Jesse Jones Mrs. Spicer English IV (H) May 7, 2004
Dr. Jack Kevorkian, M.D.
Should man have the right to choose the place, time, and manner of his own death? It is this question that brought Dr. Jack Kevorkian to fame and eventually prison in the late 1990s. But Dr. Kevorkian has led a very successful and interesting life, even though much of his greatest work was shunned because of his tendency to lean toward the macabre. He is an extremely intelligent and well-educated man who has authored and fought for many ideas only to be beaten in the end by ignorance.
Kevorkian was born to Armenian immigrants in Pontiac, Michigan in 1928. Micheal Betzold says in his book, Appointment with Dr.Death, that when Kevorkian was young, he was fascinated by baseball. His dream was to be trained by Cleveland Indians announcer Jack Graney, but he eventually decided to use his above-average intelligence for something more serious. He graduated from the University of Michigan Medical School in 1952 and chose pathology as his specialization (3). Soon afterward, he began the first controversial work of his career. It was while working nights at Detroit Receiving Hospital, Betzold writes, that Kevorkian earned the nickname “Dr. Death” from his experiments in which he photographed the eyes of patients directly before, during, and after death. The research proved useful; it provided knowledge that could be used by doctors to distinguish between death and mere unconsciousness (1-2).
Another bizarre bit of research offered the medical profession a wealth of knowledge that, unfortunately, has not yet been put to good use. In 1958, according to Betzold, Kevorkian ran across some information concerning the Greek practice of conducting experiments on men who were condemned prisoners in Alexandria, Egypt. He also found that his Armenian ancestors had conducted the same kind of research in the 1200s. He decided the idea was of the utmost merit and importance to modern man and that it was his responsibility to share it with the world (4). Kevorkian worked hard to bring about attention and acceptance for the idea. Betzold says Kevorkian conducted interviews with condemned inmates at Ohio State Penitentiary about research on condemned men. He also wrote an essay explaining the idea in depth. The small amount of publicity created by Kevorkian’s campaign embarrassed his employer, the University of Michigan. He was asked to resign and was rejected by most journals and magazines in which he sought publication (4).
After leaving the U of M Medical Center and returning to Pontiac General Hospital, Kevorkian continued his outlandish work, this time, according to Betzold, conducting experiments with blood transfusions from dead people. Blood from heart attack and car accident victims was drained and saved to be put into live patients. There were no adverse medical effects caused by the practice, but Kevorkian’s reputation suffered due to his strange experimental work. He reported a loss of job opportunities because of it: “All they have to do is see my publications on cadaver blood and the condemned prisoner work. That alone settles the issue (5).”
Dr. Kevorkian’s personal life also offers some interesting tidbits . He even maintains his logical, scientific way of thinking when it comes to romance. Around 1970, Betzold says, Kevorkian was engaged; however, he broke off the engagement with the young store clerk, arguing that marriage was a waste of time as long as one could not find a partner who was perfectly compatible. He now calls his decision not to get married “the biggest mistake of my life.” He says that to refuse to reproduce is “from nature’s standpoint . . . immoral”; that it amounts to “shirking responsibility as a human being” ( 8 ). .Kevorkian also waxes artistic from time to time. In 1976, he incorporated a company called Penumbra, Inc. to fulfill his dream of making a movie about Handel’s Messiah. He completed a 90 minute film, but it was never sold or exhibited. He now refuses to talk about it, reports Betzold (9). A CD was released in late May of 1993 which featured Kevorkian playing jazz flute on his own compositions. It was titled “A Very Still Life: The Kevorkian Suite.” The cover art for the CD was one of Kevorkian’s own paintings, which have been widely exhibited, and have been referred to as “macabre,” “undeniably powerful,” and full of “rotting heads, corpses, that sort of thing (“The Art of Death”).”
It was in the 1980s that Kevorkian embarked on the campaign for the legalization of doctor-assisted suicide. Around this time, Betzold states, Kevorkian began proposing not only experimentation on death row inmates, but also on subjects who choose to be recipients of euthanasia. Again, he was ignored by all major publications to which he sent articles explaining this new proposal, excepting only an exclusively German published journal, Medicine and Law (11). For years, Holland has “looked the other way” concerning assisted suicide, neglecting to enforce or repeal its law against the practice. According to Nancy Gibbs, the Dutch Parliament even moved in February of 1992 toward giving doctors the right to assist in a patient’s suicide if he requests explicitly such assistance. She adds that the granting of this right brings a heavy responsibility with it and that the abuse of such authority could become an “instrument to meet social or economic goals, even ‘altruism’ (“Rx For Death” 95).”
