Movie Star Addiction

Yeah, you're pretty fly
You made my curiosity spark
The sight of you made my head turn in curio
I'm a suicide blonde prone to an addictive harmony

When we kissed, every chill i posessed
Trembled, quivered, shivered, shuddered
Your hands moved across my body
Your lips embraced my weakness

You told me of my remarkability
and i believed you, yeah you were pretty jive
Then tomorrow you were vacant, like
Someone playing a piano without teeth: empty

The melodies reverberated of an alleyway
Where once lived a movie star
The kind that lit her cigarette with prestige
And lived in the brick, black night

A movie star that moved on from the drowned piano brick black
To an iridescant saxophone neighborhood
Suffocating with lights and lights and notes and busy-ness and lights
i was your alleyway, i was your home

Ain't nothing around here for you worth coming back for
i thought, sittin on my hollowed piano
Ain't nothin in me that the 3-story house with that tree swing
ain't got; besides maybe my piano, my bricks, and my dark.

Days melted to centuries
And baby, your photo faded
People moved in upstairs, downstairs, next door
My piano had a new set of ivory teeth

When my new cad black phone rang with your call
I picked it up, pressed my ear close to your voice
You stood at my brick door with those bags
I opened my door to you, God i wish i hadn't

You played my piano, admired the new keys
Persuaded me of your enticement
PLaced a black fedora on my forehead
And, for the first time, i felt like you were home again

Like the movie star that took her bags from the trunk
clunked them on the brink patio
and with that carefully-rolled cigarette steaming in her fingertips
Opened her arms to her home

We sat next to each other like it was when we were content
but then i sensed your hesitation...it was all too well-known
even in the dark i could feel your eyes move past mine
And then i heard your voice on the line with her

And the next day the bags were gone from my patio
my piano's keys were laid splintered in its mouth
Your cigarette still burned on the floor
and your scent remained on the hollow of my pillow

Bottom line baby: you're my movie star addiction
the immediate pleasure only results in long-lasting pain
so hey, why the hell not, let's live in the moment
let's take another hit

~Janina Yates

The story I should Write

old mr. webster could never define what's being said between your heart and mine.
and when the answer that you want
is in the question that you state
come what may
come what may
I have the hardest time resisting you.
i dont mind you comin here and wastin all my mind.
cause when you're standin oh so near i kinda lose my mind,
yeah... i guess you're just what i needed
i don't want the world to see me
'cause i don't think that they'd understand;

but if i wanted silence, i would whisper
if i wanted loneliness, i'd choose to go
and if i liked rejection, i'd audition
and if i didn't love you, you would know

i find the map and draw a straight line over rivers, farms, and state lines.
the distance from A to where you'd B, it's only finger lengths that i see.
i touch the place where i'd find your face.
my fingers increases of distant dark places.
i hang my coat up in the first bar, there is no peace that i've found so far.
the laughter penetrates my silence as drunken men find flaws in science.
their words mostly noises ghosts with just voices,
your words in my memory are like music to me.
and miles from where you are, i lay down on the cold ground and i,
i pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms

turned my whole world upside down
save me, i am swallowed by the guilt of this.
you're gone, sleeping in the dust. we will not let time erase us.

Em Portugues

Entao, pra esto, eu vou escrever em vez de falar.
Tudo esto seja muito mas dificil que eu querei.
Tudo ema guerra que nadie quer mirar.
E de mal maneira e o governo nao quer notar.
Estou tan brava com o pais que nao gosto de falar com meus companeiros.
Nao gosto de falar com meus pais
Com meus amigos
Com tudo a gente que eu queria confiar
nao quero
nao posso
e impossivel.
A unica pessoa que posso falar e confiar
E meu mente.
E solamente meu mente.
Com tudos os trupos morriendo e tudos as vidas terminando
A unica pessoa que posso confiar
E
Eu.

Final Post!

Two analyses of photographs.

Explosion

Chancellorsville

Two creative pieces.

Seasons

Self-Worth

Two letters.

No One (New)

Response (New)

Group effort post.

Justification

Medium other than writing/photography.

Dreaming Through Eras

Own design and execution: dream

Gas Station (New)

Song lyrics.

Heavenly Harmonica (New)

Comic strip.

