You Shouldn't Say "Should," Unless You Mean It!

People often ask me: What's my favorite word? I don't like this question and always have a difficult time answering. Words are my favorite. In a way, they must be; words are all we have to convey our world to any other, therefore I cherish these symbolic references like old friends. I can, however, answer the question: What's my least favorite word? The answer is "Should." I don't like the sound, the way it makes my mouth move, nor its connotations. Perhaps I dislike its connotations the most because they create emotion and reaction within when confronted with a "should." Think about it; Do you like when I say you should read my posts or you should vote for my candidate. I would naturally react the same way: with a trepid thoughts forewarning of unknown cognitive dissident trends revealing uncomfortable worldviews. To have such a solid, repetitive reaction to a word among many differing people holds that the word has been imbued with meaning from times past.

        

The etymology of "should" reveals a lot of the reasons why I dislike this word. Its sources in English stem back to the Old English world "Sceolde," the past participle of "Sceal," translated to "Shall." They both hold a strong sense of obligation in their meaning in Old English and were closely related to "Scyld" which means guilt and the Germanic world "Schuld" which means guilt and debt, pulling these definitions into the connotation of "should" whenever spoken or written in the 11th century. After all the language used during the 12th and 13th centuries had high religious conviction, binding the laymen to a socially normalizing culture by region as prescribed by the Church. As Old English progressed into Middle English after the 12th century, "Should" took on a future aspect in the encompassed action. For example: One should vote; meaning the individual has not yet voted and is obliged to take part in the action lest they be judged for the lack thereof. At this point in the history of the word "Should," "Sceolde" became related to the Middle English word "Shild," so much so that we now have a hard time detracting guilt, sin, crime, fault, and liability from "Should" today. One should not eat 'x' because 'y'; or one should believe 'x' because 'y'; where the statement 'y' has an intrinsic negativity closely associated (i.e. "One should not eat sugar because it triggers diabetes over long term use," where diabetes is bad).

        

Nowadays "Should" still encompasses a lot of these connotations, more so than "Shall." Where the latter has become more of an affirmation or action (i.e. "I shall go to the store."), the former is more of a directive laced with the aforementioned judgmental mentality. This is due to the close association of "Should" with philosophy in our time. In recent history this term has been closely linked with the ideology of right and wrong and morality. Now we see "Should" as prescriptive language asking the subject to question the immediate action at hand for its value in order to acknowledge another point of view as more correct (i.e. "You shouldn't cut onions that way; you should cut them this way"). The tone of guilt, sin, etc. may not be as strong in our language, but drawing morals into the discussion with current connotations of "should" echo the Old and Middle English linguistic trends. We know this because "Would," the second and third person predicate, does not hold the same connotative meaning of wrong doing, though it can be accusatory as in the derisive proclamation: "You would." Since the word has taken on a philosophical note it has also encouraged an authoritative aura, where the speaker/writer utilizing "should" knows best and is obliged to instruct the listener/ready of such knowledge. From my experience, those who use "should" in their speech often enjoy the dominating effect of the word. We can easily see this in our managers and they way they interact with their employees. Those who manage instead of lead often utilize "Should" where leaders open a conversation and preface ideas with "could you" or "what do you think about this" as alternatives to creating a change in their proletariats.

Then again, "Should" has its purpose in authority. One should (in fact) do a good job at work, if they don't consequences will come up. One should follow the law, because again consequences will arise. One should be healthy, share love, think less, etc. I can say these things wholeheartedly (even with my dislike of the word) because their prescription follows suit with my beliefs and larger understandings of the Verse. I take the philosophical stance, acknowledge the value of good and bad in actions and things, and draw conclusions that mirror those truths with which I assign my authority in saying this word in order to bring a balance and harmony into my world. When using language properly the full weight of the word can be harnessed. If we imagine a word highly overused (like love), we lose the power of the word. You can love a person, an animal; and a cup, or an idea, or a figment of imagination -- all just as much as you would like or admire or desire these same objects. Instead of using a more descriptive term we lump the idea into a larger term: Love. This is happening with "Should," where requests are disguised with knowledge, where authority covers insecurity, and when we can't accept other and attempt fixing it.

My experience with this word has colored my Verse. Living in America we're faced with a list of expectations in being a good and proper American. My generations were practically told that we should be straight, married, educated, hard working; that we should have a high credit score, go to church, save money; and by not adhering to these expectations we should expect scorn from our family, peers, and community. History books pointed to the righteous (those "shoulding" everywhere) always claiming victory, so why would we want to question these edicts? At the ripe age of 30, I've finally found footing to question these ideologies for myself and build a repertoire of "Should" in my life I can stand behind. That's all I ask of you now: look at when you say "Should" and begin to question if that's the right way to use it. Remember where this word has come from and what its use embodies in our language today. You may find when you start utilizing "Should" in the future people will listen more closely.

What Labels Mean in our World.

We are introduced to our world through sound in the beginning. Our mother's womb allows vibrations to penetrate the protective sack like nothing else can, save the nutrients she provides. From these vibrations we become acquainted with the outside; and when we're born sound is the first thing we experience clearly. Eventually our brains can grasp what is going on and the chaotic rhythm of life forms into manageable compartmentalized associations that help us cope with the myriad of options before us. Words enter our schematic of the universe and these words become labels for the intrinsic, mundane, specific, beloved, and desired. In fact, we would not be able to succeed, prosper, and potentially enjoy the societies in which we live without the basis of labeling quite literally everything; though a few intellectuals might enjoy discovering the unlabeled... so they can label it. As we grow and learn, experiencing the various modes of life on this precious planet we call Earth, certain connotations creep into language further coloring our Verse with little judgments that express our ideology, morals, and, most importantly, our Self.

The given designation we call a Name is the simplest, a priori transition into labels humans come across. It's usually the first thing to which a baby responds after many days/weeks of repetition and engagement. This name, however, does not give us our identity, but rather creates an Identity Space empty of the person. Because my name is Josh does not mean I josh people or am a josher by nature, though jovial and jocular utterances do engage my communities in laughter frequently enough; my identity is larger than one word or phrase or label. Life introduces us to many labels that we cannot choose: our gender, race, sexual orientation, age, etc. Over time humans discover what factors in life associate them with defining words: a job, a social group, fields of studies, and even relationships; and even these descriptions of the self are not guaranteed depending on region/state/country in which one might reside. Then there are the self-chosen labels that we identify with: religion, politics, and regional affiliations. We call ourselves Democrats or Republicans, invoking all the denoted and connoted meanings to these qualifiers. We set ourselves as this sect or another of Christianity and set boundaries that group others within that specific label. We believe region sets us apart from other humans because cultures differ between mountain, swamp, or island inhabitants. But these are all words created by humans to help us understand what we see, feel, taste, hear, and comprehend. What if it's all really just meaningless babble?

