1007 Westbench Drive,
Penticton, British Columbia,
V2A 8Y4
May 25, 2011
Mr. Kleats,
Soccer Coach,
Central High School,
123 Main Street,
Sportstown, British Columbia,
V2A 1W3
Dear Mr. Kleats:
I am Peter Johnston, the father of Rick who plays on your soccer team, the Sportstown Slicers, and I would like to express a few concerns. During my frequent attendances to Rick's games, I have noticed a few problems that I would like to bring to your attention.
I recognise that you have a busy schedule and you are volunteering your time to help these kids have an organised soccer league, but when I had the opportunity to visit one of your practices, I was slightly disappointed. I noticed that your punctuality to the training I saw was lacking considerably. I know that you have a regular job and are taking extra time to coach, but I think that being on time is essential. It would serve as inspiration to your Slicers, teaching them the value of being punctual. Also, the practice I saw lacked structure and there were no real drills. The practices consisted of random scrimmages, which do offer a game situation, but not skill development. I believe that a structured practice is a necessity to winning, which, as a frequent attendee of soccer games, is evidently very important to you. Perhaps you should consider having an assistant coach help you with your management. An assistant would be able to help you organize training exercises and start the practice on time while you make your way to practice.
From observing at the many soccer games I have seen this season, I can see that you are very fixated on winning. I respect that wish completely as I cheer for my teams to win in the FIFA World Cup and I do want to see the Slicers win, but your passion for winning has transferred in a negative way to the players, my son included. Members of the Slicers are not being played evenly, regardless of the fact that all parents have paid the same amount of money for registration. We all want to win but my son, being one of the less adept players, has spent considerable amounts of time on the bench whereas Johnathan spends an entire game on the field. Seeing as this is not select district team, I would suggest setting a time limit to the substitutions and rotating everyone in for 15 minute intervals to allow everyone to play. Another grievance that I would like to discuss would be your tone when addressing your players. Kids will respond better to a kinder tone and I assure you that if you encourage your players in a positive way, you will see a dramatic increase in the success of the Slicers. I know how much you like winning so this proposal would benefit everyone.
As enthralled as you may be with the possibility of winning, we must all see that these are young kids and have signed up to enjoy the pleasure of playing soccer on a team. I hope you will consider these suggestions and concerns and that you can continue to coach the Slicers, perhaps leading them to their first league title. I thank you for your time and look forward to watching the game this Saturday.
Sincerely,
Peter Johnston
Greece
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Why Can't the School System be Like the "Good Old Days"?
-Some people say that the school system is much more lenient than that of this generation's predecessors, but this has repeatedly been found to be untrue. The past generations tell their offspring that teachers were accustomed to taking "the strap" to their pupils, but who can think of a better punishment than being forced to sit through half an hour of biology notes?
-Students of the Canadian school system are frequently assaulted by copious amounts of homework, threatening to drain the fluid from their brains slowly like gas being siphoned from a car engine. Observations have been made of students in libraries who are being distracted from spilling the contents of their mind into their cell phones by the ominous presence of unfinished fill-in-the-blank history notes. The school system has elevated into a state of panic and stress which is unheard of in past generations. In the 1960's, students didn't have to worry about their friends contacting them with a myriad of predicaments, forced to listen to their afflictions via text. Consequently, their stress levels were significantly reduced compared to modern day teens. Now, in modern day society, students cannot have to luxury of ensconcing themselves in their three math problems without being plagued by distractions. And they have only one thing to blame for their distractions: the complexity of the current school system. Who, in the real world, uses trivial mathematical equations such as quadratic functions in grocery stores to assign a number to a bundle of four carrots? "Well, since 'Y' equals four times 'X' squared minus seven, this comes to five dollars and seventeen cents." This will soon be a common conversation between all purveyors of food and their customers if something doesn't change in the school system. Teachers assign homework maliciously to students just so that they have something to do on their weekend. Students in past generations would never have had to do that.
-As well as the frequent stress of extra, unnecessary homework, the stress of having to study a second time for a test contributes to the overall sense of oppression in the Canadian school system. Why on Earth would anyone want to study twice for two separate tests on the same subject? The implication of the redo policy immediately invoked that level of stress in students. In the "good old days", this would never have been a problem. A test was written once and a mark was stamped on the paper in red ink, dictating the student's success rate. The student would accept this with a fleeting glance at the letter grade at the top of the paper and stow it away in their binder. Now, teens have a mark written on their test along with an array of comments. A soft suggestion from the teacher catapults the pupil into another studying session, sometimes lasting as long as an entire hour. This horrible sequence of events culminates in getting another mark on a new test, this time taken properly into consideration. Students have to be put through this process twice instead of once as their ancestors did.
