I put this into a workshop a month or so ago. I haven't edited it and doubt I will. The discussion in class was so much fun that I am putting this here just for the fun of it. Enjoy. Or don't.
Make Love The Random Way
By Anthony R.
Masturbation. What it really means is auto-gratification. This doesn’t have to be sexual. If you’ve ever said to yourself something as benign as “Wow, I did a great job on this assignment!”, you have masturbated. Daydreaming is really just mental masturbation. Rationalizations, congratulations, or anything else directed at yourself that makes you feel better: they are all some form or other of masturbation. I masturbate a lot.
But that’s not what this is about.
*
“Tell me what you like. I want to make you cum.”
I was already inside her when I said that. She was on her back, legs open casually, as most girls are taught to by years of lackluster sex. I wanted to be the best she ever had, and while I like to think that this was no big feat, I definitely would be.
It’s amazing because this girl is out of my league. She’s one of those pretty blondes that will go crazy when her looks start to fade because that’s how she defines herself. I’m not really into her either. She smokes and isn’t bright enough to hold her own in a conversation with me, at least not about anything that matters. This only started because she wanted to make her future ex-boyfriend jealous. Neither of us even meant to be having sex at all. It was supposed to be some fake date like you see in movies sometimes.
But, somehow, it came to this.
When I moved in to kiss her, it was a joke. I was expecting her to say “Ew, what are you doing?” in an annoyed tone. Instead, our lips met. She was so soft, softer than I would imagine after smelling those cigarettes. Our tongues glided into each other’s mouths. This is when it clicked. This is seriously going to happening.
I grabbed her body just above her hips and pulled her closer. She responded by kissing me harder and gently putting her hands under my shirt before caressing my hardened torso. I couldn’t taste the cigarettes anymore. They didn’t matter.
If I’d taken this date seriously, I would have shaved my chest.
Because I live with my mother, we decided it would be best to go back to her place. She shares an apartment with her sister. I don’t know if she was literally her sister, but either way, she was to be out for the night.
I helped her undress between kisses. First her shirt, then her jeans (which was not easy given how tight they were). Her high heels had come off already, so all that remained was her Victoria’s Secret lingerie. She sat in the middle of her bed and waited for me to finish the job. I inched my way forward to her. When I got there, I kissed her deeply while I unlatched the blood red lace from her swollen breasts. I walked my hands forward as I imagined a randy tiger might, leading her onto her back. After finally breaking the kiss, my lips and tongue moved to her neck. Traveling down slowly and continuously, after teasing her perfect, small nipples and enjoying the smoothness of her belly, I arrived at her pelvis. There was one more thing I had to do before I slid off her wet panties. They looked delicious on her and matched the already discarded bra. Through the fabric, I rubbed her clit with my thumb and massaged her labia with my tongue. It was more suggestive than anything. Her breathing grew heavy and her hips began to move rhythmically with my tongue. She had just started to touch her breasts when I stopped. I looked into her eyes for a moment as I slid her panties off very slowly and moved them down her legs. I wanted her to ache.
Once those soaking wet panties were off, I rested my body on her as we manipulated our tongues in each other’s mouths once again. I was firmly, playfully, grinding my not yet exposed member into her precious honey pot.
Quickly then, as I could scarcely restrain myself much longer, I moved my head back down to her lower regions, removing my shirt as I did so. I ate her so very hungrily. She tasted like the most delicious peach I had ever eaten. After I undid my pants and acrobatically removed them without interrupting my feast, my hands moved to her breasts. They were big and soft, but not porn star big. They were real. They moved easily in my hands and felt like a dream. While I played with them, the flat of my tongue covered her clit and moved in big circles, maximizing her pleasure. Her breathing had become more shallow then, almost to a pant. She was ready.
I stopped eating her and removed my hands from her body. But it was only for a second.
I think she was surprised by how casually and smoothly my fingers entered her. She had a look on her face that I watched very carefully until she closed her eyes that seemed like a mixture of resignation and ecstasy. Once inside, my fingers moved exploratively for the benefit of us both. Mainly though, I wanted her to have some preparation for what was going to happen next. I reintroduced my tongue to her clit and she doubtless couldn’t have been much happier.
I sat up a little bit and positioned the underside of my index and middle fingers on the front wall of her precious womanhood. My left hand moved to a spot just above her pubis and pressed down on it firmly. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed and pressure, becoming something akin to a frenzy after little time, I worked her G spot with everything I had.
Her face registered the surprise of the sensation. When she gave into it almost immediately, her face contorted into an expression signaling almost unimaginable pleasure. Seconds later, my rapidly moving fingers were being flushed by a deluge of female ejaculate. The smell was intoxicating, invigorating. Her screams filled the air before she could muffle them with a nearby pillow. The bed had become soaked, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be cleaning it up.
I couldn’t wait anymore, so, I asked her:
“Do you want me?”
She nodded, breathless, anticipating that moment when our flesh would meet.
