Reading List - June of 2013 to June of 2014

So here is the list of all the books I had read last year (where a year is roughly around the time between the beginning of senior year and the end). I had it in the sidebar, but I am now transitioning this "year's" list over there. If you ever need a good read, check this list out.

• House of Leaves (Danielewski)
• The Wave (Strasser)
• The Handmaid's Tale (Atwood)
• Brave New World (Huxley)
• The Wizard of Oz (Baum)
• The Fault in Our Stars (Green)
• The Martian Chronicles (Bradbury)
• Fight Club (Palahniuk)
• The Importance of Being Earnest (Wilde)
• The Call of Cthulhu and Other Dark Tales (Lovecraft)
• Mister Monday (Nix)
• Frankenstein (Shelley)
• Hamlet of Denmark (Shakespeare)
• Fergus Crane (Stewart/Riddell)
• A Game of Thrones (Martin)
• Joust of Honor (Stewart/Riddell)
• The Six Directions of Space (Reynolds)
• Marionette Inc. (Bradbury)
• Zero Hour (Cussler)
• Romulus Buckle and the City of Founders (Preston)
• Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury)
• Ender's Game (Card)
• 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (Verne)
• Catch-22 (Heller)

The Shining

I can't sleep at night, because I think of you. I think of the way the corners of your mouth form a smile, or the ways you laugh. I think of how you made fun of me, and how we both so playfully teased each other about one thing or the other. I think about all the differences we have, and all the ways we are the same. I think about how natural it felt to hold you, and about the way you hugged me goodbye. I think about your family and all the embarrassing stories we shared. I think about how we sat in absolute silence and still somehow felt okay.

I think about how we somehow survived a three hour movie neither of us understood.

Because

Because I'm scared.
I've faced the fires of passion
And I've been burned.
Because I've waited and waited
And I get so tired of playing pretend
Like this is some kind of game to you.
And I hope that somehow this will be different
But that nagging fear remains in the back of my head.
Will it?

Sweet Dreams

How do I even write shit. Here goes me trying to write something for the first time in forever.

     The autumn wind blew hard that day; leaves fell off the trees and flew past me, my hair danced wildly. My shirt sleeve rolled down, and I pushed it up past my elbows again. I found shelter in the building my class in, my heart began beating faster and faster. I knew I would see you.
     Your class got out, the one before mine. Whatever language class that was, but you walked out, talking to a classmate in some foreign language I didn't recognize, and laughed. I waited outside the door. Your face lit up when you saw me; metaphorical doves took flight. We hugged. I felt your warm body against mine and my heart swelled. I was the first to pull back, out of respect. One...two... steps you took back, and a soft smile filled the corners of your face. I returned it with my awkward half-grin. You were wearing a beautiful plaid skirt with matching stockings to battle the slowly approaching winter's bite. Your shirt loudly advertised the fact that you saw some obscure band I'd never heard of at some hole-in-the-wall bar.
     That's one thing I loved about her, she always had new music to show me. It didn't matter if it was two in the morning and I was furiously slamming on the fragile keys of my laptop to finish some essay for Biology on a topic I'd learned solely about on Wikipedia, suddenly your name would light my phone in the darkness and, next thing you know, I'm rocking out to the next new indie-electronic-pop-hardcore-rock album you found.
     "Hey, would you like to get some coffee?"
     I'm getting off track.
     "Hello? Stop staring off like some sort of zombie." you said, poking me in the stomach.
     I shook my head and focused back on her. "I'm sorry, what?" I asked you.
     "It's cold out, you wanna go out with me and get some coffee?" you said again, your smile growing larger.
     My classmates brushed past me, my class only minutes from starting. I had made this decision when I saw you though.
     "Sure, who needs Spanish anyways?" I laughed and we walked out together. I held the door open, and we walked back out into the cold autumn air.
     "You look really nice today, I thought I'd let you know." you told me. I fixed my tie, looked to my feet, and grinned. She adored how I dressed, finding the way I carefully crafted my ties and sweaters and shirts and everything else in a way that looked equally formal and casual. The white of my dress-shirt pleasantly contrasted the dark-gray sweater vest I wore, accented perfectly by my black tie. Meanwhile my brown belt and shoes added an autumn feel that matched my hair. You would of thought I planned this stuff, but trust me, I just throw stuff on. Maybe four years of graphic design led me to always subconsciously think about color theory.
     A crisp breeze settled in. You shivered. I wrapped my arm around your waist and brought you close. Maybe it was to keep you warm, but we both know why I really did it. You smiled slightly. We walked in a comfortable silence. We didn't need words to enjoy each other's company.
     We reached the coffee shop and stood in line to order.
     "What do you want? I'll pay for whatever you want." I told her.
     "No you don't have to do that..." you said humbly.
     I interrupted, "No seriously, it's completely fine, I just got paid." You finally gave in and told me her order. I talked with the barista for a moment and ordered our drinks. You found a booth to sit at and idly toyed with your phone. I brought you your drink and sat across from you. We looked in each other's eyes like a moment from a cheap romance movie. I did a great job of ruining the moment by spilling hot coffee on my lap. You tried to stop yourself from laughing, doing all you could to try and not embarrass me. I wouldn't have minded either way.
     You scooted over towards me and rested your head on my shoulder. Your hair smelled like that flowery shampoo you use and pumpkin. We sat together and drank our coffee, as if nothing in the world could bother us right here in this moment.
     It wasn't long before we finished. I took your empty cup and threw it away, and then grabbed your hand and we walked outside together.
     "That was nice." you said to me. I turned towards you,
     "Maybe we can do a movie or something at my place next week." I replied. You giggled and nodded "That'd be wonderful."
     I hugged you a little longer this time. You looked at me after we finished, a look of longing and passion and happiness. I knew. I leaned in. I kissed you. The wind blew my hair out of place, but I didn't care anymore.
     "I'll see you next time." I said and smiled again.

