What really breaks me

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Watching the Pianist
An inevitable fate escaped
For the composer anyway
Seeing the look on a battered girl’s face
Makes it hard to swallow
Infidelity to your significant other
The act of mass murder, those planes smashing building, flying with deathly force
Breaks my thoughts, how could someone do that
More importantly how can you live with yourself
Some little kid finding out
There is no Santa Claus
Hate Crimes
People who hate themselves
Realizing that the people who
You thought cared
Don’t even know you, not really
When something beautiful or someone
Shatters
When a girl can’t have a first dance
At her wedding with her dad
Because she doesn’t have one
When two people destined for each other
Die one of them dies
When a “friend” stabs me in the back
And wants to be “friends”
When people don’t have the guts to apologize
When a baby cries because it was born addicted
No choice in the matter
Or when a baby is aborted
When someone torments animals
When the media showcases something
But the real meaning is lost
When someone gets away with murder
Disrespecting the elderly
Purposely embarrassing someone or hurting
Their feelings with cruel pranks/jokes
When people are led on
All these things break me
But number one
Is how you glance at me
How you joke around with me Hug me and advise me
Inside everything is so completely traumatized from what you’ve done
The hardest part is learning to be lonely so everyone thinks your fine
Really metaphorically your soul is drunk with the wine WE were to share
That’s what really breaks me, more then a national disaster it’s YOU
You batter my emotions with memories and photos that burn my insides
I can’t feel happiness anymore it’s all cold, a mass of the broken pieces glued together
Expertly by me but with a tiny ice pick you
With that smile, messy hair- break it all over again…

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Memory

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When you really think about it, this book is not about going out there and fighting, the whole big deal, it’s not. Memory in time is what this novel is truly about. How far you dream it and think anything is what you will get out of it. The things that stay with us long after the fact, such as that red hat, become a part of us locked inside waiting for a time to let loose. The thing about life is you can live it, and be rest assured that you will not be forgotten. “The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you.” (O’Brien 230). Emotion and desire to comprehend are so simple, yet so difficult to understand.
The memories are life’s journey, which can vary so much. Norman Bowker, for instance, decided that he could not handle the “memories” so he ended his life. Tim O’Brien like most of the others lived on, but differently. Although they ended their journey in that jungle, they continued it some where else. You just know that what sticks in the mind’s eye will not and cannot be forgotten.
The star shaped hole for instance or Kiowa’s boot are symbols. Although they can represent death, they are actually symbolizing the moving on of the world. Even in death we leave others with our former existence, and this is central to the entire novel. The knowledge of friendship, that brief yet everlasting interaction we leave with one another evokes an image that stuns a person. We cannot help remembering those things we attempt to push aside. It is those things whether they are battles, people, or a particular event that live on. Tim O’Brien’s recollections of endeavors in his life are what the book is. In essence however, it is that fact that everything in life we do counts, because it lives on in the persistence of memory.

War Stories from my Father, in the Honor of Poland

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If there’s one thing I know, it is that telling stories is more difficult then telling tales. Telling stories is waiting for the moment when your friend is listening, I mean really listening and you pour out your feelings. Telling tales is adding or subtracting from what actually happened, and that is a lie. These “tall tales” or metafictional works of the imagination are what our narrator wants us to watch out for. O’Brien points this out right away- that metafiction is where truth and fake diverge. He indicates that when you see a horrid event, reality leaves you for a while. Sometimes the truth, meaning what actually happened, is so hard to digest that you want something pleasant in the story. The author indicts that those stories are half truth or less. This entire chapter in it’s self is a threshold between what really happened and what people want you to believe. Nature plays a key role in how “he died was almost beautiful.” Curt Lemon died, yes, but O’Brien toys with reality in my mind until the truth comes out. That’s the trouble with war stories, O’Brien declares. I agree, for when he says that they are supposed to hurt the stomach, I can attest to that myself.

When I was really sick in bed, last night actually, and I thought of a question, one I have wanted to know for years my dad was at my side. I was feeling nauseous, and in incredible amounts of pain. My dad stayed with me almost the entire night leading into the day. The question I asked him baffled him, I knew right away in his tone. His answer was even more shocking. Actually, the story he told is still intriguing me, how against even the evils of Hitler my grandfather, whom I never met survived the Second World War. The story translated into English went like this:

My father was the leader of about ten other men. (I ask how many) Ten, he says. (Then he pauses for a while lost in thought, and continues.) They were the men who gave information back to the Allies’ powers, but when the Russian men came, they knew. They knew that my dad was not on Hitler’s side, so they had a plan. A plan to kill the men, he said. (Then he paused, this time a different pause- a sad pause. Seeing my eyes in the dim light filled with intrigue he continued slowly though. I was scared of what was to come of the men. My fears came true when he suddenly told the rest of the story. I thought maybe the men…, when my dad seeing my imagination going went on too.) Four of them were caught the next day, taken to Siberia where they were brutally done away with. (Heads cut off or something worse I asked my dad.) It was probably worse knowing Stalin but not for your ears child. The next dawn, my father and his remaining men escaped quietly, quickly and most importantly ( my dad said) without a chase. (How far I asked?) From the tip of Illinois to the border of Iowa (for I needed an estimated route), and stayed there until they knew no one would come back to their hideout. My father just knew, child, he knew that it was safe, and so they came back and worked. More alert now, my dad says. He wasn’t taken ( he declared). To the working camp either, the death camp, he ran away from that also. (How, I asked) God, he said. He was a good man, Maria. (I wished I had met him.) Then my dad says he wishes also. After that, he was quiet and I swear I could see tears forming at the brim of his pale, tired eyes. Then I asked one final question, and asking it almost made me cry, so I cannot imagine what it must have done for him.

