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 --

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) ___

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. :)

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

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.

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 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.