Ooh Funny Haha (New)


Author's note: Matt, thank you so much for an amazing semester, I've thoroughly enjoyed taking this class and having you as a teacher. Have a great summer and I hope to keep in touch!

Comic

Gas Station

This scene takes place
tucked away in a mountain bed,
at a lowly two a.m. broken down gas station
whose prices expired with the rusting door hinges.
This scene takes place
under an oranged streetlamp
that casts a shadow blanketing the forgotten station.
The building frays around its edges,
like a library book that’s been soaked and elapsed
in the anguished time it’s been set aside in a shelf.
The merciless mountain mouth swallows this modest little shanty
viciously gulping down every last memory it once held.

Heavenly Harmonica

Travelin' Soldier by: Dixie Chicks

The dawn passed Eden
He waited with feverish banter in his aunt's gate
Sitting down in a bench in a city that
Gave him orders to a gig with a beaten-in heavenly harmonica
"Hes a little shy" so says Gibbons holding a soda
At Hally Saunders. "Would you mind stayin down for a while
And talking to me?
Im 'fraid a lad's lost."
She says, "I'm outstanding in a harmonica and I know what we can get"

So they went down and they sang out to people
Hally said "I bet you get all bashful but I dont" chuckling
In greed. not one thought sent luck to Eden.
Whose young mind intelligibly Indulged so on benches having thoughts like:

"I can't
Never gonna have the harmonica of a gig"
'Too young for harmonicas', they told him
Waitin for the luck of a thinking sinner
Ongoing luck with no end
Waitin for the sinner to cross paths again
"Never make the performance again without the luck sadly",
Again so counted the harmonica-ist.

So the luck came from an amazing chap
In colors thread vivid
And he thistled harmonicas out his hands
It might be luck and all of the things Eden was so scared of
He said "why its getting kinda rowdy over here
I think out the dawn should darn a ton per
All" It came more efficiently and seemingly that people smiled
"Dont worry but I wont be around tonight" whispered Father Almond


One friday night at a fiddlin' gig
The luck played sufficiently and the audience sang
A man screamed, "Folks would you bob your heads"
Fiddlers, awestruck, listened on. Listening vehemently, distainfully.
Eden, all alone under the stage
Was a-playin passionately in the middle box
And once suddenly a sound and nobody really knew
But people saw a gig with a boy inside a heavinly harmonica

(In response to 'Letter to No One')

To whom it may concern:

I appreciate your thought and I shudder to think of where you are now...but I'd like to add one consideration to alter your stream of consiousness.
Human beings may often be self-indulgent and egotistical at times. However, we possess a quality that rarely any other species may: love.
Through sofly spoken words, a smile, a kiss, an embrace, or even a touch of the palm, overwhelming feelings may swarm a body so intensely that an individual can begin to feel warmth inside, even in the coldest of rainstorms.
This is love.
Know love, no hate.
I understand that time, death, and sadness may have weightened your mind. With what war brings are such times of tragedy, however, I wanted to let you know that no matter where you are on this earth, everyone smiles in the same language.
And always, someone somewhere has you in their thoughts.
God Bless Our Troops.
and God Bless You

Letter to No One

I hold no expectations over the readers of this letter. In fact, I expect no one to read it at all. Over the course of my lifetime, I've discovered that regardless of how indulged a person may be over the happenings in this world, each individual that composes this earth is relentlessly self-centered. You may consider me pessimistic at this point and put this tattered shred of paper down as if it were insignificant and go about the rest of your life. Or you could read on and be witness to my rainy-day discovery. Whether you do either is your own choice. Honestly, it wouldn't matter to me.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand: we shall take a small child, for instance. Older generations giggle bashfully as they fawn over the angered children that rip their toys out of an unsuspecting peer's hands. It is in human nature to take what we've preconceived as naturally ours.
If this isn't enough evidence for you, dearest reader, let's travel to the larger picture. Every day objects are labeled with lighting-sharp words such as "ours" "mine" "your's"...and why? Notions are derrived from our ancestors about what we own and what we need.
It gets so severe that rather than wrenching a plastic tractor out of the hands of another child, a human being will slash another's throat, burn their crops, explode their lands, and watch on the sidelines as future generations of their opposition suffer from the side effects. This is the result of the abomination of our race. This is the actions of war. Human beings are not necessarily a blood-thirsty, flesh-seeking species...we just protect what's ours.
So, as you read my finishing words of epiphany, you may be enlightend or you may be depressed. Either way it wouldn't matter to me. Since no ear is around to hear my last words of thought, and the rain drowns out any last shard of hapiness my mind once held, I could give a damn whether or not you appreciated my written word. All I know is that I've left my mark on this world. Through my only means, I've shared my last bits of knowledge.
Now I sit holding a cold thought to resound this frozen nightfall. What was I protecting to sacrifice so much in this war?

