Ryan Harris

Mrs. Curtis

Honors English 9

1/18/12

Together We Stand

I remember as a kid, about six or seven years ago. Standing in a hotel in downtown Chicago with my dad, I saw a painting of soldiers. The image of the painting is still vivid. There was a soldier with his rifle shouting back to other men, in front of him was an immense city under siege. Helicopters flew through the air, and tanks rolled through the rough sand. The painting was amazing! But that's not what stuck with me. I remember seeing in the eyes of the men together running towards the city. The fear their eyes seemed to portray. They were just like little kids, running towards the unknown, expecting the worst. The painting had a sense of "we all go together." No matter how quickly we move forward, no matter how scared we are; there is still that one person next to us always. Just as scared. There is a person that will die with you, and stand with you until the end.

After reading the novel A Separate Peace, written by John Knowles. The memory of this painting came back to me. The brotherhood between Gene and Phineas really struck me. It was often confusing, all of the twisted ideas behind this friendship. But in the end, I'm willing to say it was just two friends scared of the future, scared of what would happen to each other. This was not clear to me until the last chapter. But after the death of Finny and after the concept of Gene dying with him had been introduced, the original reputation of every boy at Devon as jealous rivals and liars was broken during Brinker’s conversation with his selfish, foolish, idiotic dad. "We'll do what we have to. After all, that is all we can do." Brinker said we, not I. This term is common and overused, but in this case, its definition serves just the purpose. All of the boys are scared. Scared to die and not be remembered, scared to grow up, scared of the future. What keeps them going forward is them going forward together. This is why I find the title of the last chapter together.

What happens when that motivation, that person keeping you moving on leaves? What happened when it dies? You die with it. "I did not cry then or ever about Finny. I did not cry even when I stood watching him being lowered into his family's straight-laced burial ground outside of Boston. I could not escape a feeling that this was my own funeral, and you do not cry in that case." In order for Gene to move on in his life, Finny was to unwillingly die for him. For if Finny had not left Gene; Gene wouldn’t have known how important Finny was to him.

Back cover- Envy and guilt can drive people far beyond the brink of insanity; it can even drive some people, such as Gene Forrester, to the point of subconsciously killing your best friend. In A Separate Piece by John Knowles, Gene’s envy towards Phineas, his “best friend” who is described by Gene as an graceful, majestic god at any and everything, causes Gene to question his own worth as a person numerous times, he even puts on his friends cloths to try to feel more significant. Gene’s envy doesn’t just wreck him physically; it destroys him emotionally as well. Throughout the novel Gene is always thinking, calculating, and hypothesizing about every single little thing that happens between him and Phineas, just so that he can be better at something, anything. In chapter four Gene even states “I was not of the same quality as he”, how much more envious and jealous of someone can you get before you deem yourself a lesser quality of human being than someone else? Throughout this story, envy is really something to look out for, as it is one of the dominant themes of the story.     

Front inside flap- Throughout the novel, A Separate Piece by John Knowles, there is a central relationship between Gene and Phineas, the two main characters of the book. From a distance their friendship would seem quite normal, although truthfully their relationship is anything but that. All because of Gene and who he is as a person and who he wants to be.

Gene is wildly envious of Phineas in every single way possible; Gene is also haunted by an extreme guilt, and is driven past the point of insanity by his always calculating mind and rollercoaster emotions. Because of Gene’s extreme envy over Phineas, it causes him to always be calculating ways that he can be better than him at something or do something better, his mind is like an extremely complicated series of checks and balances, and sometimes that causes his emotions to swing from a obscene envy, to a malevolent hate. Ultimately, all of these traits of Gene may have cost Phineas his life, just so that Gene could have the slightest peace of mind. Most of Gene’s guilt comes from his envy towards Phineas, who he had both resented and adored which lead him to subconsciously, or maybe even consciously, push him out of the tree, shattering his leg. With Gene both loving and hating him, there was a part that may have jiggled the branch that the two of them were standing on and pushing him down the stairs, although there is also a separate peace of him which truly cares about Phineas deeply as a friend. Although while Phineas was away, Gene had a few moments where he revealed his envy towards Phineas to himself, and he may not have even known it. Gene had put on Phineas’s cloths, and suddenly felt remarkably different, he even said “"But when I looked in the mirror it was no remote aristocrat I had become, no character out of daydreams. I was Phineas, Phineas to the life. I even had his humorous expression in my face, his sharp, optimistic awareness. I had no idea why this gave me such intense relief, but it seemed, standing in Finny's triumphant shirt, that I would never stumble through the confusions of my own character" (62). This adoration and hate, do not go hand and hand, although it creates who Gene is. Except, who Gene is, is not who he wants to be, obviously he wants to be Phineas, he wants to be exactly like him, even down to the way he walks.

            Back Cover inside flap- On the cover of this book, our artists worked hard to strategically place symbolic and meaningful illustrations there, although you may possibly be wondering what significance they have.

