Some things just aren't worth thinking about and it's taken me a while to figure that out.
I spend ... waste ... hours of my life worrying about things that no one else even blinks an eye at. And as selfish as it may seem to just cut certain things out of my life, I feel like it needs to be done.
I'm not certain if I'm just putting up a wall... or legitimately refusing to care about certain issues... but there are a few things that I'm brushing off of my shoulder and not looking back toward.
The thing that sucks the most (for you anyway) is that I'm not telling you what these things are - so you just get to use your pretty little imaginations.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Life is moving on...and I don't think I like it.
I'm only 21, but sometimes I feel much older. The majority of my friends are engaged, married and/or have children.
When I go through their photos I see how happy they are... and I am happy for them! I truly am... but it causes me to reflect a little on myself.
If they are 21 years old with 2 kids... am I doing something wrong? I mean, almost all of my friends didn't make it passed 20 years old without getting engaged/married.
Someone told me that I'm 2 million in Mormon years. That sucks.
On one note, I'm glad I'm not a mom right now. I've got school and goals to finish and a child would hinder a lot of that. I definitely want kids in the future, but I feel pressure to "get on with it" - to get married, to get babies...
Marriage is something that I do feel ready for though. Just putting that out there. I feel like if I keep refusing to acknowledge my desire to be married that it will just go away. I mean... I'm really excited for that day... I just wish I knew when it would be.
----
I'm sure glad no one reads this.
When I go through their photos I see how happy they are... and I am happy for them! I truly am... but it causes me to reflect a little on myself.
If they are 21 years old with 2 kids... am I doing something wrong? I mean, almost all of my friends didn't make it passed 20 years old without getting engaged/married.
Someone told me that I'm 2 million in Mormon years. That sucks.
On one note, I'm glad I'm not a mom right now. I've got school and goals to finish and a child would hinder a lot of that. I definitely want kids in the future, but I feel pressure to "get on with it" - to get married, to get babies...
Marriage is something that I do feel ready for though. Just putting that out there. I feel like if I keep refusing to acknowledge my desire to be married that it will just go away. I mean... I'm really excited for that day... I just wish I knew when it would be.
----
I'm sure glad no one reads this.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
A Lack of Color
So I have to write a short story for my ENGL 3001 class.... and I'm having a hard time finding anything to inspire me. I don't have any creative juices left. College life has sucked all the joys of writing out of me. I can't make stories up anymore....
So I have an idea, but I dunno how to execute it and I don't even know if it will work.
I need some help.
Inspiration fairy, please leave me a gift under my pillow (or laptop) tonight.
So I have an idea, but I dunno how to execute it and I don't even know if it will work.
I need some help.
Inspiration fairy, please leave me a gift under my pillow (or laptop) tonight.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Teenage Drama
I wrote this when I was like...15. It's not really meant to make much sense unless you know the exact situation I'm talking about. I found it and thought I'd put it in here, just in case I ever want to look at it again!
--------
I use to try hard to hold back the tears
I've kept them suppressed for so many years
You walked out the door, and we don't know why
I guess this time it's okay to cry.
You took our hearts and walked away.
I don't want to miss you today.
Can you come back?
I swear I'll forgive you
Just come home.
We don't want to miss you.
You're not the same person we used to know
You used to love us, but now you don't
I remember days when you used to care.
I have a fear I'll be just like you
Emotionally lost and no clue what to do
Eventually "mine" will write about me
wishing for me to be who I used to be
- And maybe it will save me.
--------
I use to try hard to hold back the tears
I've kept them suppressed for so many years
You walked out the door, and we don't know why
I guess this time it's okay to cry.
You took our hearts and walked away.
I don't want to miss you today.
Can you come back?
I swear I'll forgive you
Just come home.
We don't want to miss you.
You're not the same person we used to know
You used to love us, but now you don't
I remember days when you used to care.
I have a fear I'll be just like you
Emotionally lost and no clue what to do
Eventually "mine" will write about me
wishing for me to be who I used to be
- And maybe it will save me.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Poetry by Nikki Hansen
Time:
I have held the hands of time
and crushed them in my own
The ruthless, ever moving, ever ticking hands
that remind us of each passing second
Each passing breath or thought being wasted
I've snapped time's little hands in half
then buried time alive
But all my stress and effort failed
because time has yet to die.
------
The Mirror
Forget their words, Love
Everyone is lying through their teeth to you
Pick up the pieces of yourself
that you've left scattered on the floor
all of those empty promises and broken words
They'll come together to form a song that
you've been singing all your life.
We've all seen bad days
but somehow you've gotten more than most
There are days where the rain beats down
and you've been caught with no umbrella
but the sun always breaks through
when you smile.
Can I protect you? Somehow I don't think
anybody can...though we all want to.
Can I love you?
Will you let me if I try?
Or does this scare you? Is that the reason
Why that fear is in your eyes?
Forget their looks, Love
No matter what you do, they'll judge you anyway
Put that face on, the on you keep masked
behind the rest.
All of those angry stares and hollow eyes
they have no clue of what you've seen
I bet they'd cry to be where you have been.
Ignore the looks, Love.
I have held the hands of time
and crushed them in my own
The ruthless, ever moving, ever ticking hands
that remind us of each passing second
Each passing breath or thought being wasted
I've snapped time's little hands in half
then buried time alive
But all my stress and effort failed
because time has yet to die.
------
The Mirror
Forget their words, Love
Everyone is lying through their teeth to you
Pick up the pieces of yourself
that you've left scattered on the floor
all of those empty promises and broken words
They'll come together to form a song that
you've been singing all your life.
We've all seen bad days
but somehow you've gotten more than most
There are days where the rain beats down
and you've been caught with no umbrella
but the sun always breaks through
when you smile.
Can I protect you? Somehow I don't think
anybody can...though we all want to.
Can I love you?
Will you let me if I try?
Or does this scare you? Is that the reason
Why that fear is in your eyes?
Forget their looks, Love
No matter what you do, they'll judge you anyway
Put that face on, the on you keep masked
behind the rest.
All of those angry stares and hollow eyes
they have no clue of what you've seen
I bet they'd cry to be where you have been.
Ignore the looks, Love.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Alone, Poe
Alone
Edgar Allen Poe
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 --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --
Edgar Allen Poe
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 --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --
1.) Student teach (x)
2.) SAM (Spanish HW) (x)
3.) Cuaderno (x)
4.) Buy work clothes (x)
5.) Go to job training ___
6.) Find a new place to live ___
7.) Find a good home for Bear ___
8.) Write paper for Text Analysis ___
9.) Group project for Am. Lit ___
10.) Read Middlesex and Their Eyes Were Watching God this week ___
11.) Pay Rent (x)
12.) Pay Car insurance (x)
13.) Pay utilities (x)
14.) Clean apartment (again and again and again) ___
2.) SAM (Spanish HW) (x)
3.) Cuaderno (x)
4.) Buy work clothes (x)
5.) Go to job training ___
6.) Find a new place to live ___
7.) Find a good home for Bear ___
8.) Write paper for Text Analysis ___
9.) Group project for Am. Lit ___
10.) Read Middlesex and Their Eyes Were Watching God this week ___
11.) Pay Rent (x)
12.) Pay Car insurance (x)
13.) Pay utilities (x)
14.) Clean apartment (again and again and again) ___
Friday, October 30, 2009
If I only had a .... hmm.
What's the point in writing in these unless you want everyone to see it - right?
Not really. I mean... on some level I hope that if you come across this that you see something and take it to heart or sketch it into your memory.
On another level, I don't care. I don't write this for "you" (you, the reader). I write this for me. It's just waaaay faster to type than to write with a pen in a journal. Plus, people always try to sneak into your journals to find out your secrets. Why bother keeping secrets. I'll air my dirty/clean/stupid/angry/funny/political/religious/academic/happy/sad laundry right here... no need to sneak around!
Anyway - I feel like I'm under a lot of pressure. Maybe I am. Maybe... maybe I need to make a list and cross things off.
1.) Student teach (x)
2.) SAM (Spanish HW) (x)
3.) Cuaderno (x)
4.) Buy work clothes ___
5.) Go to job training ___
6.) Find a new place to live ___
7.) Find a good home for Bear ___
8.) Write paper for Text Analysis ___
9.) Group project for Am. Lit ___
10.) Read Middlesex and Their Eyes Were Watching God this week ___
11.) Pay Rent ___
12.) Pay Car insurance ___
13.) Pay utilities ___
14.) Clean apartment (again and again and again) ___
So far =/ I am failing. I feel like everything is falling apart. It's like... I have this horrible weight on my chest. I've never had this feeling before. I've been stressed before - just like everyone else - but never to this magnitude. It's like I can't breathe. It feels like as soon as one thing falls off the list, 3 more things appear.
