Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Review 5: Vision Test (Video)

This really interesting video was brought to my attention a few weeks ago. It shows examples of basic micro-aggressions of such as stereotypes and how they change people's perceptions stereotyping. 

It is a clip by Wes Kim, "A routine eye exam turns into a troubling look at American attitudes towards minorities in positions of power. (Jury Prize from the 2003 Media That Matters Film Festival.)"




The way I experienced this video was that I answered the questions along with the patient. This can reveal our own biases, which we do not think about often. I thought it was a good look into how we stereotype people and a good start to thinking about where those stereotypes come from and how they affect our everyday interactions with others.

The most poignant point I found in the film was the very last question. "Which is more American?" The succession of images following was  particularly interesting, because after watching it again, I realized that every image was an equal part of American society and culture. Even the racist imagery is a part of American past and affects the American present. That, after going through that meticulous slide show of different  people, this entire culture is just a great amalgamation of different types of people. It's all one big mess. But it's our mess.



Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Review 4: The Shield of Achilles (Poem)

Earlier this week, my AP Literature did a practice test. The poem sampled for the test was a work by W. H. Auden called The Shield of Achilles. I really enjoyed the poem and decided to review it!
The Shield of Achilles 
 She looked over his shoulder
      For vines and olive trees,
    Marble well-governed cities
      And ships upon untamed seas,
    But there on the shining metal
      His hands had put instead
    An artificial wilderness
      And a sky like lead.

A plain without a feature, bare and brown,
  No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,
Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,
  Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood
  An unintelligible multitude,
A million eyes, a million boots in line,
Without expression, waiting for a sign.

Out of the air a voice without a face
  Proved by statistics that some cause was just
In tones as dry and level as the place:
  No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;
  Column by column in a cloud of dust
They marched away enduring a belief
Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief.

    She looked over his shoulder
      For ritual pieties,
    White flower-garlanded heifers,
      Libation and sacrifice,
    But there on the shining metal
      Where the altar should have been,
    She saw by his flickering forge-light
      Quite another scene.

Barbed wire enclosed an arbitrary spot
  Where bored officials lounged (one cracked a joke)
And sentries sweated for the day was hot:
  A crowd of ordinary decent folk
  Watched from without and neither moved nor spoke
As three pale figures were led forth and bound
To three posts driven upright in the ground.

The mass and majesty of this world, all
  That carries weight and always weighs the same
Lay in the hands of others; they were small
  And could not hope for help and no help came:
  What their foes like to do was done, their shame
Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride
And died as men before their bodies died.

    She looked over his shoulder
      For athletes at their games,
    Men and women in a dance
      Moving their sweet limbs
    Quick, quick, to music,
      But there on the shining shield
    His hands had set no dancing-floor
      But a weed-choked field.

A ragged urchin, aimless and alone,
  Loitered about that vacancy; a bird
Flew up to safety from his well-aimed stone:
  That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third,
  Were axioms to him, who'd never heard
Of any world where promises were kept,
Or one could weep because another wept.

    The thin-lipped armorer,
      Hephaestos, hobbled away,
    Thetis of the shining breasts
      Cried out in dismay
    At what the god had wrought
      To please her son, the strong
    Iron-hearted man-slaying Achilles
      Who would not live long.

The poem describes Thetis, mother of Achilles, looking over the shoulder of Haphaestos, the death god, as he forges Achilles' shield. Thetis expects to see images of gods or politicians or atheletes, or nature, but instead she sees a scene of war and destruction.
 Between the stanzas of Thetis's revelation, we see the sort of warfare and destruction that in the end, is depicted on Achilles shield. The poem mentions vacant fields and marching soldiers commanded by some unseen figure, people being executed while others watch motionless, and a man that knows only a world without empathy. 
One thing I really enjoyed about this poem was the back and forth of the narrative. We go from a very specific scene taking place during a specific even to a vague scene that could really be describing any major war in time. Because of Thetis' point of view, we get a very personal look at the effects of the images of war and descructiion. While we also get the detachment from the more vague scenes that truly portrays. the feeling of mechanized, totalitarian warfare where the feeling of individual are inconsequential.
Auden really blends these two perspectives in an interesting way, that may be hard to catch at first. I suggest reading the poem a few times to really understand the message.
Another great thing about this poem is that Auden wrote specifically so that it would be relatable to all time periods. The scenes of battle are not specific to one particular war, but could be describing any human conflict throughout history. The fact that the words are still so relevant today, though it was written sixty years ago shows how well-structured the poem is. 
The final irony at the end of the poem is that these scenes of battle that Achilles was so eager to have on his shield are eventually how he looses his life: in war. 
This poem is beautifully written and reveals some really important social commentary along with some cool Greek mythology.

