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my weapon
wake up! wake up! did you hear me say WAKE THE FUCK UP!? serene sunlight gleaming in my eyes i slowly rise with a crooked-face expression, eyebrows half way off my face, the taste of that overnight blunt stapled to the tip of my tongue and shopping through my taste buds. i take a deep breath, inhaling life into my lungs and salute the new day as a blessing. i see a pen resting. it's pleading me to pick it up and filter my being. gotta have it, so i grab it. feel the fragile but fluent flow of the pen conceiving thoughts held deep within. the ink oozing through its sides being penetrated by my flow. aqueous strokes assuaging my soul. hands clasp fast, manually massaging my mating mechanism. trying hard to find control and express realism. lost in a solitude of thought, i start to dwell on a time when freedom expelled and i fell into a hell i called my conventional cell, a little 8X8 room adorned with adolescent arrogance and innocent ignorance. aqua net bottles being trampled by nike sponsored 100% cotton pillow cases. spit swallowed blunts chillin behind the endless stock of hot cheeto bags. role models consisted of the ones with the gats and the weed sacks, a newly-dawning seed, i became part of a media-spawning breed, thought monetary accomplishment was the way you could succeed it was all about the benjamin's right? $80 jeans just to fit in and be tight. another $80 to experience the 'vintage' look @ GAP. saw the degradation of my generation in its obsession with immediate gratification. a teenage soul lost in a premature matured reality, unknown space caused the escape of my individuality, responsibility became nothing but a formality. began exploring the untamed and constantly apparent realm of sexuality. falling through the cracks of the gang banging mentality. 19th and mission, another fatality. i began my journey of questioning morality living in a society that teaches sex education in 3rd grade. so much violence on TV, my sensitivity starts to fade. i see sheep being led off a cliff, not knowing the black sheep was being paid. thoughts of family begin to scatter as a barrage of TV becomes my espionage of what a family should be. time to switch channels.
click another ESL student stricken to silence. click fremont high state basketball champs, but can't read.
Interpretive and escapist are two types of literature present in Sherman Alexie’s “What You Pawn I Will Redeem”. Escapist is written for people who seek a distraction or relief from reality. Interpretive is written to make people understand questions of life and death. Sherman Alexie conveys his story through plot and conflict in “What You Pawn I Will Redeem” to show interpretive and escapist aspects in the story.
Teenage rebellion is typically portrayed in stories, films, and other genres as a testosterone-based phenomenon. There is an overplayed need for one to acknowledge a boy’s rebellion against his father, his life direction, the “system,” in an effort to become a man, or rather an adult. However, rarely is the female addressed in such a scenario. What happens when little girls grow up? Do they rebel? Do they, in a sudden overpowering rush of estrogen, deny what has been taught to them from birth and shed their former youthful façades? Do they turn on their mothers? In Sharon Olds’ poem, “The Possessive,” the reader is finally introduced to the female version of the popular coming-of-age theme as a simple haircut becomes a symbol for the growing breach between mother and daughter through the use of striking images and specific word choice.
The novel The Thing They Carried is a compilation of short stories that share underlying themes and characters. One of the stories is called “How to tell a True War Story”. In this story the narrator expands on a central theme of the distinction between truth and fiction when writing a war story. The story, like most of the other stories in the novel jumps erratically between events, which oftentimes creates confusion and a sense of the surreal in the story. Throughout the story the narrator repeatedly shows that when writing a war story the “story truth is truer sometimes than happening truth.”(O’Brien pg. 171) This quotation encompasses the theme and supports it. The narrator’s use of stylistic devices coupled with stories such as “How to Tell a True War Story” and “Good Form” exemplifies how fiction can fully represent the truth whilst the facts fall miserably short.
During the teenage years they no longer want to be labeled the “child; matter of fact, they have a strong desire to rebel against the family norms and move quickly into adulthood. This transition and want for freedom can be a very powerful and frightening thing as there are evils in this world that cannot be explained. Most parents try to understand and give their teens certain freedoms, but at what expense? Joyce Oates gives us a chilly story about a teenager that wanted and craved this freedom of adulthood called “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?”. This is a haunting story of a young girl by the name of Connie who gives us a glimpse of teenager transitioning from childhood with the need for freedom and the consequences of her actions. Connie is described as a very attractive girl who did not like her role in the family unit. She was the daughter who could not compare to her older sister and she felt her Mom showed favoritism towards her sister. Connie is your average teen who loves music, going out with friends, and she likes the attention she receives from boys. During this time, Connie is also growing into her sexuality and is obsessing with her looks as she wants and likes to be noticed by the opposite sex. Her sexual persona and need to be free will be what is fatal to her character’s life and well-being.
One’s life isn’t whole if they fail to take time out and discover who they are, the reason for their existence, and their life’s purpose. For without self searching one will solely live by societal standards never exploring their deepest desires and hidden talents and in no way reaching unconditional freedom. We see the journey of Edna Pontellier’s soul searing in Kate Chopin’s The Awakening as Edna fearlessly sacrifices her glamoured rigid life for one with a flexible amount of possibilities.
