the acceptance of a date.
1. Chris has a conversation with Mr. Godfrey, trying to break to him that he's getting a temp as a personal assistant
2. Gabe rides in on his motorcycle, sees the protestors in animal suits. A security team that looks like a futuristic riot squad uncorks a fire hose and mow down the protestors. The costumed carnage escapes into the storm drain.
3. Constance views from the window, sipping coffee. She tells Chris that he’d better get Gabe before security does.
4. Gabe is seized by security and ushered in to Liberty Ho’s office/torture chamber. She gives him a very invasive medical check-up.
5. Chris rescues Gabe from security. Gabe will be his personal assistant. Chris begins the tour.
6. “Let’s start from the bottom and work our way up.” Gabe sees two-headed Kirby in the labs. Gabe trips over the main power cable and gets a stern talking to from Mr. Godfrey.
7. Left alone at his desk for the first time, Gabe stares around at the blank, ugly confines of his walls. Zombie-like co-workers refuse small-talk, demanding only coffee.
8. Gabe runs around frenetically bringing everyone coffee. Constance shows mercy and hides him in her office and then fetches him a cup of coffee. Gabe spends the next hour retching in the toilet.
9. The day ends: Chris is the last one in the building, until he's surprised to see Gabe exit the women's restroom. Before Gabe can hustle out the excuses, Chris enlists him in planning Constance's surprise birthday party.
10. The surprise is ruined by Janice, as she runs screaming from the bathroom.
11. Chris calms everyone down, seeks out Godfrey, finds out he's unplugged.
12. Chris goes before the board, takes the blame. Gabe is outside, confessing to Constance that he kicked it out and if that means its the end of him. Constance reassures him: Chris always takes the fall for his employees.
13. Gabe brings Constance coffee, but offers to take her to a better place.
14. Chris descends, haggard from a brutal cross-examination from the board. His party goes pffft when he realizes that Constance is gone, an early exit, with Gabe, the guy he just took a bullet for.
15. Gabe convinces Constance to play hookie for the rest of the day.
16. Chris, his relentless energy sapped, has to fight off Mr. Godfrey from firing Constance. Depressed, he hits the bottle of highly experimental serum from the lab. This begins to make him delusional (he talks to Kirby, sees Mr. Godfrey everywhere and becomes increasingly erratic in his behaviour.)
17. Gabe and Constance break into a zoo and free a few animals.
I'm at a loss for what comes after this. I'm in need of a reason for Gabe to be hired. A personal assistant? Why not Constance? A fresh new face? Wouldn't that be admitting that the workplace is oppressive and bleak? Maybe that's what peeves Godfrey. The company needs something more sinister. They are a cosmetics company. They're cloning faces and heads to put on very rich ugly people. Everyone at Cosmetech is good-looking and young. They all think they've been hired for their excellent resumes. The security people are all masked. Liberty Ho is ugly.
Maybe Constance could get thrashed by a tiger at the zoo and be in danger of being disposed of at the company. This would put Constance in an anti-animal/adventure mood and force Chris into being the savior. Nice little midpoint. Constance returns to Chris. Gabe is suspicious, breaks into the lab. Comes across the evil Liberty Ho again. Injects him with a serum that makes him go a little crazy, a la Gibson in Conspiracy Theory.
So Gabe is the protagonist. He comes to the evil corporation to overthrow it and unleash the animals and people. But he's distracted by his infatuation with Constance. He leaves off his investigation to visit her. He risks his job and the respect of his father to take her out. Then it backfires. She rejects him for the safer man, and their whole operation is placed in danger. Worse yet she puts herself in danger of becoming like everyone else with the facial cream. Now he must get to the bottom of their operation and foil their plans before its too late.
Of course for this to work I need an active antagonist. Constance is a reactive antagonist, a catalyst for Gabe uber-idealism. Chris is a more dangerous antagonist. His wilful ignorance makes him the perfect pawn. So it's a domino effect. Gabe gets Constance, Constance gets Chris and Chris gets Godfrey and Ho. Or maybe just Constance. Gabe gets Constance, who plays off of Chris's obsession to save Gabe and then free the coworkers.
So what is Chris/Godfrey's evil plan? To use Gabe as a decoy to capture the rest of the activists might be a cool homage to Robin Hood. One man is dangerous, but not as dangerous as a whole army.
Writing to do’s
A scene outline:
1st act general guidelines: introduce Chris, Gabe, Mr. Godfrey, Constance, Janice and Dr. Liberty Trung. Incite with the “terrorist” act. Conclude with the acceptance of a date.
1. Chris has a conversation with Mr. Godfrey, trying to break to him that he's getting a temp as a personal assistant
2. Gabe rides in on his motorcycle, sees the protestors in animal suits. A security team that looks like a futuristic riot squad uncorks a fire hose and mow down the protestors. The costumed carnage escapes into the storm drain.
3. Constance views from the window, sipping coffee. She tells Chris that he’d better get Gabe before security does.
4. Gabe is seized by security and ushered in to Liberty Ho’s office/torture chamber. She gives him a very invasive medical check-up.
5. Chris rescues Gabe from security. Gabe will be his personal assistant. Chris begins the tour.
6. “Let’s start from the bottom and work our way up.” Gabe sees two-headed Kirby in the labs. Gabe trips over the main power cable and gets a stern talking to from Mr. Godfrey.
7. Left alone at his desk for the first time, Gabe stares around at the blank, ugly confines of his walls. Zombie-like co-workers refuse small-talk, demanding only coffee.
8. Gabe runs around frenetically bringing everyone coffee. Constance shows mercy and hides him in her office and then fetches him a cup of coffee. Gabe spends the next hour retching in the toilet.
9. The day ends: Chris is the last one in the building, until he's surprised to see Gabe exit the women's restroom. Before Gabe can hustle out the excuses, Chris enlists him in planning Constance's surprise birthday party.
10. The surprise is ruined by Janice, as she runs screaming from the bathroom.
11. Chris calms everyone down, seeks out Godfrey, finds out he's unplugged.
12. Chris goes before the board, takes the blame. Gabe is outside, confessing to Constance that he kicked it out and if that means its the end of him. Constance reassures him: Chris always takes the fall for his employees.
13. Gabe brings Constance coffee, but offers to take her to a better place.
14. Chris descends, haggard from a brutal cross-examination from the board. His party goes pffft when he realizes that Constance is gone, an early exit, with Gabe, the guy he just took a bullet for.
15. Gabe convinces Constance to play hookie for the rest of the day.
16. Chris, his relentless energy sapped, has to fight off Mr. Godfrey from firing Constance. Depressed, he hits the bottle of highly experimental serum from the lab. This begins to make him delusional (he talks to Kirby, sees Mr. Godfrey everywhere and becomes increasingly erratic in his behaviour.)
17. Gabe and Constance break into a zoo and free a few animals.
I'm at a loss for what comes after this. I'm in need of a reason for Gabe to be hired. A personal assistant? Why not Constance? A fresh new face? Wouldn't that be admitting that the workplace is oppressive and bleak? Maybe that's what peeves Godfrey. The company needs something more sinister. They are a cosmetics company. They're cloning faces and heads to put on very rich ugly people. Everyone at Cosmetech is good-looking and young. They all think they've been hired for their excellent resumes. The security people are all masked. Liberty Ho is ugly.
Maybe Constance could get thrashed by a tiger at the zoo and be in danger of being disposed of at the company. This would put Constance in an anti-animal/adventure mood and force Chris into being the savior. Nice little midpoint. Constance returns to Chris. Gabe is suspicious, breaks into the lab. Comes across the evil Liberty Ho again. Injects him with a serum that makes him go a little crazy, a la Gibson in Conspiracy Theory.
So Gabe is the protagonist. He comes to the evil corporation to overthrow it and unleash the animals and people. But he's distracted by his infatuation with Constance. He leaves off his investigation to visit her. He risks his job and the respect of his father to take her out. Then it backfires. She rejects him for the safer man, and their whole operation is placed in danger. Worse yet she puts herself in danger of becoming like everyone else with the facial cream. Now he must get to the bottom of their operation and foil their plans before its too late.
Of course for this to work I need an active antagonist. Constance is a reactive antagonist, a catalyst for Gabe uber-idealism. Chris is a more dangerous antagonist. His wilful ignorance makes him the perfect pawn. So it's a domino effect. Gabe gets Constance, Constance gets Chris and Chris gets Godfrey and Ho. Or maybe just Constance. Gabe gets Constance, who plays off of Chris's obsession to save Gabe and then free the coworkers.
So what is Chris/Godfrey's evil plan? To use Gabe as a decoy to capture the rest of the activists might be a cool homage to Robin Hood. One man is dangerous, but not as dangerous as a whole army.
May 27, 2008
The Last True Flea Market
Consumers requiring a finely maintained used magic carpet, carnivore cactus or any other magical antiquites of the old desert have only one place to turn to: the Flea Market of Potar. Here you see Trader Zeno riding in for the annual event from the dust gales. He rides a rare Indignant Dust-Flea. These majestic, sensitive creatures hide on the backs of wild camels until they are captured by travellers such as Zeno. The traders make use of irreverent insults to offend the noble creature until they swell to a great size with indignance and render themselves a fine and speedy flotation device. Without his beast, Zeno could not hope to traverse the Gales to the tiny and remote locales where the last original magic carpets were made or to the great cities of industry where emigrants would sell their old rugs for discount prices; it is thus out of necessity that Zeno berates his mount so incessantly. If they were to make any sort of amends, Zeno's ride would shrink in happiness and he and his rugs would be left alone and helpless in the Gales.
The mouse in the cage is the formerly great sorcerer Moze, stripped of his human form by an old rival and forever confined to the cage. The indomitable Moze overcame his small stature and the limitations of his confinement to open a pawn shop just outside of Potar. He is one of the few merchants who keeps his shop open year round. His maintains his livelihood by animating whatever stray objects traders sell him and selling them as oddities or companions to travelers or keeping them as friends and servants.