Si Se Puede

That we are not as divided as our politics suggest,
That we are one people,
We are one nation,
And together we will begin the next great chapter
In the american story with three words that will ring
From coast to coast
From sea to shining sea
YES WE CAN

War of Self-Worth

Yesterday, as I heard the tank-tanking of rain on my metal roof, my eyes fixed upon two children playing in the rain. Two naïve souls, clad in bright crimson galoshes that clashed with their cliché brilliant yellow rain coats, trudged through puddles as if they had not a care in the world. Both children had a toothless smile splashed across their cheeks. As the children were playing, an elderly man, saturated with age, and crippled by the weight of the rain on his shoulder paused on the sidewalk next to the children. An emotion of panic erased the children’s smiles as they ran inside. I sighed to watch the aged man limp on alone and right as I was to turn from my window, I saw the younger of the two children, in nothing but a t-shirt and ruby galoshes, stumble out of his front door with a golden bundle overwhelming his arms. In the corner of my picture window, the man looked down to the boy extending his tiny arms. There lay the rain poncho that the boy had worn not five minutes before. The man hesitated and took the rainwear from the child as he watched him gallop back into the front door where a mother was watching nervously. Then, and I write in all honesty, the man slung the petite raincoat over his shoulders and looked to see if anyone was watching. As he tip-toed over to the puddle and stepped a foot in, he wiped something from his face. Whether it was a raindrop or a tear, I’ll never know.

☮& ♥

You say you want a revolution
Well you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it's evolution
Well you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don't you know you can count me out
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
Alright Alright

You say you got a real solution
Well you know
We'd all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well you know
We're doing what we can
But when you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell you is brother you have to wait
Don't you know it's gonna be alright
Alright Alright

You say you'll change the constitution
Well you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it's the institution
Well you know
You better free your mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao
You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don't you know know it's gonna be alright
Alright Alright

Justification

Somewhere, deep in the fists of east-central Africa, an appalling encounter takes place. Or, well, if that’s what you can call it at least. Men, women, and children are herded into a land-locked coffer like animals. Mass beatings and slaughter stain the grass with blood, and drown the dirt with tears. Through sobs, the victims look at the masses of eyes observing this and doubt the validity of the human race. Why don’t the mouths to those eyes say anything? What deplorable sin had they committed to receive such castigation?

The victims of this horrifying genocide are the Tutsi race, a minority of the country. The murderers are the blood-thirsty Hutus. The fierce eyes that look past this incident are every single individual that compose the rest of the world. In one hundred days, eight hundred thousand people are viciously slaughtered, their bodies stacked high in the stench of the brutality of the human race at its worst. And nothing is done: Americans watch televisions with news about the lead singer of Nirvana Kurt Cobain’s death. As tattoo shops sketch symbols into Americans' skin, death sentences are etched into the Tutsi’s lives.



Some Americans march in protest of this genocide while others are too preoccupied with waging war on other countries. Both are in the wrong: war is not the answer and peace is not the means of reparation. War is the problem. Peace is the goal. If we are to preoccupy ourselves more with the salvation of mankind rather than the prosperity of the world's powerhouse, maybe a change could be visible on the horizon of a new day.

If America were to dip her army soldier fingers into that traumatized country, almost a million innocent lives could have been saved. War, in that case, would have been for a valid purpose. To embrace humanity. To help those in need. The meaning of war has been stripped of its preconceived purpose. We now wage war to benefit and prosper at the cost of broken families. We looked past such inhumain acts of violence before, it's frightening to imagine what's occuring somewhere else while our nation's eyes are focused upon the Middle East.

