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The allure of dreams past

This is a (slightly dark) short story I wrote to practice capturing internal monologue and emotional expression. The sound of the bulldozers pulled me ever so unceremoniously from my slumber, the sunlight falling more sharply on my face than ever. As the warm, comfortable escape of my dreams slowly fades from my grasp, the mixed emotions in my chest began to once again bubble and rise to the surface, reminding me of the bitter truth that our dreams never last. Ever since father decided to sell thirty acres of the forest in which my brother and I grew up, I've been unsure what to feel. In one regard, I'm horrified to think that the forest, the place I ran to as a child when I needed to feel the stifling peace of an all-encompassing silence, is going to be gone, wiped from every facet of my life, remaining only in distant and hazy remembrance of childhood adventures. The fear makes me want to spend every last moment in the forest, soaking up its spirit and personality, feeling the way the forest breathes for the last time. At the same time, however, every time I begin to walk out into the sea of oak and birch, and I see the sunlight falling in gentle rivulets through the gaps in the thinning canopy, I can't help but feel some implicit need to mourn the symbolic destruction of my childhood. So, instead of confronting my conflicted emotions, I content myself with staring solemnly out of my bedroom window, writing every emotion I feel in my journal, compliant to the orders of my therapist. I leave the pages blank. A cup of tea warms by hands, but I find that I have to remind myself to drink it, because somehow I keep losing track of what's happening, lost in thoughts which, until just recently, sat collecting dust and distortion in the far corners of my mind. These memories fall into my mind, at first one by one, but now in an ever increasing cascade of distant but desirable youthful misadventures. I stand, for seemingly with no purpose or direction, but somehow I find myself walking down the once well-worn path cutting into the heart of the forest. The crisp autumn air reminds me with every breath that I'm still alive, and I find myself caught up in the sheer beauty of existence. I am alive, right here, right now, and there's so much to see in this world. I walk through the forest, and even though by own feet have walked this green path countless times, I find some vital sense of new growth, of fresh, ever changing life. It looks different than it did when I was just a child, but it feels exactly the same. Perhaps that's simply because the boy who wanders it truly has stayed the same. The wind in the trees tries to reminisce with me, but it's whispering is drowned out by the cacophonous uproar of the heavy machinery. As I walk deeper into the forest, the sounds of suburban life slowly fade into the background. I notice a dog barking faintly in the distance, probably hearing the noise of the bulldozers and becoming nearly as upset at them as I am. Soon, though, even that is faint in the distance, the sound of destruction is slowly overcome by the gentle babbling of a creek, winding its way lazily but tortuously through the sunlit grass. off in the distance, I hear shouts, and the crash of a fallen tree. With every piece of the forest that does, I fear a piece of by youth dies with it. Perhaps growing up is just understanding that all that forms us in our youth must come to an end, for they will surely expire before the lives they shaped. The sky is beginning to turn pink at the edges, turning the canopy of leaves into a perfect scene of falling cherry blossoms, the crisp air running through the leaves, no longer contested by the brutish hum of man. I sit under the tree with me and my brothers initials carved into, a relic of times long since past, and I wonder if I truly am the same boy who ran frantically to keep up with my brother, no greater cares than the path right in front of me. when did this boy become me? When did I stop being that little boy? I couldn't tell you, but perhaps that's because it never truly happened. Maybe that little boy only dies when I believe he has, because in truth he is me, and I am him. I must’ve lost track of the time, because the moon is beginning to peek over the horizon, the atmosphere enveloping the sky in tones of muted umbra and purple, greens turning gray, until the river reflects a monochrome effigy of the boy who once felt brave enough to call himself free. I begin to make my way home, but I walk slower now, lingering at every step. I stop and take off my shoes, choosing to feel the crisp leaves and cool grass on my toes. The moonlight shines brightly now, the cool glow lighting the short distance home. I stop at the edge of the woods, feeling as if I need to say goodbye. It feels indecent, leaving without a word, but I can't think of anything to say. So instead, I sit on the grass, listening the night sounds. The world always seems so much more alive when almost everything is asleep. The very air seems charged with some palpable energy, like the promise of some untold story waiting to be unraveled. After a time has passed, I stand, and slowly begin walking back to my house. Fatigue begins to pull at my eyelids, and the brisk air raises goosebumps on my unprotected skin, but I can't ignore the sense of contentment welling up from within. At first I didn't really know why I felt this way: that place spent my childhood was being torn down to build an apartment complex. But something tells me that just because it's gone, and just because I'll never get to sit on the river bank and write stories, this place, or at least the idea of it, never has to stop existing. I can call on my memory of this night, and thousands before it, and return. It's will always be a part of who I am and who I will become, because it's a part of who I was. And in the end, perhaps the person I was isn't too different from the person I am. As I slowly drift towards sleep, I feel as though I've gained some great understanding, as if the secrets of peace and happiness are within my grasp, and yet I can't seem to articulate them. My therapist calls it a breakthrough, and maybe, for once, he's right. Regardless of whether I have the words to put these thoughts on paper or not, I can still feel them in my mind and my heart, and perhaps that'll be enough in the end.