I also feel like I can't say that out loud. For some reason people don't like things just "to be." It's like...being stressed out or worried is a huge offense to people. It's one of those things that eeeeeveryone else is allowed to do - aside from YOU that is.
If you're still reading this... I'm shocked. No one really gives a damn about what I say. Either you feel the same way, or you are just trying to find a reason to hate me. If you're looking for a reason to hate me... go stab yourself in the neck. Thanks.
---- I have way too much on my mind tonight.
I'm thinking about a lot. I'm thinking about the snot nosed brats I student teach. The lack of discipline (and teaching) at the school I am placed at. I only really started today though - so I guess I should give it a little longer.
I dunno.... you wanna know why the US youth are so stupid? Just go sit in a class at some of these alternative schools.
Also.... I really really really really really really really hate arguing with liberals. I feel like I get called a racist every day by some new idiot. I don't hate people because of the color of their skin. I just hate all people - period.
I dunno.... If you are actually reading this, maybe you understand. Maybe your brain is like mine - moving from topic to topic, worry to worry. I worry a lot. A LOT.
I hate on myself a little every day. I have to tell myself about all the things that are wrong with me. It's like I've been conditioned to shun anything positive about myself. I feel like a lot of the people I've met want to blame me for things, or use me. I'm not of any real value. Not usually anyway.
I feel like in order to be worth anything I need to completely forget me, myself, my ideas... and I just need to serve serve serve. To comply. To agree. I cannot have an opinion of my own or I'm wrong. I'm broken. I'm ignorant. I cannot disagree with others because then I'm a troublemaker. I cannot say things funny because people might take offense. I cannot forget to say please, thank you or excuse me or I'm rude. Inconsiderate. A free loader. I cannot speak up when I am offended or concerned because then I am out of line. I cannot express a concern in public because then I am an attention whore. I cannot disagree with authority because then I am ungrateful.
I carry these stupid things around with me constantly - and then I wonder why things are so one sided? How come I CANT but everyone else CAN? Why is it that when I vocalize something I have to be afraid? Is everyone else afraid? Are they just good at hiding it? Or do they just not care? I don't know, but I spend my whole life trying to tip toe around things and be pleasant and when I accidentally fail - I take it really really hard.
I beat myself up pretty bad...but then again, that's my own fault.
However, on some level I know that these things aren't worth worrying about. I know that I'm okay. I'm not rude. I'm not a bitch. I know. I know. I know. I know. People reassure me that I'm (insert fantastic adjective here) all the time. It's just .... well, hearing, knowing, understanding and believing are all relatively different.
You think I'm a freak now.
It's ok. I very well may be.
But...tomorrow, I'm smart. Tomorrow I'm pretty. Tomorrow, I'm enough. Maybe it'll stick for a while. :)
Not really. I mean... on some level I hope that if you come across this that you see something and take it to heart or sketch it into your memory.
On another level, I don't care. I don't write this for "you" (you, the reader). I write this for me. It's just waaaay faster to type than to write with a pen in a journal. Plus, people always try to sneak into your journals to find out your secrets. Why bother keeping secrets. I'll air my dirty/clean/stupid/angry/funny/political/religious/academic/happy/sad laundry right here... no need to sneak around!
Anyway - I feel like I'm under a lot of pressure. Maybe I am. Maybe... maybe I need to make a list and cross things off.
1.) Student teach (x)
2.) SAM (Spanish HW) (x)
3.) Cuaderno (x)
4.) Buy work clothes ___
5.) Go to job training ___
6.) Find a new place to live ___
7.) Find a good home for Bear ___
8.) Write paper for Text Analysis ___
9.) Group project for Am. Lit ___
10.) Read Middlesex and Their Eyes Were Watching God this week ___
11.) Pay Rent ___
12.) Pay Car insurance ___
13.) Pay utilities ___
14.) Clean apartment (again and again and again) ___
So far =/ I am failing. I feel like everything is falling apart. It's like... I have this horrible weight on my chest. I've never had this feeling before. I've been stressed before - just like everyone else - but never to this magnitude. It's like I can't breathe. It feels like as soon as one thing falls off the list, 3 more things appear.
I also feel like I can't say that out loud. For some reason people don't like things just "to be." It's like...being stressed out or worried is a huge offense to people. It's one of those things that eeeeeveryone else is allowed to do - aside from YOU that is.
If you're still reading this... I'm shocked. No one really gives a damn about what I say. Either you feel the same way, or you are just trying to find a reason to hate me. If you're looking for a reason to hate me... go stab yourself in the neck. Thanks.
---- I have way too much on my mind tonight.
I'm thinking about a lot. I'm thinking about the snot nosed brats I student teach. The lack of discipline (and teaching) at the school I am placed at. I only really started today though - so I guess I should give it a little longer.
I dunno.... you wanna know why the US youth are so stupid? Just go sit in a class at some of these alternative schools.
Also.... I really really really really really really really hate arguing with liberals. I feel like I get called a racist every day by some new idiot. I don't hate people because of the color of their skin. I just hate all people - period.
I dunno.... If you are actually reading this, maybe you understand. Maybe your brain is like mine - moving from topic to topic, worry to worry. I worry a lot. A LOT.
I hate on myself a little every day. I have to tell myself about all the things that are wrong with me. It's like I've been conditioned to shun anything positive about myself. I feel like a lot of the people I've met want to blame me for things, or use me. I'm not of any real value. Not usually anyway.
I feel like in order to be worth anything I need to completely forget me, myself, my ideas... and I just need to serve serve serve. To comply. To agree. I cannot have an opinion of my own or I'm wrong. I'm broken. I'm ignorant. I cannot disagree with others because then I'm a troublemaker. I cannot say things funny because people might take offense. I cannot forget to say please, thank you or excuse me or I'm rude. Inconsiderate. A free loader. I cannot speak up when I am offended or concerned because then I am out of line. I cannot express a concern in public because then I am an attention whore. I cannot disagree with authority because then I am ungrateful.
I carry these stupid things around with me constantly - and then I wonder why things are so one sided? How come I CANT but everyone else CAN? Why is it that when I vocalize something I have to be afraid? Is everyone else afraid? Are they just good at hiding it? Or do they just not care? I don't know, but I spend my whole life trying to tip toe around things and be pleasant and when I accidentally fail - I take it really really hard.
I beat myself up pretty bad...but then again, that's my own fault.
However, on some level I know that these things aren't worth worrying about. I know that I'm okay. I'm not rude. I'm not a bitch. I know. I know. I know. I know. People reassure me that I'm (insert fantastic adjective here) all the time. It's just .... well, hearing, knowing, understanding and believing are all relatively different.
You think I'm a freak now.
It's ok. I very well may be.
But...tomorrow, I'm smart. Tomorrow I'm pretty. Tomorrow, I'm enough. Maybe it'll stick for a while. :)
Honey and the Moon
Don't know why I'm still afraid
If you weren't real I would make you up
now
I wish that I could follow through
I know that your love is true
and deep
as the sea
but right now
everything you want is wrong,
and right now
all your dreams are waking up,
and right now
I wish I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom,
where no one lives.
Remember when we first met
and everything was still a bet
in love's game
you would call; I'd call you back
and then I'd leave
a message
on your answering
machine
But right now
everything is turning blue,
and right now
the sun is trying to kill the moon,
and right now
I wish I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom,
where no one lives
Freedom
run away tonight
freedom, freedom
run away
run away tonight
We're made out of blood and rust
looking for someone to trust
without
a fight
I think that you came too soon
you're the honey and the moon
that lights
up my night
But right now
everything you want is wrong,
and right now
all your dreams are waking up,
and right now
I wish that I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom
where no one lives
freedom
run away tonight
freedom freedom
run away
run away tonight
we got too much time to kill
like pigeons on my windowsill
we hang around
ever since I've been with you
you hold me up
all the time I'm falling down
But right now
everything is turning blue,
and right now
the sun is trying to kill the moon,
and right now
i wish i could follow you
to the shores
of freedom
where no one lives
freedom
run away tonight
freedom freedom
run away
run away tonight
If you weren't real I would make you up
now
I wish that I could follow through
I know that your love is true
and deep
as the sea
but right now
everything you want is wrong,
and right now
all your dreams are waking up,
and right now
I wish I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom,
where no one lives.
Remember when we first met
and everything was still a bet
in love's game
you would call; I'd call you back
and then I'd leave
a message
on your answering
machine
But right now
everything is turning blue,
and right now
the sun is trying to kill the moon,
and right now
I wish I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom,
where no one lives
Freedom
run away tonight
freedom, freedom
run away
run away tonight
We're made out of blood and rust
looking for someone to trust
without
a fight
I think that you came too soon
you're the honey and the moon
that lights
up my night
But right now
everything you want is wrong,
and right now
all your dreams are waking up,
and right now
I wish that I could follow you
to the shores
of freedom
where no one lives
freedom
run away tonight
freedom freedom
run away
run away tonight
we got too much time to kill
like pigeons on my windowsill
we hang around
ever since I've been with you
you hold me up
all the time I'm falling down
But right now
everything is turning blue,
and right now
the sun is trying to kill the moon,
and right now
i wish i could follow you
to the shores
of freedom
where no one lives
freedom
run away tonight
freedom freedom
run away
run away tonight
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Another Paper!