Today's fix

The best thing a human being could ever give another individual
Is a smile

Raytheon

One of the most prominent arguments that my dad and I get into is the necessity of war. Let me tell you a little about my dad before I continue, he's a retired marine who works for Raytheon. He went over to Japan and Korea when he was seventeen then, more recently, to Iraq and Kuwait as a contracted civillian. When I ask him, nostalgically, why he was so eager to leave his family and get up and move to another nation, his response is always the same: "To fight for our nation's cause".
This phrase, my dear friends, is the foundation to our argument. This force-fed idealism intrigues me so much in fact that I'm in disbelief that my hero, my father, believes in it so strongly. Once a year, the extremely private business of Raytheon opens their doors to the employee's families. This year, when he had "take your family to work day", I agreed to come along only because of the eager-wagging-tail-like-a-puppy look in my father's eyes. As we were walking through the halls lined with war missles and simulations, my dislike increased more and more with every step. Watching the faces of my father's peers angered me. Thinking about the concept and purpose for these missles made me uneasy. Then imagining the destruction wrought by such murderous weapons made me sick to my stomach.
Then, the thought overwhelmed me: this is only a crumb of destruction that humanity has made possible. With the invention of the nuclear weapon, our lives are forever in danger. With the mass-production of the nuclear weapon, the United States is no longer the world's prominent powerhouse. We now live in a world where nuclear warfare is an accepted ideal. Where "our country's cause" is indented to kill to find peace. This world where death is acceptable as a means of liberty, justice, and the pursuit of happiness. What's wrong with this world?

"Today I can declare my hope and declare it from the bottom of my heart that we will eventually see the time when that number of nuclear weapons is down to zero and the world is a much better place.” -Collin Powell

Dreaming Through Eras

Two different songs. Two different perspectives. And yet, death is accepted as a daily constant. I have spent the majority of my teenage years in a war-struck country. Is this not what our ancestors fought to avoid? What then, is the purpose of war if not to protect our children? I think our country should reasess her concepts before any more of her children are murdered. Give peace a chance. You may say I'm a dreamer but I'm not the only one.

Radical for Love

Well well well chica chica ya got no fancy shoes for your feet
Can't pay your bills to the man but you've got enough to eat
And you've got love in your soul
And peace is your goal and
You know real truth and beauty can't be bought or sold

I don't think much about the priorities of our society
All our actions seem to lead us to war and violence and suffering
And if you're crying for peace and reason
You're a hippie or a radical but tell me what's so radical about love?
What's radical about loving the earth?
What's radical about knowing your worth?
What's radical about wanting a better day - a better way - happiness?

Jesus was a radical
Buddha was a radical
Martin Luther King was revolutionary
Bob Marley was a radical
Mother Theresa was a radical
John Lennon
the Dalai Lama
and Gandhi too
It's true

Make me a radical for love
I wanna be a radical for love
Make me a radical for love

I've got peace in my soul
Love is my goal
Make me a radical for love

Battle of Chancellorsville

http://www.nps.gov/archive/frsp/chist.htm

Considered General Lee's greatest victory, the Battle of Chancellorsville was a bloody and vicious fiend that devoured casualties left and right. This picture captures the aftermath using a direct approach of multiple soldiers dead in a ditch. Although it's original intention was not meant to be expressive, the content of this documentary photograph details an unnatural slaughter in a natural landscape. What seems odd in this photograph is although the scene is bloody extrails of war, the lines found within the photograph seem unusually linear and orderly. The first and foremost lines that are focused upon when looking at this photograph would be the those of the parallel lines formed by the stone wall and the ditch. (What's seemingly ironic with the presence of the stone wall and the dead soldiers in the ditch is that this battle in particular marks the death of the legendary general "Stonewall" Jackson. Ironic? I'd say so!) The next lines that are focused upon would be those formed by the muskets. It appears that they aren't all necessarily perpendicular to the wall, but somehow they all form a pattern. Again, the unusual existence of order in a time of mayhem. The depth that is created by the continuous ditch and wall give this image space definition. This marks the ongoing existence of evil in war. What's most notable besides the lines and space in this photo, however, would definitely have to be the lighting. The central focus of the image contrasts greatly with the rest of the surroundings. The trees in the background are seen merely as a contour, submersed in black. However, the central scene of the ditch and dead bodies is engulfed in light from the front-most angle all the way until the trees devour the scene. Clearly, through the photographic strategies used, the author of this image portrays the ever-wavering uncertainty of war and tragedy of aftermath.