The mouse in the cage is the formerly great sorcerer Moze, stripped of his human form by an old rival and forever confined to the cage. The indomitable Moze overcame his small stature and the limitations of his confinement to open a pawn shop just outside of Potar. He is one of the few merchants who keeps his shop open year round. His maintains his livelihood by animating whatever stray objects traders sell him and selling them as oddities or companions to travelers or keeping them as friends and servants.
Apr 7, 2008
On Navigating the Doldrums of School
Could I, should I write a new version of The Language of Peace: Second Language Struggles of a Korean Missionary? For those of you not in the know (everyone), this is the latest in a string of school assignments that I’m not really interested in. The analysis of language has as much interest for me as discussing Egyptian hieroglyphics. It’s theoretically interesting and occasionally colorful but it offers no real potential for dramatic flair. After all I’m talking about the bones of language. Unless I construct a fancy and meaty analogy to sustain me through the whole ordeal I’m stuck with a dry, abstract subject with very little at stake, in terms of both GPA and ideological importance.
Such is the case with so much of my schooling: I must master the basic forms before I can move on to the dynamic stage of creation - drool with the dogs before I rule with the gods, if you will. I must prostrate myself before the supposedly foundational pillars of knowledge. Yet I have a rebellious disposition. For all I lack in discipline and in spite of the glaring absence of a few organs in my body of knowledge, I think I have a critically thinking mind. That should be enough to begin a creative endeavor and forsake all these academic fitness exercises.
‘Patience, eager heart,’ comes the warning of my melodramatic inner voice. I remember that my mother told me to make each professorially mandated postulation (I don’t want to say school assignment) a creative project of its own. She believes each superficially dull assignment can be mined for glittering bits of dramatic inspiration and that the useless rubble surrounding it should be ground into mortar to build a showcase for such gems. In Psycho, trusty old Norman Bates assures us that ‘a boy’s best friend is his mother’ and despite that man’s deficiencies, he did have a point. Mothers are the best people to turn to when in need of coping mechanism, and what do schoolboys need more than coping mechanisms?
With maternally-bestowed moral compass as my guide, I shall return to those ventures previously curtailed by extended stays on the sickbed of severe boredom and more appealing prospects in the great land of Procrasti-Nation. I urge you to do the same. Who knows what treasures we shall forge from the dross of academia?
Such is the case with so much of my schooling: I must master the basic forms before I can move on to the dynamic stage of creation - drool with the dogs before I rule with the gods, if you will. I must prostrate myself before the supposedly foundational pillars of knowledge. Yet I have a rebellious disposition. For all I lack in discipline and in spite of the glaring absence of a few organs in my body of knowledge, I think I have a critically thinking mind. That should be enough to begin a creative endeavor and forsake all these academic fitness exercises.
‘Patience, eager heart,’ comes the warning of my melodramatic inner voice. I remember that my mother told me to make each professorially mandated postulation (I don’t want to say school assignment) a creative project of its own. She believes each superficially dull assignment can be mined for glittering bits of dramatic inspiration and that the useless rubble surrounding it should be ground into mortar to build a showcase for such gems. In Psycho, trusty old Norman Bates assures us that ‘a boy’s best friend is his mother’ and despite that man’s deficiencies, he did have a point. Mothers are the best people to turn to when in need of coping mechanism, and what do schoolboys need more than coping mechanisms?
With maternally-bestowed moral compass as my guide, I shall return to those ventures previously curtailed by extended stays on the sickbed of severe boredom and more appealing prospects in the great land of Procrasti-Nation. I urge you to do the same. Who knows what treasures we shall forge from the dross of academia?
Jan 19, 2008
Ron Paul-ism
I may stealing from Pieter (Friedrich) to pay (Ron) Paul a compliment, but I'm going to anyway. Paul does the world a service by demonstrating that integrity can and shoukd be a wide and sturdy plank for any campaign platform.
I'm a surly critic by nature, so I discovered this with some reticence. I hadn't discovered this Ron Paul guy and I certainly didn't want to jump on the bandwagon late, so I've been trying to feed my ignorant skepticism with meaty question marks about the man. Once obtained, I could lord my knowledge over the frenzied Ron Paul supporters until they broke down, at which point I would comfort them with a wet blanket.
But Ron has too much integrity to make this an easy task. Basic moral integrity is something a few other candidates in the race can claim to, but none can boast of the immense doctrinal integrity Paul has shown over his many years of Congressional service. If there's an issue he's making a fuss about in a debate, you can be darn sure he's been making the same fuss for the last 30 years, by word and action.
In keeping with my curmudgeonly ways, I'm much more interested in pursuing a few more potential chinks in Paul's armor than ceding him my vote. For now let him be a proud man to have earned my praise.
I'm a surly critic by nature, so I discovered this with some reticence. I hadn't discovered this Ron Paul guy and I certainly didn't want to jump on the bandwagon late, so I've been trying to feed my ignorant skepticism with meaty question marks about the man. Once obtained, I could lord my knowledge over the frenzied Ron Paul supporters until they broke down, at which point I would comfort them with a wet blanket.
But Ron has too much integrity to make this an easy task. Basic moral integrity is something a few other candidates in the race can claim to, but none can boast of the immense doctrinal integrity Paul has shown over his many years of Congressional service. If there's an issue he's making a fuss about in a debate, you can be darn sure he's been making the same fuss for the last 30 years, by word and action.
In keeping with my curmudgeonly ways, I'm much more interested in pursuing a few more potential chinks in Paul's armor than ceding him my vote. For now let him be a proud man to have earned my praise.
Sep 7, 2007
Might as well call him Midas Wells
Lajos Egri says every drama must have a premise. Premise equals purpose, theme, root-idea and a bevy of other terms invented by writers to describe the same thing. I'll try not to add on to the pile. I'll just make myself an Egri acolyte and call it the premise. Which leads me to ask myself a question: what is the premise of Midas?
Character defeats thuggery? Sincerity prevails in the face of conformism? I think these are pretty straightforward premises. Midas and Charles represent the character, D represents thuggery. Can one have a complimentary premise? I haven't advanced far enough in Egri's book to know for sure. If so racism and cultural identity are definitely good material for a secondary premise. Something simple along the lines of "love determines family over race."
It's surprisingly deflating to know exactly where we're going with this story. Still, it's nice to feel a strong handle with which I can direct the plot.
Jimmy and I have differed on the opening. I favor the functional opening at the park. I might favor a montage of inner city festivities. A barbeque here, some kids running around, guys staring each other down, competition on the asphalt jungle. A gospel soundtrack. LA's inner city's got needs. Big ones. And if rich white folk are willing to come in and live here and try to make a difference, more power to themm. But you got to understand. This is a whole different world than you're used to. This is an asphalt jungle and there are rules in this jungle. Much different than the country.
Brother, you know that and I know it, but that don't change the fact that we need all the help we can get. And this family is solid. I've know John for years and the man does not back down from anything. When a man like that comes to you offering, you don't turn him down. So let's give these people a chance, throw our weight behind them. Besides, I think you'll find them a little different than your average white family.
Character. Do I know my characters? Midas. 6'4, black, athletic build. Christian. Born and raised in Bakersfield. Moving in to LA. 756Raised by a white family. His father is a preacher/real estate agent. He's made a bun565dle selling homes and now765 he wants to get back to preaching, in his old neighborhood. Midas was 68rdening, feeding 7. He667 also like playing piano in the church, reading, talking philosophy with677 his556 dad, talking music with567 his sister, wrestling with his brother and cooking with his mom.
and discipled under them for a few months before suffering a breakdown and committing suicide. The immense trauma of those two events and the young ages of the children prompted the Fergusons to move to new territory and sr56878685e6tart afresh.
The Midas bandwagon breaks down as they enter into the inner city. They push the old wagon into Walker Bros. Mechanics. Charles p[9088t67side and pops the hood. He means to check the oil but instead pops off the water lid and gets some hot dirty water spraying up in his face. Alicia looks away a little sheepish876869897890870ly. M7687idas pops up ea768gerly78 by Charles' side, asking what the problem is. Charles comments on Alicia's "fineness." Midas089098 reveals to Charles' embarrassment and amazement that Alicia is his sister.
Character defeats thuggery? Sincerity prevails in the face of conformism? I think these are pretty straightforward premises. Midas and Charles represent the character, D represents thuggery. Can one have a complimentary premise? I haven't advanced far enough in Egri's book to know for sure. If so racism and cultural identity are definitely good material for a secondary premise. Something simple along the lines of "love determines family over race."
It's surprisingly deflating to know exactly where we're going with this story. Still, it's nice to feel a strong handle with which I can direct the plot.
Jimmy and I have differed on the opening. I favor the functional opening at the park. I might favor a montage of inner city festivities. A barbeque here, some kids running around, guys staring each other down, competition on the asphalt jungle. A gospel soundtrack. LA's inner city's got needs. Big ones. And if rich white folk are willing to come in and live here and try to make a difference, more power to themm. But you got to understand. This is a whole different world than you're used to. This is an asphalt jungle and there are rules in this jungle. Much different than the country.
Brother, you know that and I know it, but that don't change the fact that we need all the help we can get. And this family is solid. I've know John for years and the man does not back down from anything. When a man like that comes to you offering, you don't turn him down. So let's give these people a chance, throw our weight behind them. Besides, I think you'll find them a little different than your average white family.
Character. Do I know my characters? Midas. 6'4, black, athletic build. Christian. Born and raised in Bakersfield. Moving in to LA. 756Raised by a white family. His father is a preacher/real estate agent. He's made a bun565dle selling homes and now765 he wants to get back to preaching, in his old neighborhood. Midas was 68rdening, feeding 7. He667 also like playing piano in the church, reading, talking philosophy with677 his556 dad, talking music with567 his sister, wrestling with his brother and cooking with his mom.
and discipled under them for a few months before suffering a breakdown and committing suicide. The immense trauma of those two events and the young ages of the children prompted the Fergusons to move to new territory and sr56878685e6tart afresh.