ATTN: I am Nikki Hansen. This is MY blog. This is MY work. I post these AFTER I turn them in! Thanks :)
Nikki Hansen
Dr. Dan
10.12.09
ENGL 3001w.004
Nikki.m.hansen@gmail.com
“The Good Doctor”: The Fight between Carnival and Lent
“The Good Doctor” by Adam Haslett is similar in structure to a Russian nesting doll; there’s always something more. As a Russian nesting doll is taken apart, its pieces become smaller and smaller, yet the artistic details remain bold and significant. As “The Good Doctor” unfolds, multiple stories are uncovered until we are introduced to its final and seemingly least important piece: a painting titled The Fight between Carnival and Lent. This painting depicts a town square filled with “all manner of people” busying themselves with various activities from eating to praying, to vulgarity, resulting in a chaos that cannot be organized or undone. This painting is not only a symbol of the life of Mrs. Buckholdt, who combats poverty, illness, addiction and trauma, it also acts as a symbol of the story itself: bits and pieces of chaos that cannot be controlled.
The use of The Fight between Carnival and Lent in the story can first be compared to the lives of the characters within “The Good Doctor.” Doctor Frank Briggs, for example, is trying to solve and organize his own disorderly life: he has lost funding for his job, he hates his location, he is combating homesickness, and he has a hangover. At one moment in the story Doctor Briggs has an epiphany, he realizes why "he'd become a doctor: to organize his involuntary proximity to human pain." This “human pain” does not only emanate from his patients; to some length he is trying to organize his involuntary proximity to his own pain. Unfortunately, the only way he knows how to “treat” himself is by treating others. If he cannot diagnose, organize and treat Mrs. Buckholdt’s pain, then he will not be able to treat his own. At the end of the story Mrs. Buckholdt refuses Doctor Frank Brigg’s offer to help; she turns him down. At this moment, chaos is eminent yet again: “Frank’s stomach tightened, the panic beginning before his mind could form the though: he didn’t want to lose her, he didn’t want the telling to end.” But, for Frank, the stories have ended and this is not something that he can fix or control.
The story of Mrs. Buckholdt’s life is broken down into a tragic sequence of events that seem to come together in The Fight between Carnival and Lent. As she relays her story to Doctor Frank, she refers to the painting several times, reflecting on the way it makes her feel, and how she has changed her view of the painting so that she can like it. This reflects how she is forced to accept her current way of life. She makes the connection that her existence, like the painting, isn’t overtly lush, but she “see[s] how much there is, how much life” and is driven to continue living. At one point Mrs. Buckholdt says, “Brueghel was a moralizer, his paintings full of parables.” Mrs. Buckholdt’s life is included in this painting; her chaotic, tragic story is a parable just the same. And, while Mrs. Buckholdt appreciates what medication does for her on the days she needs them, she also states that she can “manage without them.” When Doctor Briggs pushes his treatment plan for her again, suggesting extensive therapy, Mrs. Buckholdt replies, “ Dr. Briggs… didn’t you hear what I said?” Her refusal of treatment from Doctor Briggs brings her life and the painting together one more time by suggesting that her life, full of tragedies, wonder, questions and heartache, poverty, addiction and trauma all contributing to an outrageously chaotic life cannot be undone or fixed by pills and talking, just as The Fight between Carnival and Lent, a painting full of the chaos of every day people living their lives, cannot be undone after it has already happened.
“The Good Doctor” is not a story about a good doctor at all. It is a story about how life is not fixed or controllable and how nothing can change the events that construct ones existence. It is a story, in a story, in a story, a parable in a parable that is hidden in a non-impressive, but nonetheless realistic painting. The Fight between Carnival and Lent encompasses all human life, from peasant to priest and from doctors to depressed mothers. While Doctor Briggs’ may not be aware, his life correlates to The Fight between Carnival and Lent in that he cannot undo the events in his life. He cannot bring funding to his program. He cannot leave desolate Nebraska. He cannot take back the phone call to his ex girlfriend. On the other hand, Mrs. Buckholdt is fully aware of her situation and is just trying to do the best she can on a day-to-day basis. Both of these characters are prime examples of how the chaos of everyday life cannot be re-written, no matter what you attempt. Together, these characters and this painting show us that these bits and pieces of chaos are the things are real and that as agonizing as living can be, there is no way to escape the things that have already been done.
Nikki Hansen
Dr. Dan
10.12.09
ENGL 3001w.004
Nikki.m.hansen@gmail.com
“The Good Doctor”: The Fight between Carnival and Lent
“The Good Doctor” by Adam Haslett is similar in structure to a Russian nesting doll; there’s always something more. As a Russian nesting doll is taken apart, its pieces become smaller and smaller, yet the artistic details remain bold and significant. As “The Good Doctor” unfolds, multiple stories are uncovered until we are introduced to its final and seemingly least important piece: a painting titled The Fight between Carnival and Lent. This painting depicts a town square filled with “all manner of people” busying themselves with various activities from eating to praying, to vulgarity, resulting in a chaos that cannot be organized or undone. This painting is not only a symbol of the life of Mrs. Buckholdt, who combats poverty, illness, addiction and trauma, it also acts as a symbol of the story itself: bits and pieces of chaos that cannot be controlled.
The use of The Fight between Carnival and Lent in the story can first be compared to the lives of the characters within “The Good Doctor.” Doctor Frank Briggs, for example, is trying to solve and organize his own disorderly life: he has lost funding for his job, he hates his location, he is combating homesickness, and he has a hangover. At one moment in the story Doctor Briggs has an epiphany, he realizes why "he'd become a doctor: to organize his involuntary proximity to human pain." This “human pain” does not only emanate from his patients; to some length he is trying to organize his involuntary proximity to his own pain. Unfortunately, the only way he knows how to “treat” himself is by treating others. If he cannot diagnose, organize and treat Mrs. Buckholdt’s pain, then he will not be able to treat his own. At the end of the story Mrs. Buckholdt refuses Doctor Frank Brigg’s offer to help; she turns him down. At this moment, chaos is eminent yet again: “Frank’s stomach tightened, the panic beginning before his mind could form the though: he didn’t want to lose her, he didn’t want the telling to end.” But, for Frank, the stories have ended and this is not something that he can fix or control.
The story of Mrs. Buckholdt’s life is broken down into a tragic sequence of events that seem to come together in The Fight between Carnival and Lent. As she relays her story to Doctor Frank, she refers to the painting several times, reflecting on the way it makes her feel, and how she has changed her view of the painting so that she can like it. This reflects how she is forced to accept her current way of life. She makes the connection that her existence, like the painting, isn’t overtly lush, but she “see[s] how much there is, how much life” and is driven to continue living. At one point Mrs. Buckholdt says, “Brueghel was a moralizer, his paintings full of parables.” Mrs. Buckholdt’s life is included in this painting; her chaotic, tragic story is a parable just the same. And, while Mrs. Buckholdt appreciates what medication does for her on the days she needs them, she also states that she can “manage without them.” When Doctor Briggs pushes his treatment plan for her again, suggesting extensive therapy, Mrs. Buckholdt replies, “ Dr. Briggs… didn’t you hear what I said?” Her refusal of treatment from Doctor Briggs brings her life and the painting together one more time by suggesting that her life, full of tragedies, wonder, questions and heartache, poverty, addiction and trauma all contributing to an outrageously chaotic life cannot be undone or fixed by pills and talking, just as The Fight between Carnival and Lent, a painting full of the chaos of every day people living their lives, cannot be undone after it has already happened.
“The Good Doctor” is not a story about a good doctor at all. It is a story about how life is not fixed or controllable and how nothing can change the events that construct ones existence. It is a story, in a story, in a story, a parable in a parable that is hidden in a non-impressive, but nonetheless realistic painting. The Fight between Carnival and Lent encompasses all human life, from peasant to priest and from doctors to depressed mothers. While Doctor Briggs’ may not be aware, his life correlates to The Fight between Carnival and Lent in that he cannot undo the events in his life. He cannot bring funding to his program. He cannot leave desolate Nebraska. He cannot take back the phone call to his ex girlfriend. On the other hand, Mrs. Buckholdt is fully aware of her situation and is just trying to do the best she can on a day-to-day basis. Both of these characters are prime examples of how the chaos of everyday life cannot be re-written, no matter what you attempt. Together, these characters and this painting show us that these bits and pieces of chaos are the things are real and that as agonizing as living can be, there is no way to escape the things that have already been done.