Photo analysis 2

In this photo taken on the day of the first Iraq elections in 2005, the family is the subject of this photograph. The background of the photo is blurry and the focus on the parents and child are clear because the photographer wanted to focus on the implications of the election for this family. The depth created in the photo with the unfocused background indicates an unclear future for the family and the country as a whole. This is an expressive documentary photo because it tells a story about this Iraqi family on the day of these historic elections. The vantage point of the photo is very direct, emphasizing the family again. The eyes of the viewer are immediately drawn to the young girl in the red dress against the washed out background, indicating a new future in a landscape that is desolate at this time. This girl represents a new beginning in the same way that the election does. Against a background of military occupation she confronts the future with bright hope. The background represents the murky and dangerous past, and the girl is representing the new and exciting future. The placement of the family on the left side uses the rule of thirds to draw focus not only to the subjects, but also to the background, because it tells a story too. The background, although out of focus, has a lot going on. Military tanks and empty streets give a context for this family’s story, and show the uncertainty of the day. Overall, this photograph represents a new future for Iraq in a time of war and uncertainty

Photo analysis

This photograph portrays a devastating occurrence of war. It's interesting that the focus of the photograph seems to be not on the explosion, but on the soldier laying down simply because that's the sharpest object of the photograph while the explosion and man in the explosion are blurry. This portrays the sense of confusion and surprise that this photograph implies. The rough texture of the landscape in the photograph can be seen not only with the rocks and terrain that the soldier is laying on but with the smoke from the explosion as well. By showing this roughness, it displays an example of what the soldiers had to endure during the Soviet war. It's also extremely important to note this photograph's appeal to pathos. Not only is it shocking to see a man flying in the air from an explosion on the left-hand side of the image, but a man lies seemingly lifeless on the right-hand side as well. This disturbing aspect is an example of balance. The white background provides a strong contour, outlining the profile of this soldier flying away from an explosion. The author's vantage point is significant to the meaning of this photograph in that it offers a point of view that details an observer and a victim as well. Although ostensibly simplistic, this photograph portrays the uncomfortable realities of war and destruction.

matt rotando's 104 blog

www.104aboutwar.blogspot.com

A Time to Break Silence Beyond Iraq

As a nation, it has been our solemn duty to close our eyes and open our mouths to the mound of bullshit that our government is loading to us. We are the modern-day force-fed child. As we sit in our Hummer highchairs, mouths bubbling with Starbucks and McDonalds, Uncle Sam has taken it upon himself to tear handfulls of our brothers and sisters from their homes and chuck them into bomb-struck nations. There is something very wrong with this. Bedtime stories found in newspapers sooth us to sleep by saying: "Long Lasting Power in Iraq", "America Advances", and "Progress in Iraq is Fragile". There is something very wrong with this. We play in our playpens while our family is murdered "defending our nation's cause". There is something wrong with this. And in the end, the topic of war is avoided in the feeding ground of America's youth, the classroom. There are too many things wrong with this. "What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans, and the homeless, whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or the holy name of liberty and democracy?" (Ghandi). Murder is murder. Death is death. War is a crime. And not discussing it awards the government the utmost control over our lives. Why is this such an avoided topic? Why, like religion, politics, abortion, ethics, and so many more does war find itself on a never-ending list of controversial issues to avoid speaking about? I think that these issues need to be head-butted face-first. I think that it's time to realize that "every war is different, and every war is the same". I think that it's finally time to talk about these issues that hide under the rug. There are some provocative topic starters found in the daily broadcast. This is a good start. By continuing this process, and spreading it by word of mouth from the household and classroom up can our nation finally mature. Once we take our first steps into the world of acknowledgement can a change of pace begin. And we as a nation can be witness to a peaceful revolution.

