3rd Poetry Journal:Turn The Page By: Metallica

This song really means a great deal to me because I not only can feel the sensitivity in the lyrics, but it also a great classic. The mood of the peace is all summed up through this amazing image of a single microphone in the spotlight of a what seems to be empty stage. All of the hardships in moving in the music business now become clearer as they hadn't been before and I have been taught through the words and expression of the piece that the music industry is hard to get into, but well worth it once you get there.

In the last month or so I've been spending a lot of time analyzing the best approach of carrying on with music for my university major and listening to this tune the other day made me realise that maybe I don't need to go into being a star, but someone who does the behind the scenes work or helps pump out more talent into the industry. I feel I am too self-concious of myself to be the center of attention, but to work behind the shadows of the overwhelming spotlight would work for me. Who knows I might be a teacher, I might run my own music accessories shop or I might even go into the performing industry yet. Not that it is applicable now but it is always I thought in the back of my mind.

His story of ruffing it out in the wilderness of being a superstar opens a heart or two to really understand where he is comming from. On a long and lonesome highway east of Omaha is a fairly famous stage for musicians that every group can relate to, when they feel lost from their public and their fans that kept them going throughout their entirety of their career. We are the fans and in some cases the fans become their dreams. The hope that started us as we watched regular human beings become superstars through things like American Idol in our era which is been renewed by the millenia we as teenagers can see how much of an impact our dreams can have on the world. We will always be chasing our dreams down a long and dusty road.


Turn The Page
By: Metallica

On a long and lonesome highway east of Omaha
You can listen to the engines moaning out as one note song
You think about the woman or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do
When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do
And you don't feel much like riding, you just wish the trip was through

Here I am - on the road again
There I am - up on the stage
Here I go - playing star again
There I go - turn the page



So you walk into this restaurant strung out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you, as you're shaking off the cold
You pretend it doesn't bother you, but you just want to explode
Yeah, most times you can't hear 'em talk, other times you can
Oh, the same old cliches, "Is it woman? Is it man?"
And you always seem outnumbered, you don't dare make a stand
Make your stand

Here I am - on the road again
There I am - up on the stage Here I go - playing star again
There I go - turn the page

Oo-ooh, out there in the spotlight, you're a million miles away
Every ounce of energy you try to give away
As the sweat pours out your body like the music that you play, yeah

Later in the evening, you lie awake in bed
With the echoes of the amplifiers ringing in your head
You smoke the day's last cigarette, remembering what she said
What she said He-he yeah

Here I am - on the road again
There I am - up on the stage
Here I go - playing star again There I go - turn the page
There I go - turn that page
There I go, yeah, yeah There I go, yeah, yeah
There I go, yeah
There I go, yeah
There I go, Oo-oo-ooh
There I go
And I'm gone

2nd Poetry Journal: Writer's Block in the Computer Age (pg. 187)

This picture really captivates the image of what the writer was trying to put across me as the reader. I totally understand the aggrivation of looking at the blinking cursor because even as I write this response I am not sure what to write about. This makes it a whole lot easier because the poem itself is talking about writer's block at the same time as me having writer's block. This is very ironic that my constant problem with writer's block comes about when I'm writing about the concept of it t0 begin with.

I often found in grade 9 when I would start to write that it was easier to write with an unclear idea than nothing at all. The concept of nothing discouraged me to write about anything at all so I would aimlessly look around until an idea sparked in my mind that was the only way I could get over the anxious problem of having a blank and impatient screen.

Writer's Block in the Computer Age
By: Peggy Smith Krachun (pg. 187 Imprints)

Cursor, cursor, blinking cursor
Shade of iridescent green
Cursor in the "Home" position
On my new computer screen

Cursor at the starting gate
Chomping at the bit and byte
Pawing at the screen, impatient
Nagging me to start to write

Cursor poised for the race
In Position One, Line One
Waiting for a brilliant word
To set off the starting gun

Until now a plain old scribbler
Was the only thing I'd use
On it I would draw and doodle
While I waited for the Muse

Now I have a winking cursor
Mocking me in brilliant green
Have you ever tried to doodle
On a blank computer screen?

Nagging cursor, cursed cursor
Blinking on without a sound
Go away until I'm ready
I'll never write with you around.

1st Poetry Journal- What I've Done by: Linkin Park

This song's lyrics have definitely inspired me to think about all aspects of our life. Every creature has their own economic footprint they leave on the earth and we as human beings don't realize how much damage we do to our own planet. Watching this video and already being a big fan of Linkin Park I took the time to look at the deeper meaning through the words and thought progressions. If we could stop for a minute and think through our actions before we just do them we could make a huge difference in the way our world is slowly dieing. Each time a person litters, wastes food/water sources or even drives around aimlessly for the sake of it; do they really know how much damage they are causing?