We all have secrets. At some point in every day we are force to stop and look inside ourselves and find a way to lock in the monsters, the dark passengers, the demons, the secrets, the things we fear. We put on masks and pretend that these shadows don't exist. Of course, when the day ends and we are left in silence once again, they creep up on us and we are forced to deal with these secrets.
My demons, my shadow, my dark passengers - they follow me. I fight them constantly. They whisper their word daggers into my soul and I can only pray that they pass straight through me instead of sticking around. Under my mask I have stuffed anxiety, fear, guilt, disgust, distrust and my self esteem. Many times, I have determined the outcome of a situation before it has even happened. I assume what YOU are thinking, and I assume what your motives are.
At this point your probably thinking "You are a sociopathic serial killer."
Wrong.
I just got the "freaky" end of the "life stick."
So how do we function?
Do we let the multiple fears speak for us? Do we silence our facades and free the shadows and the monsters?
-------
My shadows and my fears
gathering on the floor
fighting amongst themselves.
Please, kill each other this time.
Things will finally be quiet.
My demons, my shadow, my dark passengers - they follow me. I fight them constantly. They whisper their word daggers into my soul and I can only pray that they pass straight through me instead of sticking around. Under my mask I have stuffed anxiety, fear, guilt, disgust, distrust and my self esteem. Many times, I have determined the outcome of a situation before it has even happened. I assume what YOU are thinking, and I assume what your motives are.
At this point your probably thinking "You are a sociopathic serial killer."
Wrong.
I just got the "freaky" end of the "life stick."
So how do we function?
Do we let the multiple fears speak for us? Do we silence our facades and free the shadows and the monsters?
-------
My shadows and my fears
gathering on the floor
fighting amongst themselves.
Please, kill each other this time.
Things will finally be quiet.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
My idea of Bartleby
Just to get the record straight, I am Nikki Hansen. This is MY work. So, Nick Hengen :) If you come across this page please know that I posted this after I turned my paper in today (10.1.09)
Conformity and the Lack Thereof in Bartleby, The Scrivener
ENGL 3006
In Bartleby, the Scrivener, Melville uses nicknames to signify the importance of conforming to a role, which reflects the priorities of society in the nineteenth century America. However, he also uses nicknames to illustrate the lack of individuality in a corporate world and uses Bartleby, who only has half a nickname, as a sign of rebellion against a conformist population.
Nicknames are used in many of the literatures written in the nineteenth century as a way of showing a person’s conformity to society, or lack thereof. For example, in Henry James’ Daisy Miller, Daisy refuses to go by her true name: Annie (James, 7), while also refusing to conform to the nature of society in Europe. In other literature, such as Pudd’nhead Wilson by Mark Twain, which is overflowing with the idea of conforming to race and name roles, Tom and Chambers realize that the lives they have been living, given to them mainly through their names, are false and they are forced to face consequences because of it; even Pudd’nhead resists his nickname and proves himself to be a sharp man. In Bartleby, nicknames are given to express the lack of individuality in a corporate world, and are used to emphasize the mundane tasks that define these human beings.
The three main nicknamed characters in the story are Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut. Ginger Nut is named because he buys and delivers ginger nut cakes to the office. Turkey is named because of his, “red and radiant countenance (20)” after he consumes large amounts of alcohol. While he is functional in the morning, his alcohol consumption renders him useless in the afternoon. Nippers is named for his “nervous testiness and irritability (21)” caused by his inability to fix his dissatisfaction with his role in the workplace. This uneasiness keeps him occupied for most of the morning, causing him to grind his teeth and continuously rearrange his desk (21). Nippers and Turkey still have jobs solely because they compliment each other in the workplace; one can take over where the other leaves off. Nothing is spoken of their personal lives or families, reducing them to the only signifier they have: their “names”. This is also the case of the lawyer. His namelessness represents how impersonal you become as you climb the corporate ladder and, more or less, start identifying yourself by the types of people you hire: “The nature of my avocations for the last thirty years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with what would seem an interesting…set of men…scriveners (18).” By doing this, Melville strips them of all individuality, reducing them to nothing more than their trivial duties in a corporate world.
Bartleby is different in both the category of nicknames and conformity. Bartleby can only be given half of a nickname (the scrivener) because we already know half of his real name (Bartleby). Perhaps this is the reason why he is able to rebel against the conformist nature of society, even though it results in his death. Although he is hired to be the calming mediator between Turkey and Nippers, he eventually takes his title as scrivener to the extreme; he becomes his name, just as society expects him too. However, Bartleby finds a way to break away from the idea of conformity through the use of a simple phrase: “I would prefer not to (25).” Because Bartleby hasn’t lost his name entirely, he hasn’t lost his individuality. Eventually, he “prefers” not to work, to eat, to sleep or even to live – and with his death he succeeds in escaping the demands of society. Bartleby is never full bound to his position because he is never fully bound to a nickname, and he dies without conforming to the corporate ways.
Conformity is an underlying theme in most nineteenth century literature, whether it be community, race, age or gender roles. Melville successfully demonstrates how insignificant one can become in a corporate world by reducing the characters to their every day tasks and behaviors. By leaving Bartleby with a name, he leaves him the opportunity to change things and possibly influence others to do the same.
Henry James, . Daisy Miller. Dover. Mineola New York: Dover Publications, 1995. Print.
Paul Negri, Herman Melville, . Bartleby, The Scrivener. Negri. Mineola New York : Dover Publications, 2002. Print.
Conformity and the Lack Thereof in Bartleby, The Scrivener
ENGL 3006
In Bartleby, the Scrivener, Melville uses nicknames to signify the importance of conforming to a role, which reflects the priorities of society in the nineteenth century America. However, he also uses nicknames to illustrate the lack of individuality in a corporate world and uses Bartleby, who only has half a nickname, as a sign of rebellion against a conformist population.
Nicknames are used in many of the literatures written in the nineteenth century as a way of showing a person’s conformity to society, or lack thereof. For example, in Henry James’ Daisy Miller, Daisy refuses to go by her true name: Annie (James, 7), while also refusing to conform to the nature of society in Europe. In other literature, such as Pudd’nhead Wilson by Mark Twain, which is overflowing with the idea of conforming to race and name roles, Tom and Chambers realize that the lives they have been living, given to them mainly through their names, are false and they are forced to face consequences because of it; even Pudd’nhead resists his nickname and proves himself to be a sharp man. In Bartleby, nicknames are given to express the lack of individuality in a corporate world, and are used to emphasize the mundane tasks that define these human beings.
The three main nicknamed characters in the story are Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut. Ginger Nut is named because he buys and delivers ginger nut cakes to the office. Turkey is named because of his, “red and radiant countenance (20)” after he consumes large amounts of alcohol. While he is functional in the morning, his alcohol consumption renders him useless in the afternoon. Nippers is named for his “nervous testiness and irritability (21)” caused by his inability to fix his dissatisfaction with his role in the workplace. This uneasiness keeps him occupied for most of the morning, causing him to grind his teeth and continuously rearrange his desk (21). Nippers and Turkey still have jobs solely because they compliment each other in the workplace; one can take over where the other leaves off. Nothing is spoken of their personal lives or families, reducing them to the only signifier they have: their “names”. This is also the case of the lawyer. His namelessness represents how impersonal you become as you climb the corporate ladder and, more or less, start identifying yourself by the types of people you hire: “The nature of my avocations for the last thirty years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with what would seem an interesting…set of men…scriveners (18).” By doing this, Melville strips them of all individuality, reducing them to nothing more than their trivial duties in a corporate world.
Bartleby is different in both the category of nicknames and conformity. Bartleby can only be given half of a nickname (the scrivener) because we already know half of his real name (Bartleby). Perhaps this is the reason why he is able to rebel against the conformist nature of society, even though it results in his death. Although he is hired to be the calming mediator between Turkey and Nippers, he eventually takes his title as scrivener to the extreme; he becomes his name, just as society expects him too. However, Bartleby finds a way to break away from the idea of conformity through the use of a simple phrase: “I would prefer not to (25).” Because Bartleby hasn’t lost his name entirely, he hasn’t lost his individuality. Eventually, he “prefers” not to work, to eat, to sleep or even to live – and with his death he succeeds in escaping the demands of society. Bartleby is never full bound to his position because he is never fully bound to a nickname, and he dies without conforming to the corporate ways.
Conformity is an underlying theme in most nineteenth century literature, whether it be community, race, age or gender roles. Melville successfully demonstrates how insignificant one can become in a corporate world by reducing the characters to their every day tasks and behaviors. By leaving Bartleby with a name, he leaves him the opportunity to change things and possibly influence others to do the same.
Henry James, . Daisy Miller. Dover. Mineola New York: Dover Publications, 1995. Print.
Paul Negri, Herman Melville, . Bartleby, The Scrivener. Negri. Mineola New York : Dover Publications, 2002. Print.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Animals are friends! Not food!