It can't be meaningless because you would not be building greater concepts through my words if meaning were absent. The image of a cup -- yep, that one that just popped into your head -- is brought forth because the word "Cup" has an undeniable meaning attached to it. Perhaps this is why we label ourselves like processed food. One serving of Josh comes with a healthy view of Pagan ideologies, a small dosage of fiscal conservatism, heavy portions of social progress, a coating of Green Party propaganda; injected with college education in Literature and Astro-Physics, music appreciation, culinary ingenuity, artistic ambitions; less than 2% moody, judgmental, irrational, conspiracy theorist, etc. Do not take if Close-Minded, Judgmental, Homophobic, Racist, etc. Would this mentality disrupt the abhorrence for the other in society, by putting forward all our identity ingredients for those to choose whether or not to engage? I think not, merely because this would give the judger an automatic right to judge based on the facts of your existence. Remember my warning: Do not take if [fill in the blank]. We already judge people based off labels. Doctors are seen as intelligent to some because the title Doctor comes with years of education. But we also question whether Doctors are educated thoroughly (they study pharmaceuticals and their effect on health, not a full degree in bodily health). We judge people based off age (too young, must be wet behind the ears), gender (women aren't as strong as men), "race," and ethnicity. This is so second nature by this point we can barely notice the difference between a simple label (i.e. cup) apart from the more intricately laced labels (i.e. gay).

In order to label something we have to distinguish its difference from other objects. Human nature till this point has been to analyze for "goodness," a property of inherent wealth corresponding with desire, necessity, or social status, and thus judge separate it from others by this designation. Our daily practice is to analyze driving patterns, nutritional information, and social morals, amongst other things. America is currently in the heat of a label war within its own borders: Republicans and Democrats vying for justice against a backlash against liberal ideology present under a conservative Democratic presidency. The labels have interfered with relationships, at least in my world. My conservative extended family through my partner voted for President-Elect Trump (a label that sours my mind, squelches my heart, and demeans some respect I might have assigned that role in our nation) and has repeatedly approached us with words of wisdom, consolation, and misunderstanding. They've labeled us as "inexperienced" politically (overlooking academic studies in Political Science and sitting on a Congressional Advisory Committee), as "whiny liberals," as "misinformed." Rather than looking beyond their own label as Republicans to see what comes with the package of a Trump presidency (support from terrorists groups like the KKK, Neo-Nazis, Extremist Christians) and correlating that with our reactions to such an election turn out. But even here I have labeled entire groups of people with the same mindset, which is absurd. These are, however, the regular thought patterns which stem from the simplest of labels which assigns us a sense of pride, segregating us in our own prejudices, unable to grow from the lack of connection.

Pride is what helps us feel comfortable in our own labels, and I don't mean to say we shouldn't be proud of who we are. We must be careful with our labels, with the words we choose to associate with our being. Words are power: they create feeling, memory, experience. When we start piling on meanings to words, expanding them to encompass a large survey rather than the individual, we lose the Truth. As Eckhart Tolle so elegantly states:

The word God has become empty of meaning through thousands of years of misuse. By misuse, I mean that people who have never glimpsed the realm of the sacred, the vastness behind that word, use it with great conviction, as if they knew what they are talking about. Or they argue against it, as if they knew what it is they are denying. This misuse gives rise to absurd beliefs, assertions, and egoic delusions, such as "My or our God is the only true God, and your God is false," or Nietzche's famous statement, "God is dead."

Before you label yourself, ensure you know what your labels really mean. And before you confront the ideology behind another label, make sure you know what it means for the labeled. This will help banish the confusion and misinterpretation of actions by individuals because our expectations of them won't be misguided by our own prejudice.

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Know your Labels. Know your Words. Know your Verse.

Viva Las Vegas

Sitting in the hotel room in a new sort of quiet is handsomely rewarding as it gives me a moment to think, to ponder, and to figure out the expressions I dare hold within my breath. Early morning traveling has conquered my three companions, though I daresay I expected nothing less as sunrises are plentiful for me alone out of this gang. My boyfriend and his mother are the ones who stay up latest, and sometimes forging on through the night till predawn before turning in; my grandmother whose recovery from surgery is going very well though the effort of travel and movement tires her still; and myself who lives for a community of work-goers craving energy first thing in the morning. My 4:15 wake-up call came as a nearly nonexistent hinderance, even though yawns pervaded the motions. Others were less fortunate than I. My love found himself startled awake partway through the night with rummaging in the house and our guard dog barely able to contain herself, my grandma's restlessness and excitement seemed to get the better of her deeper journeys away from the waking world, while my soon-to-be mother-in-law found it easiest to remain wide-eyed and bushy-tailed for her 5 am bus ride to the airport. And now the beds are all utilized and I sit on a chaise-lounge looking out the second story window into the foliage of a tree unnatural in this barren landscape.

A landscape that has transformed into a haven of supposed joyful sin. Mind you, I enjoy this place as much as any for reasons as similar to any who come here yet my perspective misses the sin of it. If you can find rest here, as easily as my three companions, then what wrong have you encountered? What wrong have you possessed within yourself? What mark have you missed? Truly gaining the ability to travel to such a marvelous city as this, one whose wealth has stemmed into the acceptance and portrayal of fine art on a grand scale (and on a small scale as well), and finding pleasure in whatever way within the acceptable limitations (however few) afforded here does not garner the denotation of such a loathsome word as sin! Our lives are meant for experience and knowledge, the foundation of which can bring us to love and enlightenment -- but how do we accomplish this? Well that's easy: find situations that open your mind and push your limits and expand the possibilities within the world. Sure Las Vegas isn't a city for innovation (outside architecture, art, gambling, and entertainment), but it seeds the hope of continuous joy.

Now don't get me wrong, gambling in an extreme beings little joy, love, and appreciation for life. Seeing the faces of high rollers stacking their thousands, if not millions, on the table, eyes glued in furrowed expectation while lips are pursed in frustrated loss, shows me the dark side of Vegas. Even the overabundance of sex, lust, and drugs phases me less than the absurd amount of money that flows from the richest pockets; yet I know they sleep as soundly as this hotel room through the early morning hours (to wake up to sorrow, and hope of winning their losses again). Which brings me to my point: what I want from Vegas can't be as bad as the experience of high rollers pursuing riches they already attained.

Pleasure. Simple, honest, evocative pleasure is all I seek from Vegas. Whether that be intoxication of the mind while joyfully spending twenty-five cents in a slot machine or a group of beautiful men touching each other in order to satisfy some physical climax or simply learning about the intricate history of this divergent city, pleasure is my "sin" in Las Vegas. My eyes seek the beauty of Vegas, my ears hear the wonder, and my body feels the pulse. My experience is a roller-coaster of emotions when coupled with drugs (alcohol primarily...) and the sightings of the dejected. But all-in-all, Vegas has a special place in my heart, in my mind, and in my desire.

So here's to a week in Vegas with family coping with the thrills, desires, and sins the world can throw at me, all boiling up while I sit in silence in a fabricated living space intended for short term rests.

A Re-Introduction

This feels rather rusty, like old cogs turning with a squeal in the dark; for I am in the dark. I've brewed ginger-garlic tea, not because I am ill but for the enjoyment of comfort in a time of unknown and the possibility such a tonic will permit me health without the aid of others. So recently have I been in that sterile environment, closed in with white walls, women, and wherewithal. What else could I do but assess the values of my life when such a clean slate presents itself? Once value I treasure: I am able in my functions within this society. A value I humbly embrace: I live a blessed life. Then there are the ones I instill as ably as I can: to learn, to see, to hear; be kind, love, appreciate; seek beauty, wisdom, and the future (whiles knowing the present is all). I fail occasionally, but my effort remains on this path. Four years ago I would never consider making myself a tea strictly of ginger root and fresh chopped garlic, to which I would add apple cider vinegar and an organic juice; tonight is different: fresh pressed ginger-garlic tea with rosemary for memory and beauty and honey to help sweeten those synapses.

