So, in our last class we talked about more prosidy, such as the different meters—monometer, demeter, trimeter, tetrameter, pentameter, sexameter, heptameter, and octameter. We also talked about the different types of metrical feet. The four types we discussed in class are iambic (da-DUM), trochaic (DUM-da), anapestic (da-da-DUM), and dactyllic (DUM-da-da). Prof. Sexson said that we should expect there to be questions about meter on the test, so make sure you have them straight.
However, I only want to skim over these, because I want to talk about the ones that walk away from Omelas. We were asked the question “If you could create a utopia full of complete and total happiness through the sufferings of one single child, would you do it?” The question, to some, seemed unreasonable. They would kill the child in a heartbeat. However, I am too much of a skeptic to believe that a utopia is actually possible, especially when based upon human suffering. I do not believe that it is in our nature to be constantly happy. In times when peace rules, we create conflict, for we are tired of the same old boring blandness of it all. Would it really be possible, I ask, for the suffering of one to put the whole world at piece?
And yet suddenly it strikes me. Can the unnecessary suffering of one person create a perfect world? Could one blameless sacrifice restore the world to harmony? This sounds like a retelling of another story, a very familiar one to me. Ivan's question about the one child could very well be posed to God. Would you allow one child, your own son, to suffer and die so that humanity could be saved from its wretched existence? Perhaps it's only my hyperactive imagination working here, but I can definitely see a common thread there. So when asked the question I posed at the beginning of the paragraph, I can only say, not here. As to whether I would be able to hold the knife myself? I honestly don't know. I hate hurting other people. I would rather take the pain on myself than inflict it on someone else. But if it was to save the world?
Maybe I could. But that thought scares me more than it should.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
A Lively Sense of Tragedy
As a bit of a writer myself, I both love and hate the way characters can sometimes seem to take over when you're writing. It definitely gives them a lot more life, even if things don't always turn out exactly the way you planned. That's definitely one of the most significant ways that Dostoevsky engages the reader in the Brothers Karamazov. The characters are full of flaws that may at times seem over the top, but that definitely add to their humanity (if not their believability). Another point of engagement was Dmitri's arrest for a crime that he obviously didn't commit. You couldn't just stop in the middle of the trial, because, whether you found the verdict obvious or not, you wanted to make sure, to find out whether or not he was convicted. The just wanting to make sure is, quite frankly, a lot of what kept me reading this book. Although for me it was more of a wanting to be proven wrong, to be shocked by what happened in the end. I've seen too many stereotypical endings in my life—boy and girl fall in love, escape their persecutors, and live happily ever after—which, I beg to argue, is not possible. You can't possibly be happy ever after. There will surely be some moment in your life when you are not happy. Bad things are bound to happen, if even only those minor irritations that make your day a little worse. And there are days that suck, that bowl us over and leave us gasping for breath, like the days when you wake up at six after less than two hours of sleep to work on an art project for two more hours, then go and take an exam you've barely studied for, after which you go and work on the uncompleted project—in class—for another three hours. However, at the end of the time you have, it's still falling apart, and the class ribs you as they critique it, so you leave class sleep-deprived, depressed about the project, and with only an hour before you have to hit your next class. Then after class is done you have to survive the rest of the afternoon and dinner with your friends without breaking into tears, and then tumble into bed completely exhausted and dejected. Yeah, that kind of day.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Reading the Cliffsnotes to the Brothers Karamazov...
....is like going to a banquet and eating nothing but macaroni.
So on Monday, Professor Sexson talked about some assignments that we have coming up. The first, our group project, will be a 20-minute presentation, the theme of which should be aligned with what we've talked about in class this semester. The second is our term paper, which should be at least three pages long. The topic, of course, is everyone's favorite book—the Brothers Karamazov. Our thesis statement for this paper is due by April 9th, so we still have a bit of time to think it over, but that should be at least in the back of everyone's minds. I also told the class I would post a copy of the notes for our next exam. It's just a list of terms that we talked about from prosody, that is, the technical discussion of poetry. The list is as follows.