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Personality Assessment of Goldmund

This is a psychology assignment designed to familiarize ourselves with trait theories. I analyzed the character of Goldmund, from Narcissus and Goldmund, by Herman Hesse. This is one of my absolute favorite novels, which is why I chose it. Personality Assessment of Goldmund Narcissus and Goldmund, Herman Hesse Alexander Gerlach Goldmund, when he was a young boy, was taken to a cloister by his father to live as an ascetic, devoting his life to servitude and study. He was, however, destined for a different life. When he arrived, he met another young man, Narcissus, who was a professor there. The two immediately bonded, each seeing the other as an equal and opposite person. Narcissus was exclusively of the scientific mind, devoted to servitude and research with his whole being. Goldmund, inversely, was entirely of the creative, spiritual self. Having learned this about himself, Goldmund ran away with a gypsy, and began exploring life as a means to come across true enlightenment, to discover his purpose and fulfil it. He embraces the life of a pilgrim, becomes an artist, and wonders the world, finding love, and discovering his purpose. In analyzing the personality of Goldmund, a slightly altered humanist approach seems most appropriate. Most clearly, he is actively seeking to achieve self actualization, arguably even self transcendence. In the humanistic theory of personality, it is expected that one will try to move their way up Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, with the end goal being self actualization, or, in rare cases, self transcendence. At the base of these needs are the physiologic needs: eating, breathing, sleeping, et cetera. As a pilgrim, he finds these staples fairly easily by living off the land, taking shelter with those around him and working, on occasion, for his food. The next level, however, is safety. This includes security of body, employment, residence, et cetera. Living the life of a gypsy, these are all things he denies himself. Since the denial is a voluntary one, however, he is able to essentially bypass this level altogether. The next level, love and belonging, is one Goldmund satisfies in an esoteric way. He finds his friendship, love, and intimacy in everyone he meets, holding very few personal attachments for any significant length of time. The next level, Esteem and Respect, is fulfilled in a different segment of his life. For a period of several years, he works and trains as a carver, a sculptor, under a man of the same profession with whom Goldmund has grown very dear. Goldman takes these years to satisfy any desire he may have had to settle down and live a “normal” life. Through his sculpting he is able to achieve two main goals - in one, he is able to gain respect for himself, and gain the respect of others, while at the same time becoming intimate with one he deeply respects. Secondly, he is able to begin his path towards the next level, self actualization. Throughout the novel, Goldmund speaks of a single image that haunts his days and dreams - the image is of his mother, and of every mother. It is his own interpretation of the Virgin Mary, the physical embodiment of the maternal spirit. Through his carving, he is able to devote a significant portion of his life to developing this image, perfecting the scene, and attempting to immortalize it. For him, though, he feels his success wouldn’t be defined in him being able to sculpt this image; instead, he feels simply coming to truly understand it would provide him with enlightenment. At the end of his life, he is reunited with his eternal friend, Narcissus. They each find the other to be the most fully mature, actualized iteration of the opposite ideals - Creativity and vitality in Goldmund and Logic and understanding in Narcissus. Narcissus is a man living his life in search of meaning and purpose. He searches for good in all people, is friendly, extroverted, and intelligent.

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Found poem #12

I've been messing with found poems, and this is one of them I took from a history textbook I found in a library. A strange history - a wonder Man, from bone and blubber made, In the Middle Ages, lost, forgotten. Yet had a chance Man, primitive even to animals, enabled to learn, to discover They advanced, able even to open the sea for use Thousands of years, thousands of men Even as it was, in Ages before, it is yet hard to be Man To be worked to the bone for meat Inventions, tools, their only chance to be More than animals Their only chance to be

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A Light Discussion of the Symbolism in the Yellow Wallpaper