In the story “The Rifle” that took place in 1786 there was a gunsmith named Cornish McManus. He built a rifle that had the best accuracy and finish of all time. But a problem came up; he had a new wife to care for and had to sell the rifle. He sold it to a man named John Byam. He is a patriot fighting for independence in the Revolutionary war.
I awake by the music playing on the radio on 92.5FM. The clock read 5 ’o’ clock in the morning. While I could be sleeping in like everyone else my age, I rise quickly to put on a pair of bootcut jeans and a tanktop with my long, blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail. Lastly, I pull my ponytail through my blue and yellow hat with Rockin W Ranch stitched across the front. As I’m leaving for another long, hard working day on the horse ranch, I slip on my well worn cowboy boots. My day involves hard labor like: bailing hay, grooming horses, working horses, throwing saddles on Appoloosa horses, different obstacles, and my favorite riding horses. Around one in the afternoon, my legs and arms begin to shake with fatigue, but I must push on. I will move forward to finish as strong as I started.
Blum, Deborah. “The Gender Blur: Where Does Biology End and Society Take Over?” Signs of Life In the USA: Readings on Popular Culture for Writers. Ed. Sonia Maasik. Boston, MA: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2000.
To begin this paper off, in figure “a” below, there is a photographic transition of myself as the woman I usually embody in my day to day interactions, and how I transition from a female to the male b...
Growing up in a society damaged by political harassment can make a person involuntary act in a certain way. When looking at society there should be a mass sum of understanding and experience. This should allow each person to profit the insight and skill of the society. In Marjane situation she doesn’t obey the rules. She’s a confident woman who refused to conform to demand roles expect of her. She discovers that she didn’t have a perfect idolized life growing up. However, those flawed lessons in her life constructed her to be the woman she is today. During her times of difficulty and insecurity she formulates open-mindedness, spiritual enlightenment and feminist qualities. Marjane creates a new, customary identity out of her experiences. Marjane is the person that she wants to be not conformed to be.
3:30 A.M. finds me in front of a glowing computer screen yet again. I’m waiting for inspiration. My friends, kind enough to let me use their dorm room and their Macintosh, are asleep in their beds just feet away in the half-darkness, reaping the rewards of their wisdom: they haven’t waited until the night before like I have. I take swigs of Mountain Dew from a plastic mug; it’s the sweet nectar of the Gods of Last-Minute Paper Writing. No, make that bittersweet nectar -- the taste of sugary green goodness reminds me, with every swallow, that I’ve sentenced myself to another unnecessary all-nighter. I have few ideas and even less time…
Ow. My head hurts. It has been lying against this wall for at least an hour now. I scratched the back of my head to move around my dark, curly hair. It was beginning to feel plastered against my scalp. It was a bit tangled from not brushing it for a day and my fingers did not run through it with ease; nevertheless, it felt good to keep the blood flowing. I was lying on a thin, light blue mat on the floor. My head was propped up against the cold wall as if it were a concrete pillow. My chin dug into my chest and I could feel the soft, warm material from my sleeveless sweater cushioning my jaw. I looked down. I could see the ends of my hair cascading over my shoulders. The red highlights matched quite nicely with my maroon sweater. My arms were folded over my belly and they appeared more pale than usual. My knees were bent, shooting upward like two cliffs. My baggy blue jeans covered the backs of my fake brown leather shoes. ("Christy, let me borrow your pants, the baggy ones with the big pockets. I can hide more stuff in those.")
When speaking of the topic of who a person is and their past, a massive part of this includes their educational background. Isn’t this what forms people, their education? Of course, this doesn’t always have to refer to their organized education. Everything that a person learns is something that educates them; these words being synonymous. Even something like first learning to tie your shoes is a part of your education. Which method works better for you: loop, swoop, and pull, or bunny ears? I of course, like any other well educated person, use loop, swoop, and pull; it’s just the best way, no bias has ever developed there.
“Beep, Beep, Beep!” It was six o’clock in the morning and my alarm clock woke me up 4to prepare for the first day of my Senior Year. I slowly arose from my deep sleep and strolled toward my closet as if I were a snail. After twenty minutes of contemplating heavily, I finally reached a decision on my outfit. My outfit consisted of a navy blue and light brown elephant print kimono, a pure white blouse, light brown flats, and a silver triangle shaped Aztec necklace. To my surprise the clock struck a quarter to seven, leaving me only moments left to get ready. I jumped into the shower and then prepared for the day I had ahead of me.
Because all individuals possess different sets of experiences and perspectives, their individual realities, or their interactions with and responses to their surroundings, differ accordingly. While the outside reality that exists independently from human interaction remains consistently unaffected by individuals’ perceptions, one’s individual reality can change and shift as a result of changes in perception that can be triggered by events, relationships, and interactions with others. Leslie Bell’s “Hard to Get: Twenty-Something Women and the Paradox of Sexual Freedom,” Oliver Sacks’s “The Mind’s Eye,” and Martha Stout’s “When I Woke Up Tuesday Morning, It Was Friday” collectively address this idea that the realization of individual realities