Friends, teachers, fellow students-who didn't push it to the limit like i did so radically. In the game of life there are rock stars and there are police officers who can pull you over if your roll higher then a ten. The police officer is like a a long hollow tube, filled with all the money you get each time someone rolls higher then a ten. now if you decreased the tubs circumference by 1/2, you would have a tube roughly twice its original length- now why would you do that? This is why we learn. This is the question of life. Why... Why would you do that to the tube? If I could quote the great Michel Rivard, "I have but two things to say to you: Celery and Sidewalk. Thank you, good night." Thank you good night.
I have chosen prompt three, as in the Thrice is suffice. I have yet to really penetrated my book deeply with regards to character and plot development. What I noticed is that there has yet to be an event that has hit me as powerful. I really felt as though all that I've read. The suspense and uncertainty of McCarthy's writing was the mot powerful thing. Nothing really happened but there was so much feeling that wasn't written on the paper. The first page even. "Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one then what had gone before. Like the onset of some cold glaucoma dimming away the world." Nearly all the description from his writing went this deep. It was slow but powerful, a Behemoth of the written word.
Atonement is a very tough fish to fry. It is defined as the making of reparation for a sin or a mistake, often between god and man. In my opinion there is no way to atone for a action against another by thinking about yourself, but only through giving peace to the one you harmed can you start to heal. There is a big difference between healing others and healing mistakes against yourself, unless you seek comfort of another or a higher power. You have to live with guilt but you must make sure that you have undone the wrong to another there is no real end, you get closer each time. In the Kite runner the character Amir is faced with the crushing guilt of witnessing his "best friend" Hassan's rape. Amir tries to free himself of the guilt by ignoring it and just trying to forget but as time goes on It proves to be futile. I believe the answer is very simple. Amir must come to terms with what he has seen and simply tell the truth. Amir has to stop feeling sorry about himself and think about Hassan, the one who was actually raped, anally raped. All and all I think Amir will see the right path and follow it to his ultimate atonement, but it will be more of a baptism by fire
In the Seventh grade I was first chair Trumpet. I had been playing the trumpet for about four years, longer then any other instrument I'd pick up then loose interest in. I felt on top of the world, I actually enjoyed doing something; but something happened that would change that forever, ( no, not rape). My Music teacher at the time a Mr. Billy Bruns asked me if I would be interested in trying out a new instrument, due to a lack of low brass. That instrument was the Tuba. for the first couple months I enjoyed the new thrill of a large and in charge behemoth, but as time went on I started to realize what a mistake I had made. For the next 18 months I longed for the warm embrace of my trumpet. I felt as though all my plans of becoming a bounty hunter who plays in jazz clubs were dashed, rather finely i may add. This all changed my first day of high school. In Band class I was introduced to a whole new style of teaching, that which is known only as learning it from the "Hood". I saw how low brass parts in actual music were, for lack of a better word, SBLADOWZ. I learned that its not what you play, but how you play it, i mean it's not what you want to play, but what your personality will foresee you to play. I fit in very well within the low brass and love the tuba. <3
Editors Note: picture is Father and Son... The Front Cover.
title: The Road author: Cormac McCarthy awards: National Bestseller, Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. visuals: all black with "The Road" in big white text. I believe the book is going to be about a journey were someone finds their place in the world Questions: When was it written? where was Cormac McCarthy in his life while writing this
The Back Cover.
synopsis: A father and his son walk alone through burned America. Nothing moves in the ravaged landscape save the ash on the wind. it is cold enough to crack stones, and when the snow falls it is gray. The sky is dark. Their destination is the coast, although they don't know what, if anything, awaits them there. The have nothing; just a pistol to defend themselves against the lawless bands that stalk the road, the cloths they are wearing, a cart of scavenged food- and each other. Reviews: most of them say the same kind of thing here's one that includes what most say. " The searing, postapocalyptic novel destined to become Cormac McCarthy's Masterpiece." hints: I believe from what I've read its kind of like the Road Warrior Father and son edition, "just walk away...Son"
In The Book.
Copyright: 2006 Dedications: to John Francis McCarthy no table of contents or alternative titles Taste of Style: McCarthy's writing style is very descriptive and "slow" but not in a bad way. His writing has a very natural pace, a real thinking pace. Other books have no sense of pacing and are unnaturally fast.
Overall Impression: I've grown excited to read this book. I really enjoyed Road Warrior and I hope this will live up to all the precious Steam Punk Glory associated with Postapocalyptic times. I want to know: How did the Earth fall into this state? How did the father and son end up where they are? How long after the incident the destroyed the earth is it?
This was total war. The King had died three months earlier and never indicated who should take the thrown. His two sons both claimed it and the next step was obvious, a bloody civil war. My squad was stationed near a small radio post in the mountains, nothing ever happened out here.
In the darkness, the shape of an elderly man eclipses the blinding white desk light. The man wipes the sand from his world weary eyes and lets out a long drawn out sigh, showing his age. The man looks around, trying to get his bearings, and hears a loud snap. The man looks in his hands and finds a small model soldier, which his shaking hands have destroyed. Beyond the soldier sits a expertly crafted diorama. The old man strains to fathom where it had come from, but as he looks he starts to remember sleepless nights working on the meticulous details of every soldiers face, of every bullet hole, but most importantly on the wounded. The old man looked over at his clock which burned a bright red 3:26. The old man pick up his paint brush and decides to leave this soldier broken and paints every detail with the slowness and fluidness of age. The old man positions the soldiers in a river bed, a nice place to have it end. Forcing a smile the old man slowly raises shaking hand and turns off the light.
"Sit back and close your eyes... really fast open them...then close them again...then open them... then close them...and open...and close...then open them...now you are ready." - Mr. Pockets
