Poetry

	Memories
	The Last Bow
	Angel
	Crying Out
	Drifted
	Together Forever
	Disappear Forever
	Untitled 2

Essay/Prose

	Brave New World book review)
	Cruelty of Youth

Short Story

	Untitled 1
	350º and Simmering
	Resonance
	Moving On
	Untitled 3
	Insecticide

so many memories,
so much love.
i never felt sad,
you never got mad.
you apologized for every little thing,
even though it wasn't your fault.
i miss you, i really do,
but obviously,
you ain't missin me too.
if i could turn
back the hands of time,
i'd make sure i said no,
instead of wasting our time.
it was like Romeo and Juliet,
but i made sure,
and i didn't forget,
cause a tragic endin is just so sad,
we had to end it, cause
i think we both got hurt,
just a little, just a tad.
i hope you're not mad,
and i'm sure you're not,
since you've hooked up with her,
you're silent, but i'm just the one you had.
once in a lifetime,
and never again,
will i make the same mistake,
and be stuck, with memories,
equaling a million, plus ten.
depressing memories:
of you, of me, of what used to be,
and is no more...
memories of us.
 

Everyday, all over the world, people are dying due to genetic diseases that are currently incurable.  Recently scientists have been exploring the concept of genetically cloning humans to find cures or produce organs for these people.  If this is done, children born with the fatal disease cystic fibrosis could get a lung transplant from their "clones", and aids patients may be able to get a complete blood transfusion made without the HIV virus.  But what if humans took the next step? What if humans abused the scientific technology and tried to cure things such as obesity, idiocy, or ugliness?  What if humans started creating babies as smart as Albert Einstein, as athletic as Michael Jordan, and  as beautiful as Brittany Spears?  In Aldous Huxley's novel Brave New World , these are precisely the themes he explores. 
The book is about a race of people who are strictly divided into social classes and who have abandoned all else for the sake of contentment.  From the lowest race, the dwarfed semi-moron Epsilons to the highest race, the super intelligent Alpha pluses, people are grouped by their stature and intelligence, both of which are determined by the government before birth in a laboratory.  All humans in this new civilization are cloned in a laboratory and raised to associate only with others of their class. The only exception to this rule are the people who live in " the reservations".  The reservation is a part of the country where the savages live.  The savages are people who practice roughly the same style of life as we do now. The savages still practice natural childbirth and respect the same social rules as current society does.  In the new society nobody marries or has children, all their life consists of is small amounts of light work and to seek fulfillment to their infanti!
le urges. 
But there is one person who is not content in the world of amusement without any suffering.  Bernard Marx, the main character, feels the need to rebel against the society that has worked so hard to make its people obedient, loyal, and content.  Marx doesn't necessarily want a life of misery but he would rather have a life filled with real agony and real vitality then the predictable euphoria that comes from having all needs satisfied. 
Marx, in an effort to find a life that is more emotionally fulfilling travels to a reservation in search of people who are not as shallow and superficial as the ones he encounters everyday.  But when there, Marx turns out to be as superficial and emotionally undeveloped as the people he had so recently criticized are.   He takes a young man, who has lived his whole life in a world of ugliness, pain, and real love, and thrusts him on display in a world of genetically perfected superhuman who gawk and ridicule him for his love of humanity and intellectualism.
 John, later to be known as John the Savage by Bernard Marx's society, is mystified at the abundance of sensation stimulating technologies and the lack of emotional interactions. John was raised in a society where a man was judged by his actions and the effort he put into life.  He feels alienated and confused in a world where people are grouped by there height and I.Q. Unable to cope with such a confusing new world, John the savage eventually takes his own life. 
The story is centered around the idea that life, although all health and social problems done away with, cannot be perfect. Genetic clones, who live without suffering or pain, are forever plagued with the lack of basic human emotions.  If society follows the trend of conquering all problems by eliminating them will only be faced with other, possibly worse, ramifications.  Though human cloning may abolish diseases and defects in the human structure we must not abuse the technology by making a "perfect society" without anguish or obstacles.  People must go through life knowing what pain is to enjoy a life without it. 
 

It still stood there. on the dresser, right in front of her bed.  It was the fist thing she saw when she awoke, and the last right before she fell asleep.  Although it is doubtful that she still really saw it.  She remembered it was a fiery red, the petals almost velvety, and the stem perfectly complementing the bud.  Or maybe it was of a deeper shade, a burgundy?  She couldn't really recall.  Now it was all dried-up, the petals had completely lost their shape and shrunk, and were an earthy brown color.  The stem was wrinkled all over, and the thorns didn't seem to protect the flower proudly anymore, but rather looked more irritated with their job, that is if they still had one.  It was a rose.  This rose, as any other flower that has been standing in a simple thin glass vase for, what seemed like ages, had a story. 