Indeed, it was a 1987 visit to Amsterdam that prompted Dr. Kevorkian to create and begin practicing his method of assisted suicide in order to aid the terminally ill in ending their lives, suggests Micheal Betzold (13). Betzold also tells that in mid-1987, Kevorkian put ads in the classified sections of local papers, attempting to seek out participants for his new practice, which he had named “obitiatry” in order to “add a touch of dignity and legitimacy to the new specialty.” He received only two responses from prospective clients, neither of which ever received treatment from Kevorkian (13-14). But Kevorkian believed in the cause and was determined to do his part to further it.
Betzold says that in 1988 Kevorkian consulted the Oakland County Prosecutor’s office with an inquiry about the legality of obitiatry, an idea which he had now expanded to include experimentation on willing subjects in the interest of advanced medical knowledge. He was given no answer and was investigated by the state, which deemed him harmless (16-17). Judging by Kevorkian’s 1999 murder conviction, a mistake was made. Debbie Levy quotes Kevorkian as saying that “medical service is exempt from certain laws (91).” Kevorkian proceeded to assist more than 120 people in suicides throughout the 1990s. According to Microsoft’s Encarta Encyclopedia 99, Kevorkian constructed the Thanatron (Greek for “death machine”) in 1989. Its purpose was to make possible the suicide through lethal injection of patients so incapacitated by their disease that they are unable to commit the deed in any other way. In 1990, Kevorkian attended for the first time a suicide using his Thanatron, which was designed to anesthetize the patient into unconsciousness before injecting the same chemical used for capital punishment. The patient in this case was Janet Adkins, a 54 year-old sufferer of Alzheimer’s disease (Encarta 99).
Kevorkian’s campaign for legal assisted suicide and euthanasia continued. Among the countless suicides he attended was that of Mr. Ronald Mansur. Nancy Gibbs reports that Kevorkian was present on May 16 of 1993 when Mr. Mansur, who suffered from cancer, ended his life. Kevorkian made an anonymous phone call to report the death to authorities (89). The police found Mr. Mansur dead in his office with his left middle finger tied to a device that has allowed carbon monoxide to run into the mask he was wearing. He was “too sick to drive,” and “carried a morphine pump. . . to combat the pain.” Donna Cady who had been a friend of Mr. Mansur’s for year, is quoted by Nancy Gibbs as saying “. . . he had his finger sticking up in the air to say screw you for all the laws that made me suffer like this.” Kevorkian was arrested for assisting Mansur’s suicide, but later acquitted when Judge Cynthia Stephens struck down the law “that threatened to curtail Kevorkian’s efforts” (90).
When one embarks on a crusade to change the world by disobeying a law, it is essential yet difficult to keep oneself morally immaculate in the eyes of the general public, and Kevorkian lost credibility by failing to do so. Gibbs makes a valid point by showing Kevorkian’s unfortunate self contradiction in the following case, that of the suicide of seventy year old emphysema patient Hugh Gale. Mr. Gale interrupted Kevorkian’s suicide assistance becoming, according to Kevorkian’s own records, “agitated” and saying “Take it off.” After calming down, he donned his carbon monoxide mask again, only to again become agitated. This time, he lost consciousness right after saying “Take it off.” The mask, however, was left on, and Mr. Gale’s heart stopped 3 minutes later. All this is according to Kevorkian’s report of the incident, which was said to be an “erroneous draft” by Kevorkian’s lawyer (95-96). Gibbs adds that Kevorkian once wrote that if, during the process of deciding to assist a patient in suicide, the patient expresses any doubt about his decision, “the entire process is to be stopped immediately (96).”
Suicide has always been one of the great taboos of society. Most religions believe that suicide is the one unforgivable sin, a guarantee of damnation. English common law held that suicide was a felony. The punishment was burial on the side of a public highway. On top of that, a stake was driven through the heart of the offender to keep his soul from wandering (Gibbs 94). But Jack Kevorkian has surely helped quite a few people out of obviously unbearable pain. Some believe he is a madman. In his essay entitled “A High Quad Defends Quality of Life - Kevorkian Argues I Would Be Better Off Dead Than Alive,” Mark O’Brian asserts that Kevorkian is a “serial killer” who has merely devised a clever way of staying out of prison. At any rate, Kevorkian’s euthanasia campaign is over. He was convicted in 1999 for delivery of a controlled substance and the second degree murder of Thomas Youk, when, in a highly controversial and bravely defiant gesture, Kevorkian submitted a tape to CBS’s 60 Minutes which included footage of Kevorkian’s euthanasia of the near immobile sufferer of Lou Gehrig’s disease. He is still serving his sentence and will be eligible for parole in 2007. Whether he is right or wrong, he is a great man who has paid the ultimate price of his freedom in a fight for his beliefs.