Something within me called for a healing medicine. I know a few methods to heal wounds, but not all. I went to the emergency room a few days ago due to a laceration of my left forefinger, an injury incurred while fighting jalapeños, a primary ingredient in green chili, at work. Normally preparations would have been made by me, continued on course by myself, and done away with a precision only I could hope to muster. The cut is fairly deep, and to this day it looks a little scary with five stitches holding it together; my remedy calls for a traditional American remedy: superglue. The doctor's prognosis was to keep my forefinger erect, allaying the possibility of a snapped tendon (one such nicked by a stainless steal blade). My naivety would have caused me further injury, and this band-aid for which I think to remove for the first full night since the incident would have remained red and I could have lost far more than blood and dignity -- jalapeños should never conquer an hispanic, right? Regardless, the issue remains that my own perception of healing fell short of the necessities for such an injury, and after even a few days I feel rusty at the modes to which I need to heal myself.

An age ago, though that sounds melodramatic, my life changed. I realize now that change took more away from me than I thought I would garner. Perhaps that isn't entirely true. The world into which I stepped gave me a whole mess to deal with; and after four and a half years I've realized that mess is still around. To be frank, nearly half a decade prior to this moment I broke away from a past which seemed to be hindering me from actively engaging with the world as myself. My desire to please love was causing a blockade to hold barren the passions of my personality, to store away a freedom of expression. Though love was my witness in these atrocities, I couldn't justify true love when my self was hindered from being by me. A life, or two, then ended.

Possibility reigned for a short while until I realized I was far broken and aiming wildly into a future I couldn't imagine. My memories of this period are as dark as the room I sit: light filters in from the kitchen and radiates in soft glows from the television before me and the golden-red lightbulb barely energized above. It seems I lived life at night, hidden from the light of day, the truth of moments. This is not to say I could not remember the time spent between January and August of 2011 -- but I feel remembering this summer of nightfall is to question my life now.

My band-aid is not ready to remove.

I've pulled off the band-aid upon my finger between delicate sips of hot tea. The itch demanded liberation from the suffocating permanence of safety. My heart thrumbs in a chasm deep between two lungs. Soft clicks tell me my mobility is not hampered by the cross stitched curve atop my index. My mind slows the progress of the flashing vertical line dancing before me. Such action feels rusty, unpracticed, and forced, when it once flowed as freely as the visions of other worlds flickered in the darkness of my eyelids. There is a bandage here, something blocking me from myself again. Writing is its sky. Words will fall upon the leafs blown in autumn winds.

Summer is present again and questions brought by the gentle night press against my brain. Bubbling persists, words dance in colorful attitudes pressing me to find answers without thought, and fear wafts from behind veiled clearings bathing in the sunlight -- or the moonlight. As days progress, words will come; and the pages of this artifice will expand.

Emoticons

:)

It's funny how a simple things cause such relief, shift moods drastically, and influence the perception of a digital conversation. Trust is encouraged and imbued in emoticon: a smile means the communicator is smiling, a frown means upset, a smile with a 'D' instead of a ')' is ecstatic smiling, etc.

Yesterday, I felt like I was in a well, drowning in the darkness of the tunneling heights with light a mere pinpoint so far above the murky, muddy cesspit my body struggled with. As I lay in bed waiting for the comforting void to swallow me, the last communication I received ended with a smile. Though I couldn't see the face of the person speaking to me, the smile reassured me.

But it's not a smile. It's punctuation coalesced into a figure representing a physical feature on someone's face. We allow this representation to permeate our world. That's a newer development in language. Before emoticons, I believe the typical distinguisher of facial expression was to simply 'emote' them (e.i. ::smile::). I wonder what our children will see as time continues, whether they will distinguish the difference between punctuation and an actual facial expression; or of the smile will be seen as a colon and a closing parenthesis.

What do you think? About Emoticons? The future of our language as a depiction of figures representing our emotions?

Seasons of Love

Love. It's a label associating complex emotional, chemical, and physical conditions from on person to an other, whether it be an object, animal, or person. English has one [perhaps two] form[s] to express love. The primary form is to simply say "Love." It's easy, complete, justified, and encompasses every possible meaning of the word; and depending on the delivery's tone, the condition of "love" can change from "you're an amazing person for whom I care/admire/enjoy" to "you hold my heart and I can't see any other way of telling you how deeply I want you." The other form is "adore," which hold meanings from "you're cute" to "I deeply care about you." Both contain the understated complication of commitment once they've been uttered from person to person.

I have always seen love as a sinusoidal experience. Perhaps it's the types of relationships I've been in, the types of people I've been around, and the expectation I've shaped from desires. Up and down, shifted left and right, positively and negatively. Passing the level plane was always cautiously regarded as a lull in emotional stability and just as easily neglected as the peaks. So deeply in love was treacherously bipolar in my view, and I didn't shake the reality of it or examine the instability with an objective eye. Not until now, at least: alone with my thoughts, sipping a bottle of wine after naming my gray hairs after Calculus theorems, as single as I've ever been in my life (which is arguably not very single, though I see it as so. Regardless...). I despise that my love has been sinusoidal throughout its existence with every love in my life. I want the exponential experience! The falling so high with every smile, the limitless, unbounded, unexpected experience!

Just thinking about this desire, the possibility, the improbable, oddly scares me. Is this a season of love? The fear of finding that pure existence for another? A song by Florence & The Machine expresses this fear so perfectly in the song "Falling":

Sometimes I wish for falling,

Wish for the release,

WIsh for falling through the air,

To give me some relief,

Because falling's not the problem,

When I'm falling I'm in peace,

It's only when I hit the ground

That causes all the grief.

I enjoy falling in love, perhaps. Sometimes I feel it's too easy for me to fall for another, always looking for the beauty, undeniable abstraction of perfection, heart and soul, intelligence, and loveliness in others through all the muck that surrounds us. So falling is easy, and I long for that relief, release, reviving quality and enjoy the feeling. But once I near the ground where I can realize that love is where I've come to, I start recoiling slightly. I fear the possibility of falling endlessly and look for that harsh surface to walk upon. That's when I gain perspective and start judging.

This is when I need to stop. There is potential for love in my life. The subtle commitment exists already, but the word itself is timid behind clenched teeth. Doubt persists as well. The question which fuels such hesitation circles the facts of relationship's disbanding so recently. How could my heart, broken, bruised, battle-worn, be ready for anything other than loneliness right now? Maybe I'm not ready at all -- but then I'm fighting a force accelerating against my boundaries and pushing me toward the brink of falling.

Falling!

The blasted word! The blasted Experience!!!

"Five hundred twenty-five thousand

six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

journeys to plan

Fine hundred twenty-five thousand

six hundred minutes

How do you measure the life

of a woman or a man

In truth that she learned

or in times that he cried

In bridges he burned

or the way that she died

It's time now to sing out

though the story never ends

let's celebrate

remember a year in the life of friends."