The Midas bandwagon breaks down as they enter into the inner city. They push the old wagon into Walker Bros. Mechanics. Charles p[9088t67side and pops the hood. He means to check the oil but instead pops off the water lid and gets some hot dirty water spraying up in his face. Alicia looks away a little sheepish876869897890870ly. M7687idas pops up ea768gerly78 by Charles' side, asking what the problem is. Charles comments on Alicia's "fineness." Midas089098 reveals to Charles' embarrassment and amazement that Alicia is his sister.
Aug 16, 2007
Falling Skies
Is the market crashing? As an American, I've long taken for granted that I control my own destiny. Hard work, talent and unrelenting commitment make dreams happen. That's the formula for the American dream. If making dreams come true is difficult in an economic boom with no major security threats (no Cold War or fascist dictator clouding up my career fantasies), how much harder would it be when the market bottoms out and terrorist attacks come in droves? Perhaps a little easier?
When an environment is static, the general apathy and lethargy of the populace plays into the hands of the powers that be. In regards to the entertainment industry, they just keep on turning out the same potboilers, hoping to duplicate the success of past innovators. Yet the entertainment industry has always done this. Can there be any crisis that effects the entertainment industry. All I have to offer is to conjecture and baseless speculation, but the answer that leaps from my tongue is no. Hollywood has always been the same. Maybe the mood changes, but the films just keep on coming. There were a ton of movies that came out in the 30s. Gangster movies, detective movies, screwball comedies, safari adventures, Garbo flicks and smalltown romances spawned in numbers comparable to those in prosperous decades. Maybe they were a bit louder, cruder and more fantastical then the ultra-conservative, patriotic offering of the 40s and early 50s, but they were all just entertainment at their cores, and often employed the same people.
Entertainment changes only with the tastes of the people. People will always crave entertainment. In bad times, they may want some outrageous flavors to distract them, in sad times, some sugarsweet stuff to release the seratonin, in boring times something spiked to give them energy, or entirely new to give them direction. The entertainers are just chameleons.
When an environment is static, the general apathy and lethargy of the populace plays into the hands of the powers that be. In regards to the entertainment industry, they just keep on turning out the same potboilers, hoping to duplicate the success of past innovators. Yet the entertainment industry has always done this. Can there be any crisis that effects the entertainment industry. All I have to offer is to conjecture and baseless speculation, but the answer that leaps from my tongue is no. Hollywood has always been the same. Maybe the mood changes, but the films just keep on coming. There were a ton of movies that came out in the 30s. Gangster movies, detective movies, screwball comedies, safari adventures, Garbo flicks and smalltown romances spawned in numbers comparable to those in prosperous decades. Maybe they were a bit louder, cruder and more fantastical then the ultra-conservative, patriotic offering of the 40s and early 50s, but they were all just entertainment at their cores, and often employed the same people.
Entertainment changes only with the tastes of the people. People will always crave entertainment. In bad times, they may want some outrageous flavors to distract them, in sad times, some sugarsweet stuff to release the seratonin, in boring times something spiked to give them energy, or entirely new to give them direction. The entertainers are just chameleons.
Jul 8, 2007
The Evolution Jihad
The powers of entertainment and evangelism work side by side to engage the fickle attention of American youth, challenge their vacuous moral commitments and offer them the hope of true freedom in Christ. In this culture, a successful invasion or crusade cannot be made without either of these two elements. You must win the people and then you must show them the truth.
Unfortunately, the attention span of American young people, in college and high school, has shrunk. The window of communication has reshaped itself to be less and less compatible with the full Gospel message as traditionally presented. Shorter sermons, jazzed-up outreach events and increasing outputs of youth-oriented Christian multimedia haven't kept the church in line. More than 80% of young people raised in church will leave, heart and body, before they're done with school.
If Jesus's parable of the single lost sheep out of the 99 can be applied here, the appropriate response is to follow the wayward sheep out of the fold, identify the snares and fetch them back, bringing along those yet to be found. How much more vital is such an expedition if 80 of the flock are gone and countless others linger outside the walls of the fold?
The success of such expeditions has been limited by the cynicism of the flock. This culture has been saturated with Christian-related media, with accurate and inaccurate gospels. Church signs spring Gospel-in-a-box catchphrases on passersby, TBN broadcasts steal 5 seconds of time for the Gospel even from the most disinterested channel surfer, Rick Warren bombards the culture with hope in the form of millions of books sold; Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins even got millions to think of the "End Times." Add to those far-reaching outpourings of Christianity the generally unfriendly attention of Hollywood, where Christian symbols, preachers and slightly skewed renditions of the Gospel make constant appearances as stylistic motifs for movies and television shows.
As a result of this information overload, most young people feel that they know the gist of Christianity. Not only are they sure to know a church-goer, they've seen representatives on book covers, TV and streetside signs. Hence their hesitance in the face of evangelism.
The powers of entertainment and evangelism work side by side to engage the fickle attention of American youth, challenge their vacuous moral commitments and offer them the hope of true freedom in Christ. In this culture, a successful invasion or crusade cannot be made without either of these two elements. You must win the people and then you must show them the truth.
Unfortunately, the attention span of American young people, in college and high school, has shrunk. The window of communication has reshaped itself to be less and less compatible with the full Gospel message as traditionally presented. Shorter sermons, jazzed-up outreach events and increasing outputs of youth-oriented Christian multimedia haven't kept the church in line. More than 80% of young people raised in church will leave, heart and body, before they're done with school.
If Jesus's parable of the single lost sheep out of the 99 can be applied here, the appropriate response is to follow the wayward sheep out of the fold, identify the snares and fetch them back, bringing along those yet to be found. How much more vital is such an expedition if 80 of the flock are gone and countless others linger outside the walls of the fold?
The success of such expeditions has been limited by the cynicism of the flock. This culture has been saturated with Christian-related media, with accurate and inaccurate gospels. Church signs spring Gospel-in-a-box catchphrases on passersby, TBN broadcasts steal 5 seconds of time for the Gospel even from the most disinterested channel surfer, Rick Warren bombards the culture with hope in the form of millions of books sold; Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins even got millions to think of the "End Times." Add to those far-reaching outpourings of Christianity the generally unfriendly attention of Hollywood, where Christian symbols, preachers and slightly skewed renditions of the Gospel make constant appearances as stylistic motifs for movies and television shows.
As a result of this information overload, most young people feel that they know the gist of Christianity. Not only are they sure to know a church-goer, they've seen representatives on book covers, TV and streetside signs. Hence their hesitance in the face of evangelism.
May 15, 2007
ENGL 222
Professor Bonca
Sam Lively
18 May 2007
The American Man-Eater
The seductress weaves a fatal web of enchantment for her victims, but for the unravaged onlooker her illusionary powers are pleasantly intoxicating. In The Great Gatsby and Death of a Salesman the seductress is the “American Dream,” and even as she robs her victims of life and fortune, their commitment to her is undying. Though her wake is cluttered with their broken hearts, many of the survivors gladly carry her train in spellbound reverence. The secret to her reason-defying success lies in her victims and her audience’s capacity to dream. For Jay Gatsby and Willy Loman, Nick Carraway and Linda Loman, the victims and their audience respectively, the greatness of their improbable dreams far outweighs the opposing facts of reality.
The American Dream is a loaded and a little misleading name. Dream is a collective term in her case: she welcomes all dreams, so long as they are attached to dreaming men. No dream is too grand or subtle for her if it is fervently wished for. Yet Dream is a misnomer for her; it does not express her complete nature. A mere body of wishes, however vast and beautiful, does not move men as dramatically as she does.
The promise of fulfillment animates her body, and flaunts it before the lusting eyes of men, like the naked blonde in Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. American Promise fits her better than American Dream. Men are drawn to her not just as a representation of their desires, but because she appears to be an extravagantly generous benefactor.
The promise of so many dreams demands an impressive substantiation to win the skeptical hearts of men. America fits the bill. When Nick Carraway views New York through the imagined eyes of its first settlers he sees a “fresh, green breast” (Fitzgerald 180). America’s breast drips promise that triggers the voracious appetites of ambitious dreamers.
Carraway goes on to describe the full effect of beholding the American Dream, the American Promise for the first time: “for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder” (…).
Jay Gatsby and Willy Loman have an immense capacity for wonder. Neither restrains their hopes to the stuff of earth, nor lies content in abstract contemplation; both desire physical, financial, emotional and spiritual satisfaction within the time frame of their stay on earth. Gatsby expects to be able to “repeat the past.” When Carraway gently reminds of the impossibility of that hope, Gatsby responds, incredulously, “Can’t repeat the past! Why of course you can!” (Fitzgerald 110). Loman thinks he can be well-liked, rich, enjoy a Hollywood-style funeral upon his death and have his glorious legacy extended and expanded by his sons.
This shared characteristic draws them both to the “fresh, green breast.” For each, the unveiling of that sight is a powerful moment, akin to the settler’s first view of the new world, though the sight comes in remarkably different manifestations. Gatsby sees “out of the corner of his eye… that the blocks of sidewalks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees- he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the comparable milk of wonder” (…). Gatsby would never shake this image from his brain. When he pours this euphoria into his relationship with Daisy, that relationship becomes his life.
Loman’s experience lacks such a cosmic scale of description, but it pulls with equal gravity on his life. He tells the inspirational story of super-salesman Dave Singleman: “Old Dave, he’d go up to his room, y’understand, put on his velvet green slippers and- I’ll never forget- pick up his phone and call his buyers, and without ever leaving his room, at the age of eighty-four, he made his living. And when I saw that, I realized selling was the greatest career a man could want” (Miller 81). Singleman is a shriveled form of the breast, but those velvet slippers are more than green and inviting enough to become Loman’s most sought-after prize.
Sadly for these two men, the ladder of Gatsby’ dream is not as concrete as the sidewalk and salesman career produced only street-worn leather for Loman’s velvet appetite. Gatsby’s fantasy of marriage of Daisy collides with the too-solid frame of Tom Buchanan, her husband. Though he invades Daisy’s life bearing the spoils of financial conquest she had demanded of him, he can not drive the love of Tom from her heart.
