How do I know what I think till I see what I say?

How do I know what I think till I see what I say is a question which I had to ask myself a few times before I even began to formulate an answer. It is an interesting question of self reflection, I feel as though the answer to this question is something which we seek out our entire lives. There are three components to the question, that which we think, that which we see and that which we say. This question can only be tackled with a number of other questions
Do we say what we mean?
Does anyone truly say what they mean; do we even have the ability to say what we mean? Often times I feel as though we are all so conditioned by society that we have no idea who we are, or what we think. It is impossible to separate ourselves from the context of the society which we live in, so how do we know if, as individuals, we mean anything we say or say anything we mean.
What do we think?
who is to say that we think for ourselves, is that just a comforting illusion? Does it just appear as though we are all unique and have the ability to think for ourselves, or do we just see this because we are actually all so similar? None of our minds work particularly differently from anyone else’s we all observe the same patterns and thought processes, for the most part we experience the same sensations in life; and when someone’s mind does work even slightly differently from our own we are quick to isolate those people. For instance we medicate individuals with schizophrenia, depression and bipolar disorder, are those not all different ways of thinking? We hospitalize people whom we classify as crazy or insane; does the fact that we are so eager to equalize almost all thought processes say anything about how much or how little we think? Or how unique our thoughts are? Our entire life we are classified by the way we think, it determines our grades, our friends, the school we go to, the career we choose, what does this say about individual thought? Is there even room for individual thought in today’s world when so much emphasis is placed on where we are going, not where we are?

If our thoughts translate to our view of the world, which translates to what we say, then words are priceless...
However, if our view of the world changes with society opposed to the individual and that is what translates into the words which we speak, then our words are not really our own and therefore they are worth nothing.

(I don’t necessarily agree with everything I say in this blog entry, but it just a record of my thoughts as a reviewed the question)

Little Red Riding Hood- yesterday and today

There are many different angles which one can look at the story of little red riding hood from. With each version, there is a different undertone. In some cultures the story was used to keep children out of the woods, in others, similar stories have arisen to encourage fear and respect of the wolf as an animal and a fellow predator. Yet in other adaptations of Little Red Riding Hood, such as Ronald Blackwell’s Li’l Red Riding Hood the wolf appears to be a metaphor for a much more vicious, much more human, sexual predator:

“I'm gonna keep my sheep suit on

Until I'm sure that you've been shown

That I can be trusted walking with you alone.”

I find it interesting how stories adapt given the time period and the environment. As far as I know the most well known versions of Little Red Riding Hood were all European, and evolved over a time period where one’s children were extremely important, due to the fact that they were responsible for carrying on the family name. Though this is still true today, there is not as much emphasis on the importance of “roles” within the family, or a continuation of lineage. The story of Little Red Riding Hood also surfaced at a time where the forest was much more mysterious and taboo than it is today. Therefore there was more weight placed on keeping children out of the woods, safe from potential danger, and able to continue a family’s bloodline.
In opposition, Ronald Blackwell’s Li’l Red Riding Hood was written in 1966, and in America. First of all, many wolf populations had been extirpated from the United States during the 1960’s, so the song refers to a metaphoric wolf. Secondly, children were less in danger from wild animals than they were from sexual predators, kidnappers, and generally strangers. Since this is the case, Ronald Blackwell’s version is an entirely different discourse comparable only metaphorically.

What can the retellings of stories teach us....

Today is the first day that I have just scanned through Retellings leisurely. I find the concept of the text book to be extremely interesting. Given the many different mediums of communication which we have today almost ALL stories, myths and fairy tales are retellings of another societies same stories, myths and fairy tales. In this way, the text book is applicable to many fields outside of literature. As it stands, I am majoring in anthropology (no idea which branch yet) and through a historical anthropological standpoint this text book looks as though it has the potential to be fascinating. Different versions of the same stories resonate throughout human history and can still be found within every aspect of our existence.
We are living in a generation where it is very rare indeed if something is unique in and of itself. Everything from the entertainment we indulge in to the food we eat is some form of a “retelling.”
If you go to the movies, chances are the plot of the movie you are seeing is not the first of its kind: alien abduction, romantic comedy, historical piece, mystery
If you read a book, chances are its foundation can be found in other books and documents throughout history
If you listen to a song or buy a new album, chances are it has elements of another artists music, and that artist resembled another before him, so on and so forth ( although music today is undeniably horrible and up until the late nineties I would classify the majority of music as progressive and for the most part, somewhat decent)
When a specific lens is applied to a story we find that it is more than easy to compare to that of another. The only change to be found within many texts revolves around one specific variable, such as a main character, or the final destination of the story. The question remains, did such similar stories arise separately as a necessary form of expression, or were the stolen from one culture and passed on to another?
If so many similar stories, grounded in fear, hope and an assortment of virtues, developed in such a wide array of separate cultures over a long period of time then that is evidence that there is something common within all human beings; something innate within human nature that makes us crave not only examples to live by but something to live for. On the other hand, if these stories were passed on or “stolen” throughout history then it stands to reason that all human beings are very different and our acceptance of such a wide variety of stories and virtues serves as nothing more than an example of the advanced mediums of communication which exist today.
The most interesting part of a “retelling” of a story is that for whatever reason, no matter how many times the story is told it never seems to lose its meaning. For example, in the Christian religion, the story of Jesus Christ’s life is the exact same as the story Horus’s life, an Egyptian God. The story of Horus was being told hundreds of years before the supposed date for the birth of Christ. Horus was born of a virgin mother, with a Shepard as a father, who did not impregnate the mother, spent his life as a prophet, had disciples, died on the cross, and was resurrected 3 days later etc…The same story has been told time and time again throughout history.
Written word and archeological illustrations are two of the most reliable sources of information when looking at the mystery of humanity, and I hope to learn a lot from this text book.

