Painting

Author's Note: This is my piece that was inspired by the museum. Read the paper to understand my inspiration more.

I have been trying to find an art piece from the museum that speaks to me since the second we left. Honestly, I hadn't been inspired by anything I saw in the museum, even though we had covered the entire area. In an attempt to find something, I visited the museum's webpage and scrolled through dozens of pages of pictures of the art that is on display in the museum, hoping to get inspired. I went into the weekend, knowing the paper was due soon, and knowing that I had a lot to do in the time I could be writing. When I was helping to paint our basement because we are finishing it, I finally got inspired.

After about an hour of standing in my basement, painting, with only the radio blasting Christmas songs about wanting hippopotamuses for Christmas and dreaming about a Christmas where there was snow, I was ready to get violent. Honestly, with only one paint color that I had to paint - not even well, because it was only the first coat - I was going crazy. Then I thought about our trip to the museum and about how long it must have taken to paint any one of those paintings, even the abstracts ones. Suddenly, my one color paint roller work didn't feel so difficult a task to complete.

Before this museum trip, I hadn't understood, appreciated, or cared about art. I'm a terrible artist, so I've never cared about art, but instead worked on other creative outlets like writing, music, and sports. Think about how much time it would take, how much dedication and patience is needed to create a painting that looks so lifelike, combining many colors and brush-strokes to make a masterpiece. What if you messed up and had to start all over again with the work you put so much time into? When I thought about this, I started to think that I had it easy, with my straight-lined, one-color paint roller.

I don't understand art. I never went to art school, and never really understood the expression behind art, especially abstract. When we went to the museum, I wasn't close to being inspired, because I didn't understand the art. To me, a lion standing on a cliff watching the sunset was a lion standing on a cliff watching the sunset. Up until this weekend I hadn't really had an appreciation for art in the same way that I did for sports, music or writing. Then, I found out how much dedication and love of what you're doing had to go into creating an art piece. What I'm trying to say is that even though I don't understand it, even though I may not enjoy the actual piece, I have to appreciate  the commitment needed to paint or sculpt it.

Neighborhood

Author's Note: When we did our stream of consciousness, I thought of a neighborhood invading nature, and nature unable to fight back. This came from riding my bike around the neighborhood, watching the heavy machines repave the roads and thought how we are the invasive species in nature. Normally, I'm not an "eco-nut", so I don’t know why this new part of me shows and if I'll continue to look at nature in this way. I'm not saying I'm going to suddenly join the Riverkeepers , but maybe I'll recycle once in a while now. I put this into a poem to work on an extended metaphor.



The trees,
The soldiers,
Fighting a losing battle.

The heavy machines,
Are tanks,
Dominating the war.

The soldiers,
Shot,
Bleed:
Red, yellow, orange.

The heavy machines,
The tanks,
Are parasites:
Invading, killing, enslaving.

The soldiers are destroyed,
Or enslaved.
The prisoners - caged,
Put on a leash.

The rebels,
The free-thinkers,
Cut down,
Before their ideas take root.

Their ideas,
Murdered, smashed, dashed,
On the concrete.

Fear

Author's Note: In The Robert Langdon Series fear plays a large role in Robert Langdon's life. As a child, he fell into a well and was trapped for hours, hours where he had to endure mass claustrophobia. Ever since, he's been scared of small spaces, and somehow in every book, he finds himself trapped by his fear. My biggest fear is isolation, so I decided to write a poem about it. I'm not entirely sure I like it, so please tell me what you think.

Blood flows like

Ice

Through veins of

Steel

Freezing inside

The panic

The fear

The howling wolf

And circular moon

Show emptiness

A group is protection

Fear disappears

But I am:

Isolated-

Alone.

Dominance At Its Best

Author's Note: I wrote this because I really have no other pieces about soccer on my blog and soccer is a big part of my life. And we won a championship, so I decided that there would be no better way to show how good our team is and how much we've improved.