Then I woke up.



(Word Count: 865 words)

Myth

     Surprise, guess who was sprung with a unexpected announcement? Turns out, I'll be needing a second poem for this Slam thing going on next week. It's hard to enough to write one poem with meaning, but to figure out two that are equally important? That's what I find difficult. I'm still juggling my options of doing my Insignificance poem first and then this one, in order to get my better poem presented, or to do this one first and hope it's good enough to carry me to the second round. If that's the case, then I am sure to win with my other poem... But who knows. A $50 pot is up for grabs, though I don't exactly need it. Anyways, here's my second poem, enjoy.

I am the one who rises the sun in the morning

and shines light through your bedroom window.

Racing over golden fields which you run through

As you gracefully tread over hills of grass,

Which sways in the day

and dances to the music of the wind. 

A beautiful nymph in the open of the world.

But soon the hills dipped into darkness

And ominous clouds rolled over the skies.

A thunderstorm of suffering

A lightning flash of pain.

An angry God of jealousy and hate.

I watched you flee to cleaner skies

And calmer rivers.

I'd be the shimmer on your shoulder

In the reflection of the pond.

You stare so selfishly, seeing only yourself,

ignoring those around you, longing for a love.

But in that reflection I did not see you,

But him.

A visage of everything I wish I could be.

Insignificance

I was asked to enter a poetry slam next week, of which I accidentally agreed to. If you saw my previous post, you likely saw my short story detailing the adventures between a tortoise and a deer. This expands on that idea a little, but in a more terse manner. So bear with me through these various metaphors and allusions, and please, enjoy.

There once was a deer and a tortoise
An unlikely pair it seems
But nonetheless they got along.
Despite this, both were insignificant;
The deer, not insignificant in the way that
she had meant nothing to the tortoise
but that she was simply a blemish on the face
of this infinitely expanding universe.
Yet the tortoise, he was insignificant in that
his existence had meant absolutely nothing
to the beautiful deer. Eventually they became separate
and drifted apart. Slowly they watched a shooting star,
and their world vanished in a flash of light.
And if you bear with me through all these allusions and metaphors
One may believe that they are insignificant; that their existence means nothing
to anyone or anything. Slowly this feeling grows like
Dandelions in a gardener's field, blowing away in the wind
Only to spread to further parts of your mind.
Soon they watch themselves helplessly spiraling 
into a tide of depression, through the darkest ocean
from which they have no lifeboat or coast guard to save them.
Some will find flotsam junk, and some will feel like it.
And they will juggle with that question "To be or not to be?"
And when they finally make their choice
End their life not with a whimper but a bang.  
Or they may tread on through that dark ocean
Praying on the promise of greener meadows.
But this poem is not to bemoan our trivial realities,
But to explain that we are all the furthest thing from being
Insignificant.
This is to the guys who got second place, who never made it past junior varsity
The vice presidents and the prom queen nominees
This is for the lost and the lonely, for the loners and
for those just trying to find their place. 
This is for the college dropouts and the people who just need a day off.
This is for everyone who feels like the meaning of life 
is for nothing but to work, eat, sleep, and die.
This is for you. This is for you to know that you mean something
And just as a butterfly may flap its wings in New Zealand,
Which ever so slightly changes the air pressure
Causing it to rain in your home town
Where you look down the street and smile at the girl
Who is soaking wet and give her your umbrella
to meet the love of your life,
You'll start to notice how important you really are.
So when you start to feel the heavy weight
of reality bearing down on you, 
dragging you further than even the blackest pits of Tartarus
Remember that every choice you make
Makes a difference. That you are significant.