ps. check out this link slash movie the first third of it has a lot to do with retellings throughout religious history: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-594683847743189197&ei=kyVeS--QLKH-qAOX9sixAQ&q=zeitgeist&hl=en#

Disillusionment of Ten O’clock

Poetry fascinates me, if you think about the concept of poetry it is one of the most interesting forms of expression. At times, poetry can be so difficult for an outsider to analyze or interpret that it becomes more like an eloquent and articulate diary entry. It is a way for an individual to embody any emotion, desire or thought, no matter how sinister or private, and share it without immediate judgment being passed. Since this is the case, I do not believe that poetry can be categorized as good or bad, it simply holds meaning for the reader, or it does not. Disillusionment of Ten O’clock holds no meaning for me. I read the poem over and over, considering the various factors which contribute to the message of the poem, but I found myself asking, is there even a message?

Where are these houses?
Why are there multiple houses opposed to one?
Why are the colors so specific?
What meaning do they hold with regard to the finished poem?
Baboons and periwinkles- very different creatures why are they grouped together in this line?
Who is this sailor, and if he is a sailor then why are houses referenced opposed to ships?

This poem inspired many questions for me but sparked no primal emotion the way some poetry can...

Poetry is a reflection of the individual, never as a whole, but as various mismatched parts of it. A poem can represent a person’s desires, secrets, sorrows, sins and dreams. I do not believe the best poetry is ever written for someone, but for the person writing it. Therefore, I want to know more about Wallace Stevens, who is he? What element of his personality does this poem represent?

If I were to speculate I would guess this poem is about a dream which Wallace Steven’s had. The poem appears to be so random. I cannot reach any other conclusion that is not extremely farfetched to say the least. There is no conclusive evidence as to what dreams really are; we only know they are the inner workings of our brain. The randomness and seemingly arbitrary details of this poem remind me of dreams, we only remember small portions of them and can never determine whether they have meaning or if they are simply flashes of memories which we try to make sense of.

However, I have no idea, for all I know Wallace Stevens wrote this poem in a passionate frenzy, attempting to express a wide array of emotions, I have absolutely no idea.

** I find these questions to be the lure of poetry, we will never know the meaning of a poem, we will never truly be able to move beyond speculation, all we can be sure to find within a genuine poem is a raw eloquence which intrigues us more than educates us.

***tigers are some of the coolest animals ever...

Fifteen ( Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?

I ended up missing the first two days of class, and although it was only two days I feel as though I missed much more. I have never blogged before, and am slightly hesitant in figuring out what to say/ how to set the entire thing up but here goes…

The first day of class I attended, we talked about Bob Dylan’s song “Its All Over Now, Baby Blue” in relation to the Joyce Carol Oates story, Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? First of all, I would like to say I found the story fascinating. In many ways it is such an accurate depiction of a young high school girl. The stereotype of a girl this age is someone who is just beginning to look for who they are, and who is looking in all the wrongs places.

At the age of fifteen, the main character Connie is absorbed with material things, reputations, trends and growing up more than anything else. This is a trend that seems to be timeless; many young girls are consumed with the idea of growing up. I can remember when I was in kindergarten I wanted homework so I could be more like the girls which seemed so grown up in elementary school. When I finally reached elementary school I wanted to have braces so I could look like the same girls I idolized who were now in middle school. When I finally reached middle school and got the braces I craved so badly, I wanted them off so I could be more like the girls in high school who got attention from the older boys.

In class, the question was raised, “Is Connie stupid or what?” The aspect of Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? that I find to be the most interesting is the fact that Connie so accurately represents a fifteen year old girl. She is not stupid, nor is she smart, she is simply fifteen. The battle that begins within every female when adolescence hits is so honestly displayed in this story. There are so many instances in which young girls get themselves into dangerous situations and we are forced to ask, “What were they thinking??” As an adolescent girl, the pull to grow up is so strong it often times undermines common sense. The fact that Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? was written by Joyce Carol Oates, a female, makes me wonder about her childhood, and her adolescence, what inspired her to write this story in this manner? Were there any incidents in her childhood that make this more appealing to her, or did she simply find the true story which this is based off of to be interesting.

Second of all, I love this Bob Dylan song, my favorite thing about Bob Dylan is the fact that in all honesty he has a pretty horrible voice, but he communicates so strongly through his lyrics and passion that it does not even matter. I would have had no idea what this song was about had it not come up in class, nor would I have taken the time to read the lyrics a few times through which are actually really interesting….

Its All Over Now, Baby Blue- Bob Dylan
You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last

But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast

Yonder stands your orphan with his gun

Crying like a fire in the sunLook out the saints are comin' throughAnd it's all over now, Baby Blue.The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense

Take what you have gathered from coincidence

The empty handed painter from your streets

Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets

This sky, too, is folding under you

And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home

Your empty handed armies, are all going home

Your lover who just walked out the door

Has taken all his blankets from the floor

The carpet, too, is moving under you

And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you

Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you

The vagabond who's rapping at your door

Is standing in the clothes that you once wore

Strike another match, go start a new

And it's all over now, Baby Blue.