alliteration: several words that start with the same letter, ex. “big beautiful blue bubbles”
onomatopoeia: words created from the sounds they replicate, ex. “click, babble, gargle”
assonance: similarity or repetition of a vowel sound in two or more words, ex. “last clash”
consonance: similarity or repetition of a consonant sound in two or more words, ex. "pitter patter"
refrain: repetition of one or more phrases, ex. “quoth the raven”
simile: comparison using like or as, ex. “he could swim like a fish”
metaphor: an equivalent claim, ex. “he was a fish”
personification: giving of human characteristics to inanimate objects, ideas or animals, ex. “the cat grinned”
synecdoche: substitution of a part for a whole, ex. “lend me your ears”
hyperbole: exaggeration for the sake of emphasis, ex. “if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times...”
antithesis: the comparison of one thing to the opposite, ex. “many are called, but few are chosen”
apostrophe: the addressing of a person who's not there as if they were, ex. “Alas, poor Yorick”
Also, just as a reminder to Group II, pick your favorite story from the anthology and which part you think is the best.
So on Monday, Professor Sexson talked about some assignments that we have coming up. The first, our group project, will be a 20-minute presentation, the theme of which should be aligned with what we've talked about in class this semester. The second is our term paper, which should be at least three pages long. The topic, of course, is everyone's favorite book—the Brothers Karamazov. Our thesis statement for this paper is due by April 9th, so we still have a bit of time to think it over, but that should be at least in the back of everyone's minds. I also told the class I would post a copy of the notes for our next exam. It's just a list of terms that we talked about from prosody, that is, the technical discussion of poetry. The list is as follows.
alliteration: several words that start with the same letter, ex. “big beautiful blue bubbles”
onomatopoeia: words created from the sounds they replicate, ex. “click, babble, gargle”
assonance: similarity or repetition of a vowel sound in two or more words, ex. “last clash”
consonance: similarity or repetition of a consonant sound in two or more words, ex. "pitter patter"
refrain: repetition of one or more phrases, ex. “quoth the raven”
simile: comparison using like or as, ex. “he could swim like a fish”
metaphor: an equivalent claim, ex. “he was a fish”
personification: giving of human characteristics to inanimate objects, ideas or animals, ex. “the cat grinned”
synecdoche: substitution of a part for a whole, ex. “lend me your ears”
hyperbole: exaggeration for the sake of emphasis, ex. “if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times...”
antithesis: the comparison of one thing to the opposite, ex. “many are called, but few are chosen”
apostrophe: the addressing of a person who's not there as if they were, ex. “Alas, poor Yorick”
Also, just as a reminder to Group II, pick your favorite story from the anthology and which part you think is the best.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Poetic Puzzlings
“And if two of you are gathered together—then there is a whole world, a world of living love. Embrace each other tenderly and praise God, for if only in you two His truth has been fulfilled.”
I'm a huge fan of suspense, so I have to admit that although I actually did enjoy the Brothers Karamazov, I was a bit disappointed at who the killer actually was...because I knew. Was it “too obvious?”, or was I just thrown because normally the person that you think did it wasn't actually the killer at all? I'm used to anticipating a sudden twist at the end, a twist that you didn't see coming. Is it strange to say that not having that twist there threw me more than it would have had it been there. My thoughts were something akin to...Wait...that's it? It actually was Smerdyakov? But...I didn't want it to be... But the book was worth reading, though at times it moved at a rate that left me wondering whether there was a plot at all or whether it was a collection of tidbits reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland, for that's sometimes what the little asides resembled, though in the end they became a cohesive whole. There were also quite a few quotes that I liked, the one above serving as a rather poignant example.
On another note, I had a very interesting dream last night, but after four hours of class, it's begun to dim from my memory...however, I shall attempt to reconstruct it, in all of its disturbing, violent glory. The beginning, I fear, has been lost. I only remember looking at a sheet of paper with a list of animals that we (some sort of “group” consisting of myself, a man I think was supposedly my father, and one or two other people) were required to kill. The man who was my father and yet not my father had a pistol and was double-tapping them in some sort of bizarre ritual that involved shooting them in the head to keep them from running and then shooting their stomach, which would cause the small creatures to blow in half. We had already shot two birds of some sort, I think they were ravens, and then I think twelve of some sort of rodent, and were hunting for cats when my memory picked up. I remember being somewhat disturbed at the idea of shooting cats—I happen to be a bit of a cat person myself. However, for whatever reason, I did not protest, and twenty were shot before we thought to double-check the quantity required. When we figured out that only twelve needed to be killed, I grew upset, and this jolted me awake. I had quite a few other short dreams last night, for I fear I did not sleep for more than an hour at a stretch, but I cannot remember any of the others, so I shall instead comment upon our poetry readings.
