Postmodernism Exam

Langley, John. "Introduction to Post Modernism." Lecture. Pleasant Plains High School, Pleasant Plains. May 14, 2010. Mr. Langley's Digital Classroom. Mr. Langley. Web. May 2011.

Quinn, Edward. "postmodernism." A Dictionary of Literary and Thematic Terms, Second Edition. New York: Facts On File, Inc., 2006. Bloom's Literary Reference Online. Facts On File, Inc. http://www.fofweb.com/activelink2.asp?ItemID=WE54&SID=5&iPin= Gfflithem0656&SingleRecord=True (accessed May 23, 2011).

Card, Orson Scott., Christopher Yost, Pasqual Ferry, Frank D'Armata, Cory Petit, Jake Black, and Orson Scott. Card. Ender's Game. New York: Marvel, 2009. Print.

Brooks, Max. World War Z: an Oral History of the Zombie War. New York: Crown, 2006. Print.

Modernism Project

"Introduction to Modernism and Postmodernism." Walters State Virtual Campus. Web. 5 May 2011.





"In Another Country - Hemingway's Original Text." APO. Web. 5 May 2011.
apo.cmaisonneuve.qc.ca/villanova/hemingway/original.htm>.







"I, Too by Langston Hughes." PoemHunter.Com - Thousands of Poems and Poets.. Poetry Search Engine.
3 Jan. 2003. Web. 5 May 2011. .

Dickinson Reflection

Emily Dickinson’s poem, “They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars”, has, at face value at least, a very obvious meaning. She seems to be writing about war. I don’t believe that she was writing about one specific war, but this poem could have been inspired by the Civil War. This would have matched up with the era of realism. Her poem is very morose, as is with many of her other works. She writes about how so many people died, not in those exact words, but that’s the meaning. She writes that only God can know the full extent of war, and that, for humans, the dead fall and are shielded by a thick barrier, blocking all sight. From just the first line of the poem, “they dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars” (Dickinson), you can infer that she is using a metaphor for death. The saying “dropping like flies” goes along in the same line of thought. She is writing about the large magnitude of death that accompanies battles and wars. Men die in the hundreds, thousands, and even the hundreds of thousands. “Like petals from a rose” (Dickinson) is the next line. It delivers powerful imagery; juxtaposing the beauty associated with roses, and the horror of war. It’s easy to imagine how many petals can fall from a rose. As it loses petals, it becomes less beautiful. So to, does humanity; war scars the façade that is civility. No matter how far humans reach, and no matter how much we achieve, war will always be present. “When suddenly across the June a wind with fingers goes”, (Dickinson) is next. I think she is talking about the suddenness of death. Soldiers die with a quickness that leaves even the soldier in confusion. Just like that, the wind blows and takes with it the life of a soldier. "They perished in the seamless grass" (Dickinson) is the barrier, that block all vision. When they die, no one knows what happens to the soul. While the body may stay behind, only God knows where the soul goes and what happens to it. "No eye could find the place" (Dickinson) is again referring to what happens to the soul. No matter how hard someone looks, they will never find someone else after they die. "But God on his repealless list can summon every face" (Dickinson) is the last line of the poem. She is writing about God's laws, and that once God decides to take a life, he keeps it. There is no reversal of death. Once one dies, they stay dead. God decides when to take a life. Only He knows the name, face, and life of every life lost on earth. Humans can not know the death we cause, we can't know the terrible cost that war tolls on our earth. Only God can see enough of the grand scheme to fully understand what we as humans do to each other in the full scale. Only God can determine the sins that humans commit.

Journal #43: Jazz

"Blue Train" by John Coltrane is a wonderful piece of music. It's long enough that you can build a very good story out of it. The main thing that I think of is a night out on the city. When I listen to this song I can almost see a guy, maybe with a friend, out on the town. When it first starts, and for the first three minutes or so, it's like a build up. They're planning what they're going to do. The walk out on the street at night, and the city is jumpin'. There are signs lighting up the dark night, and you can hear music in the traffic as it rushes by. The smell is not that of one food, but of many. You can almost taste the hotdog as the smell wafts by. You can hear as the street musicians play for your money, they are separate, but together they are a ragtag symphony, filling the streets with music. They continue to walk down the street, not knowing where they're going, but knowing that when they get there, they'll know. The skyscrapers light the night sky, blocking out the stars, but they are, in their own way, just as beautiful and wonderous as the distant points of light. They enter a subway, full of other people. Some wear suits, still not changed from the work day, and some are dressed in a way that makes it obvious that they are on the same mission as the group, to have a good time in the city. As they emerge from the subway exit, they see, hear rather, a place that looks like a good time. As they get closer, the music grows in a gradual manner. They come upon the line to get in, it's long, but they know that the wait is worth it. They choose to go into a night club, which is around five minutes in the song. The music starts to build, and so does the groups excitment. They start to dance, and the world dances with them. There is electric in the air as the music reaches its climax. The men leave the night club they were in, and head back home. The music ends like it starts, and the group arrives back at their appartment, tired after a night out in the city.

Job Shadowing

I had a great time job shadowing. I went to Landmark Aviation for the day (Landmark is at the airport in Springfield). It was a mechanic's job, which isn't really what I want to do, but I still really enjoyed being around the planes. The best part was getting to go to the air traffic control tower for a good part of the day. All of the people there were very nice, and made good suggestions on where I should go to college to get into aviation. Hearing how the people there talked about flying only made me want to be pilot even more, and it was helpful to be able to see how they took apart planes and put them back together. I was able to see how they fill their fuel trucks, and I was even able to see how they fill a commerical jet liner. I was already thinking seriously about going to college to get my ratings, but after this I'm almost 100 percent sure that's what I want to do. All in all, I had a really good time, even though it wasn't exactly what I would have picked if I was able to.