Here's an old essay I wrote about a story I've always enjoyed. AP Lit. and Comp. Amy Glidden Alexander Gerlach 11/10/16 In the novella "The Yellow Wallpaper," Charlotte Gilman shows the negative effects of inactivity on an imaginative mind, by documenting a character’s descent into psychosis. By following the development and degradation of her psyche, Gilman shows the potentially extreme damages caused by oppression, and what can happen when one has no outlet for creativity or self-expression. The most prominent and notable symbol throughout the story is, of course, the yellow wallpaper itself. It plays a pivotal role throughout the story, having such a relevance that Gilman uses it as the title. This makes readers subconsciously focus intently on it every time they hear it mentioned, as it’s significance is apparent. The wallpaper itself is, at face value, abhorrent. Upon first contact, the narrator journals that the wallpaper is confusing and revolting, the color seeming “unclean” (78). The pattern decorating it, however, is complicated, provoking study and piquing interest. The narrator, who is not allowed to read, write, or engage in anything which is in any way mentally stimulating, finds this pattern to be one of the most stimulating and exciting things she can do. Her obsession with this pattern highlights the lengths one will go to simply to exercise some degree of creativity, or to find some entertainment. This wallpaper acts as a catalyst for her descent into psychosis. As a way to relieve the pressure of her thoughts, she surreptitiously begins writing into a small journal, documenting her thoughts, fears, and observations. As she becomes more isolated, and as her mind begins to atrophy from the lack of stimulus, her writing itself becomes more disjointed, as do the actions and thoughts which her journal describes. This journal chronicles her descent into psychosis, a direct result of her forced inactivity. The journal also symbolizes her desperate need for communication, for someone with whom she can openly and authentically discuss her feelings and thoughts. Because she has difficulty connecting with her husband and sister, she turns inward, choosing to converse with the journal, which is to say, with herself. This shows another way in which she is devoid of intellectual stimulation, stifling her mind and her spirit to the breaking point. The room the narrator stays in acts, in many facets, as a symbol itself. The windows are barred and the bed is affixed to the floor, presumably to protect the kids which the narrator assumes originally occupied the room. At one point, the narrator considers jumping out of the room, to retrieve the key to the door after a fit of Maine in which she locks herself in, but the bars restrain her. The bed, which is nailed firmly to the floor, acts simply as one more thing over which she has no control. Most aspects of her life are controlled by her husband and her physician. They tell her what she must be doing, hour to hour. They tell her what she can and cannot do, and in what way she does the things she can. Her isolation and her lack of control exacerbates the issues, making it so that she can’t even focus on trivial things, for even trivial matters are completely out of her control. By documenting the narrator's descent into psychosis as the effects of isolation, boredom,and oppression take their toll, Gilman shows just how necessary it is for a mind to have something to work towards, something to accomplish. This theme is relevant on a larger scale, and applies to all aspects of one's life. If one knew everything, had everything, there would be nothing to stop one from spiraling into psychosis, simply from a complete lack of purpose.

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Schizoid Personality Disorder from the Perspective of all Involved

From the Perspective of the Patient Individuals with a schizoid personality disorder exhibit highly limited emotional expression, a very flat affect, and little to no interest in creating or maintaining significant interpersonal relationships. Such individuals are often very isolated, and tend towards thought patterns of ennui, often exhibiting some degree of anhedonia. Low motivation, apathy, and nihilism are common traits of those with schizoid personality disorder. This disorder is considered to be fairly rare, but accurate statistic simply aren't available due to the almost universal reluctance to seek help. Most individuals don’t feel concerned by their feelings and behavior, and are therefore very unlikely to be diagnosed or treated. Men do seem to be more predisposed to this condition however, and a family history of schizophrenia or schizotypal personalities also seem to be contributing factors. From the Perspective of a Medical Expert Those who exhibit schizoid personality disorder generally had relatively absent parents and low social stimulation. Its theorized that children in such circumstances begin to isolate, and eventually find this isolation far more comforting and rewarding than external relationships. They often develop highly detailed fantasy lives, played out through absentminded daydreaming, or through artistic pursuits such as writing. Treatment methods vary, but psychotherapy has been found to be most applicable. Psychotherapy for those with schizoid personality disorder can be complicated, as a trusting relationship and rapport can be very difficult to develop, due to the withdrawn nature of the patients. Because of this, psychotherapy is usually short term and goal focussed, resolving areas of stress or crises as they arise, and then terminating therapy. Psychiatric treatment has also, in some cases, been proven effective. Most commonly used are antipsychotics, such as risperidone or olanzapine. In patients who exhibit particularly pervasive ennui or depression, antidepressants such as SSRIs (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors), tricyclic antidepressants, monoamine oxidase inhibitors, or benzodiazepines can be effective. Treatment is generally not fully effective, with most patients showing no significant change in behavior or feelings without extended therapy, which is usually terminated early by the patient. This is mostly due to the severe nature of isolation and withdrawal exhibited, even (or perhaps especially) in regards to medical experts. These roadblocks make treating and diagnosing the disorder difficult, and also inhibit our full understanding of the condition. It is worth mentioning that while the main criteria for this disorder is a distinct lack of interest in social engagement, some individuals do experience one or two close interpersonal relationships, generally under extremely specific scenarios. These relationships are often the only exception in the life of the patient, and if such a relationship is terminated, it is generally unlikely for another bond to be formed, regardless of time. From the Perspective of the Family The family of those affected with schizoid personality disorder generally have a fairly difficult time figuring out how to cope with their condition. First degree relatives are oftentimes the only sustained social relations in the life of a schizoid patient, but even these relations tend to be superficial, due to the antisocial nature of those with the disorder. The disorder generally becomes apparent and diagnosable by late adolescence, and can be easily identified. Individuals will withdraw, often remorselessly cutting off seemingly unnecessary contact with all individuals, reporting no desire to maintain such contacts. In most cases, the patient will quite obviously tread the line between ennui and depression, and may experience mild to severe anhedonia. This can make those around the individual suspect major depressive disorder, or some other form of depression. This nature, coupled with the notable rarity of the disorder, can make diagnosis difficult, especially considering the reluctance of most patients to seek diagnosis or help. The family may feel compelled to encourage or force them into therapy, but this will almost always be ineffectual. In most cases, accepting the patient for who they are and engaging them only to the degree they desire is the only way to maintain a relationship with such an individual, and may be the most beneficial thing a family member could do. Bibliography Schizoid personality disorder. (2016, July 12). Retrieved May 08, 2017, from http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/schizoid-personality-disorder/home/ovc-20214901?utm_source=Google&utm_medium=abstract&utm_content=Schizoid-personality-disorder&utm_campaign=Knowledge-panel Schizoid Personality Disorder Symptoms. (2017, March 06). Retrieved May 08, 2017, from https://psychcentral.com/disorders/schizoid-personality-disorder-symptoms/ Schizoid Personality Disorder. (2017, April 19). Retrieved May 08, 2017, from https://www.psychologytoday.com/conditions/schizoid-personality-disorder Schizoid Personality Disorder DSM-5 301.20 (F60.1). (n.d.). Retrieved May 08, 2017, from https://www.theravive.com/therapedia/schizoid-personality-disorder-dsm--5-301.20-(f60.1) DSM-5: The Ten Personality Disorders: Cluster A. (n.d.). Retrieved May 08, 2017, from https://www.mentalhelp.net/articles/dsm-5-the-ten-personality-disorders-cluster-a/ Schizoid Personality Disorder Treatment. (2016, July 17). Retrieved May 08, 2017, from https://psychcentral.com/disorders/schizoid-personality-disorder-treatment/