-But there is yet another point that ignites teens' stress levels to terminal quantities: the no zero policy. Now imagine this: an English assignment is given to a student with a due date, perhaps, in three days after the weekend. Now this particular student has made plans with his friend to hang out watching re-runs of "Seinfeld" while texting his other friend, disclosing what he is doing and his location on a regular basis. This student does not have time to engage in the arduous task of focusing on the English assignment without distraction so he will come to a sudden realization: he already has a fine job at a local fast food joint. Why bother doing something when it is unnecessary? This luxury would be an excellent option but, however, the no zero policy denies that right. Instead, the slightly miffed teacher will subtly assign the student to the "homework room" to get the assignment done, making the student forfeit lunches to do the homework the student didn't do on purpose. Now that is a peculiar sense of reasoning.
-The Canadian school system really does need to make some changes and ensure that progress is moving to ensure that students get an easier and much less stressful education. Society foresees a day where unnecessary homework, redoes, and the zero policy is but a faint whisper from the past. The future will hold days of school work that ease students calmly into the soothing and relaxing atmosphere university life and then the sheer bliss of the workplace.
-Students of the Canadian school system are frequently assaulted by copious amounts of homework, threatening to drain the fluid from their brains slowly like gas being siphoned from a car engine. Observations have been made of students in libraries who are being distracted from spilling the contents of their mind into their cell phones by the ominous presence of unfinished fill-in-the-blank history notes. The school system has elevated into a state of panic and stress which is unheard of in past generations. In the 1960's, students didn't have to worry about their friends contacting them with a myriad of predicaments, forced to listen to their afflictions via text. Consequently, their stress levels were significantly reduced compared to modern day teens. Now, in modern day society, students cannot have to luxury of ensconcing themselves in their three math problems without being plagued by distractions. And they have only one thing to blame for their distractions: the complexity of the current school system. Who, in the real world, uses trivial mathematical equations such as quadratic functions in grocery stores to assign a number to a bundle of four carrots? "Well, since 'Y' equals four times 'X' squared minus seven, this comes to five dollars and seventeen cents." This will soon be a common conversation between all purveyors of food and their customers if something doesn't change in the school system. Teachers assign homework maliciously to students just so that they have something to do on their weekend. Students in past generations would never have had to do that.
-As well as the frequent stress of extra, unnecessary homework, the stress of having to study a second time for a test contributes to the overall sense of oppression in the Canadian school system. Why on Earth would anyone want to study twice for two separate tests on the same subject? The implication of the redo policy immediately invoked that level of stress in students. In the "good old days", this would never have been a problem. A test was written once and a mark was stamped on the paper in red ink, dictating the student's success rate. The student would accept this with a fleeting glance at the letter grade at the top of the paper and stow it away in their binder. Now, teens have a mark written on their test along with an array of comments. A soft suggestion from the teacher catapults the pupil into another studying session, sometimes lasting as long as an entire hour. This horrible sequence of events culminates in getting another mark on a new test, this time taken properly into consideration. Students have to be put through this process twice instead of once as their ancestors did.
-But there is yet another point that ignites teens' stress levels to terminal quantities: the no zero policy. Now imagine this: an English assignment is given to a student with a due date, perhaps, in three days after the weekend. Now this particular student has made plans with his friend to hang out watching re-runs of "Seinfeld" while texting his other friend, disclosing what he is doing and his location on a regular basis. This student does not have time to engage in the arduous task of focusing on the English assignment without distraction so he will come to a sudden realization: he already has a fine job at a local fast food joint. Why bother doing something when it is unnecessary? This luxury would be an excellent option but, however, the no zero policy denies that right. Instead, the slightly miffed teacher will subtly assign the student to the "homework room" to get the assignment done, making the student forfeit lunches to do the homework the student didn't do on purpose. Now that is a peculiar sense of reasoning.
-The Canadian school system really does need to make some changes and ensure that progress is moving to ensure that students get an easier and much less stressful education. Society foresees a day where unnecessary homework, redoes, and the zero policy is but a faint whisper from the past. The future will hold days of school work that ease students calmly into the soothing and relaxing atmosphere university life and then the sheer bliss of the workplace.
