Killing Yourself To Live

When I initially found out that I had to read a book by the name of “Killing Yourself To Live” I was immediately intrigued and flocked to the nearest internet search engine to get down to business. I wanted to know what this book was all about and why it carried a name of such strongly suggested character. It took all of three sentences into a general description of the book for me to realize that I knew I would love reading it and more so, I knew this was a book that my best friend would love to read as well (if she hadn't already read it, which she had).

To be quite honest, I didn't care that this man was driving across the country to view places of famous celebrities deaths, that wasn't my attraction to it. Okay, there was a little bit of attraction there, but my fascination with music and the desire to know as much of it's context as possible was irrelevant in comparison to the actual story I was seeking within the books pages. What really attracted me to this story was the complexity of the way this man's mind worked naturally, how he was often oblivious to it at times, yet so perfectly in sync with his irrationalities that it seemed inspiring. Before even reading the book I read excerpts and discussed it with my best friend, who quickly told me it would either make me fall in love with this man or reevaluate the people I associate with. (Oddly enough, it did a little of both)

The strengths and weaknesses of this book are going to be very dependent on the reader. From a personal standpoint, I didn't find any weakness. The only weakness lies within himself and the disaster that he is as a person, but he knows that he's a little ridiculous and that's part of why I find his story intriguing at all. The beauty of Chuck Klosterman, from my standpoint, is that he's relatable and a total smart ass. This might not be appealing to a lot of people, but considering the fact that my own father labeled me a “sassy smart ass” before I even entered kindergarten, this mans meanderings and experiences while frolicking around the country are almost like reading a road journal that I wrote myself (minus the cocaine of course).

Since reading this book I have recommended it to several people and have even put his other books on “to get” lists. As I said before in class, his style and thought process almost reminds me of James Frey in a way, but without as much carefully scripted tragedy and self loathing. If an overly opinionated, music loving, confused and awkwardly almost tender hearted (in a way he doesn't seem to place) asshole is the kind of guy you like to hear things from, this is the book to read. If not, there are always selections “written” by Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin to please the people I don't associate myself with, meaning the kind who wouldn't read a book like this in the first place.

In a million meters marveling upwards
Lies a little lazy laughing girl
She sings such silly songs all day
And laughs like lemurs while she plays

She has her brown brown button eyes
And lovely long lustrous blond curls
She's dressed in perfectly petaled pink
That flows and twinkles when she twirls

Pretty perfect Polly doesn't seem so well today
Her heart begins to break when the daytime goes away

Honestly, the inspiration from this poem came from a youtube video a friend had sent me that showed lemurs "laughing." Of course they're not really laughing, but it sounded like it, and to be honest it sounds kind of creepy. Everything about writing poetry was difficult for me. It is not something that I can do within limitations or set to any strict boundaries. It was writing a specific kind where I struggled, however since I chose free verse for this, it was easier.

It seems to me that my list of favorite poets seems to contain those who have long since passed away. I am a sucker for Whitman, a fan of Tennyson, and love Longfellow from childhood thanks to my grandmother reading his poetry to me. "The Children's Hour" is still my favorite poem by Longfellow. I find Longfellow to be a very talented poet so it is him that I am choosing to write about and share with everyone. I had never heard his poem's read aloud by anyone other than my grandmother, so upon searching for audio and the like I was interested to hear how others read his work.

I was kind of surprised by the amount of tragedy that occurred in his own life. He was married twice and lost both of his wives. His first wife died from complications in a miscarriage and the other died from burns in an accidental fire. Longfellow had five children, three daughters and two sons.

A brief biography can be read about him here on poets.org.

Youtube - A Psalm of Life

Youtube - The Children's Hour
This is a poem Longfellow wrote in dedication to his three daughters.

Youtube - Famous Authors Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A silent, educational film about H.W. Longfellow.


The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,
  When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
  That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
  The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
  And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
  Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
  And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
  Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
  To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
  A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
  They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
  O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
  They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
  Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
  In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
  Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
  Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
  And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
  In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
  Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
  And moulder in dust away!

Hymn to the Night by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
    Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
    From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
    Stoop o'er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
    As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
    The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
    Like some old poet's rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
    My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,--
    From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
    What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care
    And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
    Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
    The best-beloved Night!

I find that a lot of Longfellow's writing has a sad or haunting undertone, there are several that are written about death (such as "The Cross of Snow" or "Haunted Houses"), but in consideration to the loss of his wives it seems appropriate. "The Children's Hour" still remains my favorite, maybe because it's just the ideas and words from a man who loved his children and looked forward to fond, simple moments together with them. I think that's inspiring, especially in a world when many parents are willing to abandon that time with their children.