The condom came out of its package and rolled on without issue, thankfully, and I hovered over her to kiss her, my left arm holding me up and her arms wrapped around my body. I used my other arm to guide my ambiguously sized penis into her waiting vagina.
The rush of that first ‘feel good’ moment, it was rapture.
“Tell me what you like. I want to make you cum.” I was already inside her when I said that.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Cognizant
In the television show Fortysomething, Hugh Laurie’s character, Dr. Paul Slippery, says something in the last episode that I have found poignant since the first time I heard it. He said:
“When you’re young, you just don’t know what it is that you’ve got. And there’s no reason why you should know. Part of the point of being young, really, is not knowing. Life gets around to you soon enough.”
Sometimes, I think about what that means. It can mean a few things, generally, but applicably, there are many interpretations. One thing I understand it to apply to is freedom. That’s the biggie. People are born free. It really is true that any path is available to anyone. All the way into your late teens or early twenties, you still have that freedom. You may not think so because of things other people tell you or what you tell yourself, but you are still free. The freedom doesn’t start to fade until you’ve made enough choices for yourself, when you’ve dug a deep enough hole for yourself. You make decisions on what to study, where to work, where to live, what to buy, how to buy, who to trust, and what to do with the rest of your life. That last one is the trick. The freedom killer. We all make that choice and some of us make it every day. That decision affects everything else we do and think, guides us on one path, and chains us to one life. Sometimes our choices work out well and sometimes they turn out to be the last thing you should have done.
Through experience, we begin to close ourselves off to whatever we perceive to dislike and anything that harms us. That limits our options. It limits our freedom, freedom that we never knew we had until it had suddenly gone. “You don’t know what it is that you’ve got.” We don’t know because we take the life we’ve had from birth for granted. But this isn’t a bad thing. If we didn’t walk around for the first twenty years thinking that we were supermen or superwomen, or both in some cases, the human race wouldn’t be what it is today. Let me qualify that. The world as we know it would not exist.
“There’s no reason why you should know. Part of the point of being young, really, is not knowing.”
It’s not just freedom, but energy that you lose. There is a point in everyone’s life, unless you’ve died young (which may not be the most tragic thing in the world), when you are done growing. That boundless energy is still a part of you though, and this stage is called your ‘prime’. Not long after that, actually even during that, your cells start to break down like never before. That’s when you start dying. We’re all dying, but how can someone in their youth truly grasp that? They can’t. Until you have felt it, until you have begun your slow march to death, you can’t possibly understand the depth of the meaning of Slippery’s words.
So, it comes to this question: Is not knowing better than knowing?
Yes or no, either answer could be right. Maybe it depends on your beliefs, or stoicism. Even with certain beliefs, there are plenty of other reasons someone would choose one or the other. Believing in God(s), or not. Being happy with your life, or not. The choices, rationalizations, digressions; anything, or not. Given the freedom to choose, what would your answer be?
“Life gets around to you soon enough.”
“When you’re young, you just don’t know what it is that you’ve got. And there’s no reason why you should know. Part of the point of being young, really, is not knowing. Life gets around to you soon enough.”
Sometimes, I think about what that means. It can mean a few things, generally, but applicably, there are many interpretations. One thing I understand it to apply to is freedom. That’s the biggie. People are born free. It really is true that any path is available to anyone. All the way into your late teens or early twenties, you still have that freedom. You may not think so because of things other people tell you or what you tell yourself, but you are still free. The freedom doesn’t start to fade until you’ve made enough choices for yourself, when you’ve dug a deep enough hole for yourself. You make decisions on what to study, where to work, where to live, what to buy, how to buy, who to trust, and what to do with the rest of your life. That last one is the trick. The freedom killer. We all make that choice and some of us make it every day. That decision affects everything else we do and think, guides us on one path, and chains us to one life. Sometimes our choices work out well and sometimes they turn out to be the last thing you should have done.
Through experience, we begin to close ourselves off to whatever we perceive to dislike and anything that harms us. That limits our options. It limits our freedom, freedom that we never knew we had until it had suddenly gone. “You don’t know what it is that you’ve got.” We don’t know because we take the life we’ve had from birth for granted. But this isn’t a bad thing. If we didn’t walk around for the first twenty years thinking that we were supermen or superwomen, or both in some cases, the human race wouldn’t be what it is today. Let me qualify that. The world as we know it would not exist.
“There’s no reason why you should know. Part of the point of being young, really, is not knowing.”
It’s not just freedom, but energy that you lose. There is a point in everyone’s life, unless you’ve died young (which may not be the most tragic thing in the world), when you are done growing. That boundless energy is still a part of you though, and this stage is called your ‘prime’. Not long after that, actually even during that, your cells start to break down like never before. That’s when you start dying. We’re all dying, but how can someone in their youth truly grasp that? They can’t. Until you have felt it, until you have begun your slow march to death, you can’t possibly understand the depth of the meaning of Slippery’s words.