Monday, April 18, 2011
The "Sounds of Silence" and the Disconnection of Communication
The "Sounds of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel began as a complete failure but after a brief editing session, their signature mellifluous harmonies soon escalated into one of the greatest songs of all time, pioneering the duet scene and rising quickly to the top of the charts. The "Sounds of Silence" delivers a potent message which enriches the poetic elements of the song: people do not communicate and often submit themselves to a greater presence without much thought. This poetic rendition of the Simon and Garfunkel experience illustrates many attributes which lead to a success in the music industry. Paul Simon, the orchestrator of this song, uses apostrophe in the two opening lines addressing "darkness, [his] old friend" directly. Simon and Garfunkel's use of apostrophe delivers a cathartic or melancholic mood; the use of apostrophe reveals the speaker's emotional tensions to an inanimate object in a forlorn and forgotten way, almost reminiscent of the past. Simon and Garfunkel also use the effect of oxymorons to bring out the meaning in the song. The title, "Sounds of Silence", includes an oxymoron which adds to the melancholic mood and the central theme of the song: through increased attempts to communicate – perhaps through the use of technology in the form of texting and social networking, and in Simon and Garfunkel's time, the onset of the television – people become more disconnected. Paul Simon recognized this lack of communication back in the 1960's with the onset of censorship in the USSR and the cold war, and it still applies today. The reference to "the neon god they made" provides a strong allusion to the creation of the television which enriches the lack of communication. In accordance with the song’s melancholic mood, Paul Simon uses personification to illustrate an imminent overtaking of technology. “When [the speaker’s] eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light”, Simon describes the bright light from the television and flashing signs, both of which belittle the petty relationships that keeps society from conforming to the television and technology, giving up the communication one strives for. Similes and various analogies are also used to emphasize the sombre mood that develops throughout the song. The speaker compares his words to “silent raindrops... [that] [echo] / [i]n the wells of silence”. The speaker’s voice cannot be heard as all other members of the population are busy immersed in technology, more specifically the newly designed television. Lastly, the speaker states that “‘[t]he words of the prophets are written on the subway walls’” and alludes to a place where the simple past is still functioning. The subway walls symbolize the past and people who cannot afford the new technology and are still communicating their emotions as everyone once did. In a sense, the most advanced members of society are people that are not confined by new advances in technology; they are the people with the most knowledge. Simon and Garfunkel’s classic hit delivered a powerful message with the aid of many poetic devices and will be considered perpetually by all future generations.
Lyrics
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence
Lyrics
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Exodus from Prison?
-The sun reached its zenith and the blistering heat rained down on two melancholic figures with their backs to the hard stone. In one of the scarce oases from the brutal savage nature of their condemned existence, the two figures, distanced from other inhabitants, discussed their plan of escape.-"That could work!" exclaimed Greg. "My only concern, however, is the sentinels on top of the watch towers."
-"Relax Greg," Trevor whispered, "We should keep it down. The guards will hear us. But you don't have to worry as I've got this all figured out."
-"OK well tell me again. Blast! I can't see how this will work," offered Greg.
-"Well this is how I see it. When the daylight wanes tonight, we'll sneak out of the bunkhouses and head into the center court right beside the Warden's office. He'll least expect an escape attempt from there." Trevor pointed to the seemingly luxurious mansion in the midst of run-down buildings and working people. "That's where we'll start."
-"Well we can't think about messing with the Warden. We have to focus on getting out don't we?" mused Greg.
-"Shut up you imbecile. Listen!" retorted Trevor aggressively. "I'll say it again so you can wrap your pathetic brain around it." Trevor continued to describe the event one more time in a monotonous voice, exasperated at Greg's lack of understanding. "When the daylight wanes tonight, we'll sneak out of the bunkhouses and head to the center court beside the Warden's office."
-"What about the escape?"
-"LISTEN!" yelled Trevor enraged that Greg had cut him off again. The entire prison fell silent and all eyes turned to the pair of plotting inmates. Trevor and Greg fell silent and they became frightened.
-"It's so quiet," stated Greg blatantly.
-"I know. Shut up."Trevor replied sarcastically in hushed tones. "If the Warden comes around the corner we'll have to make a break for it." The void of silence, which only minutes before had been filled with the rhythmic sounds of inmates toiling in the yard, seemed endless. The seconds dragged out as if they were weighed down just as the inmates were, carrying bags of stones and depositing them repeatedly. "I think we're safe." reasoned Trevor as prison life slowly resumed.
-Greg offered, "So since we are safe now, we can continue to plot right?"