To read more works by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, please see the link bellow:
http://www.hwlongfellow.org

Four Freedoms Poem

Right to practice, right to preach,
Right to hope, and right to free
Tear the binds and break the chains
Walk the line that makes us the same

No need for sick, no need for poor
No need for racism, no need for war
Stand up and let your voice be heard
Don't turn your back on the suffering strange

As a nation, as a world
As a boy or as a girl
If you want to see a change
Then you have to start within
If you want to face the strain
Then you never can give in

You have to be the change.

The poem that I wrote relates to President Roosevelt's speech on the “Four Freedoms” in that it's addressing the problems that the world is still facing this very moment. Sure, these “freedoms” are our human rights, but there isn't a place in the world where all of it exists. So many individuals are far too selfish to see outside their lines and extend their hand. People are willing to say “peace” or “stop world hunger,” but yet they do nothing to aid it. It's almost as if it's become a trend, similar to buying items that say “go green!” yet the item itself is just a marketing ploy. I believe that to create change, you must start change, and that change comes from within. I am far from an exemplary individual, but I still try. If we want these four freedoms to exist, we have to start by making the change in ourselves and spreading that message.

Miracles by Walt Whitman

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
     with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet
     and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

This particular poem stands out to me, I think, simply because I am a fan of Walt Whitman's writing. Back when I was a freshman in high school my father gave me a copy of Whitman's book Leaves of Grass. Because I didn't see my father often, and because he had given it to me, it became an instant favorite. This particular poem for me seems to discuss the beauty and miraculous events and occurrences that happen in everyday life that we often take for granted or don't even notice. We're often consumed and busy with our own lives that we forget to watch what nature is doing around us, clearly this is the case or global warming wouldn't have reached the severity that it is today. I actually believe that selfishness is a part of human nature, maybe the instinct to look out for yourself, but in much of the western world self obsession is often front and center. As I read this poem I felt as though Whitman was saying "stop, look around you, because what is happening on it's own, every minute and second of the day, is a miracle in itself."

Other poems I chose were:
Tears, Idle Tears by Lord Alfred Tennyson
The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Good-Morrow by John Donne

Gretel and Hansel (Final Draft)

Once upon a time in a quiet little home lived a quiet little girl named Gretel. She lived in her home with her brother, Hansel, her father and step mother. They didn’t have very much and often had too little since Gretel’s father was a poor, old wood-cutter. Gretel and Hansel’s step mother despised the two children and often wished them ill-will, blaming them for the family’s lack of money.

One night while Gretel was lying awake in bed, unable to sleep from the sound of stressed voices in the other room, she heard her step mother shout out. “Get rid of them already! Take them far away into the woods, so far they can never return, and then we will be rid of them for good!” The little girl could feel her heart nearly stop inside of her chest. How could her father ever leave them all alone? When she turned over she saw her brother, Hansel, lying awake with the same worried expression. “Don’t worry, Gretel, we’ll find our way back home.”

The next day their father had done exactly what their wicked and evil step mother had pressured him to do. What was unknown to their father and step mother was that Hansel was prepared to return them back home safely. Hansel had filled with pockets with tiny, white pebbles. As their father led them through the forest he was sure to drop them, creating a trail to follow home. Once deep within the forest, their father bid them his goodbyes. Both Gretel and Hansel knew that their father did not really wish to leave them there, but it was their step mothers will that put them alone in the forest. “Don’t worry, Gretel, I’ve left us a trail of pebbles to follow. We’ll be back home and warm in our beds before the day is done.” A sigh of relief washed over the small girl as she stood at her brother’s side, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her back along the trail of pebbles he had left behind. Just as Hansel had promised, they were home and in bed before the day was done. The two of them had secretly snuck in through their bedroom window and fell fast asleep, exhausted from their long day’s journey.

Morning came far too soon and Gretel felt her eyes burst open with the sounds of her step mother screaming down at the two of them, her brother Hansel already out of bed and standing on his feet. “What are you doing here? Your father was supposed to get rid of you!” She stormed away and locked the two children in their bedroom, feeding them mere drops of water and hardened bread for the rest of the day. When their father returned home from a long day of wood cutting, their step mother began to lecture him for what only felt like hours and hours and hours. Gretel felt her eyes growing heavy, even over the sounds of her step mother shouting and eventually she gave into her fate and fell into a content slumber.

“Gretel, Gretel, wake up.” She opened her eyes to the sound of her brother’s voice, a delicate haze hanging all around him as she tried to focus. “Father is taking us again! Don’t worry, Gretel, we’ll find our way home.” She unwillingly slipped out of bed, wearing the same clothes she’d worn the day before and followed her father out into the woods.