Loman fails even to approximate Singleman’s success. His sales fall short of paying even the mortgage. As he ages, his boss refuses to free him from the taxing roads to work from the cushy confines of his own neighborhood, effectively exiling him from the comfort he worked his entire life to achieve. His fallback plan of raising a Singleman from his sons burns from flames ignited by his chosen prospect, Biff. Biff urges his father to join him in the arson: “Will you take that phony dream and burn it before something happens?” (Miller 133).
Gatsby and Loman are not willing to acknowledge or escape their escalating funeral pyres. Both aid the seductress by accepting hallucinogenic reproductions of her promises when reality has rejected her originals as counterfeits. The grim specter of Death cannot break the spell she has bound them within. Gatsby waits stubbornly in his pool for Daisy’s phone call, even as she and Tom set events in motion that bring about his death. Loman one-ups Gatsby by killing himself in a sort of desperate Plan C, hoping that his life insurance money will propel the downward spiraling Biff to glorious heights.
In perhaps an even greater feat than her destruction of Gatsby and Loman, the great seductress charms two individuals who would have the greatest reason to denounce her as a tramp. Nick Carraway and Loman’s wife Linda rarely find fault with their companions’ infatuations with unattainable goals, before or after their tragic deaths. On the contrary, they often applaud their willingness to attempt impossible ventures. Carraway gushes of Gatsby’s greatness, his “heightened sensitivity to the promises of life” and the “romantic readiness” (Fitzgerald 2); never mind that these fine qualities helped condemn him to a grisly murder.
Linda never faults her husband for his failure; she only faults her sons’ failure to acknowledge the greatness of their father. When they jointly question him, she berates them. She asks, “And you tell me he has no character? The man who never worked a day but for your benefit? When does he get a medal for that? Is this his reward- to turn around at the age of sixty-three and find his sons, who he loved better than life” questioning him (Miller 57)? For a mother to turn on her own sons rather than acknowledge the error of her husband’s actions testifies to the extent of the seductress’ entrapment.
Carraway and Linda Loman have a fervent appreciation for their grandiose dreamers. They do not separate their loyalty to the man from their loyalty to his dreams. They do not want one without the other. If death comes, let him take the whole package, and not leave an empty husk of a man. Carraway says that “Gatsby turned out all right at the end” (Fitzgerald 2). He blames the unpleasantness on the “foul dust,” i.e. the friends who did not appreciate him, that “floated in the wake of his dreams” (…). Linda doesn’t mind the grave if it is not left unattended. Her prominent desire is that respectful attention “be finally paid to such a man” (Miller 56).
Out of the wake of inattentive and indifferent dust emerges the form of the seductress, the American Dream, the American Promise, the American Man-Eater. Amidst the ruin and heartbreak, her illusions vividly depict the ached-for desires of a man’s heart. Her call inspired men to accomplish deed mighty enough to leave a wake, foul or otherwise. These are the attributes of the sly snake and the majestic lioness that whisper for humans to stretch trusting hands into the beautiful asps’ den or lie beside the gently heaving side of the lion. Jay Gatsby and Willy Loman, and their ardent devotees, prefer the fatal kisses of the snake and lion to the calloused lifestyle that ignored such delightful whispers.
Works Cited
Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. New York, NY: Scribner, 2004.
Miller, Arthur. Death of a Salesman. New York, NY: Penguin Books, 1976.
Professor Bonca
Sam Lively
18 May 2007
The American Man-Eater
The seductress weaves a fatal web of enchantment for her victims, but for the unravaged onlooker her illusionary powers are pleasantly intoxicating. In The Great Gatsby and Death of a Salesman the seductress is the “American Dream,” and even as she robs her victims of life and fortune, their commitment to her is undying. Though her wake is cluttered with their broken hearts, many of the survivors gladly carry her train in spellbound reverence. The secret to her reason-defying success lies in her victims and her audience’s capacity to dream. For Jay Gatsby and Willy Loman, Nick Carraway and Linda Loman, the victims and their audience respectively, the greatness of their improbable dreams far outweighs the opposing facts of reality.
The American Dream is a loaded and a little misleading name. Dream is a collective term in her case: she welcomes all dreams, so long as they are attached to dreaming men. No dream is too grand or subtle for her if it is fervently wished for. Yet Dream is a misnomer for her; it does not express her complete nature. A mere body of wishes, however vast and beautiful, does not move men as dramatically as she does.
The promise of fulfillment animates her body, and flaunts it before the lusting eyes of men, like the naked blonde in Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. American Promise fits her better than American Dream. Men are drawn to her not just as a representation of their desires, but because she appears to be an extravagantly generous benefactor.
The promise of so many dreams demands an impressive substantiation to win the skeptical hearts of men. America fits the bill. When Nick Carraway views New York through the imagined eyes of its first settlers he sees a “fresh, green breast” (Fitzgerald 180). America’s breast drips promise that triggers the voracious appetites of ambitious dreamers.
Carraway goes on to describe the full effect of beholding the American Dream, the American Promise for the first time: “for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder” (…).
Jay Gatsby and Willy Loman have an immense capacity for wonder. Neither restrains their hopes to the stuff of earth, nor lies content in abstract contemplation; both desire physical, financial, emotional and spiritual satisfaction within the time frame of their stay on earth. Gatsby expects to be able to “repeat the past.” When Carraway gently reminds of the impossibility of that hope, Gatsby responds, incredulously, “Can’t repeat the past! Why of course you can!” (Fitzgerald 110). Loman thinks he can be well-liked, rich, enjoy a Hollywood-style funeral upon his death and have his glorious legacy extended and expanded by his sons.
This shared characteristic draws them both to the “fresh, green breast.” For each, the unveiling of that sight is a powerful moment, akin to the settler’s first view of the new world, though the sight comes in remarkably different manifestations. Gatsby sees “out of the corner of his eye… that the blocks of sidewalks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees- he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the comparable milk of wonder” (…). Gatsby would never shake this image from his brain. When he pours this euphoria into his relationship with Daisy, that relationship becomes his life.
Loman’s experience lacks such a cosmic scale of description, but it pulls with equal gravity on his life. He tells the inspirational story of super-salesman Dave Singleman: “Old Dave, he’d go up to his room, y’understand, put on his velvet green slippers and- I’ll never forget- pick up his phone and call his buyers, and without ever leaving his room, at the age of eighty-four, he made his living. And when I saw that, I realized selling was the greatest career a man could want” (Miller 81). Singleman is a shriveled form of the breast, but those velvet slippers are more than green and inviting enough to become Loman’s most sought-after prize.
Sadly for these two men, the ladder of Gatsby’ dream is not as concrete as the sidewalk and salesman career produced only street-worn leather for Loman’s velvet appetite. Gatsby’s fantasy of marriage of Daisy collides with the too-solid frame of Tom Buchanan, her husband. Though he invades Daisy’s life bearing the spoils of financial conquest she had demanded of him, he can not drive the love of Tom from her heart.
Loman fails even to approximate Singleman’s success. His sales fall short of paying even the mortgage. As he ages, his boss refuses to free him from the taxing roads to work from the cushy confines of his own neighborhood, effectively exiling him from the comfort he worked his entire life to achieve. His fallback plan of raising a Singleman from his sons burns from flames ignited by his chosen prospect, Biff. Biff urges his father to join him in the arson: “Will you take that phony dream and burn it before something happens?” (Miller 133).
Gatsby and Loman are not willing to acknowledge or escape their escalating funeral pyres. Both aid the seductress by accepting hallucinogenic reproductions of her promises when reality has rejected her originals as counterfeits. The grim specter of Death cannot break the spell she has bound them within. Gatsby waits stubbornly in his pool for Daisy’s phone call, even as she and Tom set events in motion that bring about his death. Loman one-ups Gatsby by killing himself in a sort of desperate Plan C, hoping that his life insurance money will propel the downward spiraling Biff to glorious heights.
In perhaps an even greater feat than her destruction of Gatsby and Loman, the great seductress charms two individuals who would have the greatest reason to denounce her as a tramp. Nick Carraway and Loman’s wife Linda rarely find fault with their companions’ infatuations with unattainable goals, before or after their tragic deaths. On the contrary, they often applaud their willingness to attempt impossible ventures. Carraway gushes of Gatsby’s greatness, his “heightened sensitivity to the promises of life” and the “romantic readiness” (Fitzgerald 2); never mind that these fine qualities helped condemn him to a grisly murder.
Linda never faults her husband for his failure; she only faults her sons’ failure to acknowledge the greatness of their father. When they jointly question him, she berates them. She asks, “And you tell me he has no character? The man who never worked a day but for your benefit? When does he get a medal for that? Is this his reward- to turn around at the age of sixty-three and find his sons, who he loved better than life” questioning him (Miller 57)? For a mother to turn on her own sons rather than acknowledge the error of her husband’s actions testifies to the extent of the seductress’ entrapment.
Carraway and Linda Loman have a fervent appreciation for their grandiose dreamers. They do not separate their loyalty to the man from their loyalty to his dreams. They do not want one without the other. If death comes, let him take the whole package, and not leave an empty husk of a man. Carraway says that “Gatsby turned out all right at the end” (Fitzgerald 2). He blames the unpleasantness on the “foul dust,” i.e. the friends who did not appreciate him, that “floated in the wake of his dreams” (…). Linda doesn’t mind the grave if it is not left unattended. Her prominent desire is that respectful attention “be finally paid to such a man” (Miller 56).
Out of the wake of inattentive and indifferent dust emerges the form of the seductress, the American Dream, the American Promise, the American Man-Eater. Amidst the ruin and heartbreak, her illusions vividly depict the ached-for desires of a man’s heart. Her call inspired men to accomplish deed mighty enough to leave a wake, foul or otherwise. These are the attributes of the sly snake and the majestic lioness that whisper for humans to stretch trusting hands into the beautiful asps’ den or lie beside the gently heaving side of the lion. Jay Gatsby and Willy Loman, and their ardent devotees, prefer the fatal kisses of the snake and lion to the calloused lifestyle that ignored such delightful whispers.
Works Cited
Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. New York, NY: Scribner, 2004.
Miller, Arthur. Death of a Salesman. New York, NY: Penguin Books, 1976.