So, it comes to this question: Is not knowing better than knowing?
Yes or no, either answer could be right. Maybe it depends on your beliefs, or stoicism. Even with certain beliefs, there are plenty of other reasons someone would choose one or the other. Believing in God(s), or not. Being happy with your life, or not. The choices, rationalizations, digressions; anything, or not. Given the freedom to choose, what would your answer be?
“Life gets around to you soon enough.”
Friday, September 5, 2008
An essay for ENG 3120
I wrote this a little while back. I decided to put it on my blog because it is sort of relevant to what this blog is supposed to be about. I'm not, however, going to take the time to properly re-italicize everything in the essay. Also, copy/paste does not like me on this site. NOTE: For all you students out there, stealing this essay (if you're dumb enough to do so) will only get you expelled from school. Don't do it.
Psychological Analysis: Hard Times and John Keats
When one considers the human psyche, two sides can be seen. There is the
logical, scientific mind in every person, and there is the fanciful, imaginative side to balance it out. One of the predominant themes in Hard Times is the industrialist view that
“fact” is the only thing that matters to an individual; “fact” is the only thing that a
person needs and “fact” is what a person needs to be successful. On the other hand, in
much of John Keats poetry, his view of the importance of imagination is portrayed. The
imagination is considered by the author to be the key to a happy life. So, what exactly is
the difference between these two views of life? What can be learned from each of them?
There are positive and negative sides to both views, as it is with so many other things.
Fact must be accompanied by imagination to be entirely successful. This is a battle of
Science and Art.
Let us consider the main proprietor of the idea that “fact is law”, Thomas
Gradgrind of Hard Times. When we look at this man, what do we see? He is a successful
man, he has a family and friend(s), and yet he is leading a sad and unhappy life due to his
lack of mental reward from the imagination. This man bases his whole life on fact. He
only believes in things he can see and touch. He believes that everything in his world is
measurable, but he is not leading a very happy life. Let us suppose that since he is a smart
man, that he knows that his feelings are real and would likely consider them chemical
reactions in the brain, or the body, or wherever biologists at the time thought feelings
came from; he could do something about it. Mr. Gradgrind would therefore, presumably, be able to develop a system of quantifying his feelings. Perhaps even be able to fix
exactly what was causing those feelings. He then would be able to ultimately neutralize
the stimulus that caused them. For example, just as the case with Bentham according to
John Stuart Mill, “He could, with close and accurate logic, hunt half-truths to their
consequences and practical applications, on a scale both of greatness and of minuteness
not previously exemplified” (Hard Times: Contexts pg. 338). If he’s feeling sad or
depressed, he could fix it. If he’s feeling happy, he probably wouldn’t fix it, nor question
it (unless the situation called for such an adjustment). So, if he was feeling that he was
leading a rotten life, wouldn’t he do something about it? Why does he push his daughter
so hard to be like him when she is clearly unhappy and unsatisfied with her life? He
appears to have total control over his world where everything is measurable, quantifiable.
In reality, he cannot change his emotions.
There is much to be considered in Keats’ poetry. For instance, in Sleep and
Poetry, Keats tells of his strategy for learning to be a great poet. He discusses the
difficulty, the length of time that needs to be invested, and the amount of effort that is
required to put into that. Overall, the whole process sounds very much like that of
learning facts. In a letter he wrote to his friend Benjamin Bailey, he articulated his
feelings quite succinctly: “I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s
affections and the truth of imagination- What the imagination seizes as beauty must be
truth…The imagination may be compared to Adam’s dream- he awoke and found it truth.” Now, let us assume that what Keats said is correct, that in the mind, beauty is
truth. By doing this, we would also have to assume that beauty is an interpretation of the
brain, it is fanciful and imaginative. Fact is truth, by definition. If they both mean the
same thing, then the only difference is how they are carried out. To illustrate this more
clearly, imagine two roads. The first is imagination, a “high” road. The second is fact, a
“low” road. The roads start in the same place and end up in the same place. Now using
our own imaginations, the roads split as would an active jump rope. Our perception of the
rope allows us to see at both the top and bottom position, with two hands at both ends. The high road symbolizes elation; things are fanciful, beautiful, and eloquent. The low
road symbolizes depression; drab, concrete, and boring. Imagination can allow us humans
to experience things beyond our own perspective. Sympathy and empathy are great tools
that are used in growth and adaptation, allowing people to learn social cues and vicarious
learning capabilities. These would not be possible without the use of imagination.
Historical events printed on paper are interpreted by our imagination to be more easily
understood. The fact is that imagination improves facts. “We are not thinking beings with
emotions; we are emotional beings that think” (Joseph LeDoux). Taken literally from the
biological perspective, you could take this to mean that emotions come before logic.
