A Thought in the Air

“Perhaps this idea of self-as-community was what it meant to be a being in the world, any being; such a being being, after all, inevitably a being among other beings, a part of the beingness of all things" (Rushdie, The Enchantress of Florence).

The question I pose is: should we ever consider ourselves an "I?"

Are we not always one with something? We have to be connected permanently at any given time with one other thing, whether it be the clothes on your back, the thoughts in your brain, or the worries that you carry. When you go to an outing, are you not taking a belonging with you, should it not be considered as an object that could be included in the "we."

The existence of the "I," therefore, should be deleted. Never is "I" possible in conversation. We (myself and this blog) suppose the only time when appropriately saying an "I" in a sentence is in death. It is only logical that when one dies they must only take themselves. It is not possible to say w"e died." For, even if you take someone or something with you--that object will continue to exist in its captivated state; that person will leave this would, but individually, not with the dealer of death and "we."

No, it is only in death that we can use the correct purpose of "I." Only in death are we alone.
This secret is not to be depressing or lonesome. We must admit (me and my thoughts) that by the time of death, we will be exhausted of the "we's." Dear me, the we's will be enough of our existence that the "I" will be welcome--the "I" will be peaceful.

Dear Olympic Sponsors,

I severely wish Tide would quit making the commercials that appeal to daughters who've played sports. If I tear up during one more commericial that initially attracks an emotional response due to the sad, classical music and video real of a mom-chearing on her struggling athletic daughter and then, finally, watching as her daughter made it to the olympics winning gold (always gold) and the daughter, hugging her mom at the finish line, realizing the always obvious fact that she (the selfless, kaki wearing, minivan driving, "I did this for you, but would never say it," SOB) was her truest supporter and sacrificer throughout her childrood-I swear I'm going to literally send my mom ten to twenty heart emojis.

Because nothing in this world says, "thank you for all that you have put aside for my dreams and my future" like a heart emoji. You're welcome mom; now, I'm hungry and the basement is getting drafty so please make me a sandwich while you turn up the heat. 

Sincerely,

the daughter with the worthless Language Arts degree

For Tai-the Rebuttal

Tai-I just want to say that it's been 2 years and I finally feel the need to respond to the wonder-of-a-masterpeice which you so elegantly wrote for me.
You say that we have to consider today's authors. You say that they represent our culture and our society. You say that-yes-you do hate them, but that's not important. Erroneous!
Today's authors may stem from a form of popular culture, but I argue that the dribble we see on television and in today's entertainment is not our culture. These authors make up a small, insignificant amount  of shelf that we, in a state of grogginess and confusion, are drawn towards. Maybe it's the every increasing work week, or maybe it's just the fact that today's popular authors overtake and conceal the more accurate writers in our generation. Let's face it, to be in front of the crowd of Target-goers today you have to write for what sales. Is that literature? Should we call today's popular authors today's significant authors?
It is a mere fraction of what makes up American ideals and a mere fraction of what makes up the population's core interest. I say that today's popular novels, although intriguing, are remnants of a rubric that works. They say that the Mary Tyler More show was written off of a template that produced the same show, different dialogue every night. Why? It sold. Every night viewers tuned in to watch a successful recipe flourish in real time. The books today sell copies and turn pages; the novels on the shelves today, with the exception of a few, do not report the overwhelming fears and celebrations of our society. They are the Mary Tyler More of textual language.
In their credit, most of the popular fiction today does label itself as Young Adult literature; to write such a novel, you are intending to appeal to a certain audience. An audience that primarily does not entirely understand their own feelings let alone the feelings of an entire country.
No, the true American novel, since the early 1900's, has been The Great Gatsby. 
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
Our culture can still be summed up in the one line that Fitzgerald so accurately pins onto the tail of that ever-wanting, ever-selfservicing culture. The green light Tai is continually growing, dimming, and growing again. We will never be satisfied and, therefore, I will never be satisfied with today's authorship. It's the winding gyre that Yeats warned us about. Circling ever so closely to my world, but never achieving it's goal of contentment. No, today's authors cannot summarize American culture because American culture does not want to be understood. We are the Wanting.

We shall never cease from exploration...

Since I graduated college, I have never stopped contemplating Eliot's Four Quartets. Especially, the lines I had to memorize. I was re-reading them today and, just like that, I had an epiphany. I always pondered over the following lines:

"Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half heard, in the stillness
Between the two waves of the sea."