Not only do we do damage to the planet by wasting things, we also demote other races and start fascist stand points against them (Hitler, Osama Bin laden and many others). Weaponry and warfare does damage to the planet and us as well. Life is a vicious circle where there can be no peace without a battle to equal it out; whether it be a blood-bath, nuclear warfare, fascist dictators or just regular disrespect for our home. One of these days human beings will cause the demise of a peaceful home by dieing at the hands of their selfish creations. The maker will be smited by the products for a change if we don't change something soon. That is message this video and song put across to me.

What I've Done Lyrics

That Summer By: Sarah Dessen

This is my silent reading novel of choice, and I'd have to say that the story of Haven is a story that the young at heart can relate to. I really enjoyed as much of the book that I've read so far, which sadly is only about 36 pages, but I'm planning on really getting some time to focus on it during the long weekend. Ever since her mother and fathers divorce Haven has been a changed women, having to deal with her father's news of his affair with a women only two years older than her sister and her sister decided finally to settle down with the most unexpected guy in town.

Understanding the story through Haven's perspective has really got me thinking about how some families go through the worst struggles with Parents splitting up. I don't know what I would do without my parents being together, I don't think I could handle them fighting amongst each other and having to be quiet about letting them bicker. Divorce has to be the hardest thing to put children through. It's hard to look at women in society who marry simply to get half of what the man is worth, these girls are called "Gold-diggers" and unfortunately it is a popular trend nowadays. I'm starting to think that this "weatherpet", (Lorna Queen, who is the girl Haven's father is going to remarry with) is a gold-digger and is only interested in him because he is wealthy and popular. There has to be perks to it I don't see her sticking around if she wasn't getting something horribly important out of it given his age and her immaturity.

Not only is this whole divorce issue hard for Haven to coop with , but there's also the other side of the story with her sister who is 20 getting married for the first time and leaving home. Even though siblings fight a lot there is no reason why Haven would miss her sister Ashley. Being together in the same household all of their lives and now things were going to change and she was going to be without bother her sister and her father. She is to be alone in a torn household with her divorce crazed mother who is keeping herself so busy she doesn't even have time to think about it. Now that I can really relate the story to events through and or heard about it's interesting to see how the story will fold out. No two stories are the same if given through a different perspective, and the story told through the eyes of the older sister or the mother would be interesting to see as well.

The Masterharper of Pern, By: Anne McCaffrey

My novel is quite inspiring because it covers a familiar setting present in the study of music. The Masterharper of Pern is about this society that is run in the hills and mountain cliffs because of an outbreak of "spores" that killed all life as you knew it. This concept although it is lying dormant at the moment, destroyed a great deal of life as society had known it and than organizations were put together to stand up against it and others were put together to renew society. The master halls were created to perfect certain essential aspects of life such as Music, Medical Studies, Textiles, Furniture and many others much like our booming economic trades now a days. The industry lines and factories much represent the concept the author was trying to put forth, creating a familiar setting to how economy is run helped me to relate to what Anne wanted me to see as a reader.

Especially in the Music aspect which is where I am personally trying to take my education, the family present in the novel is a young mother with a beautiful soprano voice who understands a lot about musical theory, and her husband who writes complex musical scores to be performed for the hierarchy and sheer enjoyment of the wealthier folk. This reminds me of comparing how casual music playing and the industries that deal with it are completely different. In the Harper Hall (the place where musical study at a professional level takes place), people are taught to treat their musical studies and performances like their life; this is so much like University level music compared to high or middle schools. Even after their son Robinton is born their life still is revolved around spreading the knowledge of music, and it isn't until they decide to go traveling that Petiron (the husband and Masterharper) realizes that the world isn't always about playing music for studies but for enjoyment and as a pass time.

I'm almost afraid to go off to university because of how serious people take it as these levels, and how it's not about the sheer enjoyment in so many levels anymore. But I guess I will just have to suck it up and see where it takes me, besides it will be an interesting experience that I wont be able to experience unless I go for it.

My Narrative Essay

Dear Mrs. Corman,

I'm sorry that it was late comming in but I had no access to a computer this weekend and had other work that needed to be done. I hope you enjoy this essay and if there are any comments or areas you would like to discuss with me that would be very much so appreciated.

Sincerely,
Oryanna Pearce
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English 11: Narrative Essay Oryanna
Salem Lake March 9th, 2007.

I lay awake in bed awaiting the gleaming sunshine through the windowpanes, as I have every morning for as long as I can remember. The gentle morning breeze passes through the cracks in my cedar home giving me a fairly good understanding that the dew had just set in about an hour ago, and the sun would be rising shortly. It is not every morning I find myself lying awake, but I know that it’s best not to get up and out of bed until the sun begins to rise. I think to myself
“What did I have to do today?” pondering the steps I’d take to keep myself busy. I find that everyday there is less and less I can do to improve on the natural camp-like experience.

