For my group essay paragraph, I am writing about the first level of dishonesty, low level or "white" lies. Examples of these are lying about the cucumber sandwiches or lying about his knowledge of Cecily (denying he knew anybody by that name). My three points are:

1. Cucumber sandwiches.
I know, very broad concrete detail. Basically what I mean is this: I am writing about the entire cucumber sandwich scene, and all the lies that go along with it.

2.Cecily Cardew
Again, a broad CD. I am writing my second point on this concrete detail, specifically about Jack lying to Algernon about his ever knowing someone named Cecily.

3. My third and final CD isn't reall a detail at all, more of a point to wrap things up. I am talking about how the white lies, although not very important standing alone, are very important to the three levels as a whole.!

Please excuse my sloppy wording. Its late right now (for me).

Keenan!

New Years Resolutions...

Well...here we are: 2010. And this year has been a long, and grueling trudge; sometimes you're flying through daisy fields in sunshine, and sometimes you're getting dragged face first across broken glass. But whatever happened, the year is over, and while an old door is shut, a new door opens! I'm looking foreward to a clean, clean, CLEAN slate.

If I could pick anything out of all the obvious ones (get good grades, be a nice person etc.), it would be to get to know my mom and my brother better. I think I've been really out of touch lateley. We see a little bit of eachother here and there, a passing remark thrown over our shoulders as we speed through our lives. Soon, my parent will grow old. She might develop dementia, cancer, or get hit by a bus on the way to the grocery store. And if the last thing I said to my mom was "...yeah, seeya, bye...", I don't think I could live with myself.

And my brother! He and I are the only people we've got in my family after my mom passes away. And if I never develop a relationship with him, and we become distant and move far away from eachother...that would be terrible. I mean, he's my brother!

It all basically works out for the better if I just take a bit more time to hang out with my family, and slow down a bit...


-Keenan

This post is late because I haven't been allowed to used the computer at all since at least three days (or more) before break started...


Commentary: Animal Farm Project

I decided to write a poem, in all honesty, because I ran out of time. I had planned to make a movie, but schedule conflictions and a resulting lack of time made it impossible to make a quality project. And here we are!

I chose the theme “Power Corrupts” for a couple reasons. Firstly, it was my…“best” theme, because I had paid more attention to it than any of the others. I started to look at all the options, and decided my best chance was with power corrupts. When writing a poem (at least for me), I find it REALLY frustrating when I’m given a creative project, but I have guidelines that leave me no room for…creativity with content, just with word choice. PC is a really open ended theme: It only has two words, a sure sign of…open ended-ness, and because of this, it’s very unspecific. It leaves most of the thinking and planning and structure to the author, and as long as your poem is built around this central idea and it all wraps up at the end, whatever you want to put down will work.
My poem starts off sounding like…any other poem, though not necessarily about power (a few people said it sounded like a poem by an ex-drug addict). It first talks about a “drug” (power), and how it can effect (or is it affect?) you. It then moves on to compare the effects in real life to those on Animal Farm, and how the pigs reacted in comparison with how a person would (theoretically) react.

The final stanza (more of a sentence) reveals what the "drug"is and what, in essence, it does to one who gets a taste of it.

Keenan

POEM BELOW

A heart, cremated in a searing fire,

And drowning in a well of sorrowful tears,

Now feel the icy tendrils of desire,

Which smother the mind in shattered dreams and fears,

And like a drug, one taste is all it takes,

To plant the seed inside your now damned soul,

And then it drives you past the breaking point,

And buries you alive in a self-dug hole,

You wear a mask of cruelty, and this drug made this true,

You notice only things that seem to make life better for you,

You sink to lower levels, to reach a higher place,

A false sense of reality, paints pictures on your face,

And like the pigs on Animal Farm, what you have is never enough,

And you will exploit any and all, to get a bit more of the stuff,

It’s clenched inside your fist now, you take it without a second thought,

You build upon what you already have,

And you thicken the sinister plot,

Of what your life has been so absorbed with since you had your first taste,

Power, it is a corrosive rust upon your heart and soul, it corrupts the morals, and kills the senses, surrounds you with one central goal: Get more.

Life Lessons

One of the most influential things anyone has ever said to me is from an old neighbor of mine when was talking about his clothes. He started to tell me about this new pair of shoes he bought (they were skate shoes), and how he didn't wan't to get them muddy or scuffed up playing football. Now, I had seen multiple people wearing these shoes before him, and they were, for lack of a better word, the "cool shoes" to wear! He wanted to look cool; at least, that's what he said. He was dressing like half of the kids at my middle school, and he was out of highschool! Now, thats not a problem. He can dress any way he wants!

