Long nights have been wasted in front of the screen,
Part from interest, most from withheld screams.
I read and read, and yet I feel the starting fear
That the something behind me is creeping ever near.
Could it be who was residing in the "Showers?"
Or an unsettled spirit, testing me with its powers?
Oh, "Sarah O'Bannon," you've been dead for years,
And yet how is it I'm still reduced to tears?
Murderers, monsters, I'm safe if my light is on,
I fear I might be dead or worse before reaching dawn.
Games are just games, or is it possible that
Slenderman is standing just behind my back?
Such brilliance in amateurs! I feel like they're King
Disguised and hiding behind the safety of the screen.
I hope that sound was just the cat,
I swear I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't that...
It's times like these I wish I weren't alone,
And I swear on my grave that I don't know "WHO WAS PHONE."
For the horror mind looking for a thrill,
Or the reader looking for his fill,
The tales of terror will invade your mind,
It will never disappoint, and many a time
You might find yourself in the same position as mine
Wishing you had someone next to you to give a sign.
As scared as I will be, I continue yearning for more
And thank God for every day that I can open "Doors."
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Sestina
I cannot count the time apart in days.
Remembering all those halfway-happy months
We helped ourselves from pits of despair,
Something I thought we could both take triumph,
But now I realize that victory was only half
And in the end, all but one was always gone.
How long, my friend, have you been gone?
You said not a word to me during those final days.
I never meant for us to be not whole but half.
Regretfully, we've been just two for months.
The sadness I alone manage to triumph...
My God, why didn't you tell me your despair?
Now I understand the depths of your despair
But it's too late, days of whole are gone.
If only I had known I was alone in triumph
My friend, I could have saved you from murderous days.
Now I've been alone for months
And in the end, I was the first to leave you half.
I thought I was the first to be alone and half.
But I unknowingly abandoned you when I ran from my despair.
My friend, you were alone for months
From your right hand I was gone,
But you don't know that I remembered you closely those days.
In my memory, it was you, not me, who had strength to triumph.
I never meant to be alone in our triumph
Because I was whole, but now I'm half.
I would have walked for days
Through frustration and despair
To see exactly where you've gone.
Both of our places have stolen all these months.
But now I'll sit and remember our past months
When I thought we both felt triumph.
I don't blame you for going where you've gone
My friend, we are not whole but half.
And now we're back to the start -- despair.
But the sun will also rise on the loneliest of days.
Yet I refuse to let our triumph be just half.
There will be hope going your way, gone will be despair.
One day, you'll be safe to live out every month with all its days.
Remembering all those halfway-happy months
We helped ourselves from pits of despair,
Something I thought we could both take triumph,
But now I realize that victory was only half
And in the end, all but one was always gone.
How long, my friend, have you been gone?
You said not a word to me during those final days.
I never meant for us to be not whole but half.
Regretfully, we've been just two for months.
The sadness I alone manage to triumph...
My God, why didn't you tell me your despair?
Now I understand the depths of your despair
But it's too late, days of whole are gone.
If only I had known I was alone in triumph
My friend, I could have saved you from murderous days.
Now I've been alone for months
And in the end, I was the first to leave you half.
I thought I was the first to be alone and half.
But I unknowingly abandoned you when I ran from my despair.
My friend, you were alone for months
From your right hand I was gone,
But you don't know that I remembered you closely those days.
In my memory, it was you, not me, who had strength to triumph.
I never meant to be alone in our triumph
Because I was whole, but now I'm half.
I would have walked for days
Through frustration and despair
To see exactly where you've gone.
Both of our places have stolen all these months.
But now I'll sit and remember our past months
When I thought we both felt triumph.
I don't blame you for going where you've gone
My friend, we are not whole but half.
And now we're back to the start -- despair.
But the sun will also rise on the loneliest of days.
Yet I refuse to let our triumph be just half.
There will be hope going your way, gone will be despair.
One day, you'll be safe to live out every month with all its days.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Blog #10 -- Comparison between "Orientation" and "Bartleby, the Scrivener"
The short stories "Orientation" and "Bartleby, the Scrivener" (by Daniel Orozco and Herman Melville respectively), while both work-centered, are different in more ways than just plot. Some of these differences include the interaction between co-workers, productivity (or lack thereof), and the value of the job for the individual.