Prompt #1: Found Poetry

Life is an acting game; this is theatre
We reach to affirm our fundamental worth
Against hate crime and institution
No power


To be allowed to dream out of sight
The hero, the reckless youth, the great battle
Anyone and everyone is welcome

Imagine what you could create

Friday, February 7, 2014

Review 3: Dream interpretation

If you know anything about psychology, you've heard of Sigmund Freud. Freud is infamous for doing some of the first work with psychoanalysis and being wrong about pretty much everything. One of Freud's most weird and interesting work is with dream analysis. He believed that "the function of dreams is to preserve sleep by representing as fulfilled wishes that would otherwise awaken the dreamer." He was big on the "unconscious" part of the mind. Most of his dream analysis interpreted manifest content of dream, or what was actually happening, and interpreting it into "latent content", or the hidden meaning.

Most of Freud's analysis ended up having to do with sex or sexual objects, because again, Freud was a weird guy. But, he wasn't the first or only person to try to interpret the content of dreams.  Ancient societies such as the Greeks and Egyptians thought or spiritual communication and tried their hand at dream interpretation.

The idea that images portrayed in our dreams are representative of some unfulfilled wish or future prospect, though pretty unfounded, is an interesting one.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

per 5 dream brainstorms

  • lucid dream
  • mlk jr dream
  • dream is a wish your heart makes
  • sacrifice for your dreams
  • nightmare on elm street
  • latent dream content
  • surrealism
  • sandman
  • dream being in space
  • ‘i dreamed a dream’ -les miserables
  • dream/death
  • dreaming in animals
  • living vicariously
  • hope
  • childhood dreams
  • dream time vs. real time
  • night terrors
  • sleepwalking
  • american dream
  • dream interpretations
  • theatre about dreams

Sunday, February 2, 2014

About Dreams (Text)



So, when I think of written works about dreams, the first thing that comes to my mind is a poem by the one and only Edgar Allan Poe


A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-'

You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


This poem is most literally about someone watching all the important things in life fade away, and in the face of it's ephemerality, questioning whether or not life is just a dream.



In searching for this poem, I stumbled upon another of Poe's works having to do with dreams that I also quite enjoyed:

Dreamland
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE- out of TIME.


Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the tears that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters- lone and dead,-
Their still waters- still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.


By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,-
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,-
By the mountains- near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,-
By the grey woods,- by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp-
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,-
By each spot the most unholy-
In each nook most melancholy-
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past-
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by-
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth- and Heaven.


For the heart whose woes are legion
'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-
For the spirit that walks in shadow
'Tis- oh, 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not- dare not openly view it!
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.


By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.



This poem is in Poe's more recognizable style with tangential descriptions of different landscapes and the sort of suspenseful shadow that creeps over the entire poem. He tells an unsettling story without giving you all the details.


I think what both of these works show is that, even with just a single author, the theme of dreams can take on different meanings and can be handled in different ways. Is life all a dream or is dream-land a sinister dimension separate from the waking world, ruled by old kings and dead things? Maybe that's one of the questions we can answer through this collaborative project. 

Friday, January 31, 2014

Prompt #3: Time Travel Episode 1


Drake Maliac wouldn’t say that he hates his job. No, being a Zoner is not the worst occupation to have by far. He gets to visit different decades and see with his own eyes more of the past and future in a week than most other humans. It’s a pretty cushy gig compared to say, deep sea mining like his father had done for twenty years.

So, Drake is appreciative of his job. It’s just, he feels that the general public romanticizes the adventures of Time-Zoners, thinking that it’s all one big game, that they have control over destiny or something. That is completely untrue. For his year, 2216, exactly one-hundred and ten zoners are chosen from all over the world. It is a competitive occupation, many people vying for the spot every year, each with an outrageous number of credentials. Then once chosen, these 110 people take classes upon classes of physics and biochemistry and calculus just so that they know how it all works. Then there is the mandatory reading of at least eleven guidebooks. Then there’s a low-level desk job. And another, slightly higher level desk job. And a final, intermediate level desk job. And, if you make it through all of that, you get to become a Zoner and learn what the job is all about: being a glorified mail courier.

Most people don’t mind the tediousness of the bureaucracy and ladder-climbing. After-all, isn’t it worth it in the end to have the privilege of time-travel? Twelve years ago, Drake would have said, “Of course it is.” The feeling of standing in the Zone for one year and then slowly feeling every cell of your body separate and somehow travel together all at once before, after what feels like virtually no time, appearing in the Zone of another time? Drake though it was the best thing in the world when he first started.

Now though, now he’s almost bored of it. First of all, for every day he he gets to Zone, there are a hundred times as many when he’s signing paperwork and researching and then signing paperwork again.

Don't get him wrong, he understands why there are so many rules. Each time-Zone is its own jurisdiction, each Zone worker has to be an expert at avoiding paradoxes or meeting their past self. It's just that there is so much tedium. And then, when he actually does get to Zone-jump, it's to pass a message to the sister of the secretary of the President of Ireland in 2335 or retrieve an otherwise meaningless bauble from 2152, and then zoom it's back to his own time to report to his higher-ups.

As he stands in line in the zoning office, twelve people in front of him, to receive his warrant and the necessary papers for his next ambiguous mission, he’s sure this mission will be just as tedious as all the others.