"Look at That Faggot": The Continuing Struggle for Equal Rights in America
Jesse Jones Ms. Land U.S. Government April 24, 2004
The Continuing Struggle for Equal Rights in America
America is heading into some of its darkest times. Our civil rights are under attack as a result of the “war on terror,” we are in the middle of an unjust, almost imperial occupation in Iraq, our economy is in the worst shape it has seen in nearly a decade, and yet our president has the nerve to support a constitutional amendment that blatantly violates the right to pursue happiness of an obscene number of American citizens.
For the information of the reader, the proposed amendment will be included here.
“Marriage in the United States shall consist only of the union of a man and a woman. Neither this Constitution or the constitution of any state, nor state or federal law, shall be construed to require that marital status or the legal incidents thereof be conferred on unmarried couples or groups. “ (Source: http://www.firstthings.com/ft...)
It is essential to note that the U.S. Constitution calls marriage one of the “basic civil rights of man'' and a “fundamental freedom.'' It states that “the freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men.'' This language is from the ruling in Loving vs. Virginia which held that a statute prohibiting interracial marriage was a denial of due process. There is already a legal precedent set to prove the proposed amendment unconstitutional.
The campaign to prevent gay marriage from being sanctioned is being led by the religious right of the country. It is unacceptable to base national policy on the laws of any religion. Opponents to the sanction of gay marriage by the government claim that such an action would undermine the “sanctity” of marriage, a sacred institution created by God. However, to maintain a healthy separation of church and state, it is essential that the government refuse to officially recognize God. It is this fact that defeats the “sanctity of marriage” argument, but if one needs further convincing, one should consider an argument which is well put in Maria Barnaba’s letter from the “Correspondence” section of the April 2004 issue of Rolling Stone magazine: “It amazes me that any two drunken strangers of opposite sexes can get married in Vegas, but lifelong partners can’t make legal vows to each other just because their gender happens to be the same.”
The “sanctity of marriage” argument is easily defeated by the necessity of the separation of church and state, and the obvious fact that allowing any two individuals in loving relationships to marry, regardless of their sex, will do nothing to harm the state of healthy sexual practices in the country, and refusal to equal rights. On the other side of the coin refusal to do so will also do nothing to help the state of unhealthy sexual practices in America.
It is necessary to refute the belief of the intolerant, sheep like masses that homosexuality is “just gross”, or “just wrong”. To make such statements without any evidence of why homosexuality is “wrong” is foolish. Scientific studies show homosexuality occurs in animals in nature, animals such as penguins which don’t exhibit any other particular strange, barbaric, of even “gross” behavior. To say that homosexuality is not a trait that we are born with is to tell a relatively large portion of the population that they are liars.
It is not a wide stretch of the imagination to believe that the White House is putting emphasis on this issue to win votes for re-election in November, and to draw attention from the worsening quagmire in Iraq. Even if the law were in a position to justifiably prevent homosexual marriage, the idea of wasting time and resources on a constitutional amendment is outrageous when it could be left to the states to ban the practice with their own law. Besides, it should be obvious to the average person that if Jerry Falwell rabidly supports something, it’s a good idea to take the opposite stand.
Who was there for you? When the rains fell like we'd never seen before And the terrors of the whole wide world Beat their own path to your door And if you don't know who your friends are Then you won't know where to turn But if you want we can always be together Biting our tongues and waiting to burn
Why weren't you there for me? If what you said was true Then you wouldn't have to say goodbye But I can already see that same old look in your eye All your pasts are in the present All your laughs are on the shelf And you just can't seem to hide your sorrow Like you used to do so well.
I recorded it on my 4-track, and it sounds bad ass. Danielle suggested I whisper the vocals on one track, and sing them on another, like in "Riders on the Storm". It's good stuff. If I could figure out a way to record all those songs onto one tape, without making it sound shitty, It'd be awesome.