            Gene and 

My day, everyday

*I understand the language, I'm not obligated to this, however it is necessary.*

Basically they said if you try stating your own opinion, if you try to be different from anyone else, it won't happen. No matter what, you must be what we want you to be. You don't have a Choice, because we said so, and we are stronger than you. They still control us, no matter what we say. If I had said that, they would have said try again, for them there is only one correct answer… "Ok you are right." It's the world, it's the dammed future we all have in the American working world. I guess you could say that our day of independents just came sooner than everyone else's, and that is why we are justified for it. I told my mom I hated her yesterday, on her birthday, and to come to school and get talked to about things like "not doing my work in math class one day and not participating. To sit and lie to myself in front of a bored of people! Our future is NOT written by our victors!

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Look, you see? That, that is what it looks like. And, it looks like something so big,  something so strong, yet something so small. Look, you see? But you don't see! You don't know how it feels, you don't know shaking, frozen with fear. Waiting, waiting. And when the lights go on you feel dizzy, confused, asleep, yet you are still walking. Look, you see? You see them crying, nuzzled together helpless, unable to fix anything. Then within seconds gone. Gone like a flash of lightning. Look, you see the hands on the clock turning seconds still, but the metal hand spinning and telling you. Today, today, today, today. And, when those lights turn on, whether you can see or not, walk. Walk. And I'll hold your hand.

"I'm Happy"

I wear a mask,

It smiles and grins,

It hides my face,

It has no taste,

I had a face:

It smiled, and frowned;

But now it lies,

Wearing a mask.

Raise A Glass

*The other night I watched a movie called V for Vendetta. It was stunning! It's about the future of the world and its corruption. It takes place in Britain, and it shows that we depend on our Government (Big Brother) far to much. It almost controls us, it make the rules whether we like it or not. This is tragic and by the end of the movie you could easily see the irony. So I wrote this poem.*

Let's have a toast,

A toast for the man.

The man with striking hope;

Hope grown from such a small man.

Who now sleeps in the sky alone.

Let's have a toast,

A toast for ourselves.

For we could not see this;

Coming quickly from that man.

And we regret not acting sooner.

The people should not fear their government.

The government should fear its people.

However it is still tragic,

And we regret not acting sooner.

Let's have a toast.

The Love in his Eye

*When someone reads a poem, at least when I read a poem, I really do sometimes struggle to understand what it's about. I'm still learning to rhyme a poem and make sense with it at the same time. Sometimes it's a struggle, sometimes it comes to me rather quickly. This one was slow. It felt different, especially writing it with boundaries.*


His love for her, it's burnt like dust,
It runs without a spark, or gust;
His heart is thrust, his courage spent,
His soul is virtuously bent.
Send my regards to a man,
A silent, steady regard to this man.

Beyond this, in his noble heart,
A gap, for a favored new start:
He appears to them a star night,
From the darkness he shines, so bright!

Again, beyond this light there stands,
From the long dark, his shaking hands.
Around him are old people new:
No good sign, like a cold winter dew,
And yet it's quite another thing,
Past the winter, there sleeps spring.

Then hug himself and reason this,
Death was his heart sleeping in bliss.

This is my Desire

*If you are disciplined enough to read this entire piece congratulations. I must say as this progresses you may get lost. When I wrote this, I wrote this from my eyes. My objective was to target your inner sorrow towards people and relationships.*

 

Perhaps you remember the crooked smile on your uncle's teeth, that is if you can remember at such a young age. Beyond the smile. Beyond that ragged, juvenile smile there was a flame of rage rising in his mind. Maybe it is envy, maybe sadness, or it was the sheer imperfectness he saw in you. The line that stood between the two of you. Although such a young age and incapable of comprehending this. Your happy who Ville in your little how town burnt and ripped the smile from your face, as just past its valleys you saw his own little who Ville coming at your happy how town. As your town is burned, you are engulfed by a black smoke that simply won't disappear.

My name is Ned Willows. For my job, I was a fireman. I was skinny as could be, and I loved children. My shift was only during day eight to ten, and I had Saturdays off. My work has made it to a point where money seems pointless. The pay is absolutely horrid, but I save for things, and I look forward to things and this is what keeps me alive. In my mind. I spend the rest of the money on rent. It's worth it though, because without this. I would be dead, in my heart.  I averaged one call a week, I have watched two of my close friends crushed under rubble and debris. I have saved eighteen lives. I have cheated death 277 times. Let me tell you a thing or two of fear. Blindness. If I couldn't see the world, I might as well be dead. A sense is a sense. One you can't afford to forget.

At six thirty-five Ray would awake yawning, and be silenced as he slowly rose from his bed on the stairs and turned right. Ray would stand up, take precisely 13 paces right, then 7 paces to the right again. He would then continue down the stairs guiding himself with his right hand on the rail. At the bottom of the stairs was a beautiful doorknob with textures of crumpled paper melted into metal. Beyond the numbers, beyond the rotations, stood Ray. His hand rested upon that door handle, like a king on his thrown. The slightest of a grin would spread across his face, but from there the door would be opened precisely 75 degrees and Ray Smith Groughs would take a deep breath and inhale the fresh air. The door would shut, and soon he would begin singing a hymn. This is my Desire. That was my wake up call and I'd be out of bed and begin to work.