"Seasons of Love" from Rent

This is what started it all. My seasons of love have been stark and fluid, running through life as a trudging price of enjoyment, sadness, expression, and so much more. I don't regret. Love has been presented so many different ways in my life... and now I want to build my own experience without the regulations society (any society around me) has placed upon the value of love. I want to build love with another in the fashion that we wish love to take for ourselves. Falling is only the first step, I assume.

Must I fall then? Fall appropriately? At the right time? With the right wings and the proper wind? Or does it truly matter if I fall, when, where, how...? Any of it? Who is to say but myself?

Well, that answer is easily recognized. It's the staggering spikes on the ground, ready to impale me when my love has failed to attract and entice similar emotions from another. My fear of reducing love back to its singular word spiraling around many meanings catches my breath even as I decide to allow myself to fall. Fear. Fear of Falling. Fear of experiencing life as I want to experience it. Alas... life happens with or without me.

I'll just jump off the cliff and open wide to the experience. It's the only way to move forward with me.

On "Jennifer K. Dick and Laura Mullen in Conversation"

What is this?

You tell me that influence is a disease that strengthens the very ground of poetry and writing; that teaches us to believe in the words, if stollen or borrowed or used in conjunction with influenza? And here I worry that words are lost because they've been stollen away from me!

Such a strange thought...

But your wisdoms and influence are so boundless in such short conversation, so profound in deep introspection, so continuous in jealous understanding. How can I dare to reiterate what you have just delivered with clarity and profundity? The harshest and most truthful is the influence, the disease, of teachers inspiring and molding and manipulating youthful, ambitious, creative writers to relinquish individuality in favor of understanding the 'Greats' of any era!

I shall say 'NO!' as you tell me. I will not change my letters to better help your comprehension of something I don't even understand properly (BECAUSE IT CAME IN FREE, doubtless as my fingers fly across the keyboard creating something my mind wants to reveal for myself). And then the critic appears jealously, attempting to find some semblance of flow in the very digital codes so clearly distinguished on the screen (YOU'RE READING THEM!) and tells us of what he doesn't understand. That's the danger, allowing him to sneer down his fingers at the texts of our minds.

But then the influence comes full circle. Can we ever escape it? And should we ever try? Influence is a barrage of symbols piercing the veil we hold over our minds like an iron chest-plate. It doesn't fit, and the holes show more brightly when continuously jilted by critics saying "Tolkien was his only influence, and he falls short of that brilliance."

And thus we let the influence in, because we can't avoid it. It is truth, and should be treated as treasures, however used!

The Idea of Immortality

I've always thought I'd like to live forever. Immortality, I was informed in a textbook years ago, is one of the irrational desires of being human. Recently, however, my mother told me of a short story wherein a guy was truly immortal. He lived past the implosion of the Universe and continued existing (in thought or spirit) in a vacuum of nothingness. He hated his life.

Initially I thought: "Well that's not very Buddhist of him," using my mother's practices as a filter to her story. However, it made me think.

What would I feel if I lived through the violent gravitational fluctuations of a collapsing universe?

What would I think if I were the only thing in known existence? Without any physical means of verification?

Would my very consciousness or spirit be able to create my own Universe in thought, thus introducing a new reality from fantasy and creating a Big Bang.

Could we not be doing this very thing now, given enough thought, focus, and belief? And then we wouldn't be alone, ever; even after the end of known existence. Which brings me to my writing. Logic dictates (ha!) that my imagination is not reality and therefore does not exist in the Universe beyond the impulses in my brain and the words written on paper. I accept that the laws of this Universe are finite given the expectations of existence within the sphere of acceptable standards; but I believe my characters are real whether in my head or the imagination of my readers, or in an alternate Universe spawned simply because I thought it.

This is my first step toward enlightenment, which the character in the aforementioned short story couldn't see: vacuums are defined only by our universe. He couldn't know about everything, lest he be God, and should not doubt his future. Change is a constant. A change would undoubtedly appear for him, and he'll be all the wiser for it.

As for immortality, I now have conditions:
     ~If I could choose to die at anytime,
     ~And if I could stay beautiful and fit!

3 Article Synthesis Paper for English Comp Class

On The Outskirts of Society

When does the choice of another have detrimental outcomes to the innocent? When do uncontrollable circumstances take away every personal right? When can one go through the public educational system, receive a degree, and then be prevented from contributing to their society? The answer is simple and disheartening: when the individual is a child brought to America illegally. Immigration is a controversial political subject which neglects mentioning children of illegal immigrants despite the severity of the problem. The inability to pass any sort of comprehensive immigration reform is taking a toll on a large population in America which is just reaching adult-hood. Perhaps comprehensive immigration reform is not the answer needed immediately, but there exists a bill which has been forestalled that can help these innocent children earn citizenship legally. It is called the DREAM Act, and until it passes illegal children will suffer a life of fear, hardship, and inferiority. The social inequalities suffered by undocumented children must be addressed and solved through the passing of effective reformation bills in Congress.

To be illegal has always been referenced as a choice for the persons who hold the title. Child immigrants hold a special place in society due to this negative adjective associated with their status. This creates subjective intolerance which demeans the self-worth and aspirations the child may accrue while living in America. Unfortunately, the outcome of such denigration affects the society as a whole on many levels. Take, for instance, the complaint many Americans denote when arguing about illegal immigration which claims the illegal immigrants steal jobs away from natural born citizens. This very statement is causing a two-fold effect on children coming to America. The first is clearly engendering an attitude towards all illegal individuals that they should not be seeking out jobs that American’s desire. This then forces their search to mediocre work (in comparison to what ‘citizens’ should desire) and opens up opportunities in the janitorial, fast-food, and manual labor fields. As an assumption, Americans, who are instilled with the desire to always work upwards toward a better position in life, would never desire these types of work. The second effect directly influences many immigrant children to believe they cannot aspire to anything more than what their parents achieved: manual labor, fast-food work, and/or janitorial employment (as examples). As Thomas Faist points out, “Ethnicity is one of the markers that are often used to slot migrants into certain occupational niches . . . [which then creates] a basis of self-ethnicization [or self-engendering as a way of] typifying themselves as belonging to a particular group” (308). This very concept of self-engendering positions is not solely America’s downfall in social graces, but is a common practice in many Western civilizations.

Germany’s school system is possibly one of the most affective at determining a person’s place in society. This has also caused the German school system to be known as one of the worst systems in regard to immigrant children, and not specifically illegal immigrant children either (Entorf 642). At the age of ten, students are subjected to a test which determines which school a child will go to. The test is administered in German and spans a wide range of fields: science, mathematics, language comprehension, literature, etc. Now imagine immigrating (moving) to another country with your parents and shortly after arriving, having very little time to learn the language properly and assimilate to the educational standards of the school system, a test is given which will determine your place in society. Based on the test scores, the only option available is attending the school which prepares children for manual labor. Is this fair? Is it just to treat citizens who have legally immigrated to the host country in such a manner? Upon further reflection, is it right to even administer such a test to a child of manual labor parents, who were not given a highly advanced level of education because of a test they did poorly on when they were ten years old, who does not have the ability to learn advanced material from their caretakers? Understandably, Germany has a different view towards a life’s position than America does; for they take pride in the work they do as appose to feeling like there is something better to achieve. American standards would never allow this sort of system to affect its children, would it?