We shall again imagine the jump rope analogy. The two characters, Tom and
Louisa Gradgrind in Hard Times can be considered to have gone down the low road. It’s
easy to blame the way they were raised, considering how young they were when they
started on that path of lowness. Tom, a thief, and Louisa, a heartless (sort of) prostitute;
were raised in a household governed entirely by fact. Any amount of wonderment they
did exhibit was beaten out of them at first sight, the school of thought being that fact was
all that was necessary to lead a good, honest life. This turned out to be a case-study in
favor of a more creative environment. It is because these children weren’t exposed to
creativity that they were unable to learn or understand things that they themselves had not
experienced. Consequences are what make vicarious learning the most useful, the most
successful type of learning. A parent with such a utilitarian view on the world as Mr.
Gradgrind should have realized that. For example, young Tom likely wouldn’t have
stolen from the bank if he could empathize with the people from whom he was stealing.
Another way to think of it is that because he had such a well provided life that he could
not understand the concept of earning money. Not ever having to worry about that sort of
thing before. Also, he never had the opportunity to spend time with people that were less
fortunate. Louisa was fortunate enough to find a small amount of respite from this
methodology with the help of Sissy. However, it was too little too late. The only person
she cared about was her brother Tom and nothing else mattered to her. She married
Bounderby to give Tom a better advantage in the workplace, sacrificing her flesh, even
though she had loathed Bounderby from the first meeting. After an encounter with
Bounderby, which ended in a kiss, Louisa responded to Tom’s quipping in regards to the
spot Bounderby kissed that “You may cut the piece out with your penknife if you like,
Tom. I wouldn’t cry!” Louisa later went on to help her brother escape the authorities. In
the name of love, indeed! If these siblings had been raised in a proper environment where
children are allowed to imagine what they want, to dream as they want, it is a safe
assumption that they would not have become vagrants.
When one considers the character Bounderby, the part of him that stands out is
that he is a liar. He lies about his past, his efforts as a business man, and his own
conscious. He tells everyone that his mother left him at a young age. She did not. He tells
everyone that his grandmother was a boozer and she beat him. She did not. He tells
everyone that he worked his way from the bottom of the figurative “totem pole” to
achieve the success he became known for. He did not. None of these things that he tells
the world are fact. As a man that believes only in fact, how did he come up with these
lies? Certainly he was not hypnotized. Assuredly, no one forced him to say these things.
The only way to conjure up these lies would be if he had cooked them up with his own
imagination. Using his imagination, it would have been easy for him to think for awhile
about what story would increase his reputation. A story that would make people pity him,
indulge him, and oblige him. He imagined that when he told his story, whoever was
within earshot would swoon and give him praise. When one considers Bounderby, does
that person not see that he is trying his best to use the benefit of both worlds? By
claiming to live by the code of “fact”, he is able to earn respect from other businessmen.
He is able to become friends with influential people. In actuality, by living by the code of
imagination, he is able to manipulate fact to serve his own best interests. Bounderby can
easily be thought of as a selfish, loathsome character. However, credit must be given to
him for knowing how to work the angles. While it is impossible for him to be able to
honestly call himself a “self-made man”, he could have merely lived honestly. If he had
done that, it stands to reason that he would not have become quite as successful as he did.
It stands to reason that his life would be almost completely different if it were not for the
imagination.
The imagination is not without its faults. A person with too much of an
imagination that also has little consideration for fact is thought of as a psychotic person in
today’s world. An example would be a child with an imaginary friend. The character
from Hard Times that most closely represents a child with an imaginary friend is Sissy
Jupe. From beginning to end, Sissy is very unaccustomed to the global applications of
fact. When her father deserted her, everyone around her knew that he would likely never
return. Sissy, however, ignored the obvious fact that she would never see him again. She
believed that her father loved her and that nothing could stop them from being father and
daughter. Her reply when faced with the decision of going to live with Mr. Gradgrind or
staying with the circus was “When father comes back, how will he ever find me if I go
away!” (pg. 33, Hard Times) This is but a romantic delusion of reality; love conquers all,
good is better than evil, and all fathers love their daughters. Her imagination played a
trick on her. That’s what a delusion is. In the poem “La Belle Dame sans Merci: A
Ballad” (pg. 899, Norton), Keats talks about his meeting of a fairy-like woman in a
meadow. He spent a short time with her in a fanciful dream state. He may have dreamt
the whole thing, which is not clear even to the character in the poem. In either case,
meeting this woman stirred his imagination and it left him in such a delusional state that he continued to go to the place he met his fairy so that he might once again see her, if she was real to begin with. The point is, if a person’s imagination is allowed to run rampant,
like a grape vine, it will grow wild and cause many problems.
Every person in the world is capable of both logic and imagination. Every person
in the world has a want for both, whether they admit it or not. Even Thomas Gradgrind, a
stone-cold utilitarian, learned the value of imagination. Sissy Jupe tried so very hard to
become educated in fact the way her father wanted. People in modern society know the value of fact well, and use it too. Fact is valuable, imagination is valuable; to think these
two sides of human functionality could be separate and retain their usefulness is
preposterous. It is the combination of both that defines the human spirit and lifts us above
the other animals.