Now, to clarify for you guys why this is so important to me, here's a bit of a back story. Throughout middle school, I was...well, akward. I kept to myself, and I only had a few friends untill a few weeks before the end of 8th grade (during a class trip to the San Juan islands). I was bottled up inside, because I was afraid to share who I was with other people. I too bought skate shoes and baggy jeans, and I was another face in the crowd. I still am, one person out of 1800 kids is miniscule at best. But from the time Blake told me that, I decided I was going to try my hardest to express myself, and to blazes (there were many words I could have put there, none of them school appropriate. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I put blazes) with what anyone else thought of me! So maybe I look like a weirdo, maybe I'm a bit different ( I do my best to do this), who cares! The way I see it, if I show people what I'm really like, the right friends will come to me!

Keenan

Best Friend-Late b/c I was EXTREMELY uncomfortable writing this.

Well, I know best friends are supposed to be people, but I don't really have a "best" friend, because I couldn't possibly choose one over the other for this. So instead, I'm going to write this post about my true best "friend". See if you can guess before the end!

He is dressed in a shiny coat of midnight blue, a silky lacquer layered on top. His neck is very long and thin, and he has a beautiful voice. Though his body is scratched and dented, he still survives better than ever. When I hang out with him, we always agree on everything, and have the coolest conversations I can possibly think of. Maybe it's because we speak a different language when we're together. Sometimes we hang out with other people, and each bring a similar friend along. Each friend is unique, with a different voice, a different and equally important point of view to voice. And, just like the physical uniqueness, each has a very unique, no, rare and amazing voice with which they speak constantly. And yet, each voice, no matter how layered, shines through as brightly as the rest. My friend is awesome.

He is a drama queen, to say the least. Whether he is speaking through a mic, or screaming at the top of his lungs, whether he hangs out with novices or masters, he always speaks loudly and with great...gusto, for lack of a better word :). He dazzles people when he hangs with a master, as the master has had much practice learning how to act around my friend. Me? I've known him since I was eight, and I plan to stay in contact for a very, very long time. You could say I'm an intermediate friend of his. Alone, he sounds small and quiet, but with the right microphone, he can tell the whole universe what it's like to be him, or what it's like to be his friends. He is loud, and can be obnoxious at times, depending on what sort of person you are. He loves attention and uses it to his advantage, making millions of dollars if he is lucky. He is my best friend, and I will always keep and cherish him forever.

He is my Fender Stratocaster electric guitar.

I know that was pretty dorky, but hey, it's the only thing I could think of under pressure, so give me a break :D

Keenan

My Earliest Memory

It was a beautiful autumn day. The skeleton trees lined the playground, and their leaves exploded into huge bursts of red and yellow all around me. I couldn't have been happier! I was six, with my bright red rubber boots, tye-dye fleece coat and corduroy pants, and I could have taken on the whole world! Or at least, thats how I felt. The cow bell was dinging off somewhere in the distance, signalling the start of recess, but my mind was somewhere different. You see, in my tiny world at preschool, we had a giant dirt mound. We also had a hose! And, combining these two things, we made enormous rivers, cities of sand lining their banks, with complicated bridges spanning the river for many "miles". Anything was possible! But then...he came along. That....THING...I can't even speak his name.

CRRRRRUNCH!!! The sand castle building came to a halt as bryan stood there, his foot triumphantly fixed into my city. Godzilla doesn't pay visits to sand castles! At least, that's what I told him. But he didn't care, he just wanted to destroy my beautiful city, my...my lifes work! For the day....Bu-bu-but THAT DOESN"T MATTER, because I loved my sand city with all my heart.

Oh my. Kids are so close-minded when they're little. The big picture doesn't exist in the average six year old's mind. Oh, how simple life was then. How easy. Eat, School, Play, Eat, Sleep, Repeat. Maybe one day you slay a dragon, the other day fly to the moon. You could do anything and everything. All you had to do was think. And now....now the days of sand castle building with bryan, and dragon slaying in the backyard, those days are over. Too bad for me...

-Keenan :)

Rebecca: Imagery

Daphne du Maurier, the author of the book I read, Rebecca, is a very talented author. She has written many other books, two of which have become movies directed by Alfred Hitchcock (Rebecca, The Birds). Her books have intricate plots, multi-layered meanings and advanced syntax, and Rebecca is not exception. Despite the litany of literary elements that one could choose, I think imagery is the most visible and outstanding in the book.



Rebecca has some of the most vivid imagery I have ever seen in a book. As an example, Mrs. Danvers (the housekeeper) is extremely loyal to the late Rebecca de Winter. When Mrs. de Winter the second arrives, she feels somewhat like a child who lost her mother. She thinks that the new lady in the house is trying to replace Rebecca, and as a result feels alot of animosity towards Mrs. de Winter the second. Imagery is interlaced throughout the story, and it drives the reader to continue, and makes the book what it really is today.

More to follow.