The answer is yes, America would and does allow such a test to exist, though few believe it is in existence. 1982 saw a distinct change in the attitude toward undocumented children in the Plyler v. Doe case which the Supreme Court ruled that “undocumented children are ‘persons’ under the Constitution and thus entitled to equal protection under the law according to the 14th amendment” (Gonzales 421). Furthermore, Justice Brennan declared that “while education is not a fundamental right, denying K-12 education to undocumented children amounted to creating a ‘lifetime of hardship’ and a permanent ‘underclass’ of individuals” (Gonzales 421). It was very clear that the Supreme Court saw the inequalities upheld by the denotation of a child as illegal in America, but the statute of the 14th Amendment, in essence, gives children of illegal immigrants the coveted rights of naturalized or native citizens. However, the provision only adheres to underage individuals, and when they turn eighteen the rights are demolished because of decisions made many years prior by their caretakers (Gonzales 421). The test then becomes about how well the child can hide his status from the institutions he wishes to attend. This is where the contradiction comes into play: a child who has been given rights and a free education through secondary schools is then thrust into society with a status that makes his very existence a federal crime.

The Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act can solve this issue and amend the huge oxymoron the United States of America bestows upon an innocent group of people. As it stands, illegal immigrant children are said to have the highest drop out rate of any minority attending high schools in America. Much of the reason behind this is the lack of opportunity once they have graduated. It is better for them to find a job and work hard to secure a minimum standard of living to help support their family. Most of these children do not attempt to get their citizenship status to be legal. The DREAM Act will undoubtedly inspire these individuals by allowing children two options to obtain citizenship legally. One option means further schooling, allotting five years to earn a Bachelors and then enter the workforce. The other option is to go into the military for two years and then apply for citizenship once returning from active duty (“Welcome”). Both of these options allow an individual to prove their merit (Gonzales 421) and therefore strengthen many aspects of America. Such a bill needs to pass through Congress and be enforced immediately. Perhaps comprehensive immigration reform is not a solution feasible in the immediate climate, but the political leaders of a society which appreciates social advancement, equality and the American dream need to protect people whose choices were never considered when subjected to a life of hardship and social inequalities.

It is not enough to simply look at the social issues surrounding undocumented children. Action must be taken to stave off further social inequalities born from misconceptions surrounding this group of innocent individuals. Treating children of illegal immigrants as fugitives of the law or criminals is unfair to their circumstances. Furthermore, if these children decide to live in the United States of America after receiving a free education, it is imperative that they not impede any facet of American society. They should be allowed to contribute financially and socially with their taxes and votes. Government officials need to pass some sort of immigration reform and it is up to their constituents to push them to vote for reform; and if they cannot compromise on any sort of Comprehensive Immigration Reform then their focus must shift to the undocumented children of illegal immigrants. The DREAM Act is a short term solution to the complicated immigration issue.


Works Cited

Entorf, Horst, and Martina Lauk. "Peer Effects, Social Multipliers and Migrants at School: An International Comparison." Journal of Ethnic & Migration Studies 34.4 (2008): 633-654. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

Faist, Thomas. "Cultural Diversity and Social Inequalities." Social Research 77.1 (2010): 297-324. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

Gonzales, Roberto. "On the Rights of Undocumented Children." Society 46.5 (2009): 419-422. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 4 Oct. 2010.

“Welcome to the DREAM Act Portal.” DREAM Act Portal. Web. 18 Oct. 2010.

Is it hard to write?

I've been struggling recently, trying to come up with a reason why my mind isn't letting me pour my inspiration onto the pages before me. I usually don't have such a hard time once an idea is in my head. Something new came into focus just the other night, and it was wonderfully creative and beautifully invigorating, but the words won't match the images inside my head; thus I cannot write what I wish to disseminate from my visions. This made me think.

Is it hard to write? Writing has always come easy it me, much the same way other subjects have always come easy to me: math, science, psychology, music, literature, etc. You name it and my hand can probably grasp the subject within a matter of sessions without too much thought. Then again, once we get into deeper areas of a new subject, I may struggle; but that does not mean I won't understand it given proper processing. Right now, however, there is a distinct lacking in my ability to form the words for the pictures inside my head. My internal dictionary hasn't diminished, my imagination hasn't retarded, my inspiration hasn't vanished. What else then?

I'm focusing so much on my ability to comprehend mathematics right now. Perhaps this is changing my ideal structures in my brain patterns which isn't allowing me access to the most important areas to my life. I only say that these are the most important because writing truly makes me happier than almost anything else. Being able to write down words that inspire people to see what I envision makes me so happy.

Not only am I struggling in my ability to write, but I'm also having a hard time in Physics (another subject I thought I could easily apply my brain and nearly instantly understand the concepts and apply them to any scenario I desired). I'm beginning to believe this is how people feel when a teacher asks them to write a paper on a given subject; or rather, on any subject of their choosing. I feel lost in Physics most of the time. I understand the words my professor says and I see the math he uses, but I don't get why he chooses the equations he's utilizing or how their application is relevant to the scheme he's weaving. It's mind numbing; and he knows most of us are lost in the muck of his over-intelligent promulgations of Physics.

I believe I'll understand it here soon, when I have enough time once again to focus my life away from work (and yes I attribute my lack of time to me having two jobs. I'm crazy, I know...). I believe this the same way I believe everyone has the intrinsic ability to write, and to write well, creatively, and beautifully. We all need time to understand ourselves first, and then we need time to apply what we've discovered to the subject at hand (without stressing ourselves out). Once we know ourselves and have our time, then we can truly excel at what we want or need.

So yes, writing is hard, as any subject is truly difficult to master. And yes, I may be in a dry spell at the moment while I try to rearrange my life. It makes me sad... And I don't want to be sad about my inability to write freely like I did a few months ago. Perhaps 'discussing' this issue will help pull the stopper out of my mind and the dam will flow freely through the hole. Here's to hoping!

Sarah McLachlan has done it again.

One voice saved me through my time of woe in high school. It kept me sane, saved my emotions, and preserved my life. Since then I've always loved her music to the point of fanaticism, but I don't allow myself to become crazed at the very thought of her... although sometimes I fail miserably and am overjoyed to hear any news about Sarah McLachlan. It wasn't any different with her new CD release: Laws of Illusion. Furthermore, I wasn't disappointed by what Sarah gave to the world! Here is an example of the beauty Sarah has given us:

"Awakenings"

When we first met the well was dry
A long dark winter passed us by
With shooting stars and hopeful hearts our worlds collide
And so we rushed to fill each other in
Quick to lead our hungry hopes
A feast of our affections we were born anew

With open eyes we tried to make it work
And for a while the magic took
But cracks began to show as soon as things got hard
Like paper walls our feelings tore
We threw our backs against the door
Unwilling to bear witness to the other side

Oh, the games we play to hide the tangled dread inside
The fear that we are going nowhere fast
So we point the finger out, the anger gets so loud
It drowns out all the sorrow, at least until tomorrow... what then?