Works Cited:
Dickens, Charles. Hard Times: an authoritative text, contexts, criticism/ Charles Dickens.-3rd ed. /edited by Fred Kaplan, Sylvere Monod. W. W. Norton and Company. New York. 2001.
Lynch, Deidre Shauna and Stillinger, Jack. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Romantic Period. W. W. Norton and Company. New York. 2006.
Mill, John Stuart. [The Mind and Character of Jeremy Bentham] Hard Times: an authoritative text, contexts, criticism/ Charles Dickens.-3rd ed. /edited by Fred Kaplan, Sylvere Monod. W. W. Norton and Company. New York. 2001.
Psychological Analysis: Hard Times and John Keats
When one considers the human psyche, two sides can be seen. There is the
logical, scientific mind in every person, and there is the fanciful, imaginative side to balance it out. One of the predominant themes in Hard Times is the industrialist view that
“fact” is the only thing that matters to an individual; “fact” is the only thing that a
person needs and “fact” is what a person needs to be successful. On the other hand, in
much of John Keats poetry, his view of the importance of imagination is portrayed. The
imagination is considered by the author to be the key to a happy life. So, what exactly is
the difference between these two views of life? What can be learned from each of them?
There are positive and negative sides to both views, as it is with so many other things.
Fact must be accompanied by imagination to be entirely successful. This is a battle of
Science and Art.
Let us consider the main proprietor of the idea that “fact is law”, Thomas
Gradgrind of Hard Times. When we look at this man, what do we see? He is a successful
man, he has a family and friend(s), and yet he is leading a sad and unhappy life due to his
lack of mental reward from the imagination. This man bases his whole life on fact. He
only believes in things he can see and touch. He believes that everything in his world is
measurable, but he is not leading a very happy life. Let us suppose that since he is a smart
man, that he knows that his feelings are real and would likely consider them chemical
reactions in the brain, or the body, or wherever biologists at the time thought feelings
came from; he could do something about it. Mr. Gradgrind would therefore, presumably, be able to develop a system of quantifying his feelings. Perhaps even be able to fix
exactly what was causing those feelings. He then would be able to ultimately neutralize
the stimulus that caused them. For example, just as the case with Bentham according to
John Stuart Mill, “He could, with close and accurate logic, hunt half-truths to their
consequences and practical applications, on a scale both of greatness and of minuteness
not previously exemplified” (Hard Times: Contexts pg. 338). If he’s feeling sad or
depressed, he could fix it. If he’s feeling happy, he probably wouldn’t fix it, nor question
it (unless the situation called for such an adjustment). So, if he was feeling that he was
leading a rotten life, wouldn’t he do something about it? Why does he push his daughter
so hard to be like him when she is clearly unhappy and unsatisfied with her life? He
appears to have total control over his world where everything is measurable, quantifiable.
In reality, he cannot change his emotions.
There is much to be considered in Keats’ poetry. For instance, in Sleep and
Poetry, Keats tells of his strategy for learning to be a great poet. He discusses the
difficulty, the length of time that needs to be invested, and the amount of effort that is
required to put into that. Overall, the whole process sounds very much like that of
learning facts. In a letter he wrote to his friend Benjamin Bailey, he articulated his
feelings quite succinctly: “I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s
affections and the truth of imagination- What the imagination seizes as beauty must be
truth…The imagination may be compared to Adam’s dream- he awoke and found it truth.” Now, let us assume that what Keats said is correct, that in the mind, beauty is
truth. By doing this, we would also have to assume that beauty is an interpretation of the
brain, it is fanciful and imaginative. Fact is truth, by definition. If they both mean the
same thing, then the only difference is how they are carried out. To illustrate this more
clearly, imagine two roads. The first is imagination, a “high” road. The second is fact, a
“low” road. The roads start in the same place and end up in the same place. Now using
our own imaginations, the roads split as would an active jump rope. Our perception of the
rope allows us to see at both the top and bottom position, with two hands at both ends. The high road symbolizes elation; things are fanciful, beautiful, and eloquent. The low
road symbolizes depression; drab, concrete, and boring. Imagination can allow us humans
to experience things beyond our own perspective. Sympathy and empathy are great tools
that are used in growth and adaptation, allowing people to learn social cues and vicarious
learning capabilities. These would not be possible without the use of imagination.
Historical events printed on paper are interpreted by our imagination to be more easily
understood. The fact is that imagination improves facts. “We are not thinking beings with
emotions; we are emotional beings that think” (Joseph LeDoux). Taken literally from the
biological perspective, you could take this to mean that emotions come before logic.