Jesse Jones Mrs. Spicer English IV (H) March 1, 2004
Climbing “The Wall”: The Lyrical Genius of Roger Waters
In 1980, rock band Pink Floyd released a conceptual album with a corresponding movie, both written entirely (excepting some music) by bassist Roger Waters, that has become the ultimate rock opera, and is probably the greatest concept album of all time. It is considered one of the best Floyd works, perhaps second only to the masterpiece Dark Side of The Moon. The overall meaning of the piece, however, is very much open to interpretation, chronicling half a lifetime, or perhaps only a few hours in the life of a fictional rock star, aptly named “Pink Floyd”. In The Wall, Roger Waters uses a skilled choice of diction to convey strong sense of cynicism toward many aspects of character Pink Floyd’s life: his childhood, his personal life, his career, and so on. The first two songs on the album act as introduction, functioning much the same as the “Chorus” in epics such as Homer’s The Odyssey. “In The Flesh?”, the first track, introduces “the show” as a metaphor for life, an analogy that appears throughout (tr 1). “If you should go skating/ on the thin ice of modern life/.../Don’t be surprised when a crack in the ice/ appears...”, warns Waters of how life’s problems tend to appear, leaving us helpless to do much more than “claw the thin ice” (tr 2). “The Thin Ice” also introduces the “Oooh Babe” lyric, which appears in several songs throughout the work, and is perhaps meant to be satirical of the overuse of the lyric in rock and pop songs (tr 2). The mood becomes darker as “Another Brick in the Wall Part 1" begins. The song demonstrates guitarist David Gilmour’s innovative use of delay effects, and tells vaguely of the loss of Pink’s father, a theme which is much more prevalent in the film. Pink’s father was a casualty of World War II, leaving him “just a memory”, “a snapshot in the family album”, and “a brick in the wall” (tr 3). “The Happiest Days of Our Lives” begins, and Waters proceeds to tell of and mock Pink’s childhood teachers who “would hurt the children anyway they could” (tr 4). Track 4 cleverly segues into “Another Brick in The Wall Part 2", probably the most famous tune from the piece, wherein Waters uses the clever double negative “We don’t need no education” to effectively state “We need [better] education”, and explains that the pain of Pink’s years in school was “just another brick in the wall” (tr 5). The mood of the music is much brighter in the next track “Mother”, providing a wonderful contrast against the cynicism of Waters’ description of Pink’s overprotective mother. Speaking as the mother, Waters comforts Pink: “Mama’s gonna [sic] make all of your nightmares come true/ ... put all of her fears into you/... keep you right here under her wing/ She won’t let you fly, but she might let you sing” (tr 6). The best of Water’s lyrics have this dark, sarcastic feel to them, in this case, stating the result of even the best intentions of some parents. “Mother” is followed by the beginning of a darker turn in the mood of both the music and lyrics. A melodic farewell to innocence, “Goodbye Blue Sky”, poses the question “Did... you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter/ when the promise of a brave new world/ unfurled beneath the clear blue sky?” (tr 7). This could be interpreted as a comment on the way that reality hits most of us and forces us to “run for shelter” as soon as we are able to leave home and be on our own, to face a “brave new world” (tr 7). At this point, the storyline changes tone, from telling a sort of quick recap of Pink’s life to almost detailing the events of the night on which the rest of the story is set in. Since much of the story is meant to deal with Pink’s inner thoughts and feelings, it could be argued that the songs leading up to this point represent memories Pink experienced on the evening in question. However, it is almost certain that some of the events later on in the story are either memories, hallucinations, or simply Pink’s random thoughts. The eighth track, “Young Lust”, represents the elevated sexual status of those in Pink’s position. Here, sarcastic, yet frank bluntness enhances the cynicism: “Will some... woman in this desert land/ Make me feel like a real man/ Take this rock and roll refugee/ Oooh Babe, set me free/ Ooooh I need a dirty woman/... a dirty girl” (tr 9). At the end of the tune, the listener experiences one of the most genius devices employed by the band to make a point: an actual phone call faded in over the music. Pink’s voice is not heard, only the operator helping him place a collect call to his wife. A man answers. The operator says, “Collect call for Mrs. Floyd, from Mr. Floyd.” The man hangs up. The operator says to Pink, “ He keeps hanging up; I don’t understand... is there supposed to be someone there besides your wife, sir?” (tr 9). The song ends, a synthesizer fades in, and the listener hears the goings-on in Pink’s hotel room before the show. He enters, accompanied by a young lady, obviously a groupie. She gawks at the luxury of the room and attempts to have a bit of fun with Pink, but he is silent, apparently already caught up in the old war movie on the television heard in the background. The lyrics begin and after a series of laments for Pink’s relationship with his wife, the band comes in hard to signify the hostility Pink is directing toward the groupie in the fit he is apparently having. Sound effects of various thumps and thuds, and breaking glass are heard amidst screamed apologies, “Don’t look so frightened/ This is just.../ One of my bad days”, and questions of what exactly it is the groupie wants from him: “Would you like to watch TV?