I took a good hard look at how I loved
Years I squandered falling fast
For any boy who'd have me was so insecure
I'd lie awake alone at night
Full of loathing, compromised
And wondering how the hell did I end up like this

Oh, the tears of rage I cried, when nowhere could I find
An answer that made any kind of sense to me
I point the finger out, the anger gets so loud
It drowns out all the sorrow, at least until tomorrow... what then?

Oh I wanna learn, I wanna know
Will our history crush us or can we let it go?
I'm not the girl I was but what have I become?
I'm not so willing anymore to bend
Still pleasing and conceding
but I'm not gonna lose myself again

(c)2010; Laws of Illusion

This song, in so many ways, speaks to me just like her first album with "Possession" and "Hold On" did on her album Fumbling Towards Ecstasy. Suddenly I feel a passion and connection with events in my life, and each time I hear or read the lyrics to "Awakenings," I see something new and interesting and deeper than what I saw before.

At first I felt the love concerned by the song: how quick and easy it is to fall into infatuation after so long, how tortured and dangerous love is, how beautiful and fulfilling it can be, and how it matures us. Other circumstances in my life took me on a different thought path about the loss of love rather than discovering love. The song transformed instantly to an awakening of new emotions still fueled by love. It was magical. After many times listening to it, I know feel another motif of "Awakenings" is about a love that grows for the self and the strength it takes to find one love.

Even with this all said, I'm sure it will change for me again and again. As most of Sarah McLachlan's music, it's pure poetry written by a beautiful mind whose wisdom is shared through music. I've learned so much about myself through listening to Sarah's music over the years, and I can't wait to learn even more from Laws of Illusion that I need to figure out in one way or another.

Essentially:

Thank You Sarah McLachlan for your brilliance! I love you!

"I, Robot" by Isaac Asimov: AMAZING!

It has taken me a while to grip the wondrous novel I, Robot by Isaac Asimov. Usually I know how I feel as soon as I finish a novel, whether I'll read it again, and how prominent it will be on my bookshelf. This wasn't entirely simple with I, Robot. I knew by the third chapter this book would be one of my favorites. Asimov completely blew my mind on a level that's only happened a handful of times. I, Robot put me in a trance when I read it and wouldn't let go. That's why I couldn't easily judge the book; I was so enthralled I couldn't look at it objectively. I feel I have a better grasp of the situation now, though.

One of the main features of this novel is the structure. The story which links the chapters together is based on a reporter interviewing the revered robopsychologist, Dr. Susan Calvin, who witnessed the birth of the contemporary robots. Each chapter, until the final three or four, is a short story revealing the birth of the robotic sentience which mirrors, in many ways, the evolution of society in a very symbolic manner. My favorite of these chapters was the one entitled "Liar" which follows the story of a mind reading robot who finds conflict with the "Three Laws of Robotics." I started reading this chapter on the airplane on the way home and disappeared from the world. That action in itself hasn't happened in such a long time.

The overall theme or message of the novel blew my mind, and by telling you the message I spoil the ending, so I will refrain and hope you read it. Once I finished reading I, Robot, I couldn't move. Thinking was the only option; considering humanity's future along this path inspired, threatened, and convinced me of Asimov's predictions. Even without the existence of robots, Asimov makes intelligent predictions, some of which are obviously coming true as we live. European Union anyone?

My favorite passage starts in chapter 7, on page 179 and follows:

When Susan Calvin entered the fantastically guarded vault that held The Brain, one of the current shift of technicians had just asked it: "If one and a half chickens lay one and a half eggs in one and a half days, how many eggs will nine chickens lay in nine days?"

The Brain had just answered, "Fifty-four."

And the technician had just said to another, "See, you dope!"

Dr. Calvin coughed and there was a sudden impossible flurry of directionless energy. The psychologist motioned briefly, and she was alone with The Brain.

I simply LOVE the description of the "directionless energy." I couldn't help but laugh.

All in all, this is truly, ultimately, and unavoidably a must read. Socially, I, Robot makes important statements. Artistically, it is a bold, innovative, beautiful, and well written piece of literature! Personally, it's one of my all time favorite books. I look forward to reading more of Isaac Asimov, and I hope you make the time to read this quick book: I, Robot!

Hacked.

Invaded and pillaged; such an odd sense to a word whose origins must stem from dismemberment. Now it's a digital horror to be hacked, security bypassed and individuality violated by someone who maliciously seeks a pretty penny for their pocket. Perhaps I provided them a slight relief, yet I know not how the opportunity was provided. I thought my steps were protected and agile, my method smart and careful.

Technology is not my strength, and I've never pretended it was. I know how to operate within this frame of existence, but it brings such a woe and despair when something so cherished is thoroughly changed and the ability to enjoy it is lost. Worse yet: I wish to have a source to blame, though I know this satisfaction will never be had. Blame is left to me, for surely my actions, however naive, allowed for this circumstance to occur.

Now I wait for authorities to tell me my next actions. Time is slipping by like the wind over a river. I sat by the river and wept my sorrows, dry emotionless tears dropping only in my mind. Doubtless rage flared like a gentle blanket: it's materialistic and vain to rampage when only time and patience will ensure a reprieve from the injustice. Authorities like these are friendly to their patrons, and I have been loyal for quite some time.

A lesson was learned, and not the kind about technological security and the want of my electronic game world... I'm peacefully accepting the moment as an event like a footfall instead of a Hiroshima. My life is enjoyable despite the lack of play and I'm find with the ticking I must endure.

The Moment is Coming.

Will we be ready for it? Certainly is a matter of vigilantly preparing for its coming; suburban life is no better than city, and maybe no better than farm life, but its proximity is preferred to succumb to it. This commitment is suppose to build two into a unit to strive for a golden living. At least in America, this is true. Virtue is bestowed to it, pomp and circumstance tied irrevocably to it. Exorbitant amounts of cash flow, yet the moment lasts maybe two weeks of an entire lifetime. Such a moment profoundly degenerates the human experience into vows that block the full existence of experience; but we'll strive to fulfill them despite nature. But there is a symbol which resists scrutiny, in my eyes; the circlet of life binding love in an elegant and beautiful relic which, can if its meaning fades, will still hold power until its smelting down to the bare elements. This exchange, sans the ritual, is honest. Perhaps we can stand before the alter with that. Will we be ready?

My New Affinity

Well, as one of my dearest friends would despise me for saying, I have acquired a new appreciation for a wondrous poet: Emily Dickinson. As I'm reading through her complete collection of poems (Yes, all 1775 of them... That's a lot) I am finding something within me that is growing even stronger.

My love of Language!

It's so delicate, so simple, and vastly indifferent until we place the tongue into a context that is created of ourselves with the filter of society. Blasted society, with its ever expansive rules and morals... it harms our view. But this is something Emily Dickinson seems to have understood much better than most people give her credit for. My favorite poem of her collection so far (and I must admit I've only read maybe 9 of her poems... but this one hit me to the core for some reason... subconsciously it appears):

4
(c. 1853)

On this wondrous sea
Sailing silently,
Ho! Pilot, ho!
Knowest thou the shore
Where no breakers roar -
Where the storm is o'er?