Ray Smith Groughs, an old man unmarried in the dawns of his seventies, still barely past five feet. Could always be found sitting upon his stairway counting the footsteps of passing people. For him it was a struggle to fit in, for as he sat upon those stairs the rest of those footsteps would look at him as imperfect. What does he see? Ray Smith Groughs, a man whom everyone in the city knew for five seconds at a time in a careless appeal, had an immense grin as I would say hello walking past him on the stairs to my room. Yet past this smile, past his good nature, I always saw an unpleasant darkness in his eyes. It took me at least three weeks to truly understand, but when I looked into his face I would see that vision of the deepest most darkest memories and dreams of man, like what you see when you look straight into your own eyes through a mirror for a reasonable amount of time.

Even occasionally I would tap him on the shoulder as he sung his hymn, and ask him if he wanted to take a stroll with me down to the market, or to a small pub. The one time he opted to join me, he was attacked by two men carrying knives, and stripped of the 85 cents in his pocket as I ran from him doing nothing. Every Friday now I stroll past him on the stares choking out when I say hello, for he gives me a full hearted blessing and a half opened grin from his mouth. The other half cut.

Sometimes I'll sit in the stairway with him and talk about pleasant child memories. But every time he'll tell me a story of his brothers playing with him in a colorful pasture filled with life and wonders. Ray gave to me and asked for nothing in return. Such an innocent man counting foot steps from the darkness of the stairs. 

"Back when I was four my two older brothers ran up and down Mama's garden until there wasn't a breath left in 'em. The smell of mama's biscuits cookin' in the oven and dad's cheerful laughter. Everyday I'd run fast as I could behind Lemar and Jonah, but every supper they'd lock me right out of cabin. I would turn and turn this here door knob right here until they'd open it. One day I was locked out, and a voice from behind began shoutin 'negro boy tell your father and your mama to get out here now, they've got some business to attend to.' My mama took me in her arms and brought her tears across my face, as she began to sing. The angel rays are here to stay, when the sun smiles in my face, I can't complain, but hey, I still miss you. And when the mountains smile, they make me smile for quite some time, I know I'll be fine, but hey, I still miss you. And for now, I haven't felt, a way to feel okay, and I know that, we all hail, to go our own ways, but hey, I still miss you. And I still miss you. She told me and my brothers to run out the back door and run 85 steps without turnin around. I heard gunshots and screams, but my brothers ran past me leavin me alone. I turned around and saw the cabin blazin. I fell to the ground as my eyes watered, filled with smoke and darkness. I didn't blink for twelve days, until finally I rested, opened my eyes. And saw nothin."

Ray a seventy-one year old man sitting on the stairs, laying on the stairs, singing on the stairs. Ray a seventy-one year old man sitting on the stairs with the most heart warming beautiful voice you could imagine. Beyond the dark. There was always light shining in from that stairway. Not light illuminated from the ceiling, not light from the sun, but Rays of light streaming through that crack in my door. In such a dark part of New York, such a dangerous area, never once did I lock my door. Because in my faith from the last thirty years, that light has never gone out. The angel rays are here to stay, when the sun smiles in my face, I can't complain, but hey, I still miss you. And when the mountains smile, they make me smile for quite some time, I know I'll be fine, but hey, I still miss you. And for now, I haven't felt, a way to feel okay, and I know that, we all hail, to go our own ways, but hey, I still miss you. And I still miss you.

I walk down the creaking stairs on my way to work. "Later Ray!" "God bless you. Good luck." Ray would say in the kindest way. At work I take a cigarette, light it in my mouth, and watch people walk past our garage. One young boy walked past and looked into my eyes. He was fascinated, I was even more fascinated by how large is eyes could become. That's when the alarm sounded and I threw on my gear. With my heart racing now, I jumped into the truck with five other men with the same expression. The one you can't honestly see, because you are in the dark. Out the window I watched the road and soon realized this was the way I walk to work. The smoke grew bigger and bigger, as did my fear. The truck stopped and Captain Lee ordered us out. He ran to the other group of men and nodded. He looked at me and suddenly saw my despair. He and two other men tried to stop me, as my glove pressed against a beautiful doorknob. The door swung open and I ran up two flights of stairs screaming "Ray!" There he lay on the ground where he always is, curled into a ball. I grabbed his arm. "We have to go!" "I'm just gonna stay here." "We have to go!" Tears pored down my cheaks and streamed into my sweat. "I still miss her." He said to me, as he felt my face. "Why are crying? Rejoice, I'm gonna see her again Ned! I'm gonna see her!" "I won't let you die! I won't let you die!" Falling to the ground, my eyes water, filled with smoke and darkness. My name is Ned Willows. For my job, I am a fireman. I'm skinny as can be, and greatly love children. My shift's during day eight to ten, with Saturdays off. My work has made it to a point where money is nothing. The pay is absolutely horrid, but I save for things, and I look forward to things. In my mind. I spend the rest of the money on rent. In my heart, I am dead. I average one call a week, I have watched two of my close friends crushed under rubble and debris. I have saved eighteen lives. I have cheated death 277 times. Let me tell you a thing or two of fear. Losing your heart in a fire that lasts fifteen minutes. The angel rays are here to stay, when the sun smiles in my face, I can't complain, but hey, I still miss you. And when the mountains smile, they make me smile for quite some time, I know I'll be fine, but hey, I still miss you. And for now, I haven't felt, a way to feel okay, and I know that, we all hail, to go our own ways, but hey, I still miss you. And I still miss you.

