Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck.I like the way Joyce uses streams of consciousness here to connect the mating flies to a memory of a sexual encounter between his wife and himself. The passage is particularly powerful near the end, when Joyce gets more explicit by mentioning "nipples" and "tongues." The sexual encounter reaches its peak just as Bloome thinks "she kissed me" (my emphasis), and then the word "me" leads him back to the present, the "me now" (again, my emphasis). Then he sees the flies again. At this point, Joyce brings the passage full circle, and one might even say that, in a way, he uses the romantic memory of the Bloomes' lovemaking to fill in the details of the "stuck" flies' own lovemaking. We MIGHT even be tempted to say that he compares/contrasts the flies and the Bloomes and, doing so, humanizes the flies or, conversely, animalizes Bloome and his wife.
Glowing wine on [Bloome's] palate lingered swallowed. Crushing in the winepress grapes of Burgundy. Sun's heat it is. Seems to a secret touch telling me memory. Touched his sense moistened remembered. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth. Below us bay sleeping sky. No sound. The sky. The bay purple by the Lion's head. Green by Drumleck. Yellowgreen towards Sutton. Fields of undersea, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities. Pillowed on my coat she had her hair, earwigs. In the heather scrub my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. O wonder! Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me, caressed: her eyes upon me did not turn away. Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweet and sour with spittle. Joy: I ate it: joy. Young life, her lips that gave me pouting. Soft, warm, sticky grumjelly lips. Flowers her eyes were, take me, willing eyes. Pebbles fell. She lay still. A goat. No-one. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Wildly I lay on her, kissed her; eyes, her lips, her stretched neck, beating, woman's breasts full in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed me. I was kissed. All yielding she tossed my hair. Kissed, she kissed me.
Me. And me now.
Stuck, the flies buzzed.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
While Virgina brings up many points as to the struggles of women in writing, I would like to question this in a very different light. The genre of sports seems to much the same as writing. As many women were unable to compete in any form of competition let alone to be considered some of the greatest athletes of their generation. Yet, has this changed today, I would argue that just as Wolfe has seen the writings of women go from none to the abilities to write about lesbian relations, women in the area of sport have gone from no recognition to being considered some of the greatest athletes of their generations. I would argue that, Virgina Wolfe, sheds light not only to the struggles of women during the time of her writing, she has shed light to a genre of women struggles in society.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
"Im living a life I have no wish to live..." (Virginia Woolf)
"It (meaning her previous life) was death....I chose life." (Laura Brown)
"To look life in the face, and know it for what it is, love it, and then put it away..."(Virginia Woolf)
It is amazing but the movie almost seems to leave me with a sense of having experienced what is described in this last quote.
A beautiful film to the very last moment.
I.e., men stop hating…give the women an equal opportunity, or give ‘em a room by themselves, with some financial support.
A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.
Finally, a gender's issue that isn't forced! Mary Beton/Seton/Carmichael very plainly, easily, and happily writes a story for us which we can understand. She contends that Judith Shakespeare, a fictional sister of William's, would not have been afforded the same respect had she the same talents as her brother. In a metaphorical sense she asks for five hundred pounds a year to sustain any female author as she writes.
But this is not any militant feminism. Instead, she seems to be promoting the poetic license of any artist, so long as all are given equal credit and equal criticism for their individual efforts. Oxbridge, then, becomes a satire of the previously masculocentric literary world.
That a woman should be given the same opportunity as a man seems justified and fair.
While sitting, reading, and thinking in a room of my own with five hundred a year, these series of thoughts came to me.----“For we have too much likeness as it is!” With that quote, Virginia Woolf (or Mary Seton, Mary Beton, Mary Carmichael, or whomever) suggests that
Virgina Woolf’s essay A Room of One’s Own is an account of Woolf’s Opinion of women’s literature during the 1920’s. Women’s oppression in the literary world is the theme of the essay, and this is made clear due to Woolf’s feminist tone throughout.
Although Woolf does come across as a feminist in the essay her message is not to bash male authors by any means, she is simply outlining women’s role in literature and seemingly making the reader aware of their situation during this time.
Not only is Woolf reviewing women’s literature but the actual ability to create an art form of any kind. She states that women are unable to do so as they have not had the options perhaps that male authors and scholars have received.
The opportunities of education, publication, experiences through travel to write about, and furthermore a simple writing space to create literature, hence the title A Room of One’s Own. Women’s roles were more important at home, than out making any kind of money or getting an education in the 1920’s, so chances of becoming a success through literature was extremely unlikely.