May 7, 2007
Child Lit
Curious George, by H.A. Rey
The dangerous and often charming allure of childlike mischief lies behind the story and art of Curious George. Rey draws dark curved outlines that give the impression of slyness, and garishly applied watercolors to suggest danger, warmth and fun. This is a book for all mischievous children from 3-7.
Wempires, by Daniel Pinkwater
This is a very strange book, by a very strange author. He draws simply, I believe with just ink. They look very much like scribbles. Despite the crudeness, the art is captivating because it fit the narrator's perspective so well. The story is about a regular little boy who wants to be a vampire, and the smiling, matter-of-fact illustrations leap straight from his words onto the page. Because the pictures are somewhat bizarre, and not much too look at in and of themselves, this book is much for the 6-11 age bracket, and even then, only for kids who can fully immerse themselves in weirdness.
Monsters, by Russel Hoban and Quentin Blake
This is my favorite team of picture book creators. Hoban specializes in telling the stories of little boys making room for their repressed imaginations and Blake gives them life in his messy, junkyard style illustrations. Blake uses ink or pencil outlines and water colors, I believe, cobbling fantasies from all manner of squigglies and doodads. This story makes use of childlike illustration to get directly at the child's imagination, working from scribbles to a "real version" drawn in a more vivid style.
Richard Scarry
Color, variety and constant action characterize Richard Scarry's stories.
The dangerous and often charming allure of childlike mischief lies behind the story and art of Curious George. Rey draws dark curved outlines that give the impression of slyness, and garishly applied watercolors to suggest danger, warmth and fun. This is a book for all mischievous children from 3-7.
Wempires, by Daniel Pinkwater
This is a very strange book, by a very strange author. He draws simply, I believe with just ink. They look very much like scribbles. Despite the crudeness, the art is captivating because it fit the narrator's perspective so well. The story is about a regular little boy who wants to be a vampire, and the smiling, matter-of-fact illustrations leap straight from his words onto the page. Because the pictures are somewhat bizarre, and not much too look at in and of themselves, this book is much for the 6-11 age bracket, and even then, only for kids who can fully immerse themselves in weirdness.
Monsters, by Russel Hoban and Quentin Blake
This is my favorite team of picture book creators. Hoban specializes in telling the stories of little boys making room for their repressed imaginations and Blake gives them life in his messy, junkyard style illustrations. Blake uses ink or pencil outlines and water colors, I believe, cobbling fantasies from all manner of squigglies and doodads. This story makes use of childlike illustration to get directly at the child's imagination, working from scribbles to a "real version" drawn in a more vivid style.
Richard Scarry
Color, variety and constant action characterize Richard Scarry's stories.
Apr 23, 2007
Piddling
ENGL 221
Professor Iris Creagh
Sam Lively
22 April 2007
Free For All
It was the highest priority for Thomas Paine. William Bradford and the Pilgrims of Plymouth colony were willing to die for it. Both parties were willing to sacrifice other lives for more of it. The word is freedom. Its mention prompts many an American patriot to shed proud tears, thinking perhaps that the salty water on his or her cheeks is made of the same stuff as Paine’s ink and the Pilgrims’ blood. The dream extends on into eternity, when all will be seated together at a heavenly round table reading the Declaration of Independence aloud to standing ovations. This happy unity finds its surest base on the shared desire for freedom.
Conversely, varying definitions of freedom can introduce strife that could undermine a community. Paine and the Pilgrims held a few basic ideas of freedom in common, but differed fundamentally in more precise understandings of what evils they wished to be free from. The extent of the difference is drastic enough that neither party would survive in a fully realized conception of the other’s ideal society. Yet their legacies survive in close proximity to each other, even referenced in tandem, and modern America apparently sees no hypocrisy in paying homage to both.
The first landmark in the Pilgrims’ ultimate vision of freedom was escaping persecution. Their oppressor was the "lordly and tyranous" Anglican Church; the state church was devoted to routing out Separatists like the Pilgrims (Bradford 26). In this sense, they had much in common with freedom seekers such as Paine. In Common Sense, Paine builds his case for freedom largely on the misdeeds of the English monarchy. Paine rails against tyranny in the political realm, whereas the Pilgrims were focused on the abuses of religion, but the villain is the same in each case.
If they were reading each other’s works up to this point, Paine and Bradford might be voicing hearty exclamations of "Hear, hear!" and "Amen!" respectively. This ease of agreement is likely the reason Paine leaned so heavily on castigating England in Common Sense; it was far easier for him to find fellow believers in the wrongs of tyranny then in rightness of his favored brand of government, and especially in his beliefs about religion.
Religion comes strongly to bear in the determination of evil, and there begins the divergence of Paine’s and the Pilgrims’ values as they pertain to freedom. Paine is adept at camouflaging his unpopular religion of Deism. A cursory reading of Common Sense might give the reader the impression that Paine is a devout Christian. Paine thumps the Bible heavily to make several points in that text; he quotes liberally from I Samuel to undermine the doctrine that kings were established by God’s will. Apparently preferring to leave unequivocal judgements of evil, he quotes this passage, add his own emphasis in capitalizing it: "WE HAVE ADDED UNTO OUR SINS THIS EVIL, TO ASK A KING" (12).
Paine proceeds to make a value judgement that could nestle comfortably into Bradford’s work: "For monarchy in every instance is the popery of government" (12). Bradford writes of the "grosse darknes of popery" (25). This similarity is likely intentional, as Paine was writing for a predominantly Christian audience of mostly Puritan heritage, and it is, perhaps, deceptive. In his Age of Reason, written nearly 20 years after Common Sense, Paine confesses his Deist religious beliefs, stating, "My mind is my own church" (464). Later in this work he discredits the same Bible he made such thorough use of in his prior work.
Under the light of this information, the Bible appears much less in the actual framework of Paine’s arguments in Common Sense than his many allusions to the "scripture" at first indicate. More essential to his case is his humanistic belief in the fundamental right of man to live under the power of his own reason, free from the folly of another. Any Bible verses he includes he uses as confirmation of this belief. Perhaps he took on the auspices of a Bible-believing Puritan in Common Sense to avoid any unjust dismissal from his audience before his arguments were heard. Regardless, his views on freedom are not so rooted in Judeo-Christian beliefs as he makes them out to be.
The Pilgrims placed the Bible, religious counsel and supernatural revelation above all other resources available for decision-makers. Their entire reasoning for departing stemmed from their need "to have the right worship of God & discipline of Christ established in the church, according to the simplicitie of the gospell… and to have & be ruled by the laws of God’s word" (Bradford 25). Their lesser respect for man’s reason is evident in a quote from the same passage, decrying the sullying of God’s truth with "men’s inventions." They refer to Catholic rituals, but their disdain for those is not based on differing interpretation of the Bible; they loathe the addition worldly practices not specifically derived from the Bible.
Though his disbelief in the Bible distances Paine from the Pilgrims on a pre-suppositional basis, his reasoning in Common Sense remains only a short leap of faith away from the doctrines espoused in Of Plymouth Plantation. He does not believe in man’s innate goodness, perhaps partaking of the Calvinist doctrine that proclaims man's total depravity. Based on this belief, he does not advocate a libertine freedom, and acknowledges the need for government. He chooses an interesting metaphor for government, calling it a "badge of lost innocence" (4), an image reminiscent, or prophetic, of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter.
The Pilgrims wore their badge of lost innocence with gravity. Since they viewed evil as a constant presence in the community, per man’s total depravity, their need for government was great. With unlimited personal freedom came unchecked sin, an epidemic the Pilgrim community had left their homes to be free of. The story of Thomas Granger, taken down by Bradford in Of Plymouth Plantation illustrates. Granger was a teenager found guilty of bestiality and sentenced to death. Bradford’s commentary provides an important insight into the Pilgrims’ understanding of the role of government and the need to limit freedoms. The boy could not live because "one wicked person may infecte many" (203).
While Paine may have agreed with Pilgrims’ justice system as it pertained to laws such as the one that condemned Granger, he would part most dramatically with them on the extent of their government and their willingness to impinge on the freedoms of others. The Pilgrims’ believed they possessed a far-reaching commission in the enforcement of morality. A trouble-making Puritan named Thomas Morton settled near Plymouth; he erected a maypole and began to throw parties, providing alcohol and women to any who cared to stop by. According to Bradford, "it was if anew they had revived & celebrated the feasts of the Roman Goddes Flora, or the beastly practieses of the madd Bacchinalians" (141). The Pilgrims resolved to end the celebration by force, storming Morton’s settlement, cutting down the maypole and imprisoning Morton. This was the extent of the Pilgrims’ tolerance for others’ religious freedoms.
Paine, had he lived amongst the Pilgrims and avowed his faith to them, would have likely received similar treatment. His beliefs were as distant from the Pilgrims as were Morton’s, and though he may not have distributed alcohol, any sort of writing meant to persuade the Pilgrim faithful of a more worldly course of action would have earned the designation of evil and made him subject to the government. Paine could not have lived freely with the Pilgrims.
Nor would the Pilgrims have been welcome, or perhaps even safe, in Paine’s free society. In Age of Reason he designates any mixing of church and state as "adulterous." He follows this observation with a vision on the sort of revolution he desires to follow the American and French Revolutions, a "revolution in the system of religion" ending in the sole adoption of Deism. The Pilgrims would likely be casualties of such a revolution.
The time difference between the two parties prevented a true conflict and resolution between their opposing goals. Paine’s careful dilution of his radical religious motivations and his willingness to limit his vision for freedom to what could be expressed in Puritan terms also downplayed the controversy his true views would have sparked. What remains is a shared revulsion for a foreign tyrant, strong belief in the duty of government to free its society of evil and the word freedom. Love of freedom, if the bold dreams and visions freedom promises are kept only to the minds they delight, unites Thomas Paine and the Pilgrims of Plymouth colony.
Works Cited
Bradford, William. Of Plymouth Plantation Ed. Harvey Wish. New York, NY: Capricorn Books, 1962.