/... get between the sheets?/... something to eat?” (tr 10). The tune ends with a lonely scream: “Why are you running away?” (tr 10). The slow, withdrawn, sullen mood of “Don’t Leave Me Now” finds Pink drawing further into himself and away from reality, and is sprinkled heavily with cynicism, this time toward Pink’s relationship with his wife: “Remember the flowers I sent/ I need you, Babe/ To put through the shredder/ In front of my friends/.../ To beat to a pulp on a Saturday night/.../ How can you treat me this way?/.../ Why are you running away?” (tr 11). The rest of the band joins the organ and delayed guitars for a short melodic interlude. The tune ends and the listener hears several television sets being turned on to different stations. Pink screams like a madman as he smashes them one by one. As he destroys the last set, the hard hitting “Another Brick In The Wall Part 3" begins. Waters screams, “ I don’t need no arms around me/I don’t need no drugs to calm me” (tr 12). Pink is declaring his independence from the rest of the world: “Don’t think I need anything at all” (tr 12). The turmoil subsides in the peaceful simplicity of “Goodbye Cruel World”, which seems to signify Pink’s suicide. This is not the case, however, since Pink if still the main character, alive, (if perhaps not so well), in the second half of the piece. Instead, “Goodbye Cruel World” is representative of Pink’s polite “goodbye” to the world he so violently rebelled against in the previous track. Literally, Pink has decided to lock himself in his hotel room and never come out. As the genius behind and often the voice of Pink Floyd, Roger Waters used his wit and sense of sarcasm to create the framework for much of the band’s greatest work, and was essential in making Pink Floyd’s music some of the most creative, innovative, and influential in rock and roll history.
I can't wait til I have to stand up and read this in front of Justin Bryan, Roland Partin, Jared Clay, Ashley Hart, Sarah Milner, and Jennifer Griser. Plus, Natasha Nunley, Sandy King, and Holly McGuire, even though they're just cheerleaders, they think they're athletes.
I'm quite proud of it, if you find errors, please let me know.
Jesse Jones Mrs. Spicer English IV (H) February 2, 2004
“Put Me In Coach”: A Look At Sports In The Public School System
Why is Tyler “Gator” McCullough a member of the Top Ten Percent at Grundy County High School? Anyone who’s had a significant amount of interaction with him will quote very quickly the only possible reason Gator is part of the Top Ten Percent: he’s a jock. Like plenty of athletes before him, he’s taken the easy classes, and got a free ride from the teachers of many of those classes. Favoritism is just one of the things that bother people about the presence of sports programs in public schools. In this essay, I will show how obvious it is that sports have no place in public schools.
First, the issue of money must be considered. I am aware that these teams hold fund-raisers, but I’m afraid I just don’t see 45 football players selling enough candy bars to finance a season of football. They’re getting tax money. The good citizen is concerned about how his tax money is used, so here’s something for the good citizen to chew on besides a Kit-Kat that cost him a whole buck: Kenneth Colquette is also getting tax money to play games. He gets paid to play principal and football coach, when we all know he was only hired because the school system wanted to win football games. All this goes practically unnoticed while the county is in outrage because a certain Economics/Sociology teacher made a couple dollars extra off of a fake Ph.D., a forged certificate which managed to slip under the watchful eyes of the system when all it would have taken to verify it was a 10 minute long distance phone call. Now with all this tax money going to pay for all these ball teams, plus paying a football coach a principal’s salary, it would be safe to assume we’ve got it together as far as our academics go, right? After all, this is federally funded public education, your tax dollars at work, right? Think again. We don’t have enough computers, we don’t have good computers, and we don’t have enough computer classes. If computers are the wave of the future, Grundy County can expect to be left high and dry. Besides that, we have a disgusting shortage of books, and not enough teachers in general who know what they’re talking about. Make no mistake: There are some excellent teachers at GCHS, but anyone will agree that one clueless teacher is one too many.