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Had we only known

Looking back at the road we walked together We really thought, to us, forever meant “forever,” But in the end, I see it simply couldn't ever be For what I meant to you, different from what you meant to me And I know that you must see a different truth A man deceived by his perceptions and his youth And as for me I know Just as the stars seem lost when it snows The truth is always there No matter what reality shows Whichever path we roam Will always take us home But now I know if you wanna find the truth, you gotta leave the past behind We’re blind What we saw, was through a broken mirror If only it'd been clearer We would have stopped And sniffed at all the roses, the ballads he composes for me Gave a glimpse of true reality And when we finally meet In the land where shadows face defeat We'll finally see, the truth behind “reality” --------------------------- A song I wrote, one that I'm particularly happy with. I'll probably add another verse or maybe an official chorus.

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Free

As leaves we fall aground Hoping someone hears the sound But there's so much all around That in silence we all drift down At the end of a glorious morn From each other we all are torn Our losses we shall mourn But in the dawn, we shall be born Once again and shiny, new Drifting down from gentle blue Breathing in the softest hue More pure than we ever knew Tasting the salty air On our flesh our sins we bare Taking a moment to truly dare To be free -------------------------------------------- Another <5 minute challenge. Wanted to try a really strict rhyme scheme, which I rarely do.

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The Practical and Theoretical Applications of Diffuse Optical Tomography as a Form of Noninvasive Neuroimaging