Paine, Thomas. "Common Sense." The Life and Major Writings of Thomas Paine. Ed. Phillip S. Phoner. New York, NY: Citadel Press, 1974.
Professor Iris Creagh
Sam Lively
22 April 2007
Free For All
It was the highest priority for Thomas Paine. William Bradford and the Pilgrims of Plymouth colony were willing to die for it. Both parties were willing to sacrifice other lives for more of it. The word is freedom. Its mention prompts many an American patriot to shed proud tears, thinking perhaps that the salty water on his or her cheeks is made of the same stuff as Paine’s ink and the Pilgrims’ blood. The dream extends on into eternity, when all will be seated together at a heavenly round table reading the Declaration of Independence aloud to standing ovations. This happy unity finds its surest base on the shared desire for freedom.
Conversely, varying definitions of freedom can introduce strife that could undermine a community. Paine and the Pilgrims held a few basic ideas of freedom in common, but differed fundamentally in more precise understandings of what evils they wished to be free from. The extent of the difference is drastic enough that neither party would survive in a fully realized conception of the other’s ideal society. Yet their legacies survive in close proximity to each other, even referenced in tandem, and modern America apparently sees no hypocrisy in paying homage to both.
The first landmark in the Pilgrims’ ultimate vision of freedom was escaping persecution. Their oppressor was the "lordly and tyranous" Anglican Church; the state church was devoted to routing out Separatists like the Pilgrims (Bradford 26). In this sense, they had much in common with freedom seekers such as Paine. In Common Sense, Paine builds his case for freedom largely on the misdeeds of the English monarchy. Paine rails against tyranny in the political realm, whereas the Pilgrims were focused on the abuses of religion, but the villain is the same in each case.
If they were reading each other’s works up to this point, Paine and Bradford might be voicing hearty exclamations of "Hear, hear!" and "Amen!" respectively. This ease of agreement is likely the reason Paine leaned so heavily on castigating England in Common Sense; it was far easier for him to find fellow believers in the wrongs of tyranny then in rightness of his favored brand of government, and especially in his beliefs about religion.
Religion comes strongly to bear in the determination of evil, and there begins the divergence of Paine’s and the Pilgrims’ values as they pertain to freedom. Paine is adept at camouflaging his unpopular religion of Deism. A cursory reading of Common Sense might give the reader the impression that Paine is a devout Christian. Paine thumps the Bible heavily to make several points in that text; he quotes liberally from I Samuel to undermine the doctrine that kings were established by God’s will. Apparently preferring to leave unequivocal judgements of evil, he quotes this passage, add his own emphasis in capitalizing it: "WE HAVE ADDED UNTO OUR SINS THIS EVIL, TO ASK A KING" (12).
Paine proceeds to make a value judgement that could nestle comfortably into Bradford’s work: "For monarchy in every instance is the popery of government" (12). Bradford writes of the "grosse darknes of popery" (25). This similarity is likely intentional, as Paine was writing for a predominantly Christian audience of mostly Puritan heritage, and it is, perhaps, deceptive. In his Age of Reason, written nearly 20 years after Common Sense, Paine confesses his Deist religious beliefs, stating, "My mind is my own church" (464). Later in this work he discredits the same Bible he made such thorough use of in his prior work.
Under the light of this information, the Bible appears much less in the actual framework of Paine’s arguments in Common Sense than his many allusions to the "scripture" at first indicate. More essential to his case is his humanistic belief in the fundamental right of man to live under the power of his own reason, free from the folly of another. Any Bible verses he includes he uses as confirmation of this belief. Perhaps he took on the auspices of a Bible-believing Puritan in Common Sense to avoid any unjust dismissal from his audience before his arguments were heard. Regardless, his views on freedom are not so rooted in Judeo-Christian beliefs as he makes them out to be.
The Pilgrims placed the Bible, religious counsel and supernatural revelation above all other resources available for decision-makers. Their entire reasoning for departing stemmed from their need "to have the right worship of God & discipline of Christ established in the church, according to the simplicitie of the gospell… and to have & be ruled by the laws of God’s word" (Bradford 25). Their lesser respect for man’s reason is evident in a quote from the same passage, decrying the sullying of God’s truth with "men’s inventions." They refer to Catholic rituals, but their disdain for those is not based on differing interpretation of the Bible; they loathe the addition worldly practices not specifically derived from the Bible.
Though his disbelief in the Bible distances Paine from the Pilgrims on a pre-suppositional basis, his reasoning in Common Sense remains only a short leap of faith away from the doctrines espoused in Of Plymouth Plantation. He does not believe in man’s innate goodness, perhaps partaking of the Calvinist doctrine that proclaims man's total depravity. Based on this belief, he does not advocate a libertine freedom, and acknowledges the need for government. He chooses an interesting metaphor for government, calling it a "badge of lost innocence" (4), an image reminiscent, or prophetic, of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter.
The Pilgrims wore their badge of lost innocence with gravity. Since they viewed evil as a constant presence in the community, per man’s total depravity, their need for government was great. With unlimited personal freedom came unchecked sin, an epidemic the Pilgrim community had left their homes to be free of. The story of Thomas Granger, taken down by Bradford in Of Plymouth Plantation illustrates. Granger was a teenager found guilty of bestiality and sentenced to death. Bradford’s commentary provides an important insight into the Pilgrims’ understanding of the role of government and the need to limit freedoms. The boy could not live because "one wicked person may infecte many" (203).
While Paine may have agreed with Pilgrims’ justice system as it pertained to laws such as the one that condemned Granger, he would part most dramatically with them on the extent of their government and their willingness to impinge on the freedoms of others. The Pilgrims’ believed they possessed a far-reaching commission in the enforcement of morality. A trouble-making Puritan named Thomas Morton settled near Plymouth; he erected a maypole and began to throw parties, providing alcohol and women to any who cared to stop by. According to Bradford, "it was if anew they had revived & celebrated the feasts of the Roman Goddes Flora, or the beastly practieses of the madd Bacchinalians" (141). The Pilgrims resolved to end the celebration by force, storming Morton’s settlement, cutting down the maypole and imprisoning Morton. This was the extent of the Pilgrims’ tolerance for others’ religious freedoms.
Paine, had he lived amongst the Pilgrims and avowed his faith to them, would have likely received similar treatment. His beliefs were as distant from the Pilgrims as were Morton’s, and though he may not have distributed alcohol, any sort of writing meant to persuade the Pilgrim faithful of a more worldly course of action would have earned the designation of evil and made him subject to the government. Paine could not have lived freely with the Pilgrims.
Nor would the Pilgrims have been welcome, or perhaps even safe, in Paine’s free society. In Age of Reason he designates any mixing of church and state as "adulterous." He follows this observation with a vision on the sort of revolution he desires to follow the American and French Revolutions, a "revolution in the system of religion" ending in the sole adoption of Deism. The Pilgrims would likely be casualties of such a revolution.
The time difference between the two parties prevented a true conflict and resolution between their opposing goals. Paine’s careful dilution of his radical religious motivations and his willingness to limit his vision for freedom to what could be expressed in Puritan terms also downplayed the controversy his true views would have sparked. What remains is a shared revulsion for a foreign tyrant, strong belief in the duty of government to free its society of evil and the word freedom. Love of freedom, if the bold dreams and visions freedom promises are kept only to the minds they delight, unites Thomas Paine and the Pilgrims of Plymouth colony.
Works Cited
Bradford, William. Of Plymouth Plantation Ed. Harvey Wish. New York, NY: Capricorn Books, 1962.
Paine, Thomas. "Common Sense." The Life and Major Writings of Thomas Paine. Ed. Phillip S. Phoner. New York, NY: Citadel Press, 1974.
Dec 30, 2006
Can't ever get enough
Writing is a craft. Must put my feet to the plow. That last sentence doesn't sound write. I think I've been away too long.
I've been pretty cynical about most forms of art. I'm inclined to poke at most artistic offerings, in hope (or despair?) that the piece in question will cave under the pressure and disintegrate into devilish foolishness or spring out, jack-in-the-box!, a moronic, drooling noise-maker.
A little more practice here, a little time in the Word there, a lot of prayer over there, and some reading behind that corner, and a masterpiece should gently slip out. Anyone can do it right?
Or is my skill finding fault and tearing, rendering me useless in telling a new story, or in the scientific field, doing new research?
Slipping away... Spear that thing before it's lost down the the storm drain.
I've been pretty cynical about most forms of art. I'm inclined to poke at most artistic offerings, in hope (or despair?) that the piece in question will cave under the pressure and disintegrate into devilish foolishness or spring out, jack-in-the-box!, a moronic, drooling noise-maker.
A little more practice here, a little time in the Word there, a lot of prayer over there, and some reading behind that corner, and a masterpiece should gently slip out. Anyone can do it right?
Or is my skill finding fault and tearing, rendering me useless in telling a new story, or in the scientific field, doing new research?
Slipping away... Spear that thing before it's lost down the the storm drain.
Jun 2, 2006
Edward Teach, mysterious fellow.
I had him at Cambridge. Rather shy. Not an outstanding pupil, but curious enough. Absent-minded, I remember thinking of him, but not the idle sort that frequented my classroom. That mind was always somewhere specific. I wasn't surprised when I heard he left for a sea voyage.
Ed, yeah. Nice enough fella. A bit of a drunk on Sunday afternoons. He'd rear himself up and holler all sorts of fancy philosophy at me. I just tried to say 'yessir' to everything but that got him right mad and he got to more drinking. Had a few friends, lowlifes if you ask me. A cripple, and some soldiers... oh, and that preacher. Strange bunch. Talked up storms.
Ohh, Ed. Sweet man, sweet man. Those eyes! Softest brown you'd ever seen, but so fiery too. You always could count on a lark and a laugh in his company. Not that he was without his faults. Such a man for spirits, and so moody, like a woman, he was.
Excellent seaman. Really took pride in his work. A steady hand, even green.
I had him at Cambridge. Rather shy. Not an outstanding pupil, but curious enough. Absent-minded, I remember thinking of him, but not the idle sort that frequented my classroom. That mind was always somewhere specific. I wasn't surprised when I heard he left for a sea voyage.