     When Azadeh was just thirteen, she met a boy, Daryl.  He was taller than her by about four inches, had short dark hair, and bright blue eyes.  He was the perfect prince in every little girl's dream, but he chose Azadeh.  She just had a certain mystery about her, tanned, olive skin, long brown hair that reached almost to the small of her back, and deep, deep brown eyes that seemed to take away Daryl's breath every time she looked at him.  She didn't look at him often, and maybe that was what intrigued the love in him.  Nonetheless the love was there, and they both fell deeply into it.  They spent every available waking moment with each other, and they crave every bit of that time.  Their parents, and their friends all thought it was just puppy love, but to them it was so much more.  Unfortunately, things don't last forever. not even the perfect things.

     It was just after their three-year anniversary that Daryl's parents told him that they would be moving away, far away.  To Daryl it didn't matter where, just that it was far, miles and miles away, too far from his only light and love.  Nothing he did could convince his parents to stay, after all, he was only sixteen, his opinion didn't matter.
That night he came to Azadeh's door with a single flower, one long-stem rose.  Single because they would be alone from now on, and long because the loneliness won't be brief.  When he told her she didn't break down and cry she just quietly sat there, gazing at him with her deep brown eyes, slowly, almost as if she didn't want them to, dropping tears from her eyelashes onto her cheeks.  That was how he left her.  Azadeh was just sitting there, staring blankly maybe at Daryl, and maybe into her self, their warm, long goodbye kiss still lingered on her lips, as they were slightly open.
Daryl walked out of that house thinking that he had just done the hardest thing he would ever have to do in his life.  Why did she have to be so silent, so still?  Maybe that was just her way.  Then he walked out of Azadeh's sight forever.  Neither of them knew that yet.

     Azadeh ran up to her room, and locked herself in for three days.  She was drowning her eyes in tears for that entire time.  She fell asleep crying, she sobbed at night, and she woke-up just to see the rose and start shaking with misery again.  She wouldn't let herself cry in his arms that night, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't.  Azadeh knew it would be easier for him that way, he has always had such a kind heart, and it would shatter if he knew what she was going through.

     Now she picked-up the letter she held locked up in her heart-shaped jewelry box.  She got it about a week after Daryl left.  It was the first letter of many, but it was the most important one.  He said he loved her like crazy, and that he was dying without her.  He also made her write him a promise that she would never forget him, because he would never forget her, and as long as she had the rose, there would still be that love they shared for three years.  She promised.  That was close to two years ago, she was almost eighteen now, but she still had the rose.  The letters, little by little, dissolved within the time.  Her memory, however young, was also slowly fading.  She couldn't remember Daryl's face anymore.  She still recalled his features, black hair, and blue eyes. it was just that the image wasn't there any longer.  Azadeh still loved him, she knew she did. she thought she did.  After all, if she didn't she would have went out with someone else by now.

     Her birthday was coming up in five days.  Azadeh's friends were planning a big girls-night-out.  To them it seemed so long since she really had a good time.  They kept begging her to go out with them, she would be turning eighteen, and she deserved a good party. No, she deserved a great party!

     On the night of the party Azadeh's friend Vicki invited a couple of guys.  They all had a great time together.  Vicki was such a good friend for organizing this whole thing.
The music moved Azadeh and a couple of other girls onto the free space of the room that instantly became a dance floor, and she swayed to the sound.  Somewhere between the flashing lights and the alcohol she found herself with a hand on her waist.  That guy, he had been eyeing her all night, and now he finally got up the courage to get closer.  Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the music, maybe the lights, and maybe the whole entire atmosphere, but she didn't mind.  She turned around and threw her arms on his shoulders.  He was beautiful.  Even up-close she couldn't find a single flaw, the eyes, the hair, the mouth. and oh, what a dancer!  At some point Azadeh thought she heard one of her friends whisper:
     "You think she forgot him?"
     Forgot who?  It didn't matter.  All that mattered was the moment, and she was already lost in it.  She felt so free.

     She stumbled into her room quietly, and without taking her clothes off dropped down on the bed.  She fell asleep feeling tipsy from the alcohol, and downright drunk from the guy.  She closed her eyes, smiled, and drifted away.

     When Azadeh woke up the next morning the memories of last night swam back to her consciousness.  She smiled again, and changed into more comfortable clothes.  Sitting back down onto her bed she looked up at the dresser, then, all around the room.  Something wasn't right.  Oh, now she knew.  After badgering Azadeh about it, her mother actually cleaned her daughter's room for her.  Azadeh grinned at her victory over the used-to-be-messy room, and over her riling mother.  Then she brushed her long hair in front of the mirror, and walked out of her room, leaving the lonely dresser behind.  That same dresser that no longer held a simple glass vase on