In conclusion my first read of Virgina Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own was enjoyable as It gave a first hand account of some of the pressures women had to go through in the 1920’s. Woolf affectively delivers her opinions, seemingly as a feminist although her thoughts never overpowered me, which was nice. The part on Shakespeare’s sister was particularly interesting because it was intriguing to think if Shakespeare was a female would she have got the similar recognition that he did?
It’s a reciprocal hate that she is unjustified in returning.
“Turn the Other Cheek.”
Who Am I to judge though, because the same time, is hers not a simple request that can’t be given? Was not England the bastion of liberalism, ushering in the 20th century? Obviously, as we have been learning, NOT! The Women wanted Only 500 pounds, equivalent to a “simple lifestyle, not worrying about food, or living expenses”?
I guess that I can’t speak, not having been particularly around nor a minority when she was writing.
BUT, its at the same time, not like she didn’t have food to eat. A dinner of plain soup (WHAT WAS SO PLAIN ABOUT IT?), aveage beef, some vegetables and potatoes (IRISH HAD JUST EXPERIENCED A FAMINE), and bad custard, prunes, biscuits and CHEESE, along with water.
She could have been eating that night the grass she so wanted to walk on!!!
And more reasonable, when the men are ahead, or anyone for that manner, why would she we want to emulate their example?
I’ll think I’ll return to my room, as a White Male, a White Male…
She was sensible in her arguments, often balancing her "Women have served... as looking glasses... reflecting the figure of man a twice its natural size (2110)" statements with those like "All who have brought about a state of sex-consciousness are to blame (2146)." She does not let her observations on women lead to an overarching, patriotic call to arms for the empowerment of women worldwide. And for this I am thankful.
But it isn't her sensibility that makes me like Virginia - rather, it is this that keeps me from disliking Virginia. She befriends me when she sentimentalizes "reality," the reality that "overwhelms one walking home beneath the stars and makes the silent world more real than the world of speech (2149)." Hers is a sensitive reality, that which quietly transcends the clamoring parlor talk of certain Granvilles and Percys. And to her, experiencing and concentrating this reality in the written word is the most notable job of the author: "to find it and collect it and communicate it to the rest of us (2149)."
This is, I think, a power of the arts which is absent in most other studies - the power to overwhelm you in that lucid feeling of transcendence which arises after you read good literature, listen to a good song, watch a good movie: the power to, if only for a moment, redefine your reality. It's in Salinger's Catcher in the Rye; Fitzgerald's letters to his wife, Zelda; Camus' The Stranger; Eliot's The Cocktail Party; the movie American Beauty; the song Heroin by the Velvet Underground; paintings by Edward Hopper - at least for me.
For Ms. Woolf, no doubt, it was in a room of one's own, reading Shakespeare.
This is the second time I have read Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. Each time I read this pseudo-story/essay, the phrase “poverty of our sex” stands out (Norton Anthology 2102). With this phrase, Woolf combines two instances of hardship: the lack of money—and inherent low quality of life—and the oppression of the female gender. The combination of these two elements really comes to life in this line: “Every penny I earn […] will be taken from me and disposed of according to my husband’s wisdom […] so that to earn money, even if I could earn money, is not a matter that interests me very greatly. I had better leave it to my husband” (2103). With this quote, we can see how men oppressed women even WITH money; in this respect, there seems to be a never-ending cycle of subjugation between money and the women of the era about which Woolf speaks, and it seems this would be especially true of the POOR women of the time. Being women, they already encounter oppression, and with little or no money in the family bank, such oppression would increase exponentially. Of course, we must remember that women in lower-class families would probably do more, and thus perhaps even control money in some instances, unlike the “rich brat” of the upper class, who has everything handed to her. We should also remember that these aspects of society do not simply disappear in our time, and we should examine them more closely in EITHER time. However, due to the space and time constraints of this short assignment, we will not be able to go into more detail. Finally, it is important to note Woolf’s use of her own streams of consciousness, the thoughts that lead her to the following conclusion: “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction” (2092; emphasis mine). Woolf’s streams of consciousness carry the story for over fifty pages (in the Norton), and they give insight into Woolf’s revelation—examples and proof as to why women, in her view, live and work in abject poverty. One such example is when Woolf goes to the library and realizes that men wrote the bulk of the books there, and a lot of them are even about women, but women have had little/no agency to write similar books about men (2105).