Ed, yeah. Nice enough fella. A bit of a drunk on Sunday afternoons. He'd rear himself up and holler all sorts of fancy philosophy at me. I just tried to say 'yessir' to everything but that got him right mad and he got to more drinking. Had a few friends, lowlifes if you ask me. A cripple, and some soldiers... oh, and that preacher. Strange bunch. Talked up storms.
Ohh, Ed. Sweet man, sweet man. Those eyes! Softest brown you'd ever seen, but so fiery too. You always could count on a lark and a laugh in his company. Not that he was without his faults. Such a man for spirits, and so moody, like a woman, he was.
Excellent seaman. Really took pride in his work. A steady hand, even green.
Apr 4, 2006
Blackbeard was not always so mean. Dorothy Hudson can attest to that. She met him on the docks at Charleston. He wasn't like other seamen. He was educated, thoughtful and colorful. He was no Blackbeard then, but relatively cleancut.
He was a man in desperate need of adventure. The schools of England had not sufficed, the long ocean voyage, the exotic ports: all were trifles in his bored, cynical mind.
He was a man in desperate need of adventure. The schools of England had not sufficed, the long ocean voyage, the exotic ports: all were trifles in his bored, cynical mind.
Apr 3, 2006
first scene of the coaster
The first scene: the first dance class of the season begins. Clive always shows up for such events, to see if John can hook him up with a hot dish. Alex, tired of studying, shows up, too. There are never enough guys.
Sure enough, only one guy shows up: a tall, handsome German named Nick, with girlfriend Gretchen. John sends Alex downstairs to fetch Sal to even things up. Out of the entire group, only John, Charlene and the nordic Gods, Nick and Gretchen, seem to be at ease. Molly is boy crazy, Clive is girl crazy. Alex is always nervous about physical contact. Ashley is struggling under the weight of her emotional baggage. A bespectacled, frumpy looking girl named Lily doesn’t seem pleased with the selection of guys to dance with. The token large woman, Pat, is, of course, a little worried.
The initial pairings: Nick and Gretchen, Clive and Ashley, Sal and Molly, Alex and Lily and John and Pat. John rotates once every five minutes. Gretchen draws the intial attention for her striking blonde hair, severe gray dress, slender figure and goddess bearing. That she had a Calvin Klein type foreign model hanging on her arm and ignoring all outsiders only added to her intrigue. Ashley, though pretty, can’t compete with exotic mystery, at least on a first glance scenario. Molly, an average looking girl with extra weight around the hips, only registers as an annoying man-chaser. Pat is to be avoided like the plague. Lily is frightening with those alien goggles.
John, though handsome, is not initially attractive for his critical eye and business-like manner. Clive and his black forest of hair is striking in appearance and engaging in manner, but too obviously ogling Gretchen to even disguise himself enough to deceive any but Molly or Lily. Alex is cute in his shy way, but too fumbling in the dance to impress any one but Molly, who’s ready to dive on anything with a good face. Sal is older and grumpy, practically shoving his partners around. He and Pat get into it. Nick is skilled and effortless in his dance, but frustrated and snobbish when dancing with anyone but Gretchen.
When Charlene shows up John is surprised. She’s wearing a black hat, her white hair curled, her blue dress sharp and pretty. John breaks off the rough beginning of the dance to dance with her. The business-like manner and piercingly critical gaze dissolve into gentle strength and cooperation as they danced the waltz. Ashley is immediately effected by both. Charlene squeezes John’s hand and smiles to the crowd before walking out.
Alex gets Ashley for a partner in that vulnerable moment: he’s fascinated by her obvious thoughtfulness (he’s just danced with Lily, Pat and Molly). Studying her distant face, it doesn’t take him long to realize she’s pretty in a subtler way than anyone he’s met before. Ashley, coming partially back to earth from her thoughts, is mildly intrigued by this young guy who looks at her with such gentle interest and without glance at her chest or attempts to show off on the dance floor. They begin to talk in between rock steps.
Sure enough, only one guy shows up: a tall, handsome German named Nick, with girlfriend Gretchen. John sends Alex downstairs to fetch Sal to even things up. Out of the entire group, only John, Charlene and the nordic Gods, Nick and Gretchen, seem to be at ease. Molly is boy crazy, Clive is girl crazy. Alex is always nervous about physical contact. Ashley is struggling under the weight of her emotional baggage. A bespectacled, frumpy looking girl named Lily doesn’t seem pleased with the selection of guys to dance with. The token large woman, Pat, is, of course, a little worried.
The initial pairings: Nick and Gretchen, Clive and Ashley, Sal and Molly, Alex and Lily and John and Pat. John rotates once every five minutes. Gretchen draws the intial attention for her striking blonde hair, severe gray dress, slender figure and goddess bearing. That she had a Calvin Klein type foreign model hanging on her arm and ignoring all outsiders only added to her intrigue. Ashley, though pretty, can’t compete with exotic mystery, at least on a first glance scenario. Molly, an average looking girl with extra weight around the hips, only registers as an annoying man-chaser. Pat is to be avoided like the plague. Lily is frightening with those alien goggles.
John, though handsome, is not initially attractive for his critical eye and business-like manner. Clive and his black forest of hair is striking in appearance and engaging in manner, but too obviously ogling Gretchen to even disguise himself enough to deceive any but Molly or Lily. Alex is cute in his shy way, but too fumbling in the dance to impress any one but Molly, who’s ready to dive on anything with a good face. Sal is older and grumpy, practically shoving his partners around. He and Pat get into it. Nick is skilled and effortless in his dance, but frustrated and snobbish when dancing with anyone but Gretchen.
When Charlene shows up John is surprised. She’s wearing a black hat, her white hair curled, her blue dress sharp and pretty. John breaks off the rough beginning of the dance to dance with her. The business-like manner and piercingly critical gaze dissolve into gentle strength and cooperation as they danced the waltz. Ashley is immediately effected by both. Charlene squeezes John’s hand and smiles to the crowd before walking out.
Alex gets Ashley for a partner in that vulnerable moment: he’s fascinated by her obvious thoughtfulness (he’s just danced with Lily, Pat and Molly). Studying her distant face, it doesn’t take him long to realize she’s pretty in a subtler way than anyone he’s met before. Ashley, coming partially back to earth from her thoughts, is mildly intrigued by this young guy who looks at her with such gentle interest and without glance at her chest or attempts to show off on the dance floor. They begin to talk in between rock steps.
Mar 23, 2006
ENGL 231
Sam Lively
Romantic paper
03/23/06
The Monster of the Upper Sky
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were – I have not seen
As others saw – I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
-Edgar Allan Poe ("Alone")
It is ironic that the poet's isolation is part of what makes him compelling to so many people. It may be the artistic expression of a "pity party," a ceremony of misery that somehow brings pleasure. The Byronic hero (who drives Lord Byron's dramatic poems and has migrated to a number of other works) suffers under such isolation, but does so with an entirely different attitude. In the dramatic poem, Manfred, Byron magnifies the suffering to a suitably romantic extreme. In it, he portrays Manfred not as a simpering victim, but as monster with only himself and his fate to blame.
Manfred is a tortured young nobleman, seeking relief through his mastery of the dark arts of sorcery. A terrible wrongdoing haunts his memory; forgetfulness and death are his goals. He describes himself by means of his guiding star:
… a star condemn’d,
The burning wreck of a demolish’d world,
A wandering hell in the eternal space (44-46, Act I)
This description certainly has elements of self-pity and victimization; fate can be blamed for his condemnation and the wreckage of his life. Yet the sentiments here are much more powerful than moping: hell implies an active torment. After Manfred summons the spirits of nature to do his bidding, the spirit of his guiding star expands on his previous description:
The hour arrived – and it became
A wandering mass of shapeless flame,
A pathless comet, and a curse,
The menace of the universe;
Still rolling on with innate force,
Without a sphere, without a course,
A bright deformity on high,
The monster of the upper sky! (116-123, Act I)
Manfred breaks from the mold of tragic victims in this portrayal: he is not in danger, but dangerous; he is not pitiful but spectacular in his plight; he is not cursed, but is a curse. He is not bound to any path of fated misery, but is a free-roaming inferno, unable or unwilling to restrict himself, and perhaps without a greater power to contain him.
Manfred does not seek any to contain him. He refuses subjugation to spirits and does not condescend to lesser men. In response to the friendly injunction of a fellow man to befriend humans, he says:
I could not tame my nature down…
And be a living lie – who would become
A mighty thing amongst the mean, and such
The mass are: I disdained to mingle with
A herd, though to be a leader – and of wolves.
The lion is alone, and so am I (116, 119-123, Act III)
Though Manfred's loneliness is part of his anguish, it is self-imposed, not for any lack in himself, but for his superiority. The one being he desired relationship was the woman he wronged and indirectly destroyed (Byron dances around the exact situation, but it strikes of Byron's own affair with his half-sister). It is this vulnerability that links him to humanity, and ironically it is his own unrestricted power, "rolling on with innate force" that strikes at his weakness. He likens himself to the deadly Saharan dust storm called the Simoom:
The red-hot breath of the most lone Simoom,
Which dwells but in the desart, and sweeps o’er
The barren sands which bear no shrubs to blast,
And revels o’er their wild and arid waves,
And seeketh not, so that it is not sought,
But being met is deadly (128-133, Act III)
Such is Manfred's plight: his innate destructiveness makes any relationship tragic, yet he is too human not to want one. He is his own tormentor, but he will not deny himself. He seeks death as his relief, and will accept no other: not even penitence, offered by the Church. He achieves his death, his victory the absence of redemption and the making of his own way, even as a "wandering hell."
Byron constructs in Manfred a terrifying object; his existence is a horrifying one, but, in its horror, commands awed attention. He is all at once the fire and the tinder: he exists to destroy himself. He is the "monster of the upper sky" that draws all eyes upward, until he burns to nothingness. None would aspire to become him, but all find a form of fascination with him.
Works cited:
Poe, Edgar Allan. "Alone." Lays of the New Land.
Gordon, George. "Manfred." Norton Anthology of English Literature.