"Over our heads!" Coach spat the words like they were poison. What he said was true though, in more ways than one. The opposing team's goalie had just punted the ball deep, well behind any of our players. The soccer ball literally flew over our heads. Metaphorically speaking, we were also in over our heads.

The Spring Shoot-Out Tournament couldn't have been planned on a better weekend. The sun was out, there was a cool breeze, and our team was playing well. We had won our first game, tied our second and won our third, putting us into the semi-final. There, we performed great, winning by a large margin to send us to the Championship. Only then had our superb weekend turned bad.

The team we had to duke it out with for first place was about as skilled and athletic as we were, which spelled trouble for us because we rely on those two factors to win games. Throughout the entire first half, our players were beaten by the opposition in both hustle and ability. After playing so excellently, we had come into this game expecting to dominate. Instead, we were barely keeping our heads above water.

At half time, Coach was exasperated. He pointed out the numerous things that we did wrong in the first half and expected us to fix them. For some reason, we couldn't. Our play continued to be terrible into the second half. It was a miracle we were able to keep it tied and force it to over-time. Falling into our habits of the entire game, we were unable to score in the ten minutes allotted for extra time. That meant that the game was going to end how I had feared it would. The ultimate test on a goalie, a ball flying through the air from close range that you must block. A shootout.

I hadn't gotten a lot of action at goalie today, which has become typical as our team has gotten better. That means that I wasn't "warmed up", which means I hadn't had a soccer ball kicked multiple times at my head during the game like I prefer. My instincts are always ready, but being in the background the entire game had kind of gotten me used to standing there and not moving. Now though, I was about to thrust into the center of the action, with the fate of the game literally in my hands.

Given little time to prepare, I headed down to the goal to await my turn. Our team kicked first, and the ball soared past the goalie into the goal. Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the line, as it was now my turn. The player from the other team looked overly confident, which was the opposite of me. Still with a cocky grin on his face, he kicked the ball . . . six feet over the goal. I didn't even flinch. Our team was up 1-0 with four kids still to kick.

Our next kicker drove the ball into the same spot as the first, past the goalie again. As before, I stepped into the goal, awaiting the kick. This time, the kid from the other team didn't look very confident. He kicked the ball right at my face, which I easily deflected. 2-0. Finally, our third player shot the ball, which again went past the goalie. If I could block this kick, the game would end because it would be impossible for the other team to score more goals than us. No pressure or anything.

I slowly walked to the line for what I hoped would be the last time. This opposing player didn't look anything. His face was blank, emotionless, calm. Mine, well, not so much. He took his steps back, ran towards the ball and kicked it . . . six feet over the goal! We had won! I looked over at where the rest of my team was sitting and saw them charging at me. It was the best feeling in the world knowing that I hadn't let my teammates down (Note: I also enjoy playing goalie because it gets my adrenaline pumping).

I write this because it shows how good our team has become. A year ago, we only dreamed of winning a tournament. Now we've won two, and with first place in our league one game away, we've really improved. The "A" league is really just around the bend for us, and there our skills will really develop because we'll have an actual challenge.

The Dark Side of the Moon

Author's Note: I got my inspiration to write this piece from a little blurb on a baseball code of ethics sheet. It said the parent spectators shouldn't discriminate against players because of their ability. It got me thinking about what it would be like if we did show disdain towards people just because they weren't good at something. No, I'm not encouraging prejudice, but rather trying to tear it down.

Gregory Dolton was watching his son play a basketball game when They came for him. His son was everything he was not: athletic; intelligent; coordinated. A short and balding man, Gregory was like a cartoon character come to life. He was always committing petty acts of stupidity, but these actions never had consequences. That is, until recently. After a night of little sleep because of a lengthy fight with his wife, Dolton fell asleep while driving to work. The accident he caused severely injured a pedestrian, while severing a tendon in his own arm. With this injury, Gregory could no longer hold a pen, which was a vital part of his job as a pen salesman. Losing his job was the final straw, and even though he was not a smart man, Dolton was able to predict this visit from Them.