Monday, February 18, 2008
The narrator of this piece claims that through all of her rambling she has only one opinion on the topic of woman and fiction (her essay topic): a women needs money and a private room to write good fiction. Of course to come to this conclusion she combs through many themes, one of which carries over from “The Mark on the Wall:” the subjective vs. objective truth. She continues to argue that people think subjectively, and that any objective analysis contains little truth because it is shaped solely by men. Early in “A Room of One’s Own” she points out that any controversial issue, which sex is, cannot hold any truth, rather “one can only show how one came to hold whatever opinion one does hold” (2093). It is because of this that the narrator chooses to write about woman and fiction through fiction as opposed to fact. It is through this line of thought that the narrator eventually reaches one of her most important points: that women should write what they want to write with little worry of judgment. An objective judgment of a women’s writing by a man is nearly impossible, therefore to worry what others think of your writing is “the most abject treachery” (2147). Woman need to understand that the measuring stick and the game of praise and blame are futile efforts when one simply writes what they wish.
To write about a subject like women or men there are always two sides. What the men see and what the women see. Both side will be bias and this biases contain a view that the other would not one hundred percent agree with. Also, depending on what you are looking for in a text depends on what sexed author you should read. Woolf shows a how mans view of the world can depress a woman’s will to create and be imaginative through the texts and the authors that she views and her experiences at Oxbridge. This is what supports her thesis, “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Women need their own space away from the oppressed views that men have placed in societies eye.
"The clock is there, right in front of me, high on the wall. It is always going and never ending. It just keeps ticking away. That constant ticking just means time is always going and on the move. That just means our life is always slipping way from us, if we are not watchful. Time is always drifting away. It can be easy to be left in the dust if your not careful..last night when I was writing my religion 273 paper, I just watched the clock and time tick away. Time just keeps slipping away, that why everyone needs to sieze the day."
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Besides, why am I writing in a stream of consciousness format? So that I can feed into my sub-mind and then understand deeper of my mind? Deeper into what I really am? Is it not better to reason and slowly move along, taking small steps that are necessary, so that I may not reach wrong conclusions? Isn't delineating by a reasoned process a better process?? A BETTER B-e-t-t-e-r process.
But that's fine, the music is too low, and then the conversation is too loud, about people and "who they are," how much they "dedicate to who they are." Why do you have to talk so loud?
Isn't silence the better option of the two? Isn't keeping a closed, quiet, reserved mouth better? Or not, because I'll keep talking and as the bullets fall from the gun, we'll just remain quiet, and subject to the scars that chalk leaves on boards.
The female and male pieces go together perfectly, why can't we go together that easily? It is making a face at me, two eyes, one nose, but without a mouth. I think this lack of a mouth demonstrates well my current inability to talk to you. How long has it been? Only a few days I'm sure...seems longer. The three holes surely meet in the middle, bundles of wire, electricity flowing together, creating something positive. I want this feeling. I had it...I lost it. Still I feel the face is mocking me. Is this a giant prank, where you step out from the shadows with a smile, and the happy ending of every romantic comedy lives again. Not likely.
I’m thirsty, I’m bored, and I wish I were some other place right now working on something I think might have a bit more meaning to it. The list of interesting activities numbers in the hundreds, but those at the top of my list includes chatting with Amanda or Ashley, even though I’m sure they’re either too busy or uninterested. Playing Halo 3 or Rainbow Six Vegas would make me seen either antisocial or lazy, unless I was playing with a group of friends I got along with. But I’m not lazy, I’m just restless and eager to get away from here and walk around, listen to some good techno or J-pop on my Ipod. My water bottle is nearby, so I can grab a quick swig and get back to thinking about my list of amazing activities outside of this place. It’s funny, normally sleep would be the first thing on any sane persons list of activities outside of the classroom, but it’s not on my to-do list. Or rather, it’s more like at the very end of it. Besides that…oh, time to leave. Maybe I put time to some of those fun little possibilities I just thought about…starting with a quick visit to the water fountain. My bottle feels a bit empty.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Map and big ships with white sails carrying trades and goods and slaves. Injuns and pre-Americans living together captured by their own desires of prosperity they paranoia-insecurity and travelling acrosses the marshes or sands to stop the voices in their heads by killing them Indians. Irrespective. Disrespecting. The quiet doesn't last. It comes back to kill they kill they kill. Nonetheless and forward more further the understanding of psychologically latent behaviours behaviors and the succesful commercialization by Edward Burneys I don't know how to spell his name Freud travles to America with women marching together light a smoke tell a joke codefied crack fiend lean on the leans of the poor and strip away like gunshots speak knock knock who's at my door speak speak speak kill the victim, mother a.k.a whore scrape off scrape off scrape off lil 'tasha harlin's orange juice head band gunshot spoke to her she can't hear no more voices speak run away love run away love run away i hate that song anyways the fake Ludacris-heart sympathy Lupe kills it without needing to it's the difference between truth and honesty love and in love hip hop and rap rap it up wrap it up
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
In an attempt to make sense of everything i just laid out, the purpose of the movie came when Richard asked: "what do you do with all the hours? the hours after, the hours in the morning?" or something to that effect. Being scarred by some event, in this case emotional, what do you do with the remaining hours of your life? Is it your life? When did your life not become yours anymore--when did you lose control of your life? In answer of this, Mrs. Woolf kills herself, Julianne Moore saves herself and runs away--from traditional responsibilities of the wife, the kids and the husband. Meryll Streep didn't have a husband, she had a wife-sort of, and maybe she didn't have any physical thing to escape. But there is that void--the reason she is Mrs. Dalloway. That part of the movie I couldn't really figure, and I'm not saying it was a great movie, or that I'll bother to watch it again. Actually, I don't know if I have anything more to say.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Francis Ford Coppola had to have chosen the song to introduce the mood//movie.