-"Yes we can," responded Trevor. "I have the flare we snuck out of the first aid room in the mess hall so listen and I'll tell you the rest."
-"I got it Trev. I'm all ears but I think your being a little too optimistic. No one breaks out of prison down here."
-"Don't worry about it. I've got it all figured out. After we meet beside the Warden's office, you'll stay here and wait till I get to the shed beside the mess hall. Once I get there, you launch the flare and while the guards are distracted, I'll hop up on the shed, onto the mess hall, and up onto the wall. From there, I'll jump out of the prison and come get you tomorrow night."
-"Wait. So I have to stay here while I escape?" pondered Greg out loud.
-"Don't worry about it. I've got you covered. I'll come back tomorrow with the rest of the clan and we'll get you out."
-"OK fine," decided Greg, "but only because you stood up for me last week when the guards beat me. 'You nigger' they shouted as they laughed taking turns punching and kicking me. It was awful. And then you were standing there looking all heroic telling them to stop. It was angelic."
-"I would do it any time and thank you. You won't regret it." recited Trevor enjoying the fact that he had fooled this man just as he had all the others before him. Trevor smiled to himself as the two men stood up. Suddenly, a chill ran up Trevor's spine as the sadistic tone of the Warden resonated in the hot summer air.
-"That sounds like a good plan boys. Can I come?" laughed the Warden maliciously. The two men swirled around and look up on top of the wall. The Warden was perched there with a gun in hand, staring the two men down with his ice-cold blue eyes.
NOTE: *I cannot indent the paragraphs. Spacing does not work. -'s are placed where indents are supposed to be.*
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Thursday, February 24, 2011
Bullying: the Sole Blemish to a Serenity of Knowledge
As the bell rings on a frigid and dry Tuesday morning at Princess Margaret Secondary School, students from all backgrounds merge into groups. The populace is mostly a homogeneous mixture of Caucasians but there are a few Aboriginal, Asian, East Indian, and African Canadians. They head towards their respective classes in a blissful state, ready to learn a new lesson, all the while unaware of bullying present at their school. This institution is located within an arid climate, situated in the town of Penticton, BC about five hours from Vancouver. As this proverbial non-bullying school heads into session, the hallways are empty. However, only moments before, the corridors were filled with students loitering, chatting, and just enjoying the serendipitous atmosphere of the school.
Unfortunately, not everyone has the same experience at this center of learning. Jimmy Towns was asked about the matter of bullying responding that "[he doesn't] think that people realize what goes on in this school. People just walk around and look at their friends, nodding to them only noticing a select few. One of [his] buddies doesn't have that luxury." According to Towns, people are indeed being picked on. In this example, a bus ride was described on the way home from school. Towns described the victim as acting nonchalantly to avoid getting attention while his abuser spewed an array of vulgar and offensive comments in hushed tones. This type of bullying is not always evident but verbal bullying can be one of the most hurtful and harmful.
Although there is an absence of concrete evidence towards other forms of bullying, it is apparent in the way that some of the less fortunate students, that don't fall under the popular clique, meekly abscond from some of the larger members of the student populace. "There have been fights. People just beat each other. It can get pretty crazy" reported George Mallard when asked about physical bullying. He stated that he himself had been involved in a few fights and seen the result of such occurrences. Physical bullying is not a big problem at this school but there are a few discrepancies in an otherwise physically safe environment. When surveyed, most students admitted to enjoying a safe environment where teachers are responsible and caring towards the safety of those enrolled at Princess Margaret.
This school is putting a strong emphasis on an anti-bullying policy towards all aspects of segregation and exclusion. Quite recently, an anti-bullying "Pink Day" was conducted at the school. Also, this past semester, a "Be the Change" workshop was held in an effort to create a school with a connected atmosphere and eradicate bullying. Lacy Johnston claimed that "it was a great experience. [The students] really bonded with everybody. People told each other things they had never told anybody before to people they had never even talked to or even acknowledged." Those grade ten and twelve students that attended this workshop are looked upon as forerunners for a series of workshops designed to include the entire school in such an experience.
Unfortunately, on that same survey, people also testified to being a bystander when someone was being harassed. Instead of considering going for help and rectifying the situation, they are satisfied in watching the events take place. Although there are some people who will take a stand, there is a plethora of people who will not and that has been an ongoing problem. In order to solve this predicament, the students need to pledge to themselves that they will take a stand against bullying and not be a bystander. Through various presentations, students have already been made aware of the consequences of such actions. They have only to agree to act on these impulses and not suppress them for fear of embarrassment. They have only to think of what their actions will do in the future. They have only to stand up and help.
