Monday, December 13, 2010

Blog #7: Compare & Contrast













Purpose: How do the two CD covers underscore different approaches to telling narratives in music.

Thesis: The Decemberists and The Antlers are both telling narratives, the construct of the Decemberists' CD booklet reflects a more proper and archaic approach while The Antlers evoke a more minimalist approach to emphasize the poignancy of the story.

Key Points:
1.Font
2.Picture
3.Context and Color

Structure:
Subject by Subject, the short nature of the essay would allow subject by subject to be more clear than point by point.

Blog #6: Working Definitions

           "The word that most needs definition is reality. After all what is more firm or grounded than the very thing which is constant, reality. The concept of a breaking reality or questioning all that makes reality is a shocking revelation. That is why it is so important to define, because if we do not then we risk culture shock when our reality is torn down.
            The best place to start would be where does reality end. There is a very simple test to do in order to determine if something is real. To begin this test thing of one thing that is being questioned. Is the possibility of that thing occurring constant, if it is not then it is not reality, it is an ephemeral shadow designed to detract from reality. These are things like ghosts, which may exist; however, we can not define them under the same context of reality. War is reality, immortality is not.
             Reality also encompasses the senses absolutely. There is no median between sense and reality they are rather two sides of the same truth. When one ends the other begins forever in an endless cycle. Reality is also an interpretation of what is real. There is not exact science to the art of perceiving there is only what we believe there to be. All things are constantly trying to deceive you, and not surprisingly they are doing a very good job of it. God's greatest joke on man by far was giving him consciousness to know what being happy was like, and then never giving the feeling depth to last. Reality is constantly forcing you to change homeostasis is impossible as long as reality bends the reins. Sure making X amount of money for Y amount of time is fine, until Y reaches a long standing state of homeostasis. Then the transition between perceived comfort and actual comfort is breached. Congratulations, perception just won out again.
              Reality is often a big picture, it seldom sits beside and allows fantasy to play out against the common. It is so little that fantasy takes hold that some associate it with children or the insane. Good job reality, you've turned us against ourselves.
              Reality is not so much an enemy, faceted ground on which you stand. Without it concepts seem disjointed, loose.
              The two paragraphs above don't exist. Do they exist? Reality seems to say yes, but perhaps the answer is to extend reality to realize our reality is limited to what we believe it to be. The whole point of this," Desmond said to Sedaris, "is that maybe we're just some Deus Ex Machina thought of in some last minute blog assignment." Sedaris turned to face Desmond and spoke quietly, "This is not a sentence."

Monday, October 25, 2010

Blog #5 Narrative & Description Response

The Ocean: I am the bowry of the deep, come to sweep her by the feet, and dorwn her 'neath the deep. Such sweet mournful tones radiating from her bones, how I wish to fill with filth and foul disease. Ophelia will drown in this tide I've drawn, and kryll and fish will feed on her blood drawn. Her soft gentle skin will prove and show thin, by the time I'm done with her. Such pretty eyes to never see the light; hands bound by skin and hair with ease. What lovely hair lost under my snare I will drown and take her there. A dress so white, made of gentle light that heaven cast down from above, will make muddy then when I mend her hem only to rip it down again. The ocean snare of water black and tide turned swallow and doeful, will rip her halo from that lovely head. Her ship approaches now with catwalks burning down my waves will tumble her far from this shore. The whales cry for her salvation, to their great determination, will only be met by your own cruel destination.

Mare: I am the brother of the whaler's arm and son to a man named Cal. I am but, a boy of fifteen spread on a sheet of bombazine whose name likens to the sea. They call me a stevedore all akin  to the ocean's roar I will set at sea to be, my name cut into the roaring of the deep. Despite my putrid body, despite my addled clause, I will dive deep into its depths. I will carry as your brother in arms soon to be wed to Ophelia......
Set sail she abandoned us, her beauty fled from our town. Those privateers did a number on her house, her town burned to shreds, its now if ever then. I set sail with my enemy to chase the life of pirates in the deep. It has been a year to then. My face is boiled deep my vestry nice and neat. I clean the and partake of all of it to kill and pillage by the sea. Then one day a widow called, and spoke in prose so wintry and so deep. "Find me my Ophelia, money is your drive, bring her back all one piece for she is Leo's bride." The bureaucrat returned all of that then returned to his maiden's adultered life. "She has no fledgling, him from all his maidens tin we will mend his his flesh to rascals please." Alas the captain took him on his offer and left me hurt calling so much faster. "Ophelia, where are you what hast you done to keep yourself to far." That night the heaven's shook and evil crawled aboard our ship. The ocean called the bagman's arm and he ascended from the deep. How could I refuse his sorrowed cry, as waves in tow showed he had no eye. A deal was made, I would be captain of these seas. Ophelia was to die.