(This is just the tip of the ice berg) (there is a note at the bottom about meat that i think is okay to eat)
Did you know that if everyone were to cut their meat consumption in half that billions of animals would be spared from suffering?
Factory farms provide almost 100% of the meat that is purchased by the earth's citizens every day. Almost all poultry (about 95%) is factory farmed... and inside of these overpopulated buildings, enormous amounts of waste is accumulated.
From this waste, ammonia is produced, which can cause painful burns to the birds.
Also, to reduce the birds from pecking eachother, the factory-farmers remove 1/2 - 1/3 of their beaks, leaving them virtually unable to eat.
Egg laying hens are typically packed into cages and die of asphyxiation. Most of the time, these birds are left - decomposing - with the living birds. Also, all male chicks that may hatch are seen of "no good use" and are ground alive to be used as fertilizer or feed!!!!
Pigs are castrated and de -tailed without anesthetic. They are taken from their parents at 2 weeks of age (11 weeks earlier than would be in the wild) and fed hormones instead of the vital nutrients they need. In order to kill pigs, they are dunked into tanks of hot water - scalded, and drowned. Some are so frightened or sick prior to their execution that they often pass out in piles of their own vomit and waste. Pigs that are sick and dying are often left to decompose, like the poultry, amongst the living animals.
Even free range animals are not much better of an option. These animals are often purchased from factory-farms - therefore supporting them.
---------------
By choosing not to eat meat, I am choosing not to support these factory farms. I am also going to try and reduce my usage of animal by products as well, because they are factory farmed as well. Of course, being a complete vegan is not always the most reasonable choice. But, by doing what you can (choosing to purchase "fake" butter, or soy milk) you can help!
* I am a complete advocate of people eating the meat that they hunt or farm on their personal family farms, though. Those animals get to live the life they deserve to live, a humane and free and happy life, free of hormones and abuse.
Did you know that if everyone were to cut their meat consumption in half that billions of animals would be spared from suffering?
Factory farms provide almost 100% of the meat that is purchased by the earth's citizens every day. Almost all poultry (about 95%) is factory farmed... and inside of these overpopulated buildings, enormous amounts of waste is accumulated.
From this waste, ammonia is produced, which can cause painful burns to the birds.
Also, to reduce the birds from pecking eachother, the factory-farmers remove 1/2 - 1/3 of their beaks, leaving them virtually unable to eat.
Egg laying hens are typically packed into cages and die of asphyxiation. Most of the time, these birds are left - decomposing - with the living birds. Also, all male chicks that may hatch are seen of "no good use" and are ground alive to be used as fertilizer or feed!!!!
Pigs are castrated and de -tailed without anesthetic. They are taken from their parents at 2 weeks of age (11 weeks earlier than would be in the wild) and fed hormones instead of the vital nutrients they need. In order to kill pigs, they are dunked into tanks of hot water - scalded, and drowned. Some are so frightened or sick prior to their execution that they often pass out in piles of their own vomit and waste. Pigs that are sick and dying are often left to decompose, like the poultry, amongst the living animals.
Even free range animals are not much better of an option. These animals are often purchased from factory-farms - therefore supporting them.
---------------
By choosing not to eat meat, I am choosing not to support these factory farms. I am also going to try and reduce my usage of animal by products as well, because they are factory farmed as well. Of course, being a complete vegan is not always the most reasonable choice. But, by doing what you can (choosing to purchase "fake" butter, or soy milk) you can help!
* I am a complete advocate of people eating the meat that they hunt or farm on their personal family farms, though. Those animals get to live the life they deserve to live, a humane and free and happy life, free of hormones and abuse.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Walt Whitman
Dear Walt Whitman,
You were born in 1819 and yet you find a way to capture the feelings and hearts of people even still. Your way with free verse is beautiful. Your words awaken the sleepiest parts of my heart and soul, and revive me. Your poetry re-instills in me hope, love, a longing to understand the world. You encourage me in a way no one else can. You push me to think and explore, and to wonder and to question.
I love how human you are in your writing.
You suggest one thing, and refute it.
You question the acts of people, animals and plants alike.
You marvel at things.
You experienced things I will only ever dream of.
If you were here, I would be first in line to meet you.
Nikki
You were born in 1819 and yet you find a way to capture the feelings and hearts of people even still. Your way with free verse is beautiful. Your words awaken the sleepiest parts of my heart and soul, and revive me. Your poetry re-instills in me hope, love, a longing to understand the world. You encourage me in a way no one else can. You push me to think and explore, and to wonder and to question.
I love how human you are in your writing.
You suggest one thing, and refute it.
You question the acts of people, animals and plants alike.
You marvel at things.
You experienced things I will only ever dream of.
If you were here, I would be first in line to meet you.
Nikki
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Boundary Waters.
Imagination:
- Pronunciation: \i-ˌma-jə-ˈnā-shən\
- Function: noun
- Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Latin imagination-, imaginatio, from imaginari
- Date: 14th century
1 : the act or power of forming a mental image of something not present to the senses or never before wholly perceived in reality
2 a : creative ability b : ability to confront and deal with a problem : resourcefulness c : the thinking or active mind : interest
3 a : a creation of the mind; especially : an idealized or poetic creation b : fanciful or empty assumption
--------------------------
There are some things that I am very private about. I don't tell people about my feelings about a lot of things, because so many people feel entitled to tell me how I should behave, act, feel, etc about certain things.
Instead, I opt to share things that aren't that close to home. For instance, I am a fan of Chef Ramsay because he is a loud, arrogant, hilarious, vulgar, brilliant chef. He is old! He is English! He is handsome. But God forbid I say that "I love Chef Ramsay." No no no! We live in a world of realism. Stop thinking, nikki! Stop! You MUST snap back into the real world.
NO. No, world. I won't. I will like,love,hate,enjoy,envy anything I want - real, fake, etc.
I mean, what comes next? A lecture on why I shouldn't date a Lutheran?
Shut the eff up. It's none of your business. If you can't keep things light hearted, friendly - or don't know how to communicate, then go away. I don't judge you, so stop judging everyone else.
Friday, August 21, 2009
I bet you didn't know.
I bet you'd never guess that I, some alien behind a Macbook, am a writer. Even more surprisingly, a painter, a singer, a flute and piano player and one helluva cook.
I am sitting here, next to an empty plate. I made the perfect pavlova earlier. The larger part of it looks slightly sad now, sitting cut in half on a cookie sheet.... but it won't have to worry much longer. Soon, it will be gone... joyfully eaten by all who pass by.
Poor poor pavlova.
Pavlova makes me think of my friend. Take away the "a" at the end, and you've got him. He's an interesting fella. I dunno if he'd actually consider me a friend... but my guess is... well, yeah, probably. I don't usually tell people all my secrets the first time I hang out with him - but that's what I did. He knows me better than a lot of people. I wonder if he can remember all the things I said. It's probably better for him to forget. You're probably confused, but that's okay - it's not for you to know.
School is starting up again. Back to school.... back to school :/ ... yuck. To be honest, school and I have never been great friends. I hate it, it hates me. I have no real motivation to impress teachers, and frankly, they don't really want to be impressed. If I write a sucky paper it doesn't mean they aren't getting paid. They don't care. Why should I? Oh ... because it's my future? Hmm. Well, I could always drop out 3/4 of the way through and go to Le Cordon Bleu. I'd love to cook for a living. People don't sigh or moan when you hand them the perfect piece of pineapple upside down cake or serve them a homemade chicken pot pie.
People DO moan and sigh when you say, even with enthusiam, "today we are going to diagram sentences" or when you hand them Lord of the Flies. I am going to be the enemy... and at the end of the day people will find refuge with their hot meals and tasty desserts and curse my name.
I think my younger brother is trying to imitate an elephant seal.
I better go watch.
I am sitting here, next to an empty plate. I made the perfect pavlova earlier. The larger part of it looks slightly sad now, sitting cut in half on a cookie sheet.... but it won't have to worry much longer. Soon, it will be gone... joyfully eaten by all who pass by.
Poor poor pavlova.
Pavlova makes me think of my friend. Take away the "a" at the end, and you've got him. He's an interesting fella. I dunno if he'd actually consider me a friend... but my guess is... well, yeah, probably. I don't usually tell people all my secrets the first time I hang out with him - but that's what I did. He knows me better than a lot of people. I wonder if he can remember all the things I said. It's probably better for him to forget. You're probably confused, but that's okay - it's not for you to know.
School is starting up again. Back to school.... back to school :/ ... yuck. To be honest, school and I have never been great friends. I hate it, it hates me. I have no real motivation to impress teachers, and frankly, they don't really want to be impressed. If I write a sucky paper it doesn't mean they aren't getting paid. They don't care. Why should I? Oh ... because it's my future? Hmm. Well, I could always drop out 3/4 of the way through and go to Le Cordon Bleu. I'd love to cook for a living. People don't sigh or moan when you hand them the perfect piece of pineapple upside down cake or serve them a homemade chicken pot pie.