Although bullying is a rare event in this school due to the emphasis placed on it, rare instances do occur and as a result students have to make a vow that they will help comrades in distress and stand together to fight this threat.
Unfortunately, not everyone has the same experience at this center of learning. Jimmy Towns was asked about the matter of bullying responding that "[he doesn't] think that people realize what goes on in this school. People just walk around and look at their friends, nodding to them only noticing a select few. One of [his] buddies doesn't have that luxury." According to Towns, people are indeed being picked on. In this example, a bus ride was described on the way home from school. Towns described the victim as acting nonchalantly to avoid getting attention while his abuser spewed an array of vulgar and offensive comments in hushed tones. This type of bullying is not always evident but verbal bullying can be one of the most hurtful and harmful.
Although there is an absence of concrete evidence towards other forms of bullying, it is apparent in the way that some of the less fortunate students, that don't fall under the popular clique, meekly abscond from some of the larger members of the student populace. "There have been fights. People just beat each other. It can get pretty crazy" reported George Mallard when asked about physical bullying. He stated that he himself had been involved in a few fights and seen the result of such occurrences. Physical bullying is not a big problem at this school but there are a few discrepancies in an otherwise physically safe environment. When surveyed, most students admitted to enjoying a safe environment where teachers are responsible and caring towards the safety of those enrolled at Princess Margaret.
This school is putting a strong emphasis on an anti-bullying policy towards all aspects of segregation and exclusion. Quite recently, an anti-bullying "Pink Day" was conducted at the school. Also, this past semester, a "Be the Change" workshop was held in an effort to create a school with a connected atmosphere and eradicate bullying. Lacy Johnston claimed that "it was a great experience. [The students] really bonded with everybody. People told each other things they had never told anybody before to people they had never even talked to or even acknowledged." Those grade ten and twelve students that attended this workshop are looked upon as forerunners for a series of workshops designed to include the entire school in such an experience.
Unfortunately, on that same survey, people also testified to being a bystander when someone was being harassed. Instead of considering going for help and rectifying the situation, they are satisfied in watching the events take place. Although there are some people who will take a stand, there is a plethora of people who will not and that has been an ongoing problem. In order to solve this predicament, the students need to pledge to themselves that they will take a stand against bullying and not be a bystander. Through various presentations, students have already been made aware of the consequences of such actions. They have only to agree to act on these impulses and not suppress them for fear of embarrassment. They have only to think of what their actions will do in the future. They have only to stand up and help.
Although bullying is a rare event in this school due to the emphasis placed on it, rare instances do occur and as a result students have to make a vow that they will help comrades in distress and stand together to fight this threat.
Dusk is imminent as the lion stalks its prey. A wildebeest stands in the long grass of the Savannah. As the lion approaches the wildebeest, it sees something strange. From the distance, more wildebeests trot towards their compatriot. The group of wildebeests huddle together eyeing the lion cautiously. The lion tries to frighten the group by feigning an attack in order to separate the herd but to no avail. The wildebeests stay together and the lion turns its back towards the herd, retreating into the African sunset.
Monday, February 7, 2011
I am
I am. What am I that makes me what I am? Is it what I am? Or is it what I am not?
I am a swordsman. Knighted copiously, I have slayed two hundred dragons. I have conversed with Sun Tzu before he proposed his "Art of War". The icy hand of sickness and death has never touched me. Always alert, I never cease to combat the enemy.
I am not a tyrant ruler who dictates to his loyal subjects. I am not a descendant of Hitler or Genghis Khan and I am not a liar. Einstein said that "the most incomprehensible thing about the universe is that it is comprehensible." I do not comprehend that. I do not take baths on Thursdays and I do not believe in death.
Paris has seen me. Seoul has seen me. Ouagadougou has seen me. Moscow could have but wasn't looking. I brought life to the Sphinx of Giza and I told the Mayans how to construct the Chitzen Itza. I don't enter my basement after 12:34am but I do ensconce myself in a light azure armchair in front of a fire. I am the eight-thousand and first terracotta warrior.
I like to blow bubbles into a glass of water and I have done this for 4 hours 32 minutes and 26 seconds. Teaching penguins how to fly is one of my favourite pastimes. It invigorates me. People might wonder how Santa delivers gifts to the populace of the world. He doesn't. I do.