The first difference lies in how the co-workers interact with each other. In "Orientation," there are a variety of different workers (more than in "Bartleby's" setting), but their interactions with each other are very detailed and have a variety of different levels, such as Russell Nash who is in love with Amanda Pierce, who is married with an autistic son, but loves Albert Bosch who in turn loves someone who hates him (pg. 46-47). In "Bartleby, the Scrivener," there are less workers and even fewer, if any, female characters. The co-workers are all male with their own quirks and personalities and jobs (410). However, they all seem to get along with one another fairl well, except for, perhaps, Bartleby, who prefers to live like a hermit in his office and generally not do anything (415). In work-like settings, there will always be different dynamics and eccentricities. Both of these short stories take the meaning of "eccentricity" to a new level, but they are also different forms of eccentricity.
The next difference between the two stories is the productivity (or general lack thereof). In "Orientation," work and productivity are generally required, even if that includes stretching your workload to fit the eight-hour day (46) or "you may be let go." However, in "Bartleby," the narrator actually placates the non-productivity of his eccentric employee. Even when trying to fire him, the narrator doesn't necessarily take an aggressive stance by any means of the word, regardless that no work was getting done. (422) In most work places, like in "Orientation," work is expected and demanded of the employee, and if not given there would be no question in firmly firing the person. In Bartleby's case though, he continued to be an employee even after he failed to remain productive.
the third and last difference I'll mention is about the value of the job for the individual. In "Orientation," someone would really have to value their job in order to stick around with serial killers and crazy fortune tellers (49), and it seems as if the tour guide, so to speak, has valued their job enough to avoid not being "let go." However, when looking at Bartleby in "Bartleby, the Scrivener," it is clear that he values something, but it probably isn't the job so much as it is the security of it. He even blatantly gives up working, but refuses to outright quit -- or even really be fired for that matter. (424) In the real world, it's often hard to value a job for any more than its security. In "Orientation," the tour guide values some aspect of the job enough to know and give the new guy all of the dirty details, while Bartleby in "Bartleby, the Scrivener" seems to value the security of the concept of a job over any aspect of the job itself.
The first difference lies in how the co-workers interact with each other. In "Orientation," there are a variety of different workers (more than in "Bartleby's" setting), but their interactions with each other are very detailed and have a variety of different levels, such as Russell Nash who is in love with Amanda Pierce, who is married with an autistic son, but loves Albert Bosch who in turn loves someone who hates him (pg. 46-47). In "Bartleby, the Scrivener," there are less workers and even fewer, if any, female characters. The co-workers are all male with their own quirks and personalities and jobs (410). However, they all seem to get along with one another fairl well, except for, perhaps, Bartleby, who prefers to live like a hermit in his office and generally not do anything (415). In work-like settings, there will always be different dynamics and eccentricities. Both of these short stories take the meaning of "eccentricity" to a new level, but they are also different forms of eccentricity.
The next difference between the two stories is the productivity (or general lack thereof). In "Orientation," work and productivity are generally required, even if that includes stretching your workload to fit the eight-hour day (46) or "you may be let go." However, in "Bartleby," the narrator actually placates the non-productivity of his eccentric employee. Even when trying to fire him, the narrator doesn't necessarily take an aggressive stance by any means of the word, regardless that no work was getting done. (422) In most work places, like in "Orientation," work is expected and demanded of the employee, and if not given there would be no question in firmly firing the person. In Bartleby's case though, he continued to be an employee even after he failed to remain productive.
the third and last difference I'll mention is about the value of the job for the individual. In "Orientation," someone would really have to value their job in order to stick around with serial killers and crazy fortune tellers (49), and it seems as if the tour guide, so to speak, has valued their job enough to avoid not being "let go." However, when looking at Bartleby in "Bartleby, the Scrivener," it is clear that he values something, but it probably isn't the job so much as it is the security of it. He even blatantly gives up working, but refuses to outright quit -- or even really be fired for that matter. (424) In the real world, it's often hard to value a job for any more than its security. In "Orientation," the tour guide values some aspect of the job enough to know and give the new guy all of the dirty details, while Bartleby in "Bartleby, the Scrivener" seems to value the security of the concept of a job over any aspect of the job itself.
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