I have rather strong opinions about poetry. I either like it or I don't like it, and there's no specific qualifications for what sorts of poems I like. For example, there are some rhyming poems that are very clever and in my eyes, well-written, while there are others that I dislike intensely. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening is a poem that I happen to like, especially the last quatrain. I love the repeat of the last line, And miles to go before I sleep, because it seems to me as though the visitor to those peaceful woods is whispering the line again to himself, as if he doesn't want to leave, but keeps telling himself, “I must.” My other favorite poem—don't criticize me for picking the ones that we discussed in class—was That time of year thou may'st in me behold. I love the subtle imagery used to depict the decay of a human life as we approach our end. I also stumbled across W. D. Snodgrass' “decompositions” of Shakespeare's original sonnet, and was highly disappointed by them. Sure, they were “easier” to understand, that is, the imagery pointed more clearly to growing old, but there was some sort of a fundamental beauty that was lost in it—at least in my opinion. Maybe I'm the only one that feels this way...I'd love to hear other people's opinions on the three poems on p. 64.
I'm a huge fan of suspense, so I have to admit that although I actually did enjoy the Brothers Karamazov, I was a bit disappointed at who the killer actually was...because I knew. Was it “too obvious?”, or was I just thrown because normally the person that you think did it wasn't actually the killer at all? I'm used to anticipating a sudden twist at the end, a twist that you didn't see coming. Is it strange to say that not having that twist there threw me more than it would have had it been there. My thoughts were something akin to...Wait...that's it? It actually was Smerdyakov? But...I didn't want it to be... But the book was worth reading, though at times it moved at a rate that left me wondering whether there was a plot at all or whether it was a collection of tidbits reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland, for that's sometimes what the little asides resembled, though in the end they became a cohesive whole. There were also quite a few quotes that I liked, the one above serving as a rather poignant example.
On another note, I had a very interesting dream last night, but after four hours of class, it's begun to dim from my memory...however, I shall attempt to reconstruct it, in all of its disturbing, violent glory. The beginning, I fear, has been lost. I only remember looking at a sheet of paper with a list of animals that we (some sort of “group” consisting of myself, a man I think was supposedly my father, and one or two other people) were required to kill. The man who was my father and yet not my father had a pistol and was double-tapping them in some sort of bizarre ritual that involved shooting them in the head to keep them from running and then shooting their stomach, which would cause the small creatures to blow in half. We had already shot two birds of some sort, I think they were ravens, and then I think twelve of some sort of rodent, and were hunting for cats when my memory picked up. I remember being somewhat disturbed at the idea of shooting cats—I happen to be a bit of a cat person myself. However, for whatever reason, I did not protest, and twenty were shot before we thought to double-check the quantity required. When we figured out that only twelve needed to be killed, I grew upset, and this jolted me awake. I had quite a few other short dreams last night, for I fear I did not sleep for more than an hour at a stretch, but I cannot remember any of the others, so I shall instead comment upon our poetry readings.
I have rather strong opinions about poetry. I either like it or I don't like it, and there's no specific qualifications for what sorts of poems I like. For example, there are some rhyming poems that are very clever and in my eyes, well-written, while there are others that I dislike intensely. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening is a poem that I happen to like, especially the last quatrain. I love the repeat of the last line, And miles to go before I sleep, because it seems to me as though the visitor to those peaceful woods is whispering the line again to himself, as if he doesn't want to leave, but keeps telling himself, “I must.” My other favorite poem—don't criticize me for picking the ones that we discussed in class—was That time of year thou may'st in me behold. I love the subtle imagery used to depict the decay of a human life as we approach our end. I also stumbled across W. D. Snodgrass' “decompositions” of Shakespeare's original sonnet, and was highly disappointed by them. Sure, they were “easier” to understand, that is, the imagery pointed more clearly to growing old, but there was some sort of a fundamental beauty that was lost in it—at least in my opinion. Maybe I'm the only one that feels this way...I'd love to hear other people's opinions on the three poems on p. 64.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Life-Changing Literature and Brothers to Boot
i have to confess that I've discovered that i have more difficulty reading this book than i have with most in the past. sometimes i have to read things twice or even three times before i understand them. sometimes i still don't understand them. but i think that's ok. after all, we'll never understand anything. and the assignment wasn't to understand the book. only to read it.