People DO moan and sigh when you say, even with enthusiam, "today we are going to diagram sentences" or when you hand them Lord of the Flies. I am going to be the enemy... and at the end of the day people will find refuge with their hot meals and tasty desserts and curse my name.
I think my younger brother is trying to imitate an elephant seal.
I better go watch.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Fire in the [ear] hole
if you could hear whats on my mind you'd close your ears and start to cry
my thoughts are loud - they scream at me
they show me things the eyes can't see
If you could hear whats in my head you'd grab a pillow from your bed
you cannot smother sounds of thoughts
they are what they are
they are what's not.
my thoughts are loud - they scream at me
they show me things the eyes can't see
If you could hear whats in my head you'd grab a pillow from your bed
you cannot smother sounds of thoughts
they are what they are
they are what's not.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
21 years and running.
Where dreams don't die
They lay in bed unconscious.
I'll sleep out on the front porch
Where the words slip down through the floor boards.
You wrote a story for me
But when I burned it....
I never felt more human.
They lay in bed unconscious.
I'll sleep out on the front porch
Where the words slip down through the floor boards.
You wrote a story for me
But when I burned it....
I never felt more human.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A paper I wrote on the Grimms!
Nikki Hansen
Ger 3610
The Brothers Grimm: Preservation Through the Compilation of Fairy Tales
Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm wrote and collected their fairytales prior to the unification of Germany. Although they may not have anticipated this effect ahead of time, their folktales acted as a device that preserved the tradition of the German states in the early to mid 1800’s prior to Germany’s unification. They also preserved the innocence and the simplistic nature of the Romantic writers at that time. Within these simple folktales, the Grimm brothers also exposed a hope for their culture: “they were striving to make their own generation, and future generations conscious of the national soul that, so they believed, had lived on subconsciously in the traditional stories of the folk (David 181).” However, while these tales are widely accepted and of key importance to us today, they were not always seen as such, and were misread as children’s stories, when in fact the Grimm brother’s wanted a wide audience and stories with a childlike nature; not stories written primarily for children.
As was stated in Yale French Studies, by Roberts and Powell, the stories written by the Grimm brothers “preserved the tradition of the German states [prior to their unification].” Unbeknownst to many readers of the Grimm fairytales, the Grimm brothers did not actually fabricate all of these stories themselves. Instead, Jacob and Wilhelm invited storytellers into their home, many of whom were aristocrats or middle-class, who told the tales they had heard from their servants. Alongside fairy tales, the Grimm brothers also collected the legends that they heard. Eventually they arranged these in a book named Deutsche Sagen and arranged them chronologically in order of the historical events and how the stories were related to each other, either culturally or through similarity in plot. These tales and legends came from a variety of the different states of Germany, and by bringing them together, the Grimm brothers preserved this tradition of storytelling, and the culture of what would eventually become a unified Germany.
Along with preserving the actual myths, tradition, the brothers also preserved the innocent, simplistic nature of the Romantic writers from about 1818- 1854. Romantic writers circa 1900 were often focused on the past. They emphasized women and children, purity and child-likeness, and “supernatural” or magical happenings, all of which the Grimm fairytales encompassed. More specifically, the Grimm fairytales embodied the popular German Romantic techniques, which included stories involving travel, nature and myths. The works of these writers often associated innocence and simplicity with childhood and family hearth. There was a childlike air and moral straightforwardness, which the Grimm’s admired in fairytales, and attributed to the earlier Germanic literature. Also, these works collected and written by the Grimm brothers preserved the Romantic use of colorfulness and the admiration of unity, whether familial, cultural, or through friendships and being re-united.
Opposite to what the Grimm brothers had hope, the childlike air and moral straightforwardness possessed in these fairytales caused audiences to push these stories towards the nursery. Wilhelm Grimm wrote about how these stories were not just for children, saying, “These stories are pervaded by the same purity that makes children appear so marvelous and blessed to us” essentially meaning that these stories aren’t necessarily for children, so much as they are like children, have “lived” among children and have been adored and passed along by families for generations. However, as the stories continued to be pushed towards children, Jacob and Wilhelm worked towards more specifically suiting their fairytales for children and families, but continued to strive to share their stories and ideals with like-minded people as themselves.
In more modern times, many of these once adored fairytales have been shunned or forgotten or revised, due to their graphic nature. Stories such as the original “Cinderella” included descriptions of birds pecking out the eyes of the wicked step-mother, and women cutting off their toes in order to fit their foot into the glass slipper. While the moral message shouts “bad things happen to bad people,” modern audiences are less worried about the didactics of fairytales, and more concerned with the poor example a story such as “Cinderella” (as originally written) may set for their children.
On the other hand, these stories are still widely accepted and are of incredible importance to us today. While they may be edited for the modern media, the compilation of these stories are still exceptionally significant to us today because they not only preserved a piece of German culture, but they introduced new elements into literature. The Grimm tales introduced a greater standardization of language, the removal of sexuality, the addition of Christian fundamentals, a tendency to change mothers into stepmothers, and in some tales, extreme violence. Unlike many other fairytales, the Grimms tales feature peasant heroes or heroines, and often show royalty and upper classes as deceitful as opposed to the lower classes, making the Grimm brothers much more class-conscious than other fairytale writers. The Grimms' fairy tales also cover a wider spectrum than other authors, including trickster tales and folk tales that include no magic at all, and also holy legends.
Over all, the Grimm fairytales resulted in more than children’s entertainment. Through a simple act of compiling and writing stories, the Grimm brother’s preserved a German tradition, preserved Romantic writing styles used both nationally and internationally at the time, and provided linguistics with a new law which is now used to better understand past and present language changes.
Ger 3610
The Brothers Grimm: Preservation Through the Compilation of Fairy Tales
Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm wrote and collected their fairytales prior to the unification of Germany. Although they may not have anticipated this effect ahead of time, their folktales acted as a device that preserved the tradition of the German states in the early to mid 1800’s prior to Germany’s unification. They also preserved the innocence and the simplistic nature of the Romantic writers at that time. Within these simple folktales, the Grimm brothers also exposed a hope for their culture: “they were striving to make their own generation, and future generations conscious of the national soul that, so they believed, had lived on subconsciously in the traditional stories of the folk (David 181).” However, while these tales are widely accepted and of key importance to us today, they were not always seen as such, and were misread as children’s stories, when in fact the Grimm brother’s wanted a wide audience and stories with a childlike nature; not stories written primarily for children.
As was stated in Yale French Studies, by Roberts and Powell, the stories written by the Grimm brothers “preserved the tradition of the German states [prior to their unification].” Unbeknownst to many readers of the Grimm fairytales, the Grimm brothers did not actually fabricate all of these stories themselves. Instead, Jacob and Wilhelm invited storytellers into their home, many of whom were aristocrats or middle-class, who told the tales they had heard from their servants. Alongside fairy tales, the Grimm brothers also collected the legends that they heard. Eventually they arranged these in a book named Deutsche Sagen and arranged them chronologically in order of the historical events and how the stories were related to each other, either culturally or through similarity in plot. These tales and legends came from a variety of the different states of Germany, and by bringing them together, the Grimm brothers preserved this tradition of storytelling, and the culture of what would eventually become a unified Germany.
Along with preserving the actual myths, tradition, the brothers also preserved the innocent, simplistic nature of the Romantic writers from about 1818- 1854. Romantic writers circa 1900 were often focused on the past. They emphasized women and children, purity and child-likeness, and “supernatural” or magical happenings, all of which the Grimm fairytales encompassed. More specifically, the Grimm fairytales embodied the popular German Romantic techniques, which included stories involving travel, nature and myths. The works of these writers often associated innocence and simplicity with childhood and family hearth. There was a childlike air and moral straightforwardness, which the Grimm’s admired in fairytales, and attributed to the earlier Germanic literature. Also, these works collected and written by the Grimm brothers preserved the Romantic use of colorfulness and the admiration of unity, whether familial, cultural, or through friendships and being re-united.
Opposite to what the Grimm brothers had hope, the childlike air and moral straightforwardness possessed in these fairytales caused audiences to push these stories towards the nursery. Wilhelm Grimm wrote about how these stories were not just for children, saying, “These stories are pervaded by the same purity that makes children appear so marvelous and blessed to us” essentially meaning that these stories aren’t necessarily for children, so much as they are like children, have “lived” among children and have been adored and passed along by families for generations. However, as the stories continued to be pushed towards children, Jacob and Wilhelm worked towards more specifically suiting their fairytales for children and families, but continued to strive to share their stories and ideals with like-minded people as themselves.
In more modern times, many of these once adored fairytales have been shunned or forgotten or revised, due to their graphic nature. Stories such as the original “Cinderella” included descriptions of birds pecking out the eyes of the wicked step-mother, and women cutting off their toes in order to fit their foot into the glass slipper. While the moral message shouts “bad things happen to bad people,” modern audiences are less worried about the didactics of fairytales, and more concerned with the poor example a story such as “Cinderella” (as originally written) may set for their children.
