The light, so brilliant and beautiful, everywhere always everywhere, filling every corner and creves. Shining around me, through me, from me. I feel delishesly warm, the heat spreading though out my entire body. All my nerves and senses completely aware of all life, even the smallest miniscule particles. Then the voices, they are always next, as much as I relish hearing them, I also dread it because I know what is coming after. “You are complete” they whisper in a warm, kind tone, one that puts me right at ease. “You must do it, for all life to continue” the voices getting louder, clearer with each word spoken. By this time I can normally define certain voices from the rest. They starts out sounding as one, as if a million voices all speaking in unison, but as the conversation goes on I can start to tell them apart, today I’m looking for one in pictular. I never why I’m looking for the one voice slightly different or even who they are, I just know that I’m looking for them. A feeling that if I find them everything will be explained. But I never do, oh sometime I feel like I’m close, ...
Lying and keeping secrets can only hurt someone in the end. This is true for David in the book “The Memory Keeper's Daughter,” written by Kim Edwards. He intentionally deceived others, but his dishonesty was meant for good intentions based on his and his family’s best interest. Or so he thought.
...viduals yearns to comprehend the source of these interesting silhouettes, so without further delay, he seizes the opportunity to discern that these silhouettes originated from a cave entrance from a stunning world of colorful clarification and enchantment with impressive indigo skies, crisp vegetation, and wondrous creatures scouring the outskirts of this mysterious new realm. He comes to the conclusion that he must inform his peers of this new realm of knowledge, mystery, and wonderment, but upon his arrival and explanation of this discovery. Unfortunately, upon his return, his colleagues politely ask him to return to his seat. The power of a new perspective can create enlightenment and joy, but consequently, those satisfied for the commonality of their cultural existence may omit an opportunity to fully embrace and comprehend a crucial change within their identity.
Primo Levi, in The Drowned and the Saved, expresses theories of memory. My objective is to prove that Primo Levi’s theories of memory being transitive and selective are correct. I will do this by examining and critiquing not only Levi’s perspective on memory, but also those of other philosophers and psychoanalysts whose work explored the subject.
What Makes Your Business Better, Better? The “Kitchen Controversial” by Rebecca Traister, and “The Great Forgetting” by Nicolas Carr, both examine role changes in our society. The “Kitchen Controversial” examines changes or the lack of changes in gender expectations. While “The Great Forgetting” examines changes in manual labor due to automation. Updating centuries old gender expectations can be good for society, but can we control our reliance on automation?
Gone, a fictional book written by Michael Grant, is about how all people over the age of fifteen disappear and the only people left are children who are developing superpowers. The book takes place in present time California and within a circular barrier called the “FAYZ”. The events take place in a town, a desert, a forest, and the Pacific Ocean.
In Rick Riordan’s The Lost Hero, the protagonists Jason, Piper, and Leo embark on a challenging quest to rescue Hera from the clutches of the awakening Gaea. Their quest is filled with life-threatening obstacles that can be seen from different points in the novel such as in the beginning, at the climax, and at the end. Jason, son of Jupiter, waking up on a bus holding hands with Piper, daughter of Aphrodite, apparently his girlfriend and Leo, son of Hephaestus, while having no memory is part of Hera’s plan to unite the Roman and Greek demigods. As the prophecy states, the camps must unite and a team of seven of the most powerful demigods shall be tasked with a mission of defeating Gaea’s forces. To others, this plan is a suicide mission, but the team shall prevail as long hope remains.
Repressed memory is the involuntary block on a memory considered to be extremely stressful and appalling in nature. It is theorized that repressed memory is a form of amnesia that is not associated with typical forgetfulness in a person. When a person experiences something extremely severe in nature, such as childhood sexual abuse for example, their mind sometimes refuses to remember that event because it is so painful to recall. In some cases events of extreme trauma, often during adulthood such as post-traumatic stress, can actually cause a reverse effect and an increase in memorability. Some even believe that it is possible to repress memories voluntarily. It has been a topic that has eluded many psychologists today and has been thoroughly researched for the past century. This paper will explore different theories and ideas on whether or not repression is true or just another pseudo-science.