A Racing, Crashing, Red, Monster of a Car

*This is a satirical response to a proclaimed writer Jonathan Swift. I have much respect for this writer, however the mood I was in today called for some fun. So here it is, my satirical mirror to Jonathan Swift's poem A Satirical Elegy on a Late Famous General.*

His car! So beautiful! and, red!

So fast it flew, that's what he said!

And could that wondrous vehicle crash,

In such a massive crazy silver ash?

Well, since it's gone, with such a wow,

The next new car must drive up now;

And, trust me, as its rumble grows louder,

It will crash and become slender powder.

Although this beast is so bold,

Its burning tire will one day fold.

His car, I think, is pretty nice,

Is being sold at such a low price!

I thought there must be something this car lacks,

That's why I said, show me the car fax.

Valley of a Lion

As the sheep passed through the pastures of despair,

There stood a wolf high in the air.

Although only three knew their demise,

They rested warmed by lies.

Waiting, waiting for one soul,

There came a lion with a mane the size of a troll.

But from this troll there came a king,

With a heart stronger than anything.

And with no breath of shame and no remiss,

what the lion said was this.

I have seen these sheep moved by their shepherds

And I have seen these shepherds' starved by leopards.

But never have I seen a fool of a wolf in the dark,

Scared to tears by such a little bark.

Oh, but what a bark I have in the darkness!

Yelled the wolf with eyes of dispense,

Behind a strong silver fence

Slowly came the sheep,

From a long dying sleep.

And began to see the wolf standing up high,

That was when the lion leapt into the sky.

Suddenly he was struck by a fence,

However this was only his heart screaming in hence.

The lion lay solemn in the pastures of death,

Watching the tears in the sheep dry from each breath.

But the tears from three sheep did not leave,

For they only began to sieve.

Past the wolf they ran,

Then they saw a man.

This man was a shepherd and so he stood,

Strong and noble though he dropped his wood.

Although he had to keep the sheep,

His hate for the wolf was more deep.

As the fence was broke,

The lion awoke.

Again he leapt into the air,

So high the depths were a scare.

 With the wolf hard in his jaws,

He falls back to the cause.

Together they hit the valley,

And a light pours into its alley.

For as the sheep rejoice the wolf is dead,

Lay the lion in a golden rose bed.

Hole and I

I was born in the grieving outskirts of Siberia. So lonely so cold. I have a permanent scar outstretched across my entire calf from my encounter with a Siberian Tiger. (Slit the back of my leg across a jagged rock after I saw a log in the distance shaped like a beast.) My father Sergey, (of Jewish religion) once known as Dr. S. Martell when he was a doctor for Soviet Russia near the end of World War I in 1918. My Mother Nataliya who  passed away from my younger sister's birth. She died before I was old enough to know her. After my father's death, Elena and I were sent to live in an orphanage in Vienna, Austria. At 17 I was privileged to study at St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin, Ireland for one year. That was when World War II had erupted I returned to Austria only to find ashes where my sister's orphanage once was, this was the last I ever saw of Elena. My grieving confused me and made me entirely drop my Jewish Religion. From Europe to America I settled. From New York to Arizona. This is where I maintained my researches and received many acknowledgements. As I find myself near death, I humor myself; because this piece was supposed to be an autobiography of myself. It turned out to be a psychology for myself.

I find myself in a gloomy state of my life, for at the age of 78 I am still questioning my faith. To sidetrack and disorient this composer I have conducted various researches on governmental conspiracies. After attending the University of Phoenix I succeeded in a triple-major Bachelor's degree. These degrees were the studies of religion, evolution, and astrophysics. My fourth year thesis for evolution concerned many different conceptions towards the evolutionary theory of Jean Baptiste de Lamarck, from France. The astrophysics thesis was the many controversies cast upon the theory of extra terrestrial life. My religion thesis was involved with Isaac Luria's philosophies on the Universe itself. I didn't choose these three aspects for a light headed fool dependent on the well being of himself, but because these three ideologies; evolution, extra terrestrial life, and the Universe had something in common like a triangle. A triangle that wouldn't stop spinning.