On the other hand, these stories are still widely accepted and are of incredible importance to us today. While they may be edited for the modern media, the compilation of these stories are still exceptionally significant to us today because they not only preserved a piece of German culture, but they introduced new elements into literature. The Grimm tales introduced a greater standardization of language, the removal of sexuality, the addition of Christian fundamentals, a tendency to change mothers into stepmothers, and in some tales, extreme violence. Unlike many other fairytales, the Grimms tales feature peasant heroes or heroines, and often show royalty and upper classes as deceitful as opposed to the lower classes, making the Grimm brothers much more class-conscious than other fairytale writers. The Grimms' fairy tales also cover a wider spectrum than other authors, including trickster tales and folk tales that include no magic at all, and also holy legends.
Over all, the Grimm fairytales resulted in more than children’s entertainment. Through a simple act of compiling and writing stories, the Grimm brother’s preserved a German tradition, preserved Romantic writing styles used both nationally and internationally at the time, and provided linguistics with a new law which is now used to better understand past and present language changes.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I will never go to Africa.
I feel like I'm already there.
5 people from Minneapolis (originally Somali refugees) were recruited by Al Qaida (right here in the cities) and went to Somalia. 4 blew up in Somalia, 1 decided to blow himself up in Afghanistan.
Also, the guy who lives below me is African. He is loud. He always has his TV blaring loud, and his friends shout. Sometimes the noise doesn't stop until 5 or 6 in the morning.
As soon as I "wake up" around 8:30, I usually try to make as much noise as I humanly can to show him how sucky it is to be woken up when you're trying to sleep.
Sometimes I lay on the floor and shout as loud as I can through his ceiling. Immature? Maybe a little.
-----
Also, I've stopped arguing with idiots. If you want to talk politics with me - they better not be about Obama.
5 people from Minneapolis (originally Somali refugees) were recruited by Al Qaida (right here in the cities) and went to Somalia. 4 blew up in Somalia, 1 decided to blow himself up in Afghanistan.
Also, the guy who lives below me is African. He is loud. He always has his TV blaring loud, and his friends shout. Sometimes the noise doesn't stop until 5 or 6 in the morning.
As soon as I "wake up" around 8:30, I usually try to make as much noise as I humanly can to show him how sucky it is to be woken up when you're trying to sleep.
Sometimes I lay on the floor and shout as loud as I can through his ceiling. Immature? Maybe a little.
-----
Also, I've stopped arguing with idiots. If you want to talk politics with me - they better not be about Obama.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Where's Waldo.
He is a nice enough guy.
He just likes to yell and tell you how good you are at failing...
He likes to tell you all the reasons why you may never amount to anything, or why people may never love you.
He'll tell you who you should be like, and list the reasons they are so great and you are so not.
Then he likes to tell you how no one ever remembers the good/nice things he does, and that he is always the bad guy.
He'll remind you of how you're killing him and then asking for money without blinking twice (even though I know I'm terrified of taking any more than is necessary for survival).
He'll tell you how you act like an idiot, how you are selfish, and how you hate your mother.
Then when all is said and done, he'll hug you and tell you he loves you and expects that it will bandaid the emotional beating and the self esteem depleting.
Wrong answer.
He just likes to yell and tell you how good you are at failing...
He likes to tell you all the reasons why you may never amount to anything, or why people may never love you.
He'll tell you who you should be like, and list the reasons they are so great and you are so not.
Then he likes to tell you how no one ever remembers the good/nice things he does, and that he is always the bad guy.
He'll remind you of how you're killing him and then asking for money without blinking twice (even though I know I'm terrified of taking any more than is necessary for survival).
He'll tell you how you act like an idiot, how you are selfish, and how you hate your mother.
Then when all is said and done, he'll hug you and tell you he loves you and expects that it will bandaid the emotional beating and the self esteem depleting.
Wrong answer.
Friday, July 17, 2009
I am a loser.
So here I am, sitting alone on a Friday night. I have yet to make any real type of friends since moving to this God forsaken place.
Ok. Well, Minneapolis isn't all that bad - but it's hard to make friends outside of US military institutions. I have a hard time relating to regular americans.
:/ i feel like a fool.
Ok. Well, Minneapolis isn't all that bad - but it's hard to make friends outside of US military institutions. I have a hard time relating to regular americans.
:/ i feel like a fool.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Shake Shake Shake it
So... My family (a lot of them) are doing a Hansen's Biggest Loser competition.
I have been swimming recently, and I didn't know it would hurt... haha.....either way, it's really cool to have your whole family as a support group when you need them.
I have been swimming recently, and I didn't know it would hurt... haha.....either way, it's really cool to have your whole family as a support group when you need them.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The places we go.
Some people like to call me a racist.
Truth is, I'm not. I'm just incredibly critical (of everyone).
I am not against black people, or mexicans, asians, russians or whatever. I am, however, against people who can't give to others what is given to them.
Example:
Illegal immigrants. They work, tax free. They send the money back to Mexico, China, Vietnam - etc. Then, they are somehow magically granted free tuition for school and magical rights to vote. Hmm. Not even a citizen. Yes. They piss me off.
Example:
Refugees: I understand that we saved them... I am not for saving people. If the USA was in a huge crisis, I can guarantee that no one would step in and save us - and if they tried we would hate it.
Somehow, we continue to save the world. We grant our refugees 10,000 dollar housing allowances. They don't have to work for a period of time. They don't pay taxes for 7 years - but my taxes and yours buy their house, their food. Somehow they are granted magical voting rights and scholarships.
I don't like that.
If there is "racism" or "racial profiling" in this country, it's against white people. There is no white history month. There are no "just because you are white" scholarships. I can't get ANY aid because I'm white and because my dad makes over $70,000 a year. That's fair. Not. But I know, my taxes will pay for all the illegals, refugees, native americans (i am actually okay with that) and african-americans to go to school... for free. Oh, don't forget the athletes with 2.0 GPA's.
So I will work full time and keep my 3.5 so that you all can go to school for free. Oh, and when I need something - all those people certainly won't be there for me. Good thing I enjoy being "one for... one."
I am very much against socialism. Socialism is basically Communism's little sister. I don't want more taxes. I don't want to pay for your health care. I don't want to pay for bike paths, etc. America is on a slippery slope. It's corrupt.
I suggest following Glenn Beck or Sean Hannity.
-------------------
The Second Hand
A little red sprinter
Passing others quickly
Or, like a business man that’s trying to get to his meeting
On time.
This little red hand
The second hand
Measures every aspect of our lives
It touches everything.
It controls everything.
“When the red hand passes the 12, you’re late”
Who sat down,
Who created this little red life one day?
This eternal, little red life.
If I will it to stop
Or if I break it
Nothing will change.
There is no meaning in the red piece of plastic.
It’s what we can’t see.
That’s what we can’t control.
Truth is, I'm not. I'm just incredibly critical (of everyone).
I am not against black people, or mexicans, asians, russians or whatever. I am, however, against people who can't give to others what is given to them.
Example:
Illegal immigrants. They work, tax free. They send the money back to Mexico, China, Vietnam - etc. Then, they are somehow magically granted free tuition for school and magical rights to vote. Hmm. Not even a citizen. Yes. They piss me off.
Example:
Refugees: I understand that we saved them... I am not for saving people. If the USA was in a huge crisis, I can guarantee that no one would step in and save us - and if they tried we would hate it.
Somehow, we continue to save the world. We grant our refugees 10,000 dollar housing allowances. They don't have to work for a period of time. They don't pay taxes for 7 years - but my taxes and yours buy their house, their food. Somehow they are granted magical voting rights and scholarships.
I don't like that.
If there is "racism" or "racial profiling" in this country, it's against white people. There is no white history month. There are no "just because you are white" scholarships. I can't get ANY aid because I'm white and because my dad makes over $70,000 a year. That's fair. Not. But I know, my taxes will pay for all the illegals, refugees, native americans (i am actually okay with that) and african-americans to go to school... for free. Oh, don't forget the athletes with 2.0 GPA's.
So I will work full time and keep my 3.5 so that you all can go to school for free. Oh, and when I need something - all those people certainly won't be there for me. Good thing I enjoy being "one for... one."
I am very much against socialism. Socialism is basically Communism's little sister. I don't want more taxes. I don't want to pay for your health care. I don't want to pay for bike paths, etc. America is on a slippery slope. It's corrupt.
I suggest following Glenn Beck or Sean Hannity.
-------------------
The Second Hand
A little red sprinter
Passing others quickly
Or, like a business man that’s trying to get to his meeting
On time.
This little red hand
The second hand
Measures every aspect of our lives
It touches everything.
It controls everything.