Just as he had done before, Hansel left a trail for them to follow back; only instead of pebbles he used bread crumbs. Once they were deeper into the forest than ever before, their father turned to them and bid them his goodbyes. The children waited quietly for their father to leave before turning to following their bread crumbs back. After taking only a few steps Hansel realized that the bread crumbs were gone! Their trail home had disappeared! “How are we going to get home?” Gretel looked to him with a quivering lip and swollen eyes. The forest was colder and darker than they had ever experienced, never reaching depths such as these before. “Come Gretel,” Hansel spoke to her softly, “don’t worry, we’ll find our way home.”

The children seemed to walk and walk, feeling their stomachs grumble in an aching pain the further the day went on. In a clearing ahead Gretel caught a sight that she could hardly believe. She gathered the last of her strength and ran towards the home, grabbing onto its side and taking a large bite out of it. This wasn’t just a regular house, but a house made of sugary candy, built with slabs of chocolate, cemented together with frosting, and garnished in tasty bits of nougat! “Hansel, Hansel! Try this here!” She shouted back to her brother as his footsteps brought him closer to the home, his own mouth latching onto the tasty, sweet siding and pulling off a large bite. Just as Gretel was about to take another bite from the siding a creaking and cracking sound filled her ears and she pulled away sharply.

From the corner of her eye she saw the door made entirely of biscuits open and an old woman stepped out to see them. “My, my, my,” the old woman’s voice spoke to them. “Don’t the two of you have quiet a sweet tooth and you’re so skinny, too!” The old woman smiled and motioned them with her wrinkled old hands, “Come inside children. You have nothing to fear, you are more than safe here.” Gretel walked towards the old woman, Hansel quickly behind her, and the two stepped inside. Unfortunately for them, the old woman was more than an old woman, but a witch who used her house of sweet treats to lure in children that she wanted to eat! Before Gretel could turn around the old woman had Hansel locked inside of a cage, shaking her finger at him as she locked him inside. “There you will stay until you are fat enough for me to eat! And you,” the old woman turned to Gretel, “you will do the housework until I’m ready to eat you!”

Luckily for the children, the old witch had very poor eyesight, which was made even poorer when Gretel smeared butter all over the lenses of her glasses. Each day she would go to the cage and pull Hansel’s finger to see if he was getting any fatter. Finally one day Gretel gave Hansel a chicken bone to let the witch grab from him. “You’re still too thin! When will you be fat, boy?”

Finally one day the witch had had enough! “Light the oven, girl, we’re having ourselves a roasted boy tonight!” Gretel stood in front of the old woman in a frightened panic, unsure if her feet could even move from their cemented position on the floor. “Go on girl!” Once the witch shouted, Gretel ran to light the oven, racking her brain the entire time for whatever she could do to save her brother. “Is it hot enough yet, girl?” The witch called to her and Gretel‘s eyes scanned from the floor upward, looking at the fire as she practically felt the wheels turning inside of her head. “I don’t know how to tell if it’s hot enough,” she shouted back to the old witch. The witch came to check the oven herself, her feet stomping with every step she made. “Why can’t you tell if…” the witch began to grumble and in one swift, quick motion, Gretel stepped forward and pushed the old witch inside of the oven, locking the oven door behind her!

Gretel ran in a panic to rescue her brother from his cage, allowing him to make sure the witch was good and burnt before they made any further plans. While they looked around the witch’s house they found a giant chocolate egg that was filled with gold coins! Hansel made sure to fill his bag with each and every coin he could carry. They stayed and ate more of her house for the next few days, gaining enough strength, and then set out to find their way home.

As luck would have it, they found their father’s house on their journey through the forest, seeing him standing outside once it came into vision. “Father!” Gretel shouted as she took off running towards him, watching his face light up as he began to run towards his children, embracing them both in his arms once they were together. “My sweet children,” he cried. “Your step mother is dead!” That wasn’t the only good news that needed to be shared. Hansel stepped back to proudly show his father the bag of gold coins. “Father, we are rich! We will never be poor again!” The children hugged their father again and they all lived happily ever after.

Photo courtesy of http://www.abryanphoto.com

First and foremost, I chose this photographer because I happen to like his style. Photography is something that I personally enjoy, and I seem to like the untold scene that he seems to capture in his pictures. Secondly, I chose this particular photo because of the story that I know lies behind it. This photo was taken during a trip to South Africa with TOMS Shoes for their annual shoe drop. It was taken at the DD Dliwayo School and the story behind the children in this photo seems to reach farther than what you would see in any American class room. Many of these children walk miles to get to school. The classrooms these children are in are so crowded that they often have to climb over desks just to get to their seat. They share notebooks and broken pencils, but never complain and are always eager and willing to learn with bright eyes and open minds. It's because of stories such as this that I have chosen my career path, the hope to become a teacher to children that are suffering through poverty, for children who are desperate for an education in the hopes of having a bright and promising future.

For more information on TOMS Shoes see http://www.tomsshoes.com
For information how to help make a difference see http://www.takethewalk.net