In the peaceful west
Many the sails at rest -
The anchors fast -
Thither I pilot thee -
Land Ho! Eternity!
Ashore at last!

I'm not going to pretend I have any inclination of what this poem means beneath the surface yet. The choices and intricacies are far beyond my newly acquired (or rather: budding and growing) literary skills; but my initial reaction is of some sense of happiness. A starting anew after being lost perhaps. Lost from what? I can't say? And why the illusion of sea and ships? Can't quite say yet.

But that's the point! It's so much more profound to me that I know there is something beneath this that I cannot grasp, though I understand the words and their meanings, that makes me LOVE this poem and Emily Dickinson all the more! I can only hope to write with some semblance of depth like hers.

I'm positive you all will be seeing more of her poetry and my reactions to it on my blog as we progress through time, for certainly her influences will appear in subtle allusions in many of my writings. As any writer must undoubtedly do at some point: make allusions to great writers of the past in hopes their power will flow forth from the new words.

Trigonometry Inspirationals

Mathematics allows for the complex to be unreal, imaginary or simply impossible. 'i' for example is the square root of -1, which cannot exist but does. It's existence is contingent on me writing, thinking about or working with it. Sure mathematically it does not exist because the variable of the square root of -1 does not compute in any equation other than Euler's Formula (which I still don't fully comprehend).

If the two universal languages are Math and Music, it seems these both harbor universal truths. Math allows for the implementation of imaginary numbers to produce real numbers which work in the real world. Simple enough, right? Well how does this relate to the world we live in? What 'complex' or 'imaginary' occurrences help connect two thoughts, events, or realities in a workable and realistic manner?

One which I cling to is magic. True magic which may seem lost but exists to believers; not that 'hocus-pocus' magic magic we see on TV or at shows. magic is explainable within a frame of reality that exists in 'otherness' or 'imagination'. Therefore, it is 'complex' or, to use the mathematical terminology, 'imaginary.' Remember, the square root of -1 is a usable, substantially important number (imaginary yet real) that allows for real numbers to occur. Then Magic is a usable, substantially important thing that allows for reality to occur.

In the same breath, I think of God. Perhaps I say 'God,' but I'm using this word to invoke a greater sense of Divinity which exists for all peoples and religions. All people literally meaning ALL PEOPLE. This Divinity may be the simplest example of scientific fact (as the Earth is round) to the most complex idea (atoms are made of yet even smaller particles we will never see with the naked eye); however it does include Deities of every religious background. Divinity may be consciousness, God, Goddess, Gaia or merely the Sun. Lets allow God to symbolize all these things. God is not provable without doubt; we have not seen God (aside from the Sun for those who believe thus). However, this God is used to explain the existence of many things. Is it not a 'complex' idea which creates a real answer? Then, using mathematical terminology, is it not an 'imaginary' value which sustains reality as we see it? (Don't take me wrong, I believe in the existence of Divinity, God, Goddess, etc., as a fact for all who believe; as I surely believe. I'm just thinking openly and freely.)

But then we must look at reality. Is 'reality' as a word indicative of a substantiated, tangible object? Or is it a complexity to explain the existence of the individual and unique thoughts we have? And if this is the case, can we not add even more complex existences to influence the perception we have over the dominion we are given? Whereby altering what we KNOW is reality to be something different? Ok... Now I'm just imagining a different reality in which I'm not thoroughly convinced is even possible.

Perhaps these thoughts are better had by the enlightened. I certainly don't feel enlightened for thinking about them, that's for sure. But it feels like a truth that I cannot shake. If mathematics is so precise, yet it contains these imaginary/complex numbers in its arsenal, then why is the perceived reality any different? Or is it even any different than the math we so futilely cling to as the foundation for this reality?

Here I go again...

Why do I like Haiku?

I've just come to a realization that I LOVE writing Haiku. I think it's strange, but I've been told by a few people that I am a poet as well. I've never EVER considered myself a poet, but I enjoy writing poetry because it's so free and so VERY symbolic. I love symbolism if you haven't noticed already. Symbolism allows me to shape a piece of art for the reader so s/he can individualize the reading for him/herself. Yes there is my reading of it; but I cannot speak entirely for how an individual interprets it. I love this about writing; more so than any other art form...

But that freedom to create and inspire thinking and depth is why I love poetry as well. Well, why I enjoy writing poetry, because I don't want just one reading of it. I want at least two different readings or interpretations of my poems. I want two different readings of my work in general. Which then brings me to Haiku.

I love Haiku because it forces me to be extremely symbolic. The forced structure and the minimal form stretch my mind into 'thesaurus mode' in order to find the PERFECT fit for the emotion or meaning I'm searching for in one word. And often times that one word has several different interpretations. Then when I'm re-reading what I wrote I see something different. It's fascinating; what I end up accomplishing with Haiku. Thus... I hope you enjoy Haiku too, because I have a feeling it's going to become quite prevalent on my blog.

Critique of Money

Money is truly an amazing thing. Unerringly, it strives to control, though inanimateness is the foundation of its being. Paper, cloth, shell, metal or some other mode by which we assign value is merely creation of imaginary truths to measure a system built on collective assumptions. Is it safe to say the first form of currency was word? Not even written, but oral? Bartering services and goods may have been the primal roots for economy. Perhaps I am wrong about this because every example of early civilization I can think of used some sort of physical currency as their main source for trade. This is not my point though...

Humans are 'meaning making machines,' as I heard from someone a long time ago. We love to have the aspects of our lives have meaning; wherefore we assign emotional triggers to meaningless events or objects or even our own thoughts and actions. Furthermore, we forget we make these meanings and suddenly believe in their existence as fact. This belief is so fundamental and strong that even the simplest thought of its signifier suddenly brings forth the associated output (emotional reaction of created definition). Think about that for a second. And think about your own reaction to the word or symbol of money.

What is money? What does it do? What does it mean? Symbolize? Do you need it? Does it sustain or destroy? Where or when did you learn about money? This is where my thoughts go every time a troublesome time revolves this enigma that we hold substantially vital to our primal existence in contemporary society.

According to a Financial Dictionary, money is defined in 2 ways.

1) a commodity or asset, such as gold, an officially issued currency, coin, or paper note, that can be legally exchanged for something equivalent, such as goods or services.

2) as defined by common law: a medium of exchange authorized or adopted by a domestic or foreign government and includes a monetary unit of account established by an intergovernmental organization or by agreement between two or more nations.

Is this really what money is? I don't think so, because if this where all that money was humanity, as a whole, would not hold it in such high regards. Maybe 'high regards' isn't the proper terminology for it, because not every group of individuals treasure money as the western civilization does (as a whole). Lets restart from the foundation of money; the actual word, stripped of meaning and emotion.

Audibly say 'Money.' In this instance it is nothing more than vibrations evoked from your vocal cords and controlled into a pattern (by throat, mouth, nose, teeth, lips, etc.) into a verbal cue translated as the word 'money.' Write down the word 'Money.' This is simply a collection of symbols representing certain letters in the English/Western/Romantic alphabet: M -- O -- N -- E -- Y. Put together and it spells out 'money.' This is when we get into definitions. Money, as children may view it, is something parents fight over; something needed in order to get the happy things in life; something that is made of many different things. To a child, money is a toy.