“When the red hand passes the 12, you’re late”
Who sat down,
Who created this little red life one day?
This eternal, little red life.
If I will it to stop
Or if I break it
Nothing will change.
There is no meaning in the red piece of plastic.
It’s what we can’t see.
That’s what we can’t control.
Friday, July 10, 2009
A horse with no name
Once upon a winter
A photograph sits dusty on the shelf
For now this photograph will have to do
The winter’s here and I sit by myself
I dwell alone, on frozen thoughts of you
A photograph sits dusty on the shelf
For now this photograph will have to do
The winter’s here and I sit by myself
I dwell alone, on frozen thoughts of you
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Your friends will really be annoyed.
Ouch.
There I was, standing helplessly when all of a sudden, my finger was smashed in the closet.
I can't exactly explain how that happened, but... it did. Sad.
Now it's black, blue, purple and red - it looks like a zombie finger.
Gross.
It's definitely broken.
To make things better, the chaos literally scared the sh*t out of my cat. Fun!
----
I stopped and looked at where I stood,
no new direction left for me to take.
I would change it all, if only I could,
but that is why it is called my mistake.
There I was, standing helplessly when all of a sudden, my finger was smashed in the closet.
I can't exactly explain how that happened, but... it did. Sad.
Now it's black, blue, purple and red - it looks like a zombie finger.
Gross.
It's definitely broken.
To make things better, the chaos literally scared the sh*t out of my cat. Fun!
----
I stopped and looked at where I stood,
no new direction left for me to take.
I would change it all, if only I could,
but that is why it is called my mistake.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Wrap your arms around me until your knuckles are burning white.
I think way too much.
I am tired of constantly reminding myself that the 'problems' don't lay with me.
It's my job to turn things around, to keep them positive.
It just gets so exhausting.
Growing up I was constantly in this dialogue with my father:
He would say: "Nikki, what is your job?"
My answer: "To keep [insert sibling name] happy."
This has worked against me in quite a few ways. I've come to learn that I come second to myself.
However, I've also convinced myself that [particularly in relationships] because my 'significant other' comes before me, that I am also #1 on his list.
On some level, I feel like it's absurd that I put others before me... and I find it even more absurd that I would put myself before another on their 'list'.... what a twisted web we've spun!
Pieces of me:
Sometimes I drive a little too fast
And don’t realize the time has passed
I turn the radio up way too loud
I’m trying to drive straight through my life
And drown out all I’ve left behind
But I don’t want to do that anymore
I am tired of constantly reminding myself that the 'problems' don't lay with me.
It's my job to turn things around, to keep them positive.
It just gets so exhausting.
Growing up I was constantly in this dialogue with my father:
He would say: "Nikki, what is your job?"
My answer: "To keep [insert sibling name] happy."
This has worked against me in quite a few ways. I've come to learn that I come second to myself.
However, I've also convinced myself that [particularly in relationships] because my 'significant other' comes before me, that I am also #1 on his list.
On some level, I feel like it's absurd that I put others before me... and I find it even more absurd that I would put myself before another on their 'list'.... what a twisted web we've spun!
Pieces of me:
Sometimes I drive a little too fast
And don’t realize the time has passed
I turn the radio up way too loud
I’m trying to drive straight through my life
And drown out all I’ve left behind
But I don’t want to do that anymore
Friday, July 3, 2009
Write it on your heart.
trust (trst)
n.
1. Firm reliance on the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing.
2. Custody; care.
3. Something committed into the care of another; charge.
4.
a. The condition and resulting obligation of having confidence placed in one: violated a public trust.
b. One in which confidence is placed.
5. Reliance on something in the future; hope.
6. Reliance on the intention and ability of a purchaser to pay in the future; credit.
7. Law
a. A legal title to property held by one party for the benefit of another.
b. The confidence reposed in a trustee when giving the trustee legal title to property to administer for another, together with the trustee's obligation regarding that property and the beneficiary.
c. The property so held.
8. A combination of firms or corporations for the purpose of reducing competition and controlling prices throughout a business or an industry.
n.
1. Firm reliance on the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing.
2. Custody; care.
3. Something committed into the care of another; charge.
4.
a. The condition and resulting obligation of having confidence placed in one: violated a public trust.
b. One in which confidence is placed.
5. Reliance on something in the future; hope.
6. Reliance on the intention and ability of a purchaser to pay in the future; credit.
7. Law
a. A legal title to property held by one party for the benefit of another.
b. The confidence reposed in a trustee when giving the trustee legal title to property to administer for another, together with the trustee's obligation regarding that property and the beneficiary.
c. The property so held.
8. A combination of firms or corporations for the purpose of reducing competition and controlling prices throughout a business or an industry.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
They see a threat because I am original.
Nikki scratched at her notebook with her pen.
"J. Alfred Prufrock"
She stared at her writing, something was definitely missing.
After a little pondering she scratched again,
"J. Alfred Prufrock...is a waste of time."
The sentence gleamed at her as though she had uncovered some treasure of truth from underneath the dirt-pile of hodgepodge and nonsense that her professor was burying her in.
...."many speculate that he might have been gay" continued the professor. More dirt.
Nikki's mind wandered. Her foot tapped against the leg of her chair.
Her imagination let her lunge from her seat. Now she could jab the professor to a slow and painful death.
"Professor: Death by multiple pen jabs!" is what the headlines of the paper would read.
"I'm sorry I'm such a bad teacher" she'd say.
"You deserve an A!" She'd say!
Nikki blinked.
Reality.
No death-by-pen-jabbed professor.
Just the lonely love song of J. Alfred Prufrock and the reminder to not dare disturb the universe.
"J. Alfred Prufrock"
She stared at her writing, something was definitely missing.
After a little pondering she scratched again,
"J. Alfred Prufrock...is a waste of time."
The sentence gleamed at her as though she had uncovered some treasure of truth from underneath the dirt-pile of hodgepodge and nonsense that her professor was burying her in.
...."many speculate that he might have been gay" continued the professor. More dirt.
Nikki's mind wandered. Her foot tapped against the leg of her chair.
Her imagination let her lunge from her seat. Now she could jab the professor to a slow and painful death.
"Professor: Death by multiple pen jabs!" is what the headlines of the paper would read.
"I'm sorry I'm such a bad teacher" she'd say.
"You deserve an A!" She'd say!
Nikki blinked.
Reality.
No death-by-pen-jabbed professor.
Just the lonely love song of J. Alfred Prufrock and the reminder to not dare disturb the universe.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Trains Collide
Nickels
I don’t want to pick up the broken parts of you
I don’t want to fix you up with string or tape or glue
I don’t want to change the way your pieces fell
Even in your broken state, I find you beautiful
I don’t want to cure you of your shattered state
I don’t want to mend your heart, or try to make you right
I don’t want to heal you, help you or change the way you are
I just want to stand beside you as all your pieces fall
You don’t need a hand to hold or a dream to share
You don’t need a friend to listen, cry or care
You don’t need a thing, a wish, a prayer to keep you right
But that doesn’t mean you stand alone in this lifelong fight.
I don’t want to pick up the broken parts of you
I don’t want to fix you up with string or tape or glue
I don’t want to change the way your pieces fell
Even in your broken state, I find you beautiful
I don’t want to cure you of your shattered state
I don’t want to mend your heart, or try to make you right
I don’t want to heal you, help you or change the way you are
I just want to stand beside you as all your pieces fall
You don’t need a hand to hold or a dream to share
You don’t need a friend to listen, cry or care
You don’t need a thing, a wish, a prayer to keep you right
But that doesn’t mean you stand alone in this lifelong fight.
Rain
Trust
Gravity pulls words from your mouth
Lays them on the ground
And watches as people step and slip all over
How funny. Isn’t that what you had planned all along?
Gravity pulls words from your mouth
Lays them on the ground
And watches as people step and slip all over
How funny. Isn’t that what you had planned all along?
Alphabet Soup
At least one other knows.
I won’t let the words set in behind the wall
When things become real, they leave and break and fail.
I can’t let you see inside at all
You might just realize my incapacity to feel.
What happens then, when you learn I’m a fraud?
That the smiles are fake and that I laugh at God?
Where are your words when they break through the cracks
Where will you run when I take off my mask?
I won’t let the words set in behind the wall
Because most words are fake, become plastic, and fall.
I won’t shine a light to help clear up the fog
Because when you see inside, you’ll see nothing at all.
I won’t let the words set in behind the wall
When things become real, they leave and break and fail.
I can’t let you see inside at all
You might just realize my incapacity to feel.
What happens then, when you learn I’m a fraud?
That the smiles are fake and that I laugh at God?
Where are your words when they break through the cracks
Where will you run when I take off my mask?
I won’t let the words set in behind the wall
Because most words are fake, become plastic, and fall.
I won’t shine a light to help clear up the fog
Because when you see inside, you’ll see nothing at all.
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