I believe I found a new meaning to these words that always haunted me. It came to me when I read, "When the last of earth is left to discover." I realized that Eliot is rewinding time. He mentions the "source of the longest river," or the beginning, the starting place of a river. "The voice of the hidden waterfall," or the sound of something you can't see. So, if you can't see it, you hear it first. Another description that points to what happens in the beginning. Lastly he says "the children in the apple tree." I assume in this line he is talking of Adam and Eve as children playing in the garden. Looking backwards in the poem, you see he mentions an unknown gate. Now, this is pure speculation, but I also believe he means the gate to the Garden of Eden. Eliot ends this thought with "Not known, because not looked for but heard, half heard, in the stillness between the two waves of the sea." Making the point that you can never find something when you are looking for it. It's only after you are done looking, or exploring, that you find earth's last discovery. The reference to "between the two waves of the sea," shows that the answer to life's discovery is quick and silent. It can be found in the in-between.

I'm not sure if this is a revelation to anyone else, but damn I feel pretty good about myself. Oh, I also believe that Eliot references the sea because water symbolizes re-birth (or life beyond death). Genius!

Prose or Problems

There is a new trend in the literature world. What's literature, you ask? Well, it used to be a form of entertainment and education where people used paper and pen and wrote their thoughts. Amazing, I know! So this trend, it's poetry. It seems, even with writing style, things go in and out of fashion. Poetry was created as a form of expression. There are many different types, but poetry, in it's simplicity, was created to write emotions. Good poetry has the ability to pack a lot of emotion into one line. For example, T.S. Eliot wrote, "ash on an old man's sleeve is all the ash that burnt roses leave" (Four Quartets). A reader could ponder a sentence like that for a lifetime.
As you can see, the use of poetry is important when it comes to the more serious subjects of life. Prose in YA have become popular for those writers who have a difficult story to tell. There is the novel "Sold," written about a young girl sold into postitution. There is "Crank," a mother writing about her daughter's addiction to meth. Neither of these tales could have been written in a story format and been successful. Poetry can be a useful tool for an author. That being said, I've started noticing a commonality between YA literature and poetry. It seems that poetry has started walking hand-in-hand with problems.
The use of poetry is a fashion that's wrapspeeding it's way back into literature, but the poetry, problem relationship is a new outfit. And, I am not shy in saying, I think this relationship is an unhealthy one.

Looking for Alaska's Purpose

So it seems that I've been reading a lot of young adult literature lately. All I have to say to that is, I'm taking a young adult lit class...so...you know, that's why. The latest novel I read, and can I say right off the bat, damn it was good, was Looking for Alaska. Apparently this novel is very controversial, and, although I'm not too familiar with this whole parental debate, I'm pretty sure it's one of the most tame novels I've ever read. I realized after doing some research that Black Boy has been a required text in high school. That novels main scene is a guy suffocating a woman, cutting her up, and putting her in a furnace. I'm pretty sure a 16 year old can handle the "lesson on blowies" scene. I think the older we get the more we forget what it's like to be young. Anyways, I promise I didn't write this blog to talk about teenage confusion of the female anatomy.

There was an interesting concept to the novel when one of the main charters ( guess who, Alaska) asked "how do we get out of this labyrinth"? It's a pretty intense question and I'm assuming you will find a million different answers. I will give you a hint, however, she answered wrong.

I started thinking about what my answer would be to this question because I'm so wise and all. I suppose that right now in my life my answer would be change, change and hard work. I've found that nothing comes easy. Not a job, not money, and certainly not friends. All these things take work and time. I believe if youre not happy, you should change. Most of the time this means yourself. A person, place, or thing (otherwise a noun) will never give you happiness for an extended amount of time. It's always going to be you that dictates your life and your face staring back at you in the mirror. You better find a way to love that face, I mean emotionally and physically.

The Book Theif by Markus Zusak

There was a qestion asked in class that really triggered some thoughts for me. It was, "What role does the use of words play in the novel?" It gave the example of Mein Kamph. The question made me think of the power of words and the power of a book. It's ironic that in the novel, The Book Theif, some of the German citizens loved the act of burning literature that was, so called, "faux pa." In the novel, they give the example of burning a book called The Shoulder Shrug. It was a story of a Jewish man who was treated too well. I found it odd that people were so worried about being influenced by Jewish literature, but they never stopped to think of what a book like Mein Kamph was teaching them. The book burners were right in being frightened by the power of text/words, I just think they chose the wrong words to frighten them. In the Book Theif, there are a lot of instences where the reader sees parellels. There is a story at the end of the novel that Max tells. It is about people constantly standing over him. He first talks of it as something he is afraid of and then progresses to say that it comforts him. The dependant variable in Max's story is the person doing the standing. When he was little it was a bully he used to fight with. At the end, it's Liesel. This story struck me as odd because, if you recall, Death is the narrator. Max writes about his fear of people standing over him and yet, the one standing over him truely, is Death. The story, therefore, makes a parallel between Liesel and Death. Interesting....I think so.