In countless scientific and capitalist endeavors, the accurate, real time imaging of the neural structure and activity of the brain is either necessary, or very valuable. It allows diagnosticians to perform their job with greater degrees of skill and accuracy, or adds an entirely new form of communication between humans and technology. As this technology progresses, so will our understanding of neuroscience, as will the reach of scientific capability as a whole. The first thing that's important to discuss is obvious - exactly what is diffuse optical tomography (DOT)? As with most concepts, its nature is clearly defined in its name. Tomography is any form of indirect internal imaging. Specifically, tomography is imaging that creates a 3D cross section of a solid system by analyzing the passage of an energy wave through the material. Diffuse optical tomography uses various wavelengths and intensities of light, usually a near infrared wavelengths between 700 no and 1100 nm, and analyzes the diffusion of the light through the tissue being examined. In neuroimaging, for example, the principal relies on the unique absorption rates of chromoproteins like hemoglobin to gauge energy consumption and activity in a very accurate manner. The technology behind the light itself is fairly simple, and is easy to construct, though, unsurprisingly, the interpretation of this data is complex, requiring highly intelligent reconstruction algorithms. Ok, but why does it matter? fMRIs and PET scans can measure neural activity pretty accurately too, so why invest in this new tech? This question has many answers, but I'll only talk about the significant ones. First off, this technology is practically dirt cheap. An MRI machine can run anywhere from $150,000 to well over $3,000,000, whereas a rig for a diffuse optical tomography setup could be created by hand for under $200. Another significant factor is that DOT is more accurate temporally - there is little delay, with efficient reconstruction software, between reality and the image. This has significant benefits in many applications, but mostly in consumer products. Another highly beneficial quality is that it doesn't require immobility - in other neuroimaging techniques, the subject is required to be stationary, mostly due to the size and nature of the machines. DOT machines are incredibly light, and allow full mobility, granting scientists the ability to study neural activity in contexts previously impossible. The final, and arguably most important factor, is safety. Other neuroimaging techniques involve exposure to potentially harmful substances or energies, albeit in an almost harmless amount. While it will rarely pose an issue for full grown adults, or even young children, exposing infants to these can often be more risky. As DOT simply uses relatively low energy light waves, it's for all intents and purposes entirely harmless. These factors combined sets DOT as a cutting-edge technology set to change our understanding of neuroscience. So now, on to the applications. Let's start with the strictly practical before moving on to the more whimsical possibilities. DOT as a form of medical imaging is already in use, albeit with relative infrequency, and has been shown to be highly efficient at detecting and diagnosing breast cancer, meaning it has already saved countless lives. The potential in medical imaging, however, is as of yet unfulfilled. Arguably the most important application is in neuroscience. DOT has been shown to be highly effective at neuroimaging, providing a level of detail that is generally very difficult to achieve. The accurate chronology of the technique will allow neuroscientists to gain a better understanding of how the path neural activity takes through our brain structures influences the human experience. With any luck, this could completely revolutionize neuroscience. Another, similar area DOT has significant potential is in the world of Brain Computer Interfaces (BCIs). BCIs are exactly what you'd expect - a device that allows your brain to directly interface with technology. While this may one day let you send tweets with your mind, the true value is in prosthetics. If a true BCI is developed, anyone with brain activity will be able to control limbs, interface with the internet, and synthesize speech easily. The gain on quality of life would be unprecedented, creating a flood of new prosthetic and cybernetic technology. But enough of the whole “drastically improving society” part. Why does it matter from a capitalist, consumer driven view? The applications of this technology in the entertainment sector are myriad, as it would provide an entirely new way for humans to interact with products. Video games could be made which require a whole new level of skill and interaction. Consumers would need to learn to control themselves in new ways in order to pass - meditating to perform magic, feeling specific emotions to unlock contextually relevant resources, or thinking commands to give the game, such as where to walk or what to say. Movies could be stopped and started channels switched, volumes raised, all without moving or speaking. Thinking commands will allow your tv to obey, drastically simplifying ease of use. Interpersonal communication, such as texting, would be written in our heads instead of our hands. One's productivity would also increase, as our brain processes data faster than our bodies can translate this into action, meaning that performing an action mentally is more efficient than performing it physically. Now let's take a moment and discuss BCIs specifically, and why DOT is so relevant in that field. BCIs are currently in a very infantile stage - any practical application currently available isn't nearly powerful enough to have any significant benefit. We see them in a few commercially available products, mostly toys based around the novelty. Most use a very insensitive form of electroencephalography, providing very minimal utility. The medical sector has far more powerful BCIs, which are capable of far more intricate control, but there is a significant drawback - they require brain implants. One of the difficulties of neuroimaging is figuring out how to interpret neural activity accurately through the distortion of the skull. The simplest, most obvious way around this problem is to bypass the skull, placing various forms of data collection under the skull, often having a form of physical tether to the machine, removing mobility and requiring dangerous, invasive surgery. These implanted BCIs are far more effective, however. Both humans and certain other primates have been trained to control digital cursors, manipulate robotic arms, and a few other things. The main reason this field isn't progressing significantly is because of the risk involved, not to mention the expense. DOT could be used to the same effect, likely with a similar or even greater degree of accuracy, without the danger or expense. The use of DOT as a new form of potential BCI could very well cause a breakthrough, allowing neurally controlled prosthetics to enter the medical community within half a decade. But, if DOT has the potential to do all this, why can't I text with my mind yet? The simple answer is we're just not there yet. We're close, and getting closer everyday, but first we need the world's minds working on optimizing this technology, discovering the ways to achieve its true potential. Research, money, and time will all be spent before we've achieved everything we can, but this technology is leading us closer than we've ever been before. Bibliography K.K, H. P. (n.d.). Retrieved May 24, 2017, from https://www.hamamatsu.com/us/en/technology/lifephotonics/medical/DiffuseOpticalTomography/index.html Rentz, S. (n.d.). MRI Machine Cost and Price Guide [2017 Update]. Retrieved May 24, 2017, from https://info.blockimaging.com/bid/92623/mri-machine-cost-and-price-guide Goldman, B. (1970, February 21). Brain-computer interface advance allows fast, accurate typing by people with paralysis. Retrieved May 24, 2017, from https://med.stanford.edu/news/all-news/2017/02/brain-computer-interface-allows-fast-accurate-typing-by-people-with-paralysis.html Regalado, A. (2016, March 29). An Implant That Streams Human Thought, Wirelessly. Retrieved May 24, 2017, from https://www.technologyreview.com/s/534206/a-brain-computer-interface-that-works-wirelessly/ GmbH, P. (n.d.). Home. Retrieved May 24, 2017, from https://www.picoquant.com/applications/category/life-science/diffuse-optical-tomography-and-imaging Hielscher, A. H., Bluestone, A. Y., Abdoulaev, G. S., Klose, A. D., Lasker, J., Stewart, M., . . . Beuthan, J. (n.d.). Near-infrared diffuse optical tomography. Retrieved May 24, 2017, from https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14646043