maybe i'm insane, but i've always had an affinity for deep theological discussions between fictional characters. perhaps it's the thin level of separation from "reality" that appeals to me. when i'm reading such discussions, i can think about what the characters are saying without having to come to any concrete conclusions myself. because i've always hated having to make decisions. anyways, i ramble. i actually enjoyed the chapters covering Ivan and Aloysha's discussion of God. and i think that Ivan makes a very convincing argument when he asks what kind of God would allow little children to suffer. i'm of the opinion that anyone who abuses a child, especially in the manner Ivan describes of the little girl, deserves to burn in a special layer of hell. and yet...and yet.
there's just something about the argument that doesn't quite make sense to me. perhaps it's that i'm not sure that children are born purely innocent. after all, no one has to teach a child to misbehave. yet, i digress, and i fear i stray into realms into which i should not venture. i wished to point out the detail of the Captain and his insane pride, which is not only Russian, but an infection spread to all of mankind. we refuse help when we most need it and cry of our misfortune, we remain so blind that we cannot see what would be best for is. perhaps the Karamazov curse is not lust at all, but rather blindness. no, i must correct myself. blindness is the curse placed upon mankind as a whole.
the difference between a tragedy and a shame as Professor Sexson described it was very intriguing to me. it is a shame that your great-grandfather's heart finally gave out; it is a tragedy that your small cousin was hit by a car. tragedy has to do with unclaimed experiences, being cut down before your time. forgive me. i'm merely unraveling my very jumbled brain tonight.
however. i did want to speak about a book that had changed my life. a book? can i possibly pick the one piece of brilliance that had the most effect on my life? very well. i'll choose the one that first comes to mind. Quest for Celestia, by an author known as Steven James. i've read a great deal of James' work and am quite fond of it. however, Quest for Celestia stands out for...quite honestly, i'm really not sure why. it's a parody of the classic Pilgrim's Progress, which i have read, but i loved the fresh picture that James painted. i can't think of the reason right now. do i need a reason?
maybe i'm insane, but i've always had an affinity for deep theological discussions between fictional characters. perhaps it's the thin level of separation from "reality" that appeals to me. when i'm reading such discussions, i can think about what the characters are saying without having to come to any concrete conclusions myself. because i've always hated having to make decisions. anyways, i ramble. i actually enjoyed the chapters covering Ivan and Aloysha's discussion of God. and i think that Ivan makes a very convincing argument when he asks what kind of God would allow little children to suffer. i'm of the opinion that anyone who abuses a child, especially in the manner Ivan describes of the little girl, deserves to burn in a special layer of hell. and yet...and yet.
there's just something about the argument that doesn't quite make sense to me. perhaps it's that i'm not sure that children are born purely innocent. after all, no one has to teach a child to misbehave. yet, i digress, and i fear i stray into realms into which i should not venture. i wished to point out the detail of the Captain and his insane pride, which is not only Russian, but an infection spread to all of mankind. we refuse help when we most need it and cry of our misfortune, we remain so blind that we cannot see what would be best for is. perhaps the Karamazov curse is not lust at all, but rather blindness. no, i must correct myself. blindness is the curse placed upon mankind as a whole.
the difference between a tragedy and a shame as Professor Sexson described it was very intriguing to me. it is a shame that your great-grandfather's heart finally gave out; it is a tragedy that your small cousin was hit by a car. tragedy has to do with unclaimed experiences, being cut down before your time. forgive me. i'm merely unraveling my very jumbled brain tonight.
however. i did want to speak about a book that had changed my life. a book? can i possibly pick the one piece of brilliance that had the most effect on my life? very well. i'll choose the one that first comes to mind. Quest for Celestia, by an author known as Steven James. i've read a great deal of James' work and am quite fond of it. however, Quest for Celestia stands out for...quite honestly, i'm really not sure why. it's a parody of the classic Pilgrim's Progress, which i have read, but i loved the fresh picture that James painted. i can't think of the reason right now. do i need a reason?
Friday, March 12, 2010
The Final Piece.
From whence we met, though I cannot explain,
You seemed to know that we should be a pair,
A fool I was; your wait it seemed in vain,
Those sleepless nights, heart filled with soft despair.
Not holding hands, we walked abreast for miles,
Our chatter ringing 'cross the dusky fields,
You made me laugh, you filled my life with smiles,
Your trial long, but o what joy it yields!
For though it took so long for me to see,
And blindness kept me from the truth I knew,
Now finally our hearts united be;
I am in love with every bit of you.