We shall again imagine the jump rope analogy. The two characters, Tom and
Louisa Gradgrind in Hard Times can be considered to have gone down the low road. It’s
easy to blame the way they were raised, considering how young they were when they
started on that path of lowness. Tom, a thief, and Louisa, a heartless (sort of) prostitute;
were raised in a household governed entirely by fact. Any amount of wonderment they
did exhibit was beaten out of them at first sight, the school of thought being that fact was
all that was necessary to lead a good, honest life. This turned out to be a case-study in
favor of a more creative environment. It is because these children weren’t exposed to
creativity that they were unable to learn or understand things that they themselves had not
experienced. Consequences are what make vicarious learning the most useful, the most
successful type of learning. A parent with such a utilitarian view on the world as Mr.
Gradgrind should have realized that. For example, young Tom likely wouldn’t have
stolen from the bank if he could empathize with the people from whom he was stealing.
Another way to think of it is that because he had such a well provided life that he could
not understand the concept of earning money. Not ever having to worry about that sort of
thing before. Also, he never had the opportunity to spend time with people that were less
fortunate. Louisa was fortunate enough to find a small amount of respite from this
methodology with the help of Sissy. However, it was too little too late. The only person
she cared about was her brother Tom and nothing else mattered to her. She married
Bounderby to give Tom a better advantage in the workplace, sacrificing her flesh, even
though she had loathed Bounderby from the first meeting. After an encounter with
Bounderby, which ended in a kiss, Louisa responded to Tom’s quipping in regards to the
spot Bounderby kissed that “You may cut the piece out with your penknife if you like,
Tom. I wouldn’t cry!” Louisa later went on to help her brother escape the authorities. In
the name of love, indeed! If these siblings had been raised in a proper environment where
children are allowed to imagine what they want, to dream as they want, it is a safe
assumption that they would not have become vagrants.
When one considers the character Bounderby, the part of him that stands out is
that he is a liar. He lies about his past, his efforts as a business man, and his own
conscious. He tells everyone that his mother left him at a young age. She did not. He tells
everyone that his grandmother was a boozer and she beat him. She did not. He tells
everyone that he worked his way from the bottom of the figurative “totem pole” to
achieve the success he became known for. He did not. None of these things that he tells
the world are fact. As a man that believes only in fact, how did he come up with these
lies? Certainly he was not hypnotized. Assuredly, no one forced him to say these things.
The only way to conjure up these lies would be if he had cooked them up with his own
imagination. Using his imagination, it would have been easy for him to think for awhile
about what story would increase his reputation. A story that would make people pity him,
indulge him, and oblige him. He imagined that when he told his story, whoever was
within earshot would swoon and give him praise. When one considers Bounderby, does
that person not see that he is trying his best to use the benefit of both worlds? By
claiming to live by the code of “fact”, he is able to earn respect from other businessmen.
He is able to become friends with influential people. In actuality, by living by the code of
imagination, he is able to manipulate fact to serve his own best interests. Bounderby can
easily be thought of as a selfish, loathsome character. However, credit must be given to
him for knowing how to work the angles. While it is impossible for him to be able to
honestly call himself a “self-made man”, he could have merely lived honestly. If he had
done that, it stands to reason that he would not have become quite as successful as he did.
It stands to reason that his life would be almost completely different if it were not for the
imagination.
The imagination is not without its faults. A person with too much of an
imagination that also has little consideration for fact is thought of as a psychotic person in
today’s world. An example would be a child with an imaginary friend. The character
from Hard Times that most closely represents a child with an imaginary friend is Sissy
Jupe. From beginning to end, Sissy is very unaccustomed to the global applications of
fact. When her father deserted her, everyone around her knew that he would likely never
return. Sissy, however, ignored the obvious fact that she would never see him again. She
believed that her father loved her and that nothing could stop them from being father and
daughter. Her reply when faced with the decision of going to live with Mr. Gradgrind or
staying with the circus was “When father comes back, how will he ever find me if I go
away!” (pg. 33, Hard Times) This is but a romantic delusion of reality; love conquers all,
good is better than evil, and all fathers love their daughters. Her imagination played a
trick on her. That’s what a delusion is. In the poem “La Belle Dame sans Merci: A
Ballad” (pg. 899, Norton), Keats talks about his meeting of a fairy-like woman in a
meadow. He spent a short time with her in a fanciful dream state. He may have dreamt
the whole thing, which is not clear even to the character in the poem. In either case,
meeting this woman stirred his imagination and it left him in such a delusional state that he continued to go to the place he met his fairy so that he might once again see her, if she was real to begin with. The point is, if a person’s imagination is allowed to run rampant,
like a grape vine, it will grow wild and cause many problems.
Every person in the world is capable of both logic and imagination. Every person
in the world has a want for both, whether they admit it or not. Even Thomas Gradgrind, a
stone-cold utilitarian, learned the value of imagination. Sissy Jupe tried so very hard to
become educated in fact the way her father wanted. People in modern society know the value of fact well, and use it too. Fact is valuable, imagination is valuable; to think these
two sides of human functionality could be separate and retain their usefulness is
preposterous. It is the combination of both that defines the human spirit and lifts us above
the other animals.