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One more explication

This time, I was directed to Harlem, by Langston Hughes. This poem is written in free verse, which I like. It does have a rhyme scheme, but it's nebulous and many words don't even have partial rhymes. There's really not a huge amount of explication to be done, as this is asking a rhetorical question about the nature of human aspirations. He uses imagery and metaphors to achieve this, so I guess I'll break down and redefine the questions. When he asks if it dries up, he's wondering whether the Dream becomes Hollow, robbed of the sweetness and pleasure that makes it a dream, until it's simply an empty reminder of what could have been. When he asks if it festers and runs, he's asking whether it becomes an obsession, a painful irritant which grows and grows, until it eventually bleeds into every facet of your life. His next three lines ask whether it "stinks like rotten meat" or "crusts... over like a syrupy sweet." He's asking whether the dream becomes repulsive and vile, something we no longer want to look at or acknowledge, or whether it becomes even more alluring, even more desirable, now that it's unattainable. He asks whether it sags next, like a heavy load. Here, he's asking whether it becomes a burden, deadweight to be dragged along behind you. I particularly like this metaphor. Finally he asks whether it simply explodes, as if it's filling up with more and more anticipation, as you assign it more and more valuable, until eventually the concept can no longer retain all you put into it, at which point it bursts. All in all, a thought provoking poem of high merit.

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Another explication, A Poison Tree by William Blake

The next poem I was given was by William Blake, called A Poison Tree. The poem is in an altered iambic tetrameter too, but this one starts on an off-best every other line, which gives it a more jarring, discordant feeling. The poem starts by him talking about his anger, and how when he talks about it, it disappears, and how when he holds it in, it grows. On specific anger, towards an unnamed foe, is left repressed, and grows. He says he waters it in his fears, sorrow, and deceit. It grows, as a tree, until it is big, and bears fruit. The apple is bright, shining, and he shows it to the unnamed foe. The poem ends with the Angry Man, the next morning, looking into his garden and seeing The Foes body laying under a tree. This poem is more or less directly literal - The Foe did something bad to the Angry Man, and this, unsurprisingly, made him angry. He allowed this anger to fester and grow, until it "bore fruit," which was vengeance. He shows The Foe his vengeance, and kills him. Fairly straightforward. The rhyme scheme is also very standard, a simple A A B B C C D D E E F F G G H H. All in all, a solid poem about revenge. Ends in a potentially brutal murder though, which is a little more intense than usual.

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The irony of random number generators in the context of daily life (and also an explication of "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost.)

So first things first, irony. Sometimes, when I’m bored and have a choice to make where no logical, quantitative factors come into play, I’ll use a random number generator. If I don’t know what direction I want to go, I’ll leave it to chance. Why not give destiny an opportunity, now and then? Either way, I made my last post before I used it to determine which poem I was going to read and analyze. The funny thing is, the poem plays heavily into the theme of my last post, and is something that’s been on my mind lately. So that’s weird. Moving on.

The first thing I want to talk about is the rhyme scheme: a a b a b b c b c c d c d d d d I found this really interesting, as I’ve never seen this particular scheme before. Usually, when poets throw one word in a stanza with a different rhyme, often rhyming with a word in a different stanza, it sounds jarring, or unpleasant. Here, however, Frost makes it sound natural and harmonious. I’ll be using it myself at some point. As a side note, this poem is in iambic tetrameter, which generally has a pleasant, lazily floating feel to it. A nice choice.

In the poem, the narrator, likely Frost himself, find himself riding his horse through the woods in a snowstorm. After noting that he’s familiar with these woods, he stops, and begins taking in the beauty of the scene around him. His horse, finding this unusual, tries to get his attention, urging him forward. Then, after remarking on the beauty of the woods, hurries onward, because he has places to be and a long way to travel.