A Gibbon, an Orangutan, a Chimpanzee, a Gorilla, and Man have the same skeletal structure. Built to protect its vitals, built to move, and built for life. They have all grown and adopted the traits of earth. What separates man from these other four traits is faith. Is it because he was the first to take a flower and consider ripping it to pieces, or eat it? Truth, Faith, and What is Real; these three dignify man from anything else in the Universe. I despise the word "fact," because there is no such true statement as to fact. Fact itself is condemned to faith. My faith on these five species is God's philosophy, but life itself may not be imitated or manipulated ever. For how was God's life brought fourth. Life is not a fact, it is faith. God is not real he is the world's faith. Once again what separates man from all four is his faith.

In the end my studies of astrophysics has taken me absolutely nowhere in my faith. Did you know the "Pluto-bound New Horizons probe" used Jupiter's gravity to increase its speed? The concept of extra terrestrial life is purely childish in faith's hands. Life is an organism. Whatever that is? Is man himself a living creature? Or is a star a living creature. A star has no brain, no organisms, no fluids; but isn't it scary that any non man made object could suddenly turn on us and live, although it is already living? Isaac Luria has a faith and philosophy that describes every act of Evil tearing apart the fabrics of the universe, however he has another belief that every act of Love mends the fabrics of the Universe. No matter how far into the Universe man can see, or how much man can discover about the Universe; the deepest subjection of Universe is the faith of itself. Yet it is so much different from Life. What would Life be without death? Life would be nothing. If this is so, how is it the Universe can't die, yet it doesn’t scare us. It presents itself perfectly, but it has no balance. Is this why man considers the Universe unlimited? Infinity is not real, it is a paradox , so this is my triangle. Life (Evolution), Death (Astrophysics), and Universe (Religion).

Area 51 is real. It is located 83 miles north of Las Vegas, Nevada. It is a large complex located on the southern shore of Groom Lake. Area 51 is divided into four sectors; Air force training which contains 18 buildings (37 rooms total), Airspace Research/ Missile Development 23 buildings (23 rooms total), flight testing centers 1 flight strip, and a deep steel door one room total. I would be an instant felon to the United States government if I had spoke of any actual details within 25 feet of this door. I was invited to visit Area 51 due to my extreme researches and successes, although every single bit of my research depended behind that one door. It was almost as if they were teasing me by bringing me right before my life question and throwing me round like foolish monkeys. If at any one time had I suspected their requests to keep secret about this one sector incongruous, I would have been crucified for the depth of my teachings.

 It is fascinating, the urge man feels when he is not allowed something; whether it is to keep secret about the most simple things, or whether what one must wonder when he isn't allowed to look on the other side of a door. Yet it is instinct again. Just as if it was a flower torn to bits. Torn to bits just like the fabric of the Universe. I don't quite question what was behind that doorway as much as I did then, but that is only because of my faith. No matter how much I run from the chains of agnosticism, it follows me. I'm not running through the empty universal triangle to get away from something, but to find a hole. When I find this, which I am determined to, I will jump; I will jump without looking back!

Response to Life of Pi

The way Mr. Kumar avowedly presents himself and his faith to others is fascinating. His way of life and the way he sees it. Such a strong way to look at reality in your imagination. "If the watch doesn't work properly, it must be fixed here and now by us." (Mr. Satish Kumar) Atheism is faith just as much as any other faith. This quote exemplifies himself and the way the world is in his eyes, yet somehow it influences other faiths. For example the respect Pi has gathered for all atheists. As long as these drive us, as long is this is how we collect ourselves, as long as our leap of faith is by ourselves and no one else! The knowledge I gather from this book has influenced the entire way I look at the world itself. Yes it's normal to have that sense that you are the only real thing, and everything around you isn't. That's because we can't see the world through anyone else's faith, truth and what They believe in. This is what makes a human so sacred. "they go as far as their legs of reason will carry them - and then they leap." (Pi) Next time an adult asks you that repetitive, arrogant question, "If everybody jumped off a cliff, would you?" As if they're above you, as if they can just change the way you look at things with just eight pathetic words! If it was my faith, sure I would and so I present my look at reality ever so elegantly - "Yeah, but you go first." (Ryan Harris)

The Last Spartan

Like a child he reaches, but he cannot touch. Like a child he crawls, but he cannot move.  Like a child he watches, but cannot see. The despair flowing through his mind, like a leaf in the wind. The unexplainable sense, the drop of death in his eyes. As the last drop of sweat plunges from his head. The last single unlawful creed that he must endure. Death without mercy, like a child in arms. The dark despair he feels when the dark silhouettes crescent the cliffs like wolves. The arrows stretch and the men with burning souls take a bow. "Is he ready to die like a gentleman?" Generals bloody and putrid sneak grins with the blazing glare in their eyes. A Spartan is a Spartan not Jonathon or James, for what would Spartans be with names? The oath he took to die a  nobleman, but it all comes to a sense; a sense unlike any other. The sense of the last Spartan. He crawls ever so painfully, as his swollen open cuts crease against the sharp jagged rocks. The Spartan reaches for his shield, defiant and determined not to look up. One last gasp, one last breath before a blanket of darkness; tens of thousands of arrows cast upon him inch to inch. The desolation, the fear, the myth he knows he will become.  The Spartan looks for a man to hold his hand. A man to give him one last step, one last breath of hope. Like a child he lay naked in the arms of God. His fortune leaps to an unbearable sense. Not fire, nor ice; but the abrupt lonesome feeling of death. Like a child he cries, but no one ever hears him. A child named Spartan and nothing else.