Do you miss your dad? Yes, too much his said. That is why child, I think of Poland less, or differently. Because I do not have a mom or a dad. Hearing him say that aloud at 50, for the first time baffled me, but just then I began rapid coughing once again. So he helped me. For hours, and his mind was on helping me, but his eyes felt strange. I think his eyes where in Poland.

Be my eyes : poetic review

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Eye in the sky

How far you fly

So many wouldn’t suffer

So hundreds wouldn’t die

Never tell a solider he doesn’t know The cost of war

Alan Rickman was brilliant

And he knows so much more

The tense scenes incite

The frustration starts a fight

Between great minds

About the casualties of war

And about how much

One life is worth.

How much is one life worth?

Watch this movie and decide.

From terrorism we want to run and hide.

We must act like in this film

But consider the repercussions

And the value of a life

Be my eyes

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Eye in the sky

How far you fly

So many wouldn’t suffer

So hundreds wouldn’t die

Never tell a solider he doesn’t know The cost of war

Alan Rickman was brilliant

And he knows so much more

The tense scenes incite

The frustration starts a fight

Between great minds

About the casualties of war

And about how much

One life is worth.

How much is one life worth?

Watch this movie and decide.

From terrorism we want to run and hide.

We must act like in this film

But consider the repercussions

And the value of a life

The Imitation Game: A commentary of what needs to change!

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While watching the trailers, I was very excited to see this movie as it portrayed the cracking of enigma: the Nazi code of communication. I found, as the movie transpired in my mind, a different meaning and theme which is the torment of a man based on his sexuality. I was left in shock, awe, and a profound sadness that hasn’t quite left me since. I watched with deep intensity and was not disappointed by the brilliant casting of Benedict Cumberbatch as the main character. Chosen to help crack enigma his personality is off-putting but he is astoundingly brilliant. His acting is Oscar worthy without question, he is charming and awful. It takes talent to pull off both so flawlessly. I still get chills thinking about the way he transformed into that role so well. The flashbacks were a nice touch to the movie and helped explain the life of Alan in a unique way. The man who cracked this code in real life was a hero and the portrayal is haunting. Keira Knightley plays a role that I didn’t quite see her in at first but I was intrigued. She is chosen through a test to help Alan and does not dislike him when his homosexuality is revealed to her, something that was really nice to see for the time period. The other minor character were good in their own right and definitely added to the story line.

“Sometimes it’s the people that no imagines things of that can do things no one can imagine.” This line is repeated throughout the film. I loved this movie very much for many reasons, but the ending was so painful and left me deeply emotional. Alan, the protagonist is persecuted for being gay. I thought for a long time about the true message of this film and I arrived at this. Although 1951 was the time that Alan ended his life I want it to be understood that this persecution based on homosexuality has not gone away with time. I cannot imagine what other brilliant things we could have today had the government not driven him to suicide. He stopped the war by two years saving at least 14 million lives! What about his own life? Wasn’t it worth something? Even if he was an ordinary man without this discovery, is taking people down because they are different than us the answer? People fear what they do not understand. Our world will crumble if we do not learn from the past. And it appears we haven’t. Hatred is spewing from every corner of this earth. When will we realize everyone is human and deserves humane treatment? We must come together as the human race and not judge by race or sexual orientation or religion. Working torwards understanding is our only hope.

I think everyone should see this movie. It will make you feel every emotion possible. You will have a rollercoaster of feelings and you will grow and see things in a different light. That is what movies are meant to do.

The New Cold Wars: Can we Stop the Wheels from Turning?

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I feel so hot (Not that kind either)

Although I just showered, dressed, and brushed my hair

I’m immersed in this awful sweat

Running my hands under frigid water does nothing for

There has been nothing to make me feel cool yet

I type out these haphazard words, sentences, and pages

while outside the walls of my home war rages

America is in three wars I believe, three more than

I want to conceive.

I’m delirious, dizzy and spinning through time and through space

I feel lost in life like I don’t have a place

Everything is different that what I had thought

For what it is worth I loved him a lot

I belong at Shimer college with my friends all around

For I know they won’t bring me down.

Again the cold and bullets I sweat

Getting better for tomorrow?

Not an option yet.

My poem is confusing

It is taking all my current thoughts

Friends, love, love lost, my cold, the wars, the new cold war

I cannot seem to untangle my thoughts

I better get better if I am to find what is lost.

And recognize we could be on the brink of a new cold war.

The one I battle, cuddled up on the couch can be won.

What can be done so that the other wars are over?

When does their hardship end>?

I complain about this cold, but I will be fine in a few days.

What about the world?

When will it find solace?

I recognize there will always be conflict, but

will there always be suffering of that magnitude?

I ask everyone citizen of this earth —

What can be done against such adversity?