Have you ever dreamt of your dream house? Have you ever wanted to invest in the stock market? Have you ever dreamt of winning a large sum of money in a short time? If so, I strongly advise you to read the short story ‘Paper’. In the story, Tay Soon and his wife dreamt of owning a big house so they tried their best to collect their money to buy it. As the stock market was growing interest at that time, they decided to invest some money in the market so as to pay their house. Luckily, they won the money for their house in the market. However, they were so greedy that they continued investing in the market. The market crash came and they lost all their money. Because Tay Soon could not accept it, he went mad. Finally, the madness drove him to death and his mother decided to build a paper house which he had dreamt before. In ‘Paper’, Catherine Lim uses irony to admonish people not to be greedy; otherwise, a person may lose his life and family.
According to googles’ online dictionary, sculpture could be defined as the art of making two or three dimensional representative or abstract forms, especially by carving stone or wood or by casting metal or plaster. The above sculpture, Forgotten Something, is by French artist Bruno Catalano. When studying different sculptures, it can be shown how each piece can stand for different things. While researching this specific sculpture, I learned that Bruno Catalano created this piece to depict a world citizen. During this assignment, I will be focusing on giving an in depth description of the sculpture, telling about the sculpture’s “in the round” point of view, and the building of this bronze sculpture.
The start of this short story consisted of the story of a body. This body was the grandfather of Miranda and Paul. Their grandfathers widow exhumed his body three times, moving the body all over from Texas to Louisiana. She wanted his body with her constantly. When the grandmother passed she was burried next to his body. The grounds they were burried on soon were sold. The bodies were dug up and moved left were they once layed were empty graves. One day, Miranda and Paul went out to go hunting. They stumbled upon the empty graves. When they saw them they layed down their guns and hopped the fence wanting to seach for treasure. After hopping the fence, they both climbed in the graves and dug around on the dirt. Miranda
I saw her walk over to the dressing table. I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets." And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror. And she said: "You don't feel the cold." And I said to her: "Sometimes." And she said to me: "You must feel it now." And then I understood why I couldn't have been alone in the seat. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude. "Now I feel it," I said. "And it's strange because the night is quiet. Maybe the sheet fell off." She didn't answer. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her.
A glow of shimmering light displaying a much peaceful glow of trails with a long stream of light, that seemed to shine longer than it has ever before. I occasionally with wonder have questioned as to why does my neighbor have darker skin and lighter hair than I? Why is my hair darker and skin much more lighter? One rare instance I questioned my hair color, which closely resembled the color of a squash, my grandmother would bake pies that would be the finger licking deliciousness for all the town people. In turn, they would always bring beautiful sunflower arrangements for her. As the sun changed it's course, laughter from children I was able to hear words joyfully as a mockingbird to the turkey, ha, ha, you bobbed that wrong, let me show you
There are two truth known in life: we are born and we die. A 16 year old boy is driving home late one night after a party, he was drinking while he was there but since there were no passengers in his car, he felt it was ok to drive. He suddenly finds himself in a crumpled mess of what once resembled a car after he lost control of the vehicle in his altered state of mind and was killed on impact when he collided with a large tree only feet from the road. Even though people believe that we are remembered for our good deeds and values, we are remembered for our faults or completely forgotten. Live everyday like it’s your last.
The voices of the day come back to hunt her, to torment her through the pain and suffering that she endures everyday a new lie is spread, more vicious than the one before. The lies of her haters, the lies of the one that she used to love, she covers her ears but the voices still slip in spilling over slicing way through her head clear to her heart. There is no end to the pain, the torment, the hate, the darkness that eats away at her soul. She screams but like always there is no answer. Through the pain, the torment, the hate; through it all there is a voice, her voice the
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.