Send my Regards

The despair, the tragedy man faces when he sheds a tear. The sensible love he shares in his heart, like the way a dog gives itself to a passionate owner. Was it to hard to understand one man? Was it to hard for one man to try? Two men together like a dog and its owner. Dogs age and grow. It is the owners job to put that dog out of its misery. It is not a term, nor a law; but the sensible love two men share in their hearts. Send my regards to two men who's souls died one night. The night a tragedy came upon itself. Send my regards to Lennie and George, as two men with an unbreakable passion corrupt. What had Lennie done? So I say once again send my regards to his dream, to his ever so little; delightful dream. They had known one another since one. Since they themselves were puppies in a sense. Two puppies playing ever so handsomely in a patch of alfalfa.

A Modest Proposal

In a desperate state of panic, desolation, and indigestion; a time comes. A time of pride. A certain calling towards mankind. A personal perspective must become routine, therefore separation is mandatory. We may obligate ourselves on the path of restrain and hiding, but we must demand a path of freedom and righteousness! So for the common wealth, the simple context of dignity itself; I, Ryan Harris, demand independence against one man and one man only! Mel Gibson.

The composer Mel Gibson has as he entitles his face with blue paint effects the world! This pathetic, unfortunate, undignified act makes me drop my head and cry.  "Are you ready for war?" No, no Mel Gibson; I am not ready for war, I have a wondrous idea. Why don't we paint our faces blue and chase English people screaming, as if we were fighting for Scotland's freedom or something. I've been forced to critique this filthy ignorant mirror image fool! The charming way you tear limbs and thrive gashing kidneys upon kidneys, how is it you manage to go back home, and eat the General's Chicken without even washing your hands? What is this, the 13th century? I raise my hand to you Mel, I rise my hand in a state of confusion. I raise my hand to count all the Lethal Weapon movies made one, two, three, or nine hundred seventy two? That beats Harry  Potter ; he may have a scar on his forehead, but at least he kept his head! "I don't make things difficult. That's the way they get, all by themselves." Ha no Martin Riggs you make them difficult on your own. To a fascinating point that makes you say; "Whoa, how did I manage that?"You didn't manage that! The green screen behind you did!

Men of God

The family and its warming spirit engulfed around the table. The spirit, the love, the heat. The sense in our hearts we feel today we pray to stay this way. The world out side is a different thing. Oh how it has changed. "Noah, I remember when I was a kid. Just like you. I would go to ball games with my pop. Oh those days. I remember the first time I threw a baseball, the first time I loved someone. My how I'd love to be a kid again. We'll step into the stadium to play our game, it comes and goes. The game ends at a time everyone knows it will. As if it were a movie. They said that years ago these games were played with out anticipation of when they'd end. Noah do you know how old I am?" The tables environment turns red, a red mist, a red wash. "Yeah grandpa, you're sixty." Darker it grows, it changes. "Well Noah I have to go, I might not be back for a while. But I promise you'll see me again." A string is broken, a string is burned. "Where are you going grandpa, wait, why is everyone crying, mom, dad?" Shear darkness. "Noah, I'm going to see new things. I'm going to be released." The door closes. "Mr. Richard, it's time for your release."

2010 Veterans Essay

Patriotism has changed, it's no longer routine. Patriotism is no longer about nations, ideologies, or ethnicity. It's a statement, by which an individual thrives upon to benefit himself. Or at least it is to me. It's safe to say patriotism isn't what it used to be. Unfortunately we must accept this, as today's priorities and method's are economy and business. Patriotism is still strong towards others' hearts; those who have fought or died for our noble country. Patriotism is a certain dignity that should be respected; but I believe many aren't dedicated to it, simply because the man or woman next to them isn't.
Patriotism lays root from the Elizabethan era; patriota "my countryman." In the 18th century religion in opposition to state, often contradicted with patriotism. For loyalty to the state indeed presented loyalty to the religion. Jean Jacques Rousseau a philosopher and composer was an essential contributor to patriotism. His philosophy's influenced the American and French revolutions.
"This Iraqi walks up to us and says, 'How can I help?' " Says Sergeant Bowers, who has served two tours in Iraq. Is patriotism dedication to one's country, or is it one's good will. The courage to say "How can I help?" the courage to do more in depth research the courage to share and the courage to do what's best for the person next to you. Releasing 400,000 of the government's classified files on the war in Afghanistan is in my opinion the most noble and courageous act of patriotism. A government has nothing to do with patriotism it has one thing and that is propaganda. Wiki leak's employees and contributors are sacrificing themselves to show America truth. Now its up to all citizens to ask what they can do to help.
 All governments aren't perfect. As a matter of fact they are far from that. A president, a king, or a democracy is just an idol; an idol that represents itself as something to put fear in someone's eyes. This is how it was, and this is how it will always be. This is any form's most basic method. Governments are against changes, against revolutions, against rebellions. A president can't give us change, it's simply impossible. A presidents an illusion; but such a big illusion, someone wouldn't question their self, their country, or their government.
Nationalism takes so many different forms people find it hard to conclude the one true form, because the government has made it that way. Before Christ nationalism thrived. It still does. Nationalism certainly didn't have the same name, or the same definition. But it was essential for mankind to survive, mankind needed pride. Pride for its territory, pride for its peers, and pride for itself. So I ask you this. Isn't patriotism what you take pride in? Isn't patriotism the way you help to make everything beneficial and better for the world itself?