Over time, this definition changes drastically. Money becomes absolute; it is the lifeblood of society to our minds. No one in the western civilizations can say that you do not need money in order to live; unless they are crazy or actively attempting to live outside society on the land (in which they may have purchased or someone in their past may have purchased and left to them...). Therefore, seeing money as necessity, it starts to take on different aspects. Money somehow affects our moods, even though it has to physical manifestation of action without our influence. A lot of people, if not most people, give money power. They think money makes them happy, even through methods of purchasing what will cause happiness (a video game, a book, a television, a car, a bed, a house, food, etc.). Thus money is attributed with the power of emotion. If one doesn't have enough money they worry, get depressed, stress out, become a different attitude of character. And why does this happen? Because we allow it to; because we made the meaning of money to have such power over ourselves. We allowed money to have power.

Can something without mind, spirit, or voice actually have power over an entire society? I suppose it can, because that's what has happened to a vast majority of people. Poverty, if not enlightened, is seen as a degradation of the human spirit; and how often is poverty enlightened enough to have the stricken individual happy with their life? When we look to the future, a majority of western minds hope to have loads of money in order to escape the life they live in; something they think is impossible without money.

MONEY MONEY MONEY!!!

I allow it to drive me crazy, to make me angry, to supply my comfort, to build the foundation of my dreams. I really wish I wouldn't, but I feel programmed to think of money as the lifeblood of society, of my world. If I could live without money, I might be happier.

But that's just another meaning I've made up in order to create yet another dream full of emotions that have meanings created by myself. It's a vicious circle that I despise because I allow myself to and I want to. Oh well...

The Yelling Room

1. Catharsis

Metropolis bearing down on the mind, concealing the sun from hope and still demanding the onslaught of hustling speed. There's no rest, no patience, no friends, no peace. The eyes of passersby are cold and distant, feeling little of the humidity pressing its hot fingers across the brow, uncaring of shoulders pressing in rushes to push others away. Honking, tires rushing down the corridors, weaving, cutting, pushing, wrecking; the speed of life ticking in bubbles wrapped tight. The only relief from silence comes in determined groupings; stiletto princesses and trench coat kings planted stoically on subways talking idly in worlds unfazed by the infestation of the inhuman. Separation from the natural flashes by so quickly...

There's no release for the Boulderite cheerfully walking between the robots. Love is controlled, removed from the mind, forced to submit to darkened tunnels and staggering heights. And all she wants to do is yell; at the cars, at the stores, at the people, at the darkness, at the sky, the purses, the shoes, the walls, windows, birds, rain... Simply to release. Public and private lost between thin walls among the masses. A shout here reverberates to neighbors who shout back... No release when its thrown back through protection. She must submit to New York, or perish as her self in the myriads of loss.

2. A Return Home

She rebels, as only befits her heritage; the influence of Boulder permeating even her dress. Her affiliation with the sun pulling her eyes beyond the peaks. Yearning for the cleansing light of stars, of smiles. The need for trees, however anemic, destroys the fantasy of materialism running amok with the soul. Earth subjected to concrete where once salvation was sought. The heart of music, art, literature overcome by money, steel, and fumes.

Remembering takes her away, for however short a time, to soul mates sharing ideas in word, hugs pressed under trees on the mall, where buildings are low and miles are seen. The eye goes further than the body could; brings enlightenment without satisfying the needs and desires of nerves. Mountains transform magnificently to burden-less symbols of relaxation; the hotel to stress and noise. Mother's nagging more reminiscent of happiness than disheartened puberty, of slow revolutions than of disciplinary circumstances. Such innocent wanderings only increase the futility of existing in conflicting universes, and the swell of discomfort rises from the pits of her inner self. Vision eventually returns to wisps of clouds fuming from gutters and clatter of grates under the pressure of heels and the incessant barrage of "DVD Movie DVD Movie Prada Handbag PradaHandbagPrada..."

3. Escape

Only one resolution commits thought to action. One room, in a myriad of locations, closed so completely to the city. Silent in a way the gods can treasure in their minds, alone in ways fish know in the deepest seas, calm like the Buddhist monastery. Away from the world, shut tight to the stresses of life that only a center could provide. Within could be a couch and chair, at juxtaposed angles and in Zen design, calming candles and serene melodies, accented by a vase at the far corner underneath a picturesque sunset of a forest. Painted walls fading from a vibrant blue to comforting green with glints of gold near the ceiling give the attendant a peaceful atmosphere to utilize.

Regardless of the space, its purpose is release and relaxation in a city of impure adrenaline. Relaxing in the purest of ways: without expectations. In theory yelling is its purpose; screaming the profane past closed lips and into a soothing, cleansing, fair and (no longer) quiet place. Release, relaxation, retardation. Time allowed to pass however one likes, preferably slowly. And once this expression is achieved, the individual can return to the world a calmer person. The boulderite can have her day where expression is not hidden beneath suits and skirts, the eyes no longer having to bear witness to nothing but ahead lest the excitement sneaks back up into her chest. A simple room for the New Yorker's hidden emotions.

4. Think...

Is Speech Based on Visibility?

Sitting at a coffee shop, as I oft do, I overheard a girl say, and I quote, "Call me back to see where I am slash what I'm doing."

My immediate thought was to visualize what she was saying, because slash is a verb and made absolutely no sense where it sat in that sentence... It makes sense in the context of reading: "Call me back to see where I am/what I'm doing." Though there are better ways to write this phrase, transcribing verbal queues allows the imperfect compound sentence. (Am I even diagnosing the sentence structure properly?) After rearranging the sentence, I couldn't help wondering "Why wouldn't you just say 'or'?" There were other thoughts placed after that, but insulting the girl wouldn't be beneficial here.

As children, we don't learn to talk based on what we see. Well, I take that back: our visual queues (signifiers) do stimulate words (signifieds, which then turn into signifiers queuing the objects [signifieds])(Oh the vicious circle) once they are learned. But these visuals aren't written words at first. Writing comes later, when understanding of language has already been obtained. Malleability is taught to us throughout our education, especially with English given the many alternate meanings of words: there, their, and they're as an instance.

With this flexibility, we apparently change the language altogether? Which we are, as a culture. We invent words in English (ex: Muggle), assign it meaning, add it to our language, assert it in our dictionaries, and claim it to be real. Now we have a new one, one that I must admit I might have used under certain circumstances in my speech. But...I don't think it deserves commonplace in out tongue.

'Slash' ~ symbolizing 'or' in context of juxtaposed opinions, events, actions, objects, etc. ex: What did they say slash do slash mean?

Would be an odd addition to the definition we recognize for 'slash' as a verb.

Alright...I just looked it up. The bastards:

Printing A virgule:
a short oblique stroke (/) between two words indicating that whichever is appropriate may be chosen to complete the sense of the text in which they occur: The defendant and/or his/her attorney must appear in court. (Courtesy of Dictionary.com)

However, this does not mean it is a part of verbal language. It would have been more accurate for the girl to say "Call me back to see where I am virgule what I'm doing."

Ok...that just sounds funny...