"Mr. Dolton," Number Seven said in an unemotional monotone. Part of his job of being one of Them was to lose all emotion. "We are here to inform you of the changes that were recently made to your Perfection Status. The Committee has decided that you are Imperfect"

"No . . . no. I can change. I mean, I mean . . . please give me more time. I can heal. I can change!" Dolton began to cry even as the words left his mouth. Hot tears streamed down his face as he tried to think of a way out of the destiny that had been chosen for him.

"Mr. Dolton," Number Eleven, the other man who was there, said in the exact tone of his associate. "The Committee has spoken. You are just too stupid and too uncoordinated to be a Perfect for any longer," Eleven continued allowing a hint of disdain to sneak into his voice. "You endanger the Perfection of our society and it will not be tolerated, not for one-"

Number Seven cut him short with a sharp gaze before any more emotion could find its way into his partner's voice. When you were one of Them, inability to control your emotions could get you demoted or even labeled as an Imperfect. Checking his watch, Seven started to worry. They only had a minute left before Dolton was expected in the car. If they were even a second late, they would be considered traitors and enemies of the Committee, even worse than Imperfects.

Reaching into his red bag, Seven barked orders at Dolton. "You will tell no one that we came. You will walk calmly towards a black car, license plate JG8-HKZ, parked outside the building. If you try to get help, we will know. If you try to escape, we will know. Here, take this ticket and don't lose it because we will know," Seven finished and handed Gregory the ticket he had taken out of his bag. It was all procedure: the ticket, the instructions, the car. Nothing ever changed.

At this point, Dolton had given up hope. He dejectedly took the ticket and trudged towards the car. His son would notice his absence after a while, but by then it would be too late. It was already too late. Gregory accepted that now, he accepted his Imperfection. Only a Perfect could be Perfect.

Just as Seven had said, there was a black car outside of the building. What neither of Them had mentioned was the make of the car. Dolton was to ride in a Hearse, because being Imperfect was as good as being dead.

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The ride was as bland as Their voices, but it allowed Dolton to think. Throughout the city, there were posters boasting slogans like: Death to Imperfects, Long Live the Perfect Perfect, Never Question the Committee. Gregory had never really paid attention to these posters, but becoming the target of their hate had made him think. What is so bad about being Imperfect? he asked himself. A life's worth of reasons to hate Imperfects came to him, but he fought against them. Why can't we all just accept each other's flaws? For the first time, Dolton began to form his own opinion about the topic of Perfection.
.
When the car arrived at the Hall of the Committee, Dolton was shackled and led to a waiting room by more of Them. More Imperfects were there and by their pained sobs, he could infer that they had just been told of their status.

.
Grey was the only color in the entire room. It was on the walls, on the floor, on the chairs, even on the others. For a minute, panic filled Gregory's heart, but he was soon relieved to find his ticket in his pocket. Because he was last in line, he took a minute to study it to see if it yielded any clues as to where his final destination would be.

The ticket was a silky gold and it shimmered in the half-lit room. The rainbow Stamp of the Committee, a circle with a pyramid inside of it, glistened, perfectly centered on it. Other than that, there were no markings of any sort. Dolton was still transfixed with the Perfection of the ticket when he was summoned.

.

They were back, Number Seven and Number Eleven, because they were assigned to Dolton's case. He was to be escorted by Them to the Perfect Perfect as every Imperfect was. Then he would be whisked away, someone else's problem, soon to be forgotten. The walk was short, down a narrow hall and they were soon confronted with a room, one that belonged to the Perfect Perfect. The door of the Perfect Perfect's Chamber was cold and intimidating, without a touch of life. Gregory felt a shudder go down his spine as he entered.
.