War Assignment

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_depth/629/629/7301682.stm

In a slideshow and narration, a Canadian photojournalist details her findings in multiple trips to Iraq. By following soldiers, she experienced house raids and interrogations of Iraqis. Her intense pictures and stories detail her experiences not only with the soldiers but of staying in an Iraqi psychiatric hospital as well.


By appealing to the audience’s emotional sympathies, the author utilizes a form of pathos to build her credibility. The pictures themselves generate their own form of persuasion in that they portray powerful images that identify with a different world. The picture that especially brings about the most rhetorical sway is the one of the old Iraqi man hand-cuffed against the wall with the bag over his head. The contrast of this picture to every-day American life differs so greatly that even a hint of shock is generated. The symmetry of this picture is also contradictory in that it’s such a simple, plain picture for such a frenzied and chaotic time period. Leistner captures a contrast of a simple photo symbolizing an intricate topic. Her speech and stories generate her own credibility as not only an author and photographer but also as an equal observer of war.

How can you LOVE a neighbor with a weapon of HATE in your hand?

This was a picture I took when I went to Nogales with my family.

This graffitti was surrounded by millions of white crosses.

When we asked what the crosses represented,

We were told that each cross represented a family member lost crossing the border

Seeking a better life

How many more must die?

Roughly, it translates- Borders: scars in the earth

Wish I could

I don't remember the feeling of getting excited over a new toy.
Or how it is to be a burning ball of energy.
I can hardly recall not having to worry about gas prices
or the war, or the elections, or homework, or arguments...
It's hard to remember being carefree and worry less
When the only thing that matters is a scraped knee
I don't recall times without conflicting with my mother
or rolling my eyes at my dad's absent words.
I just can't remember when I didn't think I knew everything
Because, I do. And that's that.
I cannot recall when playing with a bug was 'fun' and 'entertaining'
and every individual was a opportunity for a new friend
but sometimes
as I'm yelling at my mom about whats right and wrong
and rolling my eyes at my dad about politics
when i see a beetle crawling across the floor and am completely petrified
when i hear about rapists and murderers that kidnap children
I wish I could.

Seasons

I remember the fresh scent of snowfall sitting softly on my porch
glistening white powder enticing us to
destroy it
and trudge through it
and kick it
and fall in it
I remember the grey, cloudy skies that tempted us to stay home from school
(even if we did have a test that day)
I remember the icicles that were transformed into lollipops
dripping beneath the wet sweat of our palms
melting with the heat from our breaths

-change scene-

I remember the delicious smell of spring tickling our naive noses
the smell of leaves
the smell of bloom
the smell of
fresh
beginnings
i remember the rainfall splashing on the windowsill
and cancelling dodgeball games and bar-b-ques because of it

-change scene-

I remember the empowering feeling of crunching leaves beneath my shoes

and the smell of burning pumpkins.

the cool, cool breeze blowing on the crippled front lawns that could tell miles and miles of tales

-change scene-

I remember summer break

and swimming

and laughing

and never wanting anything to change

-end scene-

i remember when he got laid off of his job

and looking

and looking

and looking

and looking for a new occupation

i remember his night shifts,

and staying up past midnight only to spend some quality time with him,

eatin grilled cheese and warm milk

i remember his face as he told us he was moving to Virginia

i remember his tears as he told us he was going to war

i remember how tightly he held us

his family

as we sat in the terminal

sobbing

before a soldier released his daughter and walked the platform to war.

-final scene-

i remember his face as he saw us again

it had been too long

too long

two entire years passed

two long years of seasons

things weren't the same

they never will be.

La Guerra

Suddenly, suicide becomes comfortable peace

with blank, faceless religion and gravestones.

since when is it "natural" to die by bullet?

This is death in fate's womb.

And the living and dead walk hand in hand

with no purposebut to go home.

Homophonic What?

Care oh par a term in our

Cue and oh is toy all bored, eh? Cell eh braid ela violence.

Oh Yen, NO! Depict Cho, I'll core reason care re-ah

Ay! U there! Are you're all kay sun re-ay

Pone air ley umpire jar yellow to the mall vato in play nuke

Wee uh door lost in fiar most in fad and rolos

Compare legal when did door

Are you darling amature mat a door-coast terrible

Why key serum yo! say are boo en no con me go

In toe doe