Ocean: Weakened and troubled the ocean now bubbles I am but weakened from her light. Ophelia you wench you've contained my sin all amongst that ragged skin. In her eyes lie my eternal wrath; the sins of sailors sealed me inside that calf.

Mare: My ship dragged about drowned in a spout I will last to claim my fee. I am here in the belly of this whale alone with my life entail. I have feasted on my crew, and power has come to liken two and two my eyes are black, my skin is hollowed slack and my soul drowned neath the deep. The island come to wash me about its shores. Hidden then end life's simple scores. Where I step the land will rot returning to the seas. There at last, I see Ophelia bound by willow. One good stab is all I'll do to seal the deal with the Bagman. I remember then the skies did darken  and Ophelia dragged into a pool of water by my weighted hand. She was a bound wren waiting like a hen for death or cause of slaughter by my hands. I will stake her then the power of worldly men will not match my might and speed... Approach her then I cast my and stabbed her neath her little heart. And watched her wake.

Ophelia: Darking dear what have you done you've stabbed my heart and smeared with blood. You are not human the Bagman has gotten you power. Destroyed all and all of it gotten you.

Mare: Perish wench I'll strike you down to turn that shine into a frown

Ophelia: Your soul is torn to form anew I place this curse on you, with my air I'll carry you there to ammend for one as so much sin.

Ocean: I am far as black as night come to swallow up this final light. The water risen as it comes I will bleed all but one. Boy join the Bagman, girl release my power. I will drown the light of life for this curse upon we.

Mare: Darling dear what have I done I reckoned then seized at once by the river bed. Ophelia forgive me, I remember my light of aim so weak and soul content on the timber of our errant town. I remember my love content to above I will strike the ocean down.

Ophelia: Take heed young soul for I am gone, but seize not life you forfeit, for it is gone.

Mare: Heed my sorrow, cry great waves I'll cut your heart from your chest. I curse I shiver, I'll break the waters you lie  I reap the Bagman and hold him through, I will not take it from you. Abandon all hope ye sultry fiend my blade is fresh and cutting deed. I'll crash down into the waves to split a scalp from you.  I've spilled the blood of my own, to share the fate of Ophelia, alas I am no saint. Reveal occursed a sickle soul I plead to the heavens to make me stroll. Hush now lover don't you cry to me, I'll break the tide with this errant fee, I choke I shake on this rancid deep. I'll take this blade and use it to cut deep, ,my blood the ocean's water, my heart the stilled the end of your ragged tide.

Ocean: You bastard dark what have you done, turned your blade in at one. Cut your heart, and bleed the dark. Dammit I'll take you back. Let us both drown, lost beneath the deep.

Ophelia: I cannot sleep with such deep dreams, a man I cannot remember, an errant reverend sunk beneath the deep.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Franz Kafka Biography

http://www.kafka-franz.com/kafka-Biography.htm
I must admit in the recess of what I recognized as hopeless childhood I felt disparaged at the death of my first two siblings. This in the start of my journey led me to a great sadness. I will admit that my many nightly affairs did cheer me up as I lay commonly with various courtesans. My Czech would seduce and my German would inspire them to give themselves up. The mornings when I awoke however I was immediately repulsed by my actions. Marriage is to unbearable a punishment, I can barely stand these one night affairs. Even Grete my love seems unbearable, but maybe this is my own doing. I called off the engagement because it was a cruel and overplayed joke on no one but me. Despite all of this I fear it is my end which will claim me soon. I hope my Grete will forgive my actions as well as know that my Metamorphoses was for her. It will be the Tuberculosis which will kill me, not her.