Journal # 41: Emily Dickinson poem "I stepped from plank to plank"

The poem that I chose to read was "I stepped from plank to plank." Line one, "I stepped from plank to plank" (Dickinson), which is also the title of the poem, seems to be, at face value, just walking on planks. What comes to mind is someone carefully stepping around, trying to avoid touching the ground, or falling through. It could be that the person walking is very careful, and wants to take their time, least they fall through. "So slow and cautiously"(Dickinson), the second line seems to reinforce this idea. If they fail to be cautious, perhaps death could await them, or some other fate.
"The stars about my head I felt, about my feet the sea"(Dickinson), follows. It brings to mind a peaceful night on the ocean, but it could also be danger. Night is the setting for many horror movies, and in the water one could easily drown. "I knew not but the next would be my final inch" (Dickinson) seems to be writing about the dangers that face her. This poem is a metaphor for life. Someone can't know when they are going to die, or what life has in store for them. "This gave me that precarious gait some call experience" (Dickinson) is like the end of her life. She knows that only at the end of life, she knows that only at the end of life are you able to know enough to be confident in life. She describes it as a "precarious" gait. This could mean that she isn't choosing to be walk with a gait, but it just happens because of experience. Someone who has experience knows that they have lived life most of the way through. Experience really only comes with age. She, in her old age, has become experienced by living through life. She is writing how, no matter how careful you are, or how ever far in life you get; we all die. It's kind of like a "dust in the wind" thing. Even though life is a beautiful thing to live through, eventually you will fall into the ocean, no matter how experienced.

Dickinson. "The Poetry of Emily Dickinson. Complete Poems of 1924. Bartleby.com." Bartleby.com: Great Books Online -- Quotes, Poems, Novels, Classics and Hundreds More. Web. 22 Mar. 2011. .

Journal #35:War Correspondent

I'm sitting next to a young man. He looks to no older than nineteen, still a child. He has a look of fear on his face, knowing what awaits him, but not knowing when it will come. We are in a complex system of trenches, about thirty miles outside of the nearest town. There are men yelling a few meters away, but John, for that's what he says his name is, doesn't seem to notice. He looks around, but doesn't seem to see anything. I ask him again, this time he seems to snap out of his thousand meter stare.
"How long have you been here? The Wagner Defensive line, that is? (This is the main defense against the Alliance).
"I'm not sure anymore. It seems like it's been years, but that can't be right."
"OK, next question then. Where did you come from?" (For the readers who have been under a rock for the last five years, there are multiple countries in the Multi-National Defense Force).
"I was in Canada, I think. At least that's where I was when I was called into service. But as to where I was born, I'm not sure."
"You're... not sure? I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"And you never will." He starts to get defensive. "The war destroyed my home and we fled to North America before we were killed by the men who were called the police. Then the MDF called on everyone to join up, so I did. What choice did I have?" He starts to yell. "You don't know what it's like. You're a reporter, you don't fight. You just write about it." He looks down, the anger draining from his voice. "Sorry. What's the next question?"
We continue for ten more minutes, when an air raid siren sounds. John gets a look of fear on his face. Before I can ask him anymore, he sits up and runs down the trench. He knows what's about to happen. I can hear a low buzzing sound now. In a few seconds it turns into a scream. I hear a man holler, "Incoming! Get your heads down!"
Before he can get the word "heads" out, a formation of three planes come falling out of the sky, and let loose their deadly cargo. The bombs hit the ground, an explosion throws dirt into the air. Men scream, and the cry of "medic!" echos all around. Now rifles start to fire, their quick staccato sound makes my ears ring. The sharp crack of the more powerful rifles punctuate the symphony of the battle. A machine gun opens up, adding even more noise a chaos to the battle. The burning smell of gunpowder fills my nose.
As I write this, dear readers, hell on earth surrounds me. I walk through the trenches in a daze, seeing the horror, but strangely not hearing anything. I look down to my left. Laying on the ground, is a man, missing his right leg, and a gaping hole in his stomach. I read the name on his uniform. PFC DOUGLASS. I don't recognize the name, but as I stand there, staring, he makes a noise, a gurgling sound. I see his face, burned and covered in black, his face partially charred away. I don't see anything at first, but then I realize I've seen his face before. It's John.
I can now tell what he is mouthing. Water. I look around for a canteen, in not finding one I try my best to convey my regret that I cannot grant his dying wish. I bend over, and grasp his hand. It's covered in blood. He smiles, and closes his eyes forever. I let his hand fall, but in my hand is a picture. It is somehow only partially burned. I looks like a young woman. On the back it says something, but I cannot tell what. My hearing comes back to me, a man is shouting at me to get down and crawl over to him. To safety. I do, and now I sit in a reinforced bunker, safe from the hellfire that consumes the ground above me.
This is war. This is what happens. This is what is happening now, as you sit on your couch, or eat your lunch, or watch t.v. Young men die in the thousands on the bloody fields of Hades. This is the pure, unadulterated truth. Remember the boys who keep you safe. Don't forget their names. Remember the sacrifice they made for you, and the freedom that you enjoy.