Works Cited:
Dickens, Charles. Hard Times: an authoritative text, contexts, criticism/ Charles Dickens.-3rd ed. /edited by Fred Kaplan, Sylvere Monod. W. W. Norton and Company. New York. 2001.
Lynch, Deidre Shauna and Stillinger, Jack. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Romantic Period. W. W. Norton and Company. New York. 2006.
Mill, John Stuart. [The Mind and Character of Jeremy Bentham] Hard Times: an authoritative text, contexts, criticism/ Charles Dickens.-3rd ed. /edited by Fred Kaplan, Sylvere Monod. W. W. Norton and Company. New York. 2001.
House Thought
I would like to share with you two quotes from my favorite episode of House, Three Stories.
"A leg is a leg is a leg."
This quote means a lot to me in that it helps me get over things easier. For example, if I am eating with company, I will avoid picking off items on my food I dislike. To get over that hump, I just think of the previously mentioned quote. This makes it much easier for me. (I'm only a little crazy.)
"It’s a basic truth of the human condition that everybody lies. The only variable is about what. The great thing about telling someone that they're dying is that it tends to focus their priorities. You find out what matters to them. What they're willing to die for... What they're willing to lie for."
This, in truth, is a reminder of the human condition. What is a person? What does this person believe, and why do they take the actions they do? I think about these questions all the time. It means a lot when you think about it. In what set of circumstances does this person act in one way or in another? How can two people so very similar react to a situation in a completely different manner, and then another two people who are completely different act in a similar manner? Of course there are many factors; personality, environment, the event itself. It’s called Triple Typology. This is all true, but, it seems to me that there is an underlying imperative at work, something deep in the subconscious. Is it to be different? To be sure, there are many forces at work in any situation: Behaviour, the urge to eat and sleep and lie. People will lie about anything, for any reason. Is it as imperative as sleep? No... And yes. My working theory, as of now, is that people need to lie in order to maintain their own existence. In order to be happy... or safe.
Lies are something we can tell ourselves as well as others. Cognitive reappraisal is what keeps us from wanting to jump off the roof of tall buildings. We explain away all our problems as not being our fault or their being out of our control. This is a coping mechanism everyone has that keeps us alive.
It all comes down to selfishness in the end though, right?
"A leg is a leg is a leg."
This quote means a lot to me in that it helps me get over things easier. For example, if I am eating with company, I will avoid picking off items on my food I dislike. To get over that hump, I just think of the previously mentioned quote. This makes it much easier for me. (I'm only a little crazy.)
"It’s a basic truth of the human condition that everybody lies. The only variable is about what. The great thing about telling someone that they're dying is that it tends to focus their priorities. You find out what matters to them. What they're willing to die for... What they're willing to lie for."
This, in truth, is a reminder of the human condition. What is a person? What does this person believe, and why do they take the actions they do? I think about these questions all the time. It means a lot when you think about it. In what set of circumstances does this person act in one way or in another? How can two people so very similar react to a situation in a completely different manner, and then another two people who are completely different act in a similar manner? Of course there are many factors; personality, environment, the event itself. It’s called Triple Typology. This is all true, but, it seems to me that there is an underlying imperative at work, something deep in the subconscious. Is it to be different? To be sure, there are many forces at work in any situation: Behaviour, the urge to eat and sleep and lie. People will lie about anything, for any reason. Is it as imperative as sleep? No... And yes. My working theory, as of now, is that people need to lie in order to maintain their own existence. In order to be happy... or safe.
Lies are something we can tell ourselves as well as others. Cognitive reappraisal is what keeps us from wanting to jump off the roof of tall buildings. We explain away all our problems as not being our fault or their being out of our control. This is a coping mechanism everyone has that keeps us alive.
It all comes down to selfishness in the end though, right?
A Note on Fiction
Allow me to start with a quote. It is from The Libertine, performed by Johnny Depp as John Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester.
“Life has no purpose. It is everywhere undone by arbitrariness. I do this, and it matters not a jot if I do the opposite. But in the playhouse, every action, good or bad, has its consequence. Drop a handkerchief and it will return to smother you.”
Let us consider a phenomenon while we’re at it. It’s that fans of murder-mystery novels, after at least a good deal of experience with the genre, will eventually gravitate toward true crime books, forsaking murder-mystery all together. The most common reason I’ve heard is that the true crime stories are unbelievable, perverse… and violent in comparison. The fictional crimes of humanity are well stated and, very often, well reasoned. The crimes committed are rarely so awful as to be reviled. True crime is to murder mystery as an R rating is to a PG rating. Now I come to my point: Life as we know it is unpredictable, highly elastic, and ultimately out of our control. Fiction, in all its forms, has a rhythm and a purpose. It is warm, it is calculating, and it is rational.
