Wednesday September 09, 2009 at exactly 8:00 p.m. my little brother waited, patiently tucked in his bed for his birthday surprise from his sister. His gift was really no surprise at all; this mysterious gift began with the words “Once upon a time…”.

image from Wikipedia

Each year when the little one celebrates his birth anniversary I give him the gift of a fairy tale; fairy tales never cease to fulfill my little brother’s increasing appetite for literature. My decision of reading him a new fairy tale each year as a gift has a purpose of course. While I do believe that it’s imperative for my little brother to get hooked on literature at the tender age of four, my purpose goes beyond that as I could have easily chosen to read to him from Dr. Seuss.

My brother and I, like a lot of beings in this world, do not live in the most perfect household, and if we did, wouldn’t that be a miracle? I do not recall a time that my brother and I have seen much beyond our house, the school, and the doctor. We aren’t even allowed to go out and play; catching a cold or the air being heavily polluted are the biggest concerns of our parents. The fairy tales deliver to my little brother the portal to a world where the nonexistent exist and the grass really is is greener.

My brother is at an age when “playtime” is very meaningful. It is very painful to see my little brother stare with teary eyes through the glass back door. He stares and stares as if he stared long enough he could possibly unleash a hidden power from his eyes that would break the glass that keeps him from the wonders of our backyard. Whether it’s climbing the massive apple trees from Little Red Riding Hood or kicking a soccer ball through the long corridors of King Midas’s gold complex I am sure that my little brother has infinite imaginary fun.

My brother is quite young to understand a lot of situations, but his developing intelligence amazes me. He surely does not know what he wants to be when he grows up; that’s a decision that comes with time. Victor begins to develop an identity when exposed to fairy tales. He can either choose to join the dark forces and become Maleficent’s minion or be the heroic Prince Philip that makes the happily ever after possible. Being able to connect to a character makes my little brother able to decide in the real world what he is ready to be. This decision is heavily influenced by the case that evil characters dwell in doom while the hero/heroine indulges in the enticing riches that the happily ever after ending brings.

My brother is a pacifistic fellow and very courteous even for his age, an age in which kids are very dynamic. I dared him the other day to steal a cookie from mother’s cookie jar. For sure I thought he would, as the cookies were no ordinary store-bought Oreos. They were homemade pecan powdered angels, his favorite. He looked at me with an angry yet angelical facial expression. He was disappointed in me for trying to turn him into Ali Baba. In fact, he reminded me that I myself was doing something very evil as I tried to manipulate him like the Big Bad Wolf. He advised me to not ever let this occur again or I myself would end up in the streets like Cinderella’s ugly step-sisters.

Wednesday September 09, 2009 at exactly 8:30 p.m., Victor fell asleep as I finished reading Jack and the Bean Stalk. I was the first one to introduce to him the world where the Three Little Pigs, the Ugly Duckling, and sweet porridge come from; I do not regret it at all. I strongly believe that developing infants should have the pleasure of entering a world of fantasy galore. There are some individuals who insist that tales are stale and the only things that come from them are lies, which is true in some ways. Even children know that dragons do not storm down Prairie Ave., but when did it become a crime to have such an imagination? Learning is more than just mathematics and grammar; one has to learn how to drive the heart through personal choices.

“The recollection of such reading as had delighted him in his infancy, made him always persist in fancying that it was the only reading which could please an infant… ‘Babies do not want (said he) to hear about babies; they like to be told of giants and castles, and of somewhat which can stretch and stimulate their little minds.’”

Mrs. Thrale
Anecdotes of Samuel Johnson
1786

-Rosa Ramos

Creation belongs to the creator, and it is unjust for another to claim that creation as his/her own, and it is further insulting when it tries to be imitated, and the only result from the imitation is a feeble claim to be that very creation. Philip Larkin, viewed as a crazy man for the activities in his personal life (i.e., his obsession with pornography), was a peculiar kind of person. He was an English man, who was never afraid to speak out.

Larkin’s magnificence as a poet is well known throughout England, as he is hailed as “one of the greatest English poets of the latter half of the twentieth-century.” And of course his personality was not reflected by his poetry. His saying that poetry is for the poet alone is very protective, yet unclear. In his statement, Larkin does not define his meaning of the word “poetry,” henceforth it could mean an array of things.

In today’s world, some people may define musical lyrics as poetry, and to some extent they are correct. Musical lyrics have all of the characteristics a poem has, but there is a significant difference between poetry and music. First off, there is a wide number of musical genres all different from each other, so this alone draws a line of separation between the two, because one can not call instrumental music poetry, it is just unfitting. However, the music that does in fact have lyrics is still different because although the lyrics are present, there is a harmonious accompaniment present, and the joining of the two creates something similar, yet different from their previous properties.

Recording artists who have published their music lyrics as poetry have done nothing wrong in accordance with Larkin’s belief. As said above, music lyrics can be considered poetry, and this is because of two main reasons. First, because music lyrics have poetry characteristics, and second, because Larkin did not denote his connotation of the word “poetry,” so as long as it is not strictly interpreted, music lyrics published by artists such as Tupac Shakur, ought to be considered poetry.

The truth of the matter is that there is only but a dashed line separating music and poetry, where the dashes allow for some overlap to be possible. Music is not complete music without lyrics, and lyrics can not be possible if there is no poet behind the pen. It may be that the two are very similar, but the line remains regardless. Music can not be called poetry and poetry can not be called music.