The 2nd strike against sports in public schools is their blatant uselessness. Sports won’t count for anything 10 years from now, except for those who went to college on sports scholarships. When you think about, being intelligent and academically successful, regardless of athletic ability, is what should get a person scholarships. “At least”, it might be argued, “kids get a good sense of sportsmanship out of these programs.” Wrong again. I can’t speak for the nation, of course, but in my experience, sports and pep rallies (which are detestable little establishments in their own right), are all about bragging. Athletics in schools don’t promote good sportsmanship, no matter what David Lowry tells you over the loudspeaker. They establish arrogance in participants, and drive bitterness in the rest of us, and whenever someone is pushing for uniforms in schools, they always tell you, “It’ll make all the students feel more equal,” and, “It’ll put an end to the disadvantaged kids being looked down on by the upper class kids.” No one ever thinks, however, of getting rid of sports programs so the jocks don’t find it so easy to act like they’re better than everybody else, and so they don’t have cliques pre-fabricated for them so they can defend that position until graduation.
One might think to oneself, “Could the whole country be so terribly wrong?” You bet your jockstrap it could. “Couldn’t some good come of these programs?” Perhaps some good could come from them, but certainly not nearly enough to justify the cost, or the theft of education from the rest of the student population, and, indeed, the athletes themselves. It’s plain common sense that kids who go to college on athletic scholarships are not necessarily prepared to do so, because the only place they’ve really proven themselves is on the field or court. They may have the 3.0, or 3.5 to get them in, but they’ve only kept that much up so they could keep tossing that pigskin, and it’s just an ugly fact of life that athletes get special treatment. We’ve all seen that cliche scene in those cliche sports movies where the coach tries, sometimes a bit unprofessionally, sometimes even a bit underhandedly, to convince the science or other teacher to pass the star quarterback so the team can win the championship. We all know there is pressure on teachers to make sure athletes do well. It must be much worse on GCHS teachers in the fall, since the football coach just happens to also be their boss. That said, we’ve established that athletes’ grades can’t be accepted as accurate measures of academic success. “Well you can’t deny,” my opponents will retort, “that it keeps kids off drugs.” Deny that, I cannot. I can and do, however, find myself unable to care less. As long as the schools have and enforce rules against drug use and trafficking on school premises, the educational system has done it’s part. It’s the responsibility of the community, not the school system, to provide the youth with sufficient extracurricular activities to keep them out of trouble. The same opponents would contend that athletic programs teach discipline and hard work. However, I will assert that they teach their participants to rely on cockiness, popularity, and useless skills instead of healthy self confidence, intelligence, and marketable skills. Again, the results are grossly insufficient to justify the cost. By following a “Karate Kid”, “Mr. Miyagi” mentality, we assume that by teaching our kids to “wax on”,“wax off”, and work hard at sports, they’ll learn not only to work hard at everything else, but also acquire the invaluable knowledge of 14 different ways to kill a man with their pinkies. Nobody wants to admit that it would be better to teach discipline for and dedication to something worthwhile in the first place.
There’s no excuse or explanation for spending tax money on any athletic team, or even a marching band, for that matter. For most kids, joining a school sponsored -ball team is nothing more than a cheap attempt to fit in, or get laid, or get into college, or all of the above. Sports in schools breeds arrogance and contempt. Sports in schools may keep kids off drugs, but they’re still ruining their livers on the weekends and using tobacco, oftentimes in front of and under the supervision of their coaches, furthermore, they can pop and puff all they want during the off season. Sports in schools wastes valuable time and tax money. Take a moment to think how much better off our youth would be if all those resources were put towards real education. While you’re at it, think of all the bad behavior from parents instigated by sports. Sports in schools are quite possibly the most ridiculous and unjustifiable occurrence in today’s society. One could fill yet another page with con after con to sports in schools, with the odds of seeing a pro being slim to none.
We all wish we could do a little better We all wish it wasn't so hard We all wish the knife didn't have to be so sharp Just to make a mark.
Around here, no one ever lets down their family Around here, friends can be forever Around here, a full house can win the hand, But out there, the deck is dealt from the bottom.
Wrote that just now. You know how you get an urge to write something, and whatever's nearby is what you use? I had the computer handy.
We all want to pretend like the new year comes, and nothing changes, but more and more, it seems like that's never the case. Maybe it's just the normal flow of everything always changing, and I'm just blaming it on the new year. But I think everything feels different. And everything's getting scarier. I wish I knew how to live better.
I'd like to know if anyone agrees with me. At first the new year feels like the old one, but both this year and last, by the end of January, life felt substantially different. I don't really remember if it was that way in any other years; I didn't pay enough attention.