It's an irony, to wake in the morning. To wake to hellish noise, a hellish noise of shear silence. To wake knowing you're the last man on earth. Many say oh that would be such a luxury so cool. But to walk endlessly down the roads of Manhattan with the smell of death a simple repetitive circle in life. You start to look forward to things, like the next time it rains, or the next time the sun will ever crescent the earth's atmosphere. Ask yourself is it a luxury to look forward to death? The healthy human mind doesn't wake up every morning thinking it's the last day on earth. But I think it’s a luxury, a certain freedom to know you're close to the end. You can either set priorities, or just watch the world burn right in front of you. Every season leaves fall from a tree, onto the ground. Everyday I close my eyes begging for a flashback of what a flower or a rose looked like. Being the last man on earth flushes the color out of you, flushes every damned memory in your mind.

Nature

*Authors Note*

This is a somewhat long piece. Thank you if you read the whole thing. I did the Fictional Piece while Collin Kane did the poem.

The growing global demands and the corruption of world economy may very well lead to total failure of human structure. The most current event in my eyes is a peak to this crisis, the gulf oil spill. Corporations and companies, such as the oil industry must find a more efficient and eco friendly process to pull through with their objectives. Despite the growing demand and despite the current issues concerning the government. A law may be passed as to open the door to this much larger crisis.

The crisis of global warming, our Earth can’t possibly sustain the pressure we are placing on it right now. We haven’t measured the level of effects we have or when the world will end, but what we do know is that our previous decisions aren’t helping. For example one of the million causes towards global warming is indeed oil, companies must put more effort into the process, or the system by which they transport their materials. Not just throw darts at a map and come to a spontaneous conclusion.

Oil companies themselves effect the environment, but a nice temporary solution is synthetic oil. As it helps the environment by reducing the bad or used oil waste stream. Researchers must perform the proper research and sacrifice the proper materials to find a separate eco friendly element, by which will open a whole new door to the demands and needs we face every day. If we can’t keep up, the world can’t either.

Water sloshes along the banks,
While fish swiftly swim,
Through the crystal clear water.
Small pebbles roll along with the current,
Stones being tossed in,
Disrupting the gentle sway,
The sway of this stream.
The ripples travel throughout the water,
And the fish scatter greatly frightened.
Further along the stream,
Frogs lie on lily pads,
And rib bit bringing an enchanting theme,
The theme of a stream being untouched,
Of no buildings,
Of just peace.
But it ends as a black substance travels down the stream,
Fish unknowingly stay near this mysterious thing,
Breathing it in through their gills,
Then realizing it brings pain,
It brings sickness,
It brings death.


Standing above all the other trees,
Delicately moving with the wind,
Branches hanging down,
Leaves sprouting,
The old willow tree.
Perfect for small animals to start their home in,
To start their family in,
To start to live.
Many animals claim their place in the hollow tree,
Building nests,
Building burrows,
Building love.
Animals scurry down the trunk looking for food,
Looking for water,
Looking for things to sustain their life.
They come back to a stump,
Of what used to be their home,
The old willow tree is tipped over,
With strange animals on two legs picking branches up,
Picking up nests,
Picking up carcasses.


Green grass covering the ground,
As a soft cushion above the earth.
The trees elegantly standing,
Silently watching.
Small animals make their homes in trees,
Hatching eggs,
Storing food,
Living as God intended.
Loud noises disrupt the serenity,
Noises not heard before.
Large things heading straight for this forest,
Straight at this home.
Trees crack and fall,
Animals scatter at the noise,
Scatter from the orange machines tearing apart their homes.
Though some stay protecting their homes,
Not knowing the power of these things heading for them.
The machines crush everything in their path,
They bring pain,
They bring sickness,
They bring death.
They are Mankind.