Though blind I was, I fin'ly understand,
My heart was yours the day you grasped my hand.
in all honesty, i think it turned out rather well. at any rate it's improved a lot from the first draft. i'll print it up tomorrow morning. now let's just hope that he likes it. happy monthiversary, ginger.
You seemed to know that we should be a pair,
A fool I was; your wait it seemed in vain,
Those sleepless nights, heart filled with soft despair.
Not holding hands, we walked abreast for miles,
Our chatter ringing 'cross the dusky fields,
You made me laugh, you filled my life with smiles,
Your trial long, but o what joy it yields!
For though it took so long for me to see,
And blindness kept me from the truth I knew,
Now finally our hearts united be;
I am in love with every bit of you.
Though blind I was, I fin'ly understand,
My heart was yours the day you grasped my hand.
in all honesty, i think it turned out rather well. at any rate it's improved a lot from the first draft. i'll print it up tomorrow morning. now let's just hope that he likes it. happy monthiversary, ginger.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
second sonnet draft.
so, i've been reworking the sonnet a lot, and i think it's improved, but i want to know what someone else thinks. normally i'd have my significant otter read my writing, but i'm being strict and not letting him read this till i've mailed it. and besides, i want to know what you guys think too. i want to know if the story makes sense, and if it flows well between the quatrains--those are the two things i'm most worried about. since i know the whole story, it makes sense to me, but i want to know if anyone else understands it. so, if any of you have any feedback i'd love to hear it.
From whence we met, though I cannot explain,
You seemed to know that we should be a pair,
A fool I was; your wait it seemed in vain,
Those sleepless nights, heart filled with soft despair.
Not holding hands, we walked abreast for miles,
For blindness kept me from the truth I knew,
When you exchanged my tears for laughs and smiles,
I fell in love with every bit of you.
As you enfold my heart, I know no fear,
Though rough and shadowed life's deep path may be,
The dark seems not so black when you are near,
Protected I from all life's injury.
Your every touch it takes my breath away,
And now I'm in your arms; that's where I'll stay.
From whence we met, though I cannot explain,
You seemed to know that we should be a pair,
A fool I was; your wait it seemed in vain,
Those sleepless nights, heart filled with soft despair.
Not holding hands, we walked abreast for miles,
For blindness kept me from the truth I knew,
When you exchanged my tears for laughs and smiles,
I fell in love with every bit of you.
As you enfold my heart, I know no fear,
Though rough and shadowed life's deep path may be,
The dark seems not so black when you are near,
Protected I from all life's injury.
Your every touch it takes my breath away,
And now I'm in your arms; that's where I'll stay.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
More Found Poetry
Wiley
Managerial Accounting.
School. Business. Fourth Edition.
Tools for Business.
Tools for Decision-Making.
Learning.
Weygandt. Kimmel. Kieso.
Tools.
Fourth Edition.
University of Accounting.
Solutions for School.
Business Decision Edition.
Custom Solutions.
Decision.
Fourth Decision.
Taste of Thai
Microwave in box.
Box in microwave.
Quick.
Peanut. Peanut.
Quick taste. Ready in minutes.
Reduced sodium!
Peanut noodles, gluten-free.
Keep box open,
Keep microwave open.
Quick!
Noodles in box.
Keep microwave in box.
A taste of noodles.
Thai. quick.
Ready!
Spiderwire
Fluorescent. Clear blue.
110 yards.
Blue.
Cast and handle.
Multi-purpose.
Clear blue.
Fluorescent blue.
Blue wire.
Stretch. Cast. Handle.
Controlled. Blue.
Spider-strong.
Nothing gets away.
Nothing gets away.
Nothing blue.
Nothing strong.
Controlled.
Strong and reliable.
Nothing.
Managerial Accounting.
School. Business. Fourth Edition.
Tools for Business.
Tools for Decision-Making.
Learning.
Weygandt. Kimmel. Kieso.
Tools.
Fourth Edition.
University of Accounting.
Solutions for School.
Business Decision Edition.
Custom Solutions.
Decision.
Fourth Decision.
Taste of Thai
Microwave in box.
Box in microwave.
Quick.
Peanut. Peanut.
Quick taste. Ready in minutes.
Reduced sodium!
Peanut noodles, gluten-free.
Keep box open,
Keep microwave open.
Quick!
Noodles in box.
Keep microwave in box.
A taste of noodles.
Thai. quick.
Ready!
Spiderwire
Fluorescent. Clear blue.