Time for the racist joke of the moment: (Gratuitous use of the word 'nigger' because, culturally, that's how the joke is supposed to be told)
There's a truck driver on the interstate. He's carrying a trailer full of bowling balls. It's raining. He's coming to the foot of Monteagle mountain when he sees a nigger walking on the side of the road. He says to himself, "Hell, there's no sense in letting that poor feller walk..." so he opens up the back of his trailer, and lets him ride in the trailer. He gets a little further up the mountain, he sees another nigger pushing a bicycle. He offers the same kindness to him. He gets to the top of the mountain, stops at the weigh station, pulls his truck onto the scales. There's a highway patrolman who comes over to the truck and asks the driver if he can look in the back of the truck. The driver agrees, so the the highway patrolman opens up the back door of the truck, and slams it back shut real quick. He runs towards the front of the truck yelling at the truck driver "Are you crazy? You get on outta here, quick!" Another highway patrolman sees the incident from the parking lot and rushes over to the first officer to see what the deal is. He asks what was wrong, what the guy was carrying, and why he wasn't apprehended. The first officer says, "I just saved us a whole mess a trouble. Why, we'd have had to call a S.W.A.T. Team and everything if I'd have reported that." "Well what was he hauling?" "That trailer was full of nigger eggs, and two had done hatched, and one had done stole a bicycle!"
I heard that from my uncle who used to be in the KKK.
I had to write a poem for English class, and I decided I would write about the moon, using an extended metaphor not only portaying it as a lantern, but likening it to hope and faith in the bleakest of times.
I'll walk in and hand this to her, and in the same breath, she will shit a brick and excuse me from class for the rest of my life. Cause this poem owns, not even considering I wrote it in a meager 10 minutes.
The hour was late and at long last I flipped the switch That dimmed the torch That lit my chamber Night after long, lonely night.
--But there was still a flame to light my way Until the morning came As I lay huddled in my bed, I almost felt The warmth from that divine lantern, Fueled by the boundless black oils of the universe It’s pale flame kindled eternally upon an earthen wick Of cold harsh stone.
And though the celestial journey Of that great iridescent orb Sometimes will hide that blank unchanging landscape From these lonesome eyes, It is only for a while that the lost desperation of the fugitive I know, and the cold bitter darkness of the night I taste. And when hope fails we need only persevere, and remember, That Time will lead it back to us with haste.
Meglynn and Danielle wanted me to post the lyrics to "Hidden Wings", the song me and Jared and Cara did in the HS talent show last year. And I'll say a little bit about how and why I wrote it in the first place.
It was about a year ago, November actually, and it was a cold, wet, and foggy weekend, when something happened that particularly depressed me. I rode home from Tullahoma, thinking how terrible life was, and how the weather right then matched perfectly how I felt. Dead trees, and the fog that wouldn't let you see 10 feet in front of you, and the cold. God it felt cold.
The sun came up this morning over a wonderland of pain
{I kinda stole "wonderland of pain" from Jim Morrison -- "trapped in a Roman wilderness of pain" - from "The End"}
In the gloom I found myself calling out your name The winds of change blow my fragile senses all around As all the dreams I had of "us" come crashing to the ground Waves of desperation bash the shores of my tired mind As all the wrong you've done to me comes crashing in on the roaring tide
{comparing heartbreak and depression to being lost outside in the cold, and facing the weather}
You didn't have to lie to me You didn't have to hide your wings You didn't have to make me think I was yours and you were mine
{kind of a generic cheesy unrequited love song chorus... but it works anyways}
When I saw my friend down in the fields of disbelief I told him things would have to change; there's no time left to wait for the breeze
{the fields of disbelief sounds like a David Gilmour metaphor -- "The rain fell slow down on all the roofs (rooves?) of uncertainty" -- from "Poles Apart" -- I'm not sure who the friend was, but when interpreting most of my songs that mention a friend as if someone else wrote them, the friend appears to be God, and talking to the friend amounts to praying. I didn't write it to mean God though, it just sounded and felt good at the time -- in most of the songs I had written at that time, waiting for the breeze meant waiting for change; a change of direction, a change of heart (my own, or someone else's) a change of routine, whatever.}
He said that you said we all should know we can only trust ourselves And I knew you would have to leave if tomorrow ever failed.
{The first line means I believed it was my fault I was heartbroken, because I got myself into all this, and I should have known better. The second line means I hoped to see "you" again, but acknowledge that I might not, because tomorrow might never come. It's a statement about death.}
As I look out over the edge of life I know there's something there that I can't see But we'd find peace if you'd just tell me what you want from me.