I find it interesting that Cop. had his Marlowe (named Willard) be an ex-liteuaneant, sufferring from depression. I guess with film adaptations, such as this one, background//situational building is a necessary/crucial thing. I wonder if Coppola could have done justice to the adaptation if he hand't chosen the Vietnam conflict?
... OOO he just punched the mirror. Blood, and then beer. Not necessarily a good combination.
Back to what I was saying --- the parallels are obviously there between the savagery of the African jungle and the Vietjungle, the Black tribal and Charlie. Was Francis' work then, a political statement, channelling the festering feeling against the war? Was his work completed during the war, or was it made post the ending of the war?
...Now playing the tape of Captain Kurtz:
I watched a snail crawl along the edge .... back in my dream... Its my nightmare, crawling, slithering along the edge of the straight razor and surviving.
But this kingdom, we must incinerate them, pig after pig, cow arfter cow, villian after villian, ... and they call me an assasin, what do you call it when the assasins accuse the assasin? they lie, and you have to be merciful for their lies..
those Nabalms(?) ... I hate them.
this is the scene. There is a deep and strong emphasis in the scene modeled by how Coppola is shooting it: hearing a Kurtzian narrative while just focusing on just an assortment of plates and food. The speech tingles the spine; we, as watchers, are stuck, glued to Kurtz's deep voice.
"Sometimes the dark side overcomes what we call the better aims of our nature."
Once again, the theme of the "dark," or "darkness" returns. They (The American Government) (akin to the Trading Company) want to kill Kurtz ( or in the orig. H of D, want him dismissed//almost like they are mad at him for ignoring the rules of colonialism).
"Terminate with Extreme Prejudice!" - This guy hadn't spoken yet? Therefore what he says is important? Why did Coppola chose to include him?
The surfing Captain represents who? But of Course:: The accountant in White: He tries to surf//make things exactly like home.
I love parallels, but alas I must leave and enjoy the rest of the movie.
As they say in America, Good Bye.
Monday, February 4, 2008
the wide heaven opens up
fall the world away
dipped, in the cold night
my white oily fingers now
the liquid moonlight
the snake rummaged through the leaves
watch: the virgin world
Standing in the snow
tall, the tops of giant elms
mirrors in the night
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Leans over, to kiss
Towards blue sky, her mouth shuts
Quenching the Earth sand.
In response to the Album “Cat Stevens: Classics, Vol. 24”
Yes Cat, Sasquatch sir
If I sing loud out –AHEM!
I’d be shunned by them.
Sixty seconds left
Strolling through the blonde midnight
Hold your breath, Now. Jump!
Fireworks, taste of the Chi
I’m so proud of you.
(In response to Kanye West's song, "Homecoming")
Saint Patrick’s Day, Green
Goes the Chicago River,
Beer, Hair, Hearts, and Souls.
Shines bright lights over the lake
First place I found love.
wet city street lamps
blur laughing sinatra cars
to the apartment
fitzgerald to zelda
wise and tragic sense.
"zelda, save me the waltz," since.
smoky saloon jazz
zelda to fitzgerald
"ah-ha, Mr. Scott!
...nice girls smoke cigarettes" too,
loft cocktails black shoes
Saturday, February 2, 2008
One thing that amused me was that in Apocalypse Now you can hear the men on Willard's boat call the Vietnamese "savage" but the only time Willard uses the word "savage" he is referring to the other American soldiers. Also, just as Marlowe uses the ship's horn to scare away natives, the Chef uses the ship's siren to scare away the Cambodians. And of course, when Willard kills Kurtz he then whispers, "The Horror! The Horror!"