110 yards.
Blue.
Cast and handle.
Multi-purpose.
Clear blue.
Fluorescent blue.
Blue wire.
Stretch. Cast. Handle.
Controlled. Blue.
Spider-strong.
Nothing gets away.
Nothing gets away.
Nothing blue.
Nothing strong.
Controlled.
Strong and reliable.
Nothing.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sonnet Draft
From day one you enchanted me with smiles,
Yet fear it kept me from the truth I knew,
Not holding hands, we walked abreast for miles,
Confused and tangled threads my heart did shew.
You must have thought the waiting was in vain,
Those months so long and filled with soft despair,
If I could go back to erase that pain,
Your suff'rings through those times I would repair.
Yet your persistence paid off in the end,
You beat the odds and then you got the girl,
I was content no more as "just a friend,"
Instead I chose to give to you my world.
Another day I could not bear to miss,
So I gave in, embraced in love's sweet kiss.
(this is only a rough draft and i'm not sure how i feel about it at this point in time. there are some parts that i really like and some that are sort of meh. it's not horrible, but...)
Yet fear it kept me from the truth I knew,
Not holding hands, we walked abreast for miles,
Confused and tangled threads my heart did shew.
You must have thought the waiting was in vain,
Those months so long and filled with soft despair,
If I could go back to erase that pain,
Your suff'rings through those times I would repair.
Yet your persistence paid off in the end,
You beat the odds and then you got the girl,
I was content no more as "just a friend,"
Instead I chose to give to you my world.
Another day I could not bear to miss,
So I gave in, embraced in love's sweet kiss.
(this is only a rough draft and i'm not sure how i feel about it at this point in time. there are some parts that i really like and some that are sort of meh. it's not horrible, but...)
Rail Jam
Friday! Friday!
Cure for the common finals.
Black mask prelims, chicharones.
Gallatin County Midway.
Gallatin County Midway.
Friday, March 5th.
Prelims. Classic.
Chamberlin.
Excursion Saturday.
scswraps.com; classic.
Fairgrounds, fairgrounds for the cure.
Classic.
Cure for the common finals.
Black mask prelims, chicharones.
Gallatin County Midway.
Gallatin County Midway.
Friday, March 5th.
Prelims. Classic.
Chamberlin.
Excursion Saturday.
scswraps.com; classic.
Fairgrounds, fairgrounds for the cure.
Classic.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Why such a fuss over sturgeon?
So on Friday and Monday we talked about the different kinds of male and female archetypes. For the male, there was the hero, whose character could further be developed into the scapegoat, the outcast, the devil (who can also be referred to as the antihero), and the wise (generally old) man. We also discussed the trickster figure, who seems to be neither good nor evil. The female archetypes were divided into two categories—the elementary, where the positive and negative figures are the earth mother and the smother mother, respectively—and the transformative, where the positive archetype is the Sophia, or muse, and the negative is known as the temptress or black widow. All of these characters need to be met on the road to finding who you are. We also discussed the doppelgänger, or double-goer, the alternate, darker self that you have not yet encountered, or “shadowed side.” Then we were told that we should go back and reread Chekhov's The Lady with the Pet Dog and figure out just what it was about the word sturgeon was so significant. “You were right this evening: the sturgeon was a bit high.” Such meaningless words! Why does this change anything? It seems that Gurov is struck by the utter futility of his own life, the bland worthlessness that consumes his world, and realizes that this is no longer worth pursuing. Therefore, he sets out to recapture the only thing in his life that he finds to be of value.
I'm incredibly excited for the sonnet-writing project. I like to fancy myself a bit of a poet, so hopefully I can come up with something that's not incredibly horrible. Assumably we are supposed to write a Shakespearean sonnet, which is composed of fourteen lines, arranged into three quatrains and a couplet. The rhyming pattern (a-b-a-b c-d-c-d e-f-e-f g-g) and iambic pentameter will take a bit more reading to work out, but I think this will be fun and will give me a chance to learn more about how to write poetry—for no matter how much skill I like to think I have, it's much easier for me to write prose. I've also been catching up on my reading. Right now I'm about halfway through The Tempest, and although I was a bit confused at first I think I might be beginning to understand what's going on. Shakespeare sometimes uses such beautiful words that I am distracted by them and almost forget that there is a plot for the sake of the reading of the words themselves. However, this is a problem that is not horribly difficult to work around. I think I'll be able to master it.
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