{The first line is about being young and trying to figure out what life is about, and what to do with it. The second line it about wishing someone would either make things work between the two of you, or just tell you there's no hope and let you move on.}
I knew it was too good to be true when you told me the skies were blue I knew you were already gone I just hoped and prayed that I might be wrong
{hoping blindly that things would work, even it was pretty obvious they wouldn't}
And in the forest things begin to settle down Something just don't seem quite right as you and me come unwound
{The first line is about getting over things, and trying to move on, in keeping with the nature theme. The second line is about knowing things should have worked out, and how something's just not right about not being with the person in question.}
The mists are falling slowly over those sprawling wooded plains As I crawl back inside my cave and wish for brighter days
{crawling inside my cave.... : wishing everyone would leave you alone and let you feel bad while you need to get over things}
But I know they're not coming; I know we can't be free I know that I love you but you can't see that you love me
{Those kind of explain themselves in light of what comes before them}
I wrote it to the tune of "Echoes" by Pink Floyd. I write them like that, I hear a ripped off melody in my head and write lyrics to it. Matt Nance and Jared wrote some music one time a couple months later, when Matt stayed the night at Jared's house. I went to Jared's the next day and put the lyrics to it, and it was killer.
I like analyzing poetry and symbolism and such. Especially my own. I'm sure everyone sees through my attempt at not naming names.
I said things I've regretted I've said things I didn't mean I bashed dreams and broke promises for the ones who cared most about me I made trouble, mistakes, I made golden hearts ache the one thing I never made was love But looking through the pane, to see the setting sun I knew it would rise, and I knew I'd do better the next time
But it's not always that easy The tides sometimes turn from waiting to light the flame into waiting to burn keeping secrets, keeping record, keeping going the pace of the madness never slowing and looking for love in all the wrong places believing all the lies, and hoping it might turn out better next time.
{something like a bridge, or a chorus} like a refugee - like a deportee - like an outcast hiding all the scars that come from going too far behind a colorful mask but I found a friend out in that wooded plain who soothed my soul and eased my pain
you were what kept me going, and what kept me from going insane you pulled thorns from my paw, put pretty bows up in my mane And they all said you were crazy I said "I like that just fine-- I'm tired of having to wait for the next time."
I was trying to write like Roger Waters, depresing blue collar stuff
he tended his stock, and lived from day to day and he took short walks sometimes, to keep his mind straight he thought he had everything figured out he thought he knew how to keep the darkness out-- but in the end, it creeped in anyway.
She lived in his shadow, and prayed for a better way and did what she could to keep everyone out of his way.
whiskey bottles, and brand new cars... oak tree you're in my way
alcohol is bad, I don't like it. it makes you feel kinda good, but there's always that knot in your stomach cause you'vw put something there that shouldn't be there., and it make s you lose total control of the situation. it's nearly impossible to sober up quick if you're drunk- whereas, if you're under the influenve of selact other herbal recreational substances, you can bee cool if need be.
I meant to leave all that just as I typed it, no corrections, because I think it would have been deep shit if I hadn't had a bunch of spelling errors. Plus,. I wanna read it tomorrow like that.
On top of all that, it really tastes nasty. I don't think I'll drink anymore.
Maybe I'm just having a bad couple of days, but I hate about everybody lately. Ms. Basham really pisses me off, cause the band (or at least the drumline) sucks, and it's her fault. If she had never showed up, J.D. would still be here, and things would be killer.
I don't understand why things have to go the way they go... I wish everybody would just be cool about stuff. Make intellegent decisions about what is and isn't their business, figure out what they want/need, and go for it, and just be cool. But no, everything has to be painful and complicated.
I hate that I can never write down what I meant to write down.
Maybe people do listen to me, like she said. I came home and accounted for every bit of lost time, and did it so well that Daddy only bitched a little cause I worried him.
Tonight was different, and strange. But that's ok, cause you learn from things that are different and strange. I wanna know what Danielle knows that I don't.
Everyone thinks I'm sorry for flirting with Goose, and they're probably right. But I have a slight, superficial crush on Goose (you gotta admit she's cute), and if Danielle is flirting with her, and swears it doesn't bother her, I can scarcely help but flirt with her a little too. But I'm not stupid. I know what I've got. It's great, and I would never give it up just to crack Goose.
They say I'm crazy, but it takes all my time I'd say life's been good to me so far....