Sam Lively
Romantic paper
03/23/06
The Monster of the Upper Sky
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were – I have not seen
As others saw – I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
-Edgar Allan Poe ("Alone")
It is ironic that the poet's isolation is part of what makes him compelling to so many people. It may be the artistic expression of a "pity party," a ceremony of misery that somehow brings pleasure. The Byronic hero (who drives Lord Byron's dramatic poems and has migrated to a number of other works) suffers under such isolation, but does so with an entirely different attitude. In the dramatic poem, Manfred, Byron magnifies the suffering to a suitably romantic extreme. In it, he portrays Manfred not as a simpering victim, but as monster with only himself and his fate to blame.
Manfred is a tortured young nobleman, seeking relief through his mastery of the dark arts of sorcery. A terrible wrongdoing haunts his memory; forgetfulness and death are his goals. He describes himself by means of his guiding star:
… a star condemn’d,
The burning wreck of a demolish’d world,
A wandering hell in the eternal space (44-46, Act I)
This description certainly has elements of self-pity and victimization; fate can be blamed for his condemnation and the wreckage of his life. Yet the sentiments here are much more powerful than moping: hell implies an active torment. After Manfred summons the spirits of nature to do his bidding, the spirit of his guiding star expands on his previous description:
The hour arrived – and it became
A wandering mass of shapeless flame,
A pathless comet, and a curse,
The menace of the universe;
Still rolling on with innate force,
Without a sphere, without a course,
A bright deformity on high,
The monster of the upper sky! (116-123, Act I)
Manfred breaks from the mold of tragic victims in this portrayal: he is not in danger, but dangerous; he is not pitiful but spectacular in his plight; he is not cursed, but is a curse. He is not bound to any path of fated misery, but is a free-roaming inferno, unable or unwilling to restrict himself, and perhaps without a greater power to contain him.
Manfred does not seek any to contain him. He refuses subjugation to spirits and does not condescend to lesser men. In response to the friendly injunction of a fellow man to befriend humans, he says:
I could not tame my nature down…
And be a living lie – who would become
A mighty thing amongst the mean, and such
The mass are: I disdained to mingle with
A herd, though to be a leader – and of wolves.
The lion is alone, and so am I (116, 119-123, Act III)
Though Manfred's loneliness is part of his anguish, it is self-imposed, not for any lack in himself, but for his superiority. The one being he desired relationship was the woman he wronged and indirectly destroyed (Byron dances around the exact situation, but it strikes of Byron's own affair with his half-sister). It is this vulnerability that links him to humanity, and ironically it is his own unrestricted power, "rolling on with innate force" that strikes at his weakness. He likens himself to the deadly Saharan dust storm called the Simoom:
The red-hot breath of the most lone Simoom,
Which dwells but in the desart, and sweeps o’er
The barren sands which bear no shrubs to blast,
And revels o’er their wild and arid waves,
And seeketh not, so that it is not sought,
But being met is deadly (128-133, Act III)
Such is Manfred's plight: his innate destructiveness makes any relationship tragic, yet he is too human not to want one. He is his own tormentor, but he will not deny himself. He seeks death as his relief, and will accept no other: not even penitence, offered by the Church. He achieves his death, his victory the absence of redemption and the making of his own way, even as a "wandering hell."
Byron constructs in Manfred a terrifying object; his existence is a horrifying one, but, in its horror, commands awed attention. He is all at once the fire and the tinder: he exists to destroy himself. He is the "monster of the upper sky" that draws all eyes upward, until he burns to nothingness. None would aspire to become him, but all find a form of fascination with him.
Works cited:
Poe, Edgar Allan. "Alone." Lays of the New Land.
Gordon, George. "Manfred." Norton Anthology of English Literature.
Sep 24, 2005
Love and the Assassin
I despise Matthew McConaughy (sp?). Imagine liking a girl from afar and working slowly to gain her respect and trust, only to have Smooth Matt drive his motorcycle right between the two of you, pull off his helmet and shake his golden brown locks, before turning on the faky charm and southern drawl to sweep her off her feet.
I'd be a little T.O.ed, myself. See, I don't see Matt as any kind of realistic Mr. Right for all the searching women out there. I see him as the wolf in GQ clothing. His style is much more insidious than that of a wold: he's got the glinty eyes and oily demeanor of a stone-hearted predator. Like a sable, prized for his looks and grace, but really a killing machine.
In pondering my distaste for his character, it struck me that he's really good at irritating guys like me, and that could be used to great effect in a movie. For best effect, Matt would be the villain, infuriating some average guy with sensibilities similar to mine.
Enter Arthur Pal, a bright, handsome, young diplomat (see the similarities to me?), fully enjoying life in his New York highrise apartment. He loves his job: it's prestigious, meaningful and high-paying. There is an added hop to his step that could only be attributed to youthful love; yes, he's just met a girl. She lives in the apartment next door. She works a simple job, but she's obviously a little lonely, and very appreciative of Arthur's friendship. He helps her with her little balcony flowerpot garden. They hit it off.
Enter Bill, the new neighbour, played with oozing charm by Matt. Bill is an assassin. Not a bloody one. He deals in poisons. He doesn't believe in causing pain. He's guarded with this information. He calls himself a freelance public relations consultant, but he says he wants to retire and settle down. He wants to buy a vineyard and make wine.
Both Bill and Arthur think the girl would make a fine lifelong companion.
If anything like a plot develops, or any kind of personality for the girl, I may try and turn this into a screenplay.
I'd be a little T.O.ed, myself. See, I don't see Matt as any kind of realistic Mr. Right for all the searching women out there. I see him as the wolf in GQ clothing. His style is much more insidious than that of a wold: he's got the glinty eyes and oily demeanor of a stone-hearted predator. Like a sable, prized for his looks and grace, but really a killing machine.
In pondering my distaste for his character, it struck me that he's really good at irritating guys like me, and that could be used to great effect in a movie. For best effect, Matt would be the villain, infuriating some average guy with sensibilities similar to mine.
Enter Arthur Pal, a bright, handsome, young diplomat (see the similarities to me?), fully enjoying life in his New York highrise apartment. He loves his job: it's prestigious, meaningful and high-paying. There is an added hop to his step that could only be attributed to youthful love; yes, he's just met a girl. She lives in the apartment next door. She works a simple job, but she's obviously a little lonely, and very appreciative of Arthur's friendship. He helps her with her little balcony flowerpot garden. They hit it off.
Enter Bill, the new neighbour, played with oozing charm by Matt. Bill is an assassin. Not a bloody one. He deals in poisons. He doesn't believe in causing pain. He's guarded with this information. He calls himself a freelance public relations consultant, but he says he wants to retire and settle down. He wants to buy a vineyard and make wine.
Both Bill and Arthur think the girl would make a fine lifelong companion.
If anything like a plot develops, or any kind of personality for the girl, I may try and turn this into a screenplay.
Aug 13, 2005
HR, 42
When the steam parted a few minutes later, Peg appeared, flapping her way over the northwest wall. She cooed and squawked and beat her wings together to rouse the creatures of the field from their holes and hiding spots.
"Dogs all gone. General gone. Big mean dog gone. We win! We win!" She repeated this last part excitedly as she flew around the field.
Humboldt jumped to his feet and led the mice in a series of cheers. Sergei and Mitzi cawed happily. The old squirrel danced about with bewildered pigeons, tripping over his own trip wires.
Harlequin sat in the midst of the celebration, his face blank and his eyes fixed on the door in the alleyway. Peg swooped to his side and landed gamely on her sole foot. She cackled in laughter.
"The Big Dog chased me right into human building. Humans were very angry, caught dog. Didn't catch me," she crowed.
"We won battle," she continued, smacking precociously at Harlequin's slumped back with her wings. "Dogs all gone!"
"Hubert's gone," Harlequin mumbled. "The man..."
Peg blinked. She did not understand. Harlequin sniffed a little and shed one tear. With a cough, he cleared his throat, and turned to face Peg, bright resolution renewed in his face.
"You're right. We did win." Harlequin hopped spryly to his feet and joined in the celebration. Within a few moments, Harlequin's sadness departed, replaced by the glorious new ideas he had for the field.
"We're to make this field an animal city for all the animals lost in the human city!" he shouted to cheers led by the zealous Humboldt.
Indeed, they did. The legend of the mighty chipmunk who defeated a demon cat and an entire pack of dogs spread far and wide, and with it travelled the hope of freedom and safety in the city. Animals of every stripe, feather and scale would flock to the field: new friends, new resources and new problems for Harlequin and his band.
THE END (Rough Draft)
"Dogs all gone. General gone. Big mean dog gone. We win! We win!" She repeated this last part excitedly as she flew around the field.
Humboldt jumped to his feet and led the mice in a series of cheers. Sergei and Mitzi cawed happily. The old squirrel danced about with bewildered pigeons, tripping over his own trip wires.
Harlequin sat in the midst of the celebration, his face blank and his eyes fixed on the door in the alleyway. Peg swooped to his side and landed gamely on her sole foot. She cackled in laughter.
"The Big Dog chased me right into human building. Humans were very angry, caught dog. Didn't catch me," she crowed.
"We won battle," she continued, smacking precociously at Harlequin's slumped back with her wings. "Dogs all gone!"
"Hubert's gone," Harlequin mumbled. "The man..."
Peg blinked. She did not understand. Harlequin sniffed a little and shed one tear. With a cough, he cleared his throat, and turned to face Peg, bright resolution renewed in his face.
"You're right. We did win." Harlequin hopped spryly to his feet and joined in the celebration. Within a few moments, Harlequin's sadness departed, replaced by the glorious new ideas he had for the field.
"We're to make this field an animal city for all the animals lost in the human city!" he shouted to cheers led by the zealous Humboldt.
Indeed, they did. The legend of the mighty chipmunk who defeated a demon cat and an entire pack of dogs spread far and wide, and with it travelled the hope of freedom and safety in the city. Animals of every stripe, feather and scale would flock to the field: new friends, new resources and new problems for Harlequin and his band.
THE END (Rough Draft)