Just as I start to create a clearing picture the rays of joy creak through the stained glass window and pour out onto my pillow. “It is time to get up and start this bright and beautiful day.” I reassure myself, “I hope it doesn’t rain again like it was last week.” Unlike most springs, I had no campers booked to come in for another week, and I was already prepared for any group to pop in and stay for a while. How I missed having people around all the time. It gets so lonely out here on my own now that Muriel has passed away. The kettle begins to purr while I am sitting at the table, waiting to hear the whistle. Peering around my small cabin I looked to see if there was anything I could keep myself busy with until the sun had risen some more. The inside of cabin was unnaturally tidy for a lonely single old man, I had tried my best to keep it the way Muriel would’ve liked it.

The kettle squeals breaking my train of thought entirely, I get up from my restful sit and begin to pour the hot water into the tea pot to steep for it’s usually 3 minutes or so while I start the fire. My tea was ready, it was starting to warm up and the sun had gotten bright enough for me to go outside and collect up some firewood. Routines ran my life, every Wednesday I go collect firewood for not only my cabin but make sure that the other three cabins around the lake are stocked as well. I wander out of my humble home into a vast B.C. rain forest of cedars and spruce. The smell of dew fills my nostrils with a pleasant scent of the forest, and shadows formed by the old trees that danced on the brush and dirt below them. Ah! How I love the forest, a free paradise away from the busy and bustling city life of which I detested so greatly.
Caught up in my thoughts of how peaceful the forest is I passed right by my usual spot for chopping wood and had to backtrack to it. Now that I am older I need to start paying more attention to my chores and than have myself some leisure time.
I pulled a large log up from off the ground and began to chop away at it gradually. The longer it took me the more I began to heed my daughter’s advice.
“Dad you are getting too old for this, you need to start having some of the small tasks done for you. Even if you just ordered quarts of firewood out there and paid someone to put them out for you.” But at the time I didn’t want to listen I enjoyed my life style and wasn’t going to change it for the world.
“The less modernized my camp is the better the experience the campers seem to have with it.” I argued, although I knew her intentions were well I didn’t want to see my camp begin to be run by advances in technology and wanted it to be as realistic of an experience that I could make it.

Completely self absorbed into my thoughts I rush through chopping wood for the campsites and my own little cottage. Carrying a heavy armful of logs almost seamlessly as the ground is taken out from underneath my feet. All I remember is the sky seeming further and further away and large sharp pain in my leg. I had fallen into a bear trap that had been set up many summer’s ago by Muriel and myself. Not only was my leg bleeding profusely, but also I was starting to lose consciousness. The only thought at that moment that went through my head was my daughter’s words that were last spoken to me. I knew I needed help around me and it was too late now to call out for it. In my newly doomed state I remembered some events of my daughter’s childhood, a younger Muriel and I couldn’t stop thinking about the irony present in my current situation. The one time I didn’t heed my daughter’s words would be my last, as I slipped away into a deep sleep that I was never to wake up from.

Awakened as if by an angel I could hear my daughter’s voice at the end of a lit tunnel.
“Daddy! Please wake up I need you, don’t leave me.” Was this truly heaven? I thought to myself,
“Jacob, you cannot go yet dear it isn’t your time. A few more years in you yet I’m afraid.” A familiar voice chanted in a soothing tone it was at that moment that I saw my dear Muriel’s warm and soothing face. “I love you.” Were the last words spoken as I was pulled out of the darkness and into Carrie’s arms,

“I wish I would’ve not listened to you and spent my own money for someone to come take care of you. Than none of this would’ve ever happened.” My eyes opened softly to see Carrie’s face covered in tears, I smiled. Almost squealing in happiness she held me tight.
“The paramedics will be here soon father, so just rest up easy you’re going to need it.” She reassured me.

Unable to speak a word I nodded. I felt so helpless lying in her arms like a child again. We had exchanged roles now I could no longer take care of her or myself for that matter. And even with these thoughts I felt calm and easy about knowing that I would be there for my child and that Muriel was there for me, watching over me like a guardian angel.

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty By: James Thunder

At first I didn't really catch on to what the story was implying, but as it progressed I made a connection and really could follow where the character's mindset was. I can almost relate to the pictures the author was trying to create entirely because my Great Grandmother was quite similar but it was due to Alzheimer's that she would lose track of where she was and relive her events again. There weren't necessarily always the imaginative ones either sometimes she would relive an entire hour or so of her past, well that story reminded me a lot of her at least. I really enjoyed how in each story he was represented as this stereotypical hero type character, but in reality he was just a coward who got bossed around a lot by his wife. It was interesting though that objects and scenes around him caused his day dreaming sessions like the newspaper article, etc. Overall I pretty much well thought that this story was interesting and had room to grow in the reader's mind.