Warm rationality is an odd description, is it not? If you think about every love story you’ve ever read, warmth, pain, and indeed happiness, are commonplace. Where is the destitution of spirit? Where are the hiccups you just never recover from? In a love story, you will never see the protagonist pass by his or her true love by accident or misfortune or any other means and never experience that love. The writer will not present a willing reader with a story where nothing happens and the characters are all severely unhappy. I assure you these things do happen. How do you know the one you’re with is your true love? Do you know? Your true love could very well have been that woman at the supermarket with the many tattoos you’ll never see again or the man you once knew in second grade that was murdered by his parents.
That is, if you believe in that sort of thing.
You can never really know anything. Fiction is the human brain trying to make sense of our goings on. It is our way of compensating for the unknown. By providing some rationality to the unknowable, we are making the world more sensible to us. Writers have such a narrow view of reality. The word perspective comes into play here. Let us pretend we’re in a large room, say, in a store. Any store you like, that’s where we are now. A multitude of people are standing around, shopping or chatting, it doesn’t really matter what they’re doing. What matters is why. Why are they there? Why are you there? There is something that brings all of us together in that room, something that none of us will ever know. Perhaps we are mostly in that store to buy something. But what are we buying and for what reason? What about the younger fellows that are there to look at younger ladies? They won’t buy anything, but they’re there. You cannot peer into another’s mind. According to the writer of your story, the reason you are here with these people is fate. That all encompassing thing known as fate. A writer may try to conjure up reasons like “this person is in this store because it is the closest one to that persons living space” or “their car broke down outside”. Anything. When you are creating a story, it serves no purpose to account for all these occurrences. Fate is the only reasonable measure in a story. In life, any crazy shit can happen to you or be done by you at any time.
Despite all this, fiction is a grand thing. It provides us a window to the fantastical. It is an instrument of life and reason. Words are given power by the order in which they are strung. Fiction has the same power to awe as reality. It just happens to be a bit harder to construct the story. The opposite is true in life. There are great stories all around us. Trying to put them into words, that is the greatest challenge.
“Life has no purpose. It is everywhere undone by arbitrariness. I do this, and it matters not a jot if I do the opposite. But in the playhouse, every action, good or bad, has its consequence. Drop a handkerchief and it will return to smother you.”
Let us consider a phenomenon while we’re at it. It’s that fans of murder-mystery novels, after at least a good deal of experience with the genre, will eventually gravitate toward true crime books, forsaking murder-mystery all together. The most common reason I’ve heard is that the true crime stories are unbelievable, perverse… and violent in comparison. The fictional crimes of humanity are well stated and, very often, well reasoned. The crimes committed are rarely so awful as to be reviled. True crime is to murder mystery as an R rating is to a PG rating. Now I come to my point: Life as we know it is unpredictable, highly elastic, and ultimately out of our control. Fiction, in all its forms, has a rhythm and a purpose. It is warm, it is calculating, and it is rational.
Warm rationality is an odd description, is it not? If you think about every love story you’ve ever read, warmth, pain, and indeed happiness, are commonplace. Where is the destitution of spirit? Where are the hiccups you just never recover from? In a love story, you will never see the protagonist pass by his or her true love by accident or misfortune or any other means and never experience that love. The writer will not present a willing reader with a story where nothing happens and the characters are all severely unhappy. I assure you these things do happen. How do you know the one you’re with is your true love? Do you know? Your true love could very well have been that woman at the supermarket with the many tattoos you’ll never see again or the man you once knew in second grade that was murdered by his parents.
That is, if you believe in that sort of thing.
You can never really know anything. Fiction is the human brain trying to make sense of our goings on. It is our way of compensating for the unknown. By providing some rationality to the unknowable, we are making the world more sensible to us. Writers have such a narrow view of reality. The word perspective comes into play here. Let us pretend we’re in a large room, say, in a store. Any store you like, that’s where we are now. A multitude of people are standing around, shopping or chatting, it doesn’t really matter what they’re doing. What matters is why. Why are they there? Why are you there? There is something that brings all of us together in that room, something that none of us will ever know. Perhaps we are mostly in that store to buy something. But what are we buying and for what reason? What about the younger fellows that are there to look at younger ladies? They won’t buy anything, but they’re there. You cannot peer into another’s mind. According to the writer of your story, the reason you are here with these people is fate. That all encompassing thing known as fate. A writer may try to conjure up reasons like “this person is in this store because it is the closest one to that persons living space” or “their car broke down outside”. Anything. When you are creating a story, it serves no purpose to account for all these occurrences. Fate is the only reasonable measure in a story. In life, any crazy shit can happen to you or be done by you at any time.
Despite all this, fiction is a grand thing. It provides us a window to the fantastical. It is an instrument of life and reason. Words are given power by the order in which they are strung. Fiction has the same power to awe as reality. It just happens to be a bit harder to construct the story. The opposite is true in life. There are great stories all around us. Trying to put them into words, that is the greatest challenge.
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