I have earned the most prestigious prize ever. I grew the largest pumpkin in Western Ohio. I have won a Nobel Peace Prize. I performed the caesarean section that gave life to Julius Caesar and then killed him 55 years later with my compatriot, Brutus. "Et tu, Brute? et Erik?" was the last words I heard from him. I am the rays of sun that light up the day and the cold blanket that covers the night. I resurrected Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi just to talk. I am the sole reason for the Big Bang and I had breakfast this morning.
I am a king, I am a deity, I am a prophet, I am the messiah, I am King Kong, I am a tyrannosaurus but I am not a university graduate.
I am a swordsman. Knighted copiously, I have slayed two hundred dragons. I have conversed with Sun Tzu before he proposed his "Art of War". The icy hand of sickness and death has never touched me. Always alert, I never cease to combat the enemy.
I am not a tyrant ruler who dictates to his loyal subjects. I am not a descendant of Hitler or Genghis Khan and I am not a liar. Einstein said that "the most incomprehensible thing about the universe is that it is comprehensible." I do not comprehend that. I do not take baths on Thursdays and I do not believe in death.
Paris has seen me. Seoul has seen me. Ouagadougou has seen me. Moscow could have but wasn't looking. I brought life to the Sphinx of Giza and I told the Mayans how to construct the Chitzen Itza. I don't enter my basement after 12:34am but I do ensconce myself in a light azure armchair in front of a fire. I am the eight-thousand and first terracotta warrior.
I like to blow bubbles into a glass of water and I have done this for 4 hours 32 minutes and 26 seconds. Teaching penguins how to fly is one of my favourite pastimes. It invigorates me. People might wonder how Santa delivers gifts to the populace of the world. He doesn't. I do.
I have earned the most prestigious prize ever. I grew the largest pumpkin in Western Ohio. I have won a Nobel Peace Prize. I performed the caesarean section that gave life to Julius Caesar and then killed him 55 years later with my compatriot, Brutus. "Et tu, Brute? et Erik?" was the last words I heard from him. I am the rays of sun that light up the day and the cold blanket that covers the night. I resurrected Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi just to talk. I am the sole reason for the Big Bang and I had breakfast this morning.
I am a king, I am a deity, I am a prophet, I am the messiah, I am King Kong, I am a tyrannosaurus but I am not a university graduate.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Escape?
The light begins to flood into the world that is my home. Faint images of some distant memory begin to creep into my subconscious thinking and the world becomes a living reality once again. I feel the firm grasp of freedom around me and I am hoisted from my prison. A myriad of images simultaneously reach me and I see for the first time in almost half a year, the outside world. A compilation of foreign sound reaches my ears and the grip around me becomes moistened and slippery. Thoughts of desperation reach my mind but this is good. This is the faint hope that may prove to be my exodus. As the last foreign words escape the mouth of the invigilator, I am lowered to solid ground and swept across it, accomplishing a combination of scratching sounds and ink lines. As I look down at the massive white expanse with black on it, I am dumbfounded as to how these seemingly random marks of ink are meaningful to my captor. I look up and around and see that many of my kin have the same affliction as I, bound to move across the white void and create ink or lead lines and scratching sounds. My eyes lock with those of a HB pencil and her sad gaze wanders to fall on mine. We look at each other, each remembering days when we were not tied to such bonds with our captors and think what could possibly be done to liberate ourselves from such tyranny. Two hours pass in this monotonous task of scratching the white sheet and making ink lines but finally a hope of some salvation glimmers through the silent room. A pen's eyes light up with delight as the grasp of the monstrous captor releases her grip on the pen as it falls to the desktop. The captor gets up and leaves this assembly line of exams, elated at the fact that she will never have to write another school exam. I return my gaze to the paper and a shock trembles my very soul. As I concentrate more on the grasp that has held me captive for the past two hours, I realize that the moist, sweaty and firm grip around me is loosening. Is this the moment of my salvation? Has all my life in captivity been devoted to this small shimmer of hope? Indeed it has. My captor relinquishes his grip on me and I tumble to the ground, knowing that I am now free and the liberty bestowed upon me has allowed me to choose my own path. Thoughts of joy course through me and just as I feel that my captor is gone for good and I am free, I realize I don't have legs. I can't move and am bound for perpetual servitude in the control of my captors. Destined to be trapped in a vortex of swirling hand movements, I am now a permanent part of my captor's culture, portraying emotion and ideas through forced labour. What a cruel end for a pen!
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