The imagery is fairly straightforward in this poem, yet still is effective in conveying its message. The woods in the snow and moonlight represents the beauty of life itself, the joy of existence. The horse is symbolic of responsibility and duty. His destination is representative of his “final” destination, be it self actualization, e afterlife, or something else altogether, it represents his goal, the finish line.

The evidence for this is, as I said, straightforward. Take a moment and reread my summary (or the poem itself, as it’s only four stanzas,) in the context of the symbols I mentioned. He stops to take in the beauty of the world, enjoying being alive, and his responsibilities make themselves known, reminding him that life isn’t simple enough to always stop and enjoy it, and that there is a long distance to be travelled before they can rest. He says he has promises to be kept, and miles before he sleeps. Where the stranger who owns the woods comes into play, however, I’m uncertain. It’s plausible that he was only mentioned so that we would know the rider was familiar with the woods, but taking the “artistic choice” option always feels like a cop-out. Either way, I really don’t know.

In conclusion, a pleasant poem with pleasant themes about the balance between duty and delight, in iambic tetrameter.

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The Enchantment of Frost

Everyone around me, for as long as I can remember, has always said that winter is the worst season. And it's an understandable sentiment - it's cold, dark, and endlessly long. It heralds the beginning of school, of testing, of stress. And at first, I would've agreed with them. But over the years, I've come to love winters above all other seasons. The smell of smoke, clinging to the clothes of myself and of those around me. The snowfall, gracing the sky with its entropic ballad of white. Ice, glistening like liquid diamonds in the trees. The whole world takes such a quiet, mysterious aura. The woods, at night, become a wonderland, a glimpse of a universe altogether different, altogether more beautiful, than ours. The cold, driving us to warm ourselves around fires and mugs of tea and cocoa, the slowly building anticipation for Christmas, all lend our house an atmosphere so far removed from anything you'll ever find elsewhere at any other time. People always reference their “happy place,” often describing tropical scenes, sunny islands and high mountaintops. Mine is the river where my brother and I played together growing up, in the dead of winter. Sitting under an alcove of stone, on listening to the soft babble of the partially frozen brook. The trees, which seem endless from where I sit, are covered in snow and ice, letting just enough sunlight through to illuminate the ice around me, making it seem like e stars have fallen from the sky and rested all around me. Or, at night, when the moonlight reflects off of the frozen patches on the water, rippling and flowing like quicksilver. So if you're the type of person who thinks they hate winter, you're looking at the wrong parts. Don't believe me? Find a path through some woods, and on the next full moon, bring a mug of cocoa and go for a walk. Listen to the silence, the crunch of the snow. Smell the crispness of the air, and watch you breath hollow out before you. Stare at the snow covered trees, basking in the moonlight. I guarantee, you'll never see the winter the same way again.

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I don't even know what to title these anymore tbh

Recently, in class, I mentioned that I consider my creative process “wasteful” and inefficient. This was in reference to the fact that, in order to complete an assignment, I had written 4-5 complete assignments, and deleted all but the one I liked. My teacher asked me why I thought that was wasteful, and that got me thinking. Granted, it’s not particularly efficient, and it’s certainly an esoteric approach, but it is wasteful? My creative approach is more or less as follows. Step one: receive, and read through assignment. Step two: gather and research any relevant resources, be it quotes, articles, books, anything. Collect the resources I’ll need to complete the assignment. Step three: decide on one (or thirty) interpretations, if applicable. This is where the breakdown of efficiency occurs. Let’s say I’m assigned an abstract on any psychological topic that my class has studied. I’ll have a list of topics, and I’ll choose my top 3-5, depending. Then, step four: rough draft all chosen assignments. This means writing 3-5 separate abstracts, to completion, each a viable option. Then, step five: decide which ones to delete. Sometimes one, sometimes all. You never know until I’ve already deleted them. Then, if I deleted them all, I’ll start at step three again. Then, step six: edit and finalize whichever final draft(s) I’ve ended up with, then turn it in. So, from an objective perspective, I’m doing 3-5+ the amount of necessary work for any given project, and I can confirm that this sucks up extra time and effort. On the other hand, I know have an endless surplus of unused essays, songs, short stories, abstracts, engineering concepts, et cetera. And, most importantly, I’ve had countless hours of extra practice, and have honed my style and preferences down very directly over the course of my schooling career. So maybe wasteful isn’t the right word - I regret none of them, and they’ll only have helped me in my life.