The Perfect Perfect sat behind a wooden desk in a room that was entirely wood. His every feature was Perfect, not a hair out of place, not a blemish on his face. He motioned to a chair in front of the desk, inviting Gregory to sit down. Dolton accepted, fearing the worst if he were to oppose this man's smallest order. With a brief clearing of his throat, the Perfect Perfect began to speak.
.

"I have brought you here today to explain the meaning of Perfection and to clarify the confusion you feel now. You see, I was once a smaller version of me. I was the best in my class, best on my sports teams, and I hated the others who weren't as skilled as I. Over a very many of years, I was able to form a small political party of people like me. We had little power at first, but we grew daily as people began to see as we did. Our motto, The best is only possible with the best, began to ring true in the hearts of millions. Very quickly after our creation, we rose to power. The basis of our beliefs though, I now see is a sham.

.

"There is no such thing as Perfection. Soon after I took power, I began to see Imperfection in even myself. I could not give up my power though, because being in charge is a drug to which I am addicted. To keep control of the population, I still had to believe full-heartedly in Perfection and the ways of my government. Because I believe Perfection is possible, and since every man, woman and child views the world through my perspective, my way of thinking is embraced.
.

"I now come to the topic of your Imperfection. In order for my type of society to work, I must play off of fear. Without fear for oneself, humans can hardly be motivated. Their natural laziness prevents anything of substance to happen. Fear acts as a motivator, encouraging work instead of sloth. In this case, I use fear to motivate Perfection instead of Imperfection. How I frighten my citizens is quite simple: Dispose of the Imperfects.

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"Your Disposal is the end of the line for you. You may appreciate that I decided long ago it was too much work to simply kill Imperfects. Fear of the unknown is also much worse than the fear of death, because there are things to be scared of that are worse than death. That ticket you hold in your hand there is your ticket to a humane Disposal. Instead of being killed, which by the way will be your fate if you manage to lose it, the ticket grants you a one-way trip to the moon. Long ago, colonization of the moon was only a dream, but I have accomplished it. Of course, it had to be done in secret, for if the population knew the Imperfects were hidden on the moon, it would have to be blown up due to the immense disdain felt towards Imperfection. This is all I have to say, so I believe our time together is up."

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Six nameless, faceless figures slowly walked through a hallway towards a giant steel creation of technology. In history, these people would be heralded and called heroes, risking life and limb to explore the final frontier. This slow, majestic walk towards their spaceship would be a grand celebration. Now, that celebration had been turned into a death sentence with the only sounds being the scrape of shackles on the ground. Each man wore an identical expression, one of absolute hopelessness. They were all thinking of the life they left behind, and the life they were about to begin on the dark side of the moon.

A Little Bit Of China in Everything

Author's Note: Today as I was reading 1984 by George Orwell, I was reminded of how literature is meant to reflect real-life, even if it's fiction.

George Orwell's dystopic book shows a government that abuses its power to keep its people under its control. The general population doesn't know anything of the unethical, illegal business the government partakes in. For those of you in seventh grade social studies, this should sound familiar. Right now, China is doing basically the same thing that the government does in 1984.

For those of you who know nothing of the current situation, China is in big trouble with democratic countries. The communist country recently hacked into the Chinese Gmail server and accessed the Gmail accounts of people who are known to oppose the government. Not only would Americans call it unethical, but it's also unconstitutional. Sadly, China isn't governed by the Constitution, so that type of thing is completely legal. Along with that, China censors any Google search, limiting the amount of knowledge their people get. If knowledge is power, China is keeping their people powerless, unable to oppose the government.

In 1984, the government does the same type of thing on a much larger scale. Telescreens, computers that record your conversations and actions, are put into every available space, cutting away privacy for every citizen. The government, like China, is paranoid that its people will build up enough knowledge to revolt, and decides to stop the problem where it would start. If China doesn't hang, it could end up looking like a scene right out of 1984, a scene that no one should ever see.

Catcher In The Rye

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Catcher In The Rye

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