The one interesting thing where that dashed line takes effect, and things are able to overlap, is in the content of both art forms. Poetry often reflects on some aspect of society or of the individual, likewise music does the same. Tupac Shakur, in his music, often spoke about his cultural and political views. He was often criticized about it, but nonetheless he did not stop. Then there are those other artists who do the same type of thing in other genres such as The Beatles. The Beatles’ best example of reflection on society would probably be their song “Revolution.” This song criticizes Mao Zedong and his Chinese revolution. This is not to mention the numerous love songs out there, because there are far more love songs than are possible to mention than political linked songs. Likewise poems such as those of John Donne are perfectly surrounded by love, and the poems concerning other subjects tend to be more of a rare sight.

The fact of the matter is that it all depends on the individual to decide the difference between music and poetry, a matter of being constricted, or open about the subject. I see them as very similar things, yet with some differences. In the end though, people should not be so concerned about what belongs where because it is all for the purpose of art, literary or musical. The line exists, but again, it is only a dashed line, where key things overlap, not as a simple coincidence but as a necessity. It is like cheese and milk, where cheese is not cheese without milk, and music is not music without poetry. We enjoy them both.

-Juan Carlos Gonzalez

Works Cited

“Philip Larkin.” Wikipedia. Wikipedia. 12 Jan 2008 . http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Larkin.
“Tupac Shakur.” Wikipedia. Wikipedia. 12 Jan 2008. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tupac_Shakur.
“The Beatles.” Wikipedia. Wikipedia. 12 Jan 2008. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Beatles.

What I want to talk to you about is something that was banned by the Greeks, feared by the Egyptians, worshiped by the Hindus, and only fully understood by the Mayans. The Babylonians first came up with this concept, but they didn’t really know what they had. What we are talking about today is, zero, naïf, null, zero, nada…

The Ancient Greeks, believed that a number had to obey certain principles of mathematics: when you add a number to a number that number should get bigger, and when you subtract that number should get smaller. Zero does not obey this principle. It refuses to get bigger. It also refuses to make any other number bigger or smaller. Zero is a real rebel. For this reason the use of Zero was banned by the Greeks.

It is hard for us to imagine being afraid of a number, yet Zero was inexorably linked with the void — with nothing. There was a primal fear of void and chaos. There was also a fear of Zero. Most ancient peoples believed that only emptiness, chaos, and void were present before the universe came to be. At first, darkness was the mother of things, and from darkness sprang void and chaos; from which spawned the rest of creation. Emptiness and disorder were the primeval, natural state of the cosmos, and there was always a nagging fear that at the end of time, disorder and void would reign once more. Zero represented that void. That is why the Egyptians feared it.

India, as a society that actively explored the void, accepted Zero. But Indian mathematicians did more than simply accept Zero, they transformed it, changing its role from a mere placeholder to number. This reincarnation was what gave Zero its power. In Hinduism the god Shiva was both a creator and a destroyer of the world and was depicted with the drum of creation in one hand and the flame of destruction in another. However, Shiva also represented nothingness. One aspect of the deity, Nishkala Shiva, was literally the Shiva ‘’without parts.’’ He was the ultimate void, the supreme nothing; lifeless incarnate. To achieve nothingness again, which meant not being a part of the reincarnation cycle, was the ultimate goal of mankind. And because Zero represented not only the highly revered Shiva, but the main goal of many Hindus, it began to be worshiped.

It is important to know that Zero was not only significant to ancient civilizations, or just a number in math. Zero has the power of logic and the power to destroy things, which takes me to an episode on September 21, 1997 when zero hit the USS Yorktown like a torpedo. While cruising off the coast of Virginia, the billion dollar missile shuddered to a halt. Yorktown was dead in the water. Warships are designed to withstand the strike of a torpedo or the blast of a mine. Though it was armored against weapons, nobody had thought to defend the Yorktown from Zero. That was a grave mistake. The Yorktown’s computer had just received a new software that was controlling the engines. Unfortunately, nobody had spotted the time bomb lurking in the code, a zero that engineers were supposed remove while installing the new software. But for one reason or another, the Zero was overlooked, and it stayed in the code. Hidden, that is, until the software called it into memory, and choked.

When the Yorktown’s computer system tried to divide by Zero, 80,000 horsepower instantly became worthless. It took nearly three hours to attach emergency controls to the engines and the Yorktown then limped into port. Engineers spent two days getting rid of the Zero, repairing the engines, and putting the Yorktown back into fighting trim. No other number can do such damage.

-Noris Benitez

How is beauty defined? Is it one set stereotypical look? Is it inside or out? Can anyone find it in themselves, or are some just destined to be “ugly” their entire lives?

Is it found in the emaciated faces of girls institutionalized and fed through tubes? Can it even be found in their hearts anymore — starving to be beautiful and a goal weight of zero?

Can it be found in the toilet bowl of a bulimic on the verge of a heart attack — fingers jammed down her throat, just trying to deprive herself of everything? Her eyes were once vivid and full of hope. Are her eyes beautiful?

Super models are always beautiful; stick thin, an eight ball and a half a day habit, but you cannot forget that perfect runway walk. Perfect bodies, perfect face, perfect hair, perfect clothes, slender, and graceful, their ribs poke at their skin as they lines off of bathroom sinks, or toilet seats. Numb lips, numb throats. Beautiful, right?

The girl that every guy dreams of must be beautiful. Every girl at school envies her. Syphilis and herpes never even fazed her. They don’t love her, but they want her, and that’s enough. Right? She’s been going strong since she turned thirteen and shows no sign of slowing down any time soon. Beautiful? She must be. Why else would she be the subject of so many wet dreams?

Dying to be beautiful. Broken and flawed and anything but beautiful. So very far from perfection. The beautiful destroying themselves. This is what we crave. The fatalities are ignored as long as hundreds of thousands of beautiful carbon copies are produced. Is the empty shell of American culture so influential that it has blinded everyone to what true beauty is? If society continues to push, then eventually we’ll all fall and succumb to being “beautiful,” rather than ourselves.

-Angie Gonzalez