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My creative difficulties: a response

On this blog, I’ve written several times on the creative degradation I experienced while writing my college essay, and I feel like it’s time to take a moment of retrospection, and talk about what I learned from this experience. To recap, I anguished for months trying to write an essay on a topic I simply felt no inspiration in - myself. I couldn’t decide on topics, themes, even a general idea. I wrote essay after essay, each feelings less valuable and meaningful than the last, and I found myself feeling more and more burned out as I went. This culminated in me finally finding a theme, a subtle thread woven throughout each of the essays I had written - the multiplicity of the self, as I refer to it. Grasping on to this topic, I furiously wrote and edited an essay that made me proud, that I was genuinely pleased to turn in to colleges for assessment. The unfortunate side effect was that I had more or less completely killed my artistic muse. Once I was done, I felt like I had nothing creative inside me - I was overstressed, under-rested, and had created so much worthless content so frequently that I found myself empty. But, here I stand, several months later, able to see the results. Of the most immediate and gratifying value - every college I applied to accepted me, and every one offered me valuable scholarships. That means my dream school accepted me, and they offered me the best scholarship of them all (I won’t be giving the names or amounts, just know that I was very pleased.) I’ll be attending my first choice, majoring in psychology, with full access to pianos, music technique and theory classes, and everything else I could want. But, more recently, I’ve begun to feel my muse come back. He’s not entirely here, not yet, but he’s on his way. As I planned, I’ve let myself focus on small works almost exclusively - there’s no pressure, when you get stuck you simply end the piece. I’ve created many, most of which will never see the light of day, but that was the point. I’m finding my creative works are different, more esoteric (I find myself drawn to discourse and discussion - more on that in another post.) Sleep still eludes me, and likely will for a long time, and I’m still fairly stressed (when is an AP student ever without projects, assignments, readings, writings, explications, annotations, analyses, et cetera,) but I’m improving. My mental health is on the rise, my creativity is returning, the whether is turning warm, and I feel like I’m able to just take a moment, now and again, for repose. And, in these moments of repose, I remind myself that where I am now is the direct result of the choices I’ve made and the effort with which I’ve attacked my problems. I remember that where I am now is where I had to place myself so that, in the future, I can be exactly where I want to be. Every day that passes brings me closer to the future, and the future looks more beautiful every day. So remember - even if the place you are in is darker than it used to be, that doesn’t mean you’ve failed, or that you won’t see the light. Fight, however you can, to work towards a future full of the sun. Keep this in mind, and you’ll find yourself thinking the same thoughts I’m writing down now. No matter how hard you have to fight, and no matter what that fight takes from you, it will inevitably lead you to a place better than you’ve ever been. All that we lose will return, and all that we need we will find.

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More discussion on my creative process or something

So I recently started work on a new piece of music for a school project - I have to write a song on how interpretation and perception of events alters the events themselves. This is a topic I find very intriguing, and was immediately excited to start work on it. I knew I wanted to break out of the stereotypical "C Am G F" variants that compose the structure for the statistical majority of modern acoustic songs, and even more ham that I wanted to work outside of the standard "EADGBE" acoustic guitar tuning structure. I messed around with a few less common acoustic tuning structures and settled on one I like (I think it's "EADF#AD" but I'll double check that when I get home." I spent a few hours trying different melodies and rhythms, trying to find a fingerpicking pattern that feels and sounds both natural and pleasant. Having never worked in such esoteric tuning his took some time, but I've settled into a 4/4, fairly simple repeating pattern with little variation. From there comes the interesting part - lyrics. This is he stage I'm at currently. So far, I've written 4 separate and distinct drafts, none of which have reached any conclusion. I've written several that were standard themes - relationships being different from the inside vs the outside, relationships being different to each of the partners involved, how ones perception of a single event can alter the entire lives of those involved from then on (very relevant to the themes of Atonement, the source of this project,) and one which was a discourse between two characters discussing the past, and how each remembers a different truth, and debating which truth is authentic (spoiler alert - they're both wrong.) I will continue to write more drafts, in more concepts, until I find something that resonates with me. Will keep you updated.

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Discoveries in AP Psychology #2

Today, we're discussing various theories and forms of intelligence. One of the most interesting things I've learned so far is relating to individuals who operate on an expert-level. As far as research has shown, your relative levels of intellect aren't what determines one becoming an expert - instead, it's what psychologists refer to as "grit," also known as the capability and willingness to buckle down and do hard work. It's said that, regardless of your IQ, expert-level skill requires daily, intense training for 10 years. Hard work and dedication dictate whether or not you become elite-tier in your field, not your innate intelligence.

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After All

“It’s been so long…” I know “I’ve been waiting for this day since you left.” And now that it’s finally here, is it what you expected? “I’m not sure… everything is so different now - the whole world has changed.” So have we “Yes… I suppose we all must, or else…” … “…” Are you afraid? “Afraid of what?” What happens next “And what does happen next?” Whatever you choose. The future is only what you make of it. So tell me - what happens next? “I’m not sure.” Faced with endless choices, what has the most value to you?“ ”… You do.“ Is that what you choose? “Yes.” Then take my hand, and let’s go