Furthest Thing From "Okay"

     There was once a tortoise and a deer. Each enjoyed the wonderful wilderness, with it's infinite beauties and surprises. For this somewhat odd pair, adventures existed outside in the mercurial wildlands. Every day, the two would venture out to new territory and find wonderful new things. Despite this, the deer was insignificant. Not in a way that it had no meaning to the tortoise, but in the way that it was a small part of an infinite universe. On the other hand, the tortoise was insignificant in the way that it had no meaning to the deer. Slowly they traveled apart. One day, they each watched a shooting star falling from they sky. They were both on completely opposite sides of the forest, but they watched the same thing.

And in an insignificant flash of light, they both disappeared.

How It Ends

This is my interpretation of how The Handmaid's Tale ends. Spoilers ahead, you have been warned.

     Nick, of course, was an Eye. Anyone with such a close connection to the Commander and his family would have to of been a spy, feeding information to those mysterious buildings that once housed students and lectures. How much did he know? And how much did he give away to the spies? Those questions are not answered to us.
     Yet, he was also an agent of the Mayday operatives. He helped those in need escape, how else would he know the code word? Sure, the Eyes might be aware of it, but it seems that it would be a word so insignificant that they perhaps would not take notice. The society had only been around several years, things can slip by.
     He recruited the help of the Eyes, claiming he was going to be taking Offred away to wherever those who break the rules go. Inside the house, the two recruits were under the impression that he was lying to her to make her feel more trusting and go with them. At this point, the book had ended.
     This is where my analysis begins.
     During the drive back to the Eye Headquarters, or whatever it is called, he took control of the van, veering off to a safe house and killing his two companions. He dropped Offred off here, then quickly tried to make an escape. He knew he wouldn't get far, treason was punished harshly. Likely, he was stopped and executed at a checkpoint. His sacrifice allowed Offred's story to stay alive though.
     From here, Offred was moved from house to house amongst the Railroad. Through her journey, she tried to get information about Luke and her daughter. Her efforts were fruitless, leaving her with only her memories to keep them alive. At some point, she was stuck for a very long time in the basement of a house. We know she got intimate with her surroundings, learning every detail of what room she resided in. She learned the basement, and eventually found a tape player/recorder and a box of old cassettes. There were quite possibly illegal contraband, hidden away so as to not have been found. Using these, she discussed her story and experience as a Handmaid. She stored the tapes safely away in a footlocker she had also found.
     Even after her story is finished, she is stuck in the basement. Her protectors have not found a viable solution to get her forward to the next house. Quite possibly there was a raid, backing up the flow of the railroad and holding her up. One day, the residence is busted. She and her protectors quickly leave the house, leaving everything behind. The tapes are hidden in the basement, protected from the ensuing fire by the footlocker.
     Offred lives. Her attempts to escape to England fail, but she manages to find a small community of outsiders who try to live outside of the oppressive American regime. They are inside the Canadian border, free from the reign, but still under fear of how their own government might react.
     Moira had been sent to the Colonies. Her time at Jezebels had taken its toll, and she no longer had any use. The aunts sent her away.
     Luke had died early into the events that occurred. He was punished for being in a second marriage, and was weeded out quickly. He was hung upon the Wall within the first year. His location was far away from where Offred had stayed.
     Janine was shot as she exited the scene. The hysteria had finally caught onto her, and the Eyes decided she had failed her job far too many times.
     Ofglen was protected. She was going to be picked up by operatives of the Mayday resistance. Instead she overreacted.
     Offred's child was given away, as many children of that time had been. Serena Joy was eligible for the child initially, but opted for a Handmaid instead. This is the only reason she knew how to get the photograph.