As I soar through the sky, the ground below me appears a delicate, fragile, and graceful piece of our future and our past. Herds of horses valiantly trample through the wide open planes. I may say that yesterday, today, and tomorrow are everything I would expect. Nature and all it has to offer is infinite. I land in my favorite spot in the whole wide world, the willow tree. The smells of its flowers and the care it shares with me. Never asking for anything in return. When I needed it most, it would comfort me.
Winter came, as I migrated south for months with the other birds. Admiring the luscious ground below us. We land in the desert and playfully wonder through the cloudless, illuminated plains before us. As time passed so did our environment. I decided to say here for longer, as I felt commendable. At first changes were small, but they grew larger and faster. Immense blocks all around me everywhere I passed it wasn’t preventable. The only thing that kept me together was the willow tree. Every night everyday I would dream of the willow tree.
I met one bird just like me, as he was quite admirable indeed. We would think of our homes and the warmth by which they gave to us. He was my companion forever. Soon we agreed to return to the willow tree. Ecstatic and joyful I couldn’t wait to lay my eyes on the willow tree, but in the back of my head I was disturbed and tormented by the changes of the once fertile and delicate ground. All the immense cubes and darkened rivers growing larger and larger even as we watch! My companion and I are filled with joy as we see the willow tree once again. Oh the willow tree, valiant as its branches sway in the wind, as it reaches towards the sky, symbolizing hope and love.
We lay our nest in one of the highest branches of the willow tree. As we proceed in the circle of life we lay our eggs and insure all we have into the willow tree. Weeks I would lay on those eggs, until finally one day they hatched. The heartwarming love the hatchlings brought to me. I felt complete with my companion and hatchlings life couldn’t have been better. My many trips in hunt for food and supplies still brought me the disturbing images of the blackened rivers and smoked clouds.
As I fly back to the willow tree, I am petrified from the once valiant tree laying in front of me. Just cement and black rivers, for now there are no hatchlings to comfort me, or a willow tree, or even my companion. Only my tears may comfort me, in my dreams and during the day, for they never ask for anything in return, as they share with me.

*Author's Note*



"Have you ever felt that strange unexplainable presence in your life, that bloodcurdling, yet miraculous experience? Were you ever afraid to be alone, to be in the dark? Were you ever afraid to turn around?"





Knock Knock Knock

Round and round the clock

3 o’clock

2 o’clock



Time began to spin

The air was growing thin

A breeze went through my skin



"W-We-Well, officer it was about 3 o’clock when I first woke up, for the air felt so br-br-brisk. I thought there surely must be something wrong with the th-thermostat, considering this I would've hassled Don, my husband, however he, he was at a business trip in Georgia for the next few days. S-So instead I got up and out of bed to check on the thermostat. First in th, the kitchen I wandered around for the light, b-but instead I switched the patio light on. And that was the first sighting... A dark silhouette stood in the window watching me almost as if it were a s-statue, I rubbed my eyes and it came closer, again I blinked and it continued closer to the window. It was a pattern almost as if it didn't exist when I was watching it. Afraid I fled and didn't c-come back until day break. I was sure I had overreacted and that it was some misunderstanding, so I proceeded to sleep in my bed last night. At 2 o’clock I woke again and it was that very moment when the sound of glass smashing into the ground c-came from the k-kitchen and in the doorway stood the same silhouette in my doorway, so I blinked and it was in front of my bed reaching out towards me, so I switched the l-lights on and it was gone."



I thought in my head. "There's absolutely no way this is true, this woman is crazy!"



"Sally I'm sure whatever it's you saw isn't there anymore. Perhaps I can give a psychiatrist a call for you, or perhaps your husband?"



"No r-really officer it's true!"



"Sally I'm truly am sorry, but I just don't have time for this."



"W-Wait, Wait! Officer!"



I left.



It was the night of that day, when I was woken around 1:30 getting a call from the station.



"Roger, we got calls from pedestrians in Meadow Brook; they claim to be hearing screams from their neighbor’s house. Do you think you could check it out?"



"Fine." I acknowledged in an unenthusiastic manner.



I soon arrived in Meadow Brook slowly patrolling the streets. Finely arriving at Sally's house I slowly approached the door. Nothing seemed suspicious at all. I knocked and knocked, but no sound.



"Mam, open the door." I shouted.



No response. So finally I broke the door. I drew my side arm filled with innocent fear.



"We have a code alpha in progress, suspect is at large, possible kidnapping, possible homicide. All available units respond."



I followed the trail of blood, out to a patio. No body in sight and nothing but blood.



Finally other agents from FBI with other organizations arrived and took over the scene.



The next night I woke up at 3 o’clock, as the phone beside by bed goes off again. I pick it up.



"Roger?"



"Yes?" I answered in a suspicious manner, for the female was calling in the middle of the night.



"It's Sally"



"Sally?!? I thought you were dead!"



"Well Roger, I am dead."



"Then who is it?" My heart racing.



"I am."



"You are who!?"



"I am. Something quite questionable indeed, I'm real, but I'm not real you see?"



And silence. I sat their in my bed, as the air around me grew brisk.