(Word count: 686 words)

Sex and Dystopia (The Handmaid's Tale review)

     So we're reading The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood in my AP English class right now. We had the choice between 1984, by George Orwell, and Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley. When my teacher warned us about very extreme content in the Handmaid's Tale, I kind of chuckled and threw a glance over at Game of Thrones. You want suggestive content? Read that series. So anyways, I teamed up with a couple of my friends and we worked together to read the book. One of us had to pick up some passages and analyze them, another had to analyze characters, and the last one of us had to create some smart-person "AP-style" questions relating to the text. <sarcasm> I always have such a great time ripping myself away from a good book to take notes. It's my favorite! </sarcasm>
     The premise of the book is that birth rates have dropped dramatically due to some sort of chemical imbalance which has destroyed everyone's ability to reproduce; now society has decided to take matters into its own hands, creating a sort of "utopia" where women are appreciated for who they are, crime rates are null, and everything is perfect.  Well, except for the fact that no one is allowed to be an individual, women aren't trusted to have ideas or read, and everything is so cookie-cutter that collapse is inevitable. I mean, this is a dystopian novel for God's sake. Where's your sense of fun?
      Offred is the main character, and she is a Handmaid. Her role is to lie down once a month and get funky with her Commander, who is one of the higher ranking members of this society. Anything pertaining to sex has been practically outlawed; lingerie, bikinis, normal clothing, magazines, pornography, everything. So Offred spends most of her time in a gigantic red robe with a matching red habit. Attractive. We haven't really been given a time frame of what has happened yet, but I am guessing that the events take place about the time it is written (1980s) and Gilead and the "oppressive" government had been established about ten years prior.
     I think the book is pretty good so far. If you are a feminist, then you'd really enjoy this book. Everything in this novel is so relevant to modern society and how it treats its women, and it creates a very intriguing atmosphere throughout the entire novel. I think what's even more funny is that if you don't see the irony of the entire story, it'd probably piss you off. I really want to see someone's reaction that way. It'd make my day.
     The only thing I really dislike about this book, though, is that it has no real climax. Bear in mind, I'm about forty pages from finishing, but I think I'm far enough to at least recognize some hint of a climax. There is no revolution. There is no heroics from her old friend, who had given in to the society. There is no escape from the Commander and barely living in the woods. Maybe that's the point, and we are supposed to see how dreadful this sort of future would be, but I'm going to be unhappy if I don't get some sort of closure.
     Moving on to another topic that I'd like to discuss is the contrasts between Brave New World and Handmaid's Tale. Yeah, being the really lame, bookish kid that I am I decided to read two novels from this unit (luckily I only have to do work for one). In Brave New World, the birth rate is "technically" nothing (all the kids are born from test tubes), and the focus is on a dystopian perfect society. The difference is that in BNW, everyone is actually encouraged to have sex; if you aren't doing it with six partners a week and twice on Fridays then you might find yourself deported to Iceland. In HMT you have sex and you are given to the Colonies, where your average life span drops to about three years. 
     Each author had their own takes on the matter and each one is just as engaging. I'm about halfway through BNW right now, hopefully gonna finish it before I go off to Skills next week.
     So that's all I really have to say on the matter. Pardon my mindless rambling, hopefully I got my point across successfully. I always have such trouble organizing my thoughts, and usually I just word vomit everything.
     May your days be filled with spontaneity, laughter, and a little bit of that rebellious nature.

     Hobey ho,
     Nate~



(Word count: 770 words)

Okay? Okay. (The Fault in Our Stars Review)

     Recently (and by recently I mean like two weeks ago, I just haven't gotten around to writing a blog post yet...) I read The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. This book was recommended to me by several friends, and I had seen a lot of posts about it on Tumblr. I even heard something about a movie. So I decided to borrow it from a friend and give it a read.

     As an honest opinion, it was good, but it lacked the "wow" factor the internet had led me to believe it had. Yes, it was sad, and yes, it was a good book, but there was something just... not there.

     I finished the book in about a day. It just so happened that the night I had decided to read it was the same night I decided I wanted to drink an energy drink and not get any sleep. So I got maybe... two hours of sleep that night and managed to almost finish the book. Despite being around 300 pages, the font size was nice and large which allowed me to speed through it. 

     The beginning of the book was extremely rushed, which I think was one of the reasons that I had disliked it. Hazel goes to a support group for her cancer and suddenly she meets this Augustus guy. After an intense staredown with him, they finally talk. Before the first chapter is over, she's headed over to his house to watch V for Vendetta. Basically they are already on their first date.

     This was something I disliked about this book; I enjoy a little background to the book, see the characters and understand their situation. Know their backstories. Etcetera. Green revealed this backstory as a few morsels of dialogue throughout the rest of the book, but still. The beginning of the book dropped us off in a normal situation and then threw us right into the love interest. I just feel it all happened so quickly to be given to us in the first chapter.

     That was really all I disliked. The rest of the novel was pretty good. Green said some great things that are pretty inspirational (I'm on a roller coaster that's only going up), and had a couple of good twists right there at the end. Isaac was a fun and relatable character, and we all ended up with mixed feelings towards van Houten. I did end up feeling pretty sad at the end of the book too (and don't even talk to me about spoilers. It's a book about two star-crossed lovers who have cancer, something sad is bound to happen), although I didn't cry (I've only cried when watching film, so if the movie is any good then I'll be bawling my eyes out).
     I think my favorite part would have to have been the writing style. I just finished Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, which was written in the same style (except you know, more cynical with strong tones about anarchy). I enjoyed reading the thoughts of Hazel, which were sometimes funny, and other times sarcastic. Either way, John Green managed to make it fun to read and keep me interested.

     Time to wrap this up. Liked the book, although it was obviously written for young adult fiction. I can check off another book from the "100 Books You Have to Read in Your Lifetime" list though. Here's to reading.

Hobey ho,

Nate

(Word count: 580 words)

The Importance of Being Earnest (The Dark Mind of Lovecraft)

     I don't want to write anything more than a paragraph on that mindbogglingly silly play. It was a riot, but the damn thing was an insult to my intellect. Honestly, I only named this post after it for the earnest puns.

*high hat*

     Okay lets move onto something a little more interesting! The Importance of Being Earnest was not the only thing I had finished reading today. I recently finished a novel which was a collection of various short stories by H.P. Lovecraft, who, if you are not familiar with the name, is one of the forerunners of the American horror genre and the mind behind the inception of the Cthulhu mythos. You can look him up on Wikipedia if you'd like to know more (and to be honest he looks like he could be out of a horror story himself, if you know what I mean).
     The book I picked up is called The Call of Cthulhu and Other Dark Tales and includes Lovecraft's stories such as The Colour Out of Space, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, The Whisperer in Darkness, and of course, The Call of Cthulhu.
     The writing was fantastic to say the least. The way in which Lovecraft inspired an entire culture posthumous to his original publications is unseen in many other genres. His writing pushed the horror genre into new frontiers and practically created table-top gaming. Not only this, but the methods in which he described information to the audience is phenomenal as well. The descriptions of New England are elegant, but the vaguely descriptions of the eldritch horrors leaves much to imagination. Of course, this does not justify the blatant racism in his writing; but that's not really what I want to focus on. You can read more about this here.
     For many of you, the name Cthulhu rings a bell. The elder god's influence on popular culture is somewhat overemphasized and even a little ironic. Cthulhu first appears in the story The Call of Cthulhu and is later referenced in many other Lovecraft stories. This happened to be my least favorite story though. Much of it was an impersonal retelling of several events that took place, which the speaker later connected to the raising of Cthulhu from the city of R'lyeh. Unlike his other stories, I felt this one had no real horror factor, but instead served as an introduction to a character who played a somewhat significant role in the cosmic picture of Lovecraft's writing.
     My favorite story on the other hand would have to of been The Case of Charles Dexter Ward. Despite Lovecraft's tendency to write in the form of a memoir--revealing the end of a string of events at the introduction to a story--I was kept on my toes for most of Charles Dexter Ward. The author drops hints at what will happen many times throughout this novel, rewarding clever readers who analyze fiction and can predict endings while giving more casual readers a pleasant twist. I was in between these two, following the trail of hints enough to have an idea of what was going to happen, while still being surprised at the end of the book. This is one of the longest stories in the collection, and one of the longest stories which Lovecraft wrote, so a lot of time was dedicated to fleshing out past events as well as what was going on in the current moment.
     Time to move past this sort of appreciative ramble. It's late and the creatures who pipe tunelessly in the darkness at the center of Chaos are whispering to me and informing me to sleep. Not sure where I am going to go next with my reading though. I've tossed a few ideas around in my head this far. I've got some Sherlock Holmes stories which would be fun to read, Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, various works of Edgar Allen Poe (I own a huge textbook of his complete works), any of the seven books I have by H. G. Wells, finishing the A Song of Ice and Fire series by George R. R. Martin, or A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. So much to read, and so little time... So we'll see where I go from here! For now, I've got to start on The Wizard of Oz for book club and get some rest.
     May your adventures lead you away from those dark temples where ancient cults once worshiped.
     No seriously, your brain will turn to soup.

Hobey ho,
-- Nate


(Word count: 769 words)

Graduation Speech -- 1st Draft

     Hey everyone. Here's a little blurb of what I plan to be writing for my graduation speech. At my school, each student is required to write a graduation speech. Then, our peers will congregate and select the three best speeches. Then, depending on what the teachers and administration think, three speeches will be selected for graduation. 

     I tried to express my whole high school experience in a very short 350-word nutshell. I wanted to express the loss of friends and the new ones I gained. I wanted to detail some of the fond memories that occur to me while I look back at these last four years. Personally, I doubt I have properly expressed in proper words how I really feel. Lastly, I wanted to express how my school had changed my life. How the teachers, students, administration, community, and everyone else worked with me to bring me an experience that no other student has ever experienced. Sure, other students may have had a similar experience, but this one is mine. So please enjoy this speech, which will hopefully be updated more and more to reflect how I truly feel about this amazing school.


     Do you remember walking into the doors of our school for the first time?
     How about how you felt when you sat down in your first high school class?
     When your doe eyes stared up at your first high school English teacher, who talked with such a passion it was considered yelling?
     Do you remember all the friends you got the year after, all the ones you lost?
     Or maybe picking on the freshman because you were the cool sophomores now and you could?
     Only last year we struggled together with figuring out what we were going to do with the rest of our lives. Not only that, but we started to become a family for the first time. I think we can all agree that Jaysen’s dancing led him to be that funky uncle who can rock the Cha-Cha Slide.
     Now here we are. We’re splitting up, each going our separate ways. You cried and you laughed and you experience so many emotions and now, you’re being forced to leave. Looking around at my peers now, it seems we all have those same doe eyes that I noticed four years ago when we were just little freshman, but a new set of headlights barrels towards us. The nervous anxiety of graduating high school is finally here.
          So what do we do? Well, there is one thing the big passionate English teacher has told us day by day. Carpe Diem. No matter how cliché or cheesy it is, it’s a sound bit of advice. We’ve got to seize the day and never give up, even when the going gets tough. The satisfaction of success will far outweigh the struggles of not doing anything at all. We’ve got to seize the day and be ourselves. Even when other people try to change us, it’s so important to be the person we want to be. Finally, you need to seize the day and know there is always hope. Worries and fears aside, everything is possible when you set your mind to it. As our school motto says, imagine the possibilities. Thank you.

(Word count:  548 words)

Late-Night Drinking -- A Rant

     Just a note in advance; if you think you are offended easily, I would avoid reading this post.

     These past two weeks, my English teacher has been constantly repeating a single phrase. Sometimes it's a statement, sometimes it's a question. The idea remains the same:

Has any of this been ruining poetry for you?

     I always feel my answer is no; I feel that I can easily handle the class, and even though I spend an hour or two working the hundreds of poems my teacher throws at me, I still understand them. I feel I take these poems like one would take wine at a tasting party.
     I take the poem, and give it a long whiff. I shake it around a bit, and try a sip. The words flow into my mouth and settle on my taste buds, washing them over with a unique yet bitter flavor. My expression sours, and bystanders might see my nose cringe or my lips purse; a normal reaction for this kind of experience. I mull the poem around inside of its cup, letting the red drink breath. Once again, I bring the glass to my lips. This time, something's different. The taste of sweet grapes fills my mouth, saturating the spaces all the way through my nostrils with the strange aroma of alcohol. My palate soars with flavor. I sit back with satisfaction, reaching for a chunk of cheddar, and selecting another drink.
     That was a way to describe that, wasn't it? Every other night, I attend these tasting parties. I whet my appetite with so many different selections of prose. It's one of the many reasons I enjoy reading so much. Even when poems have deep subliminal meanings, I feel I at least have some grasp of understanding on what I am reading.
     So what is the problem? Well, that's easy. The problem is that the whole experience is ruining poetry for me.
     Despite my deep adoration for written language and poetry, my English class in general is something I am beginning to despise. My goal past graduation is to major in English, eventually becoming a teacher of the same subject. The whole idea of me hating my English class must be outrageous to some. The situation is complicated, a whole other story, for a whole other day. What I have made clear to several people though, is that my belief is that the class isn't challenging enough.
     I selected an AP course this year specifically to be challenged in my education. Of the five AP classes I am taking, or have taken, four have succeeded in being challenging; AP Literature, the class I am in right now, has failed to meet that criteria. Maybe it's because I understand the course so well that it is a breeze for me, but I have an entirely different opinion.
     I feel that many of the students in the class do not give the effort required for an AP course, and it's reflecting on the class as a whole. Our teacher has been forced to sit down and explain the poems to us, as if he were teaching a class of freshman a work of Shakespeare for their first time. Students who are called that cannot give an answer, can ask for someone else to be picked. Don't get me wrong, there are several students who do put the effort in. I'm only pointing out what I have noticed from an extremely skewed perception. 
     When I wish to answer a question, I'm asked to put my hand down and let another student try. I  understood the logic behind this when the year first began, and gladly adhered to my teacher's request. Now I am into my second, and final, semester of high school, and I'm still receiving the same request.
     Tell me, am I still intimidating to students who choose to stay silent this far into the year? Or is it just an excuse for why students aren't participating? Am I seen as a know-it-all McSmarty FartyPants who's expected by the class to know every answer? To be brutally honest, many times I find myself having the completely wrong answer. I can't voice my opinion to know if I am correct though, and it leaves me distressed.
     The challenge that I feel in every AP class simply diminishes when I step foot into my English class early every other morning. I want to just walk out of class sometimes and not come back, because I know it would not make a difference. I want to sit in the corner and spend the class period enlightening myself, rather than wishing to participate. Participating in class feels like a chore now.
      So that's the rant I have prepared for you on this cloudy, dark night. I would like to note that if I did offend anyone, I am truly sorry. I felt it was necessary to express these feelings that have built up for so long. I don't want to compare myself to anyone and emerge superior, because I sure as hell know I'm as average as they come.

      Now I am off to a wine tasting. Late-night drinking is my favorite pastime.

Hobey ho,
-- Nate



(Word count: 874 words)

Blurb #1: The Romantic

     A mini-post perhaps. I don't really want this to count for anything cause I don't think it will quite be long enough, but I felt it was necessary to share and hey I might be wrong. Still, this will be more of an informal and sarcastic post, rather than the more serious stuff I tend to post. Hence, a blurb. 
     A new post will be up tomorrow, perhaps discussing the eye-opening experience I had reading this Emily Dickinson poem, or maybe something about the Lovecraft I had been reading lately, or analyzing a movie...or a song... there are so many things I would like to do, but haven't gotten the chance or the concept of putting it out into words and comprehensible language. Then again, that is always the fun of writing.

     Here's your fun mini-post, enjoy;

     There are many ways you can describe to your girlfriend that you appreciate her beauty as she spends time in that eternal regions that she experiences whilst she dreams.
     The first option is to be a hopeless romantic, telling her that you thought of that lame Aerosmith song that is too catchy for its own good, and then proceeding to be that guy with the guitar and singing it for her.

          I could stay awake, just to hear your breathing
          Watch you smile while you are sleeping,
          While you're far away and dreaming
          I could spend my life, in your sweet surrender
          I could stay lost in this moment, forever.

     Wow dude, that'll be something she remembers. Maybe she'll think of you when that song comes on the radio after you guys end your relationship. It was pretty hopeless in my opinion.

...then again, you could throwback to the early 19th century and recite some poetry for her.

          No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
               Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
          To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
               Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
          Still, still to hear [your] tender-taken breath,
          And so live [for]ever--or else swoon to death.

     Nailed it dude. Get some roses and candles, you just put yourself in the romance business. You smooth, sly dog.

     So pick your poison, if you think the guitar and somewhat off-key singing will win her over (please never try to hit that high note again), go right ahead. But if you think you can recite some poetry like a smooth Samuel Jackson (for the word I really wanna use... well yeah), and want to relay the same message, know you now.     Crazy how these days, love is just "everything that's been said before in a thousand ways by a thousand songs (and poems), some with the same four chords."

(Shout out to my references. I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing - Aerosmith (1997), Bright Star - John Keats (1819), and finally Repeat Stuff - Bo Burnham (2013). I want to thank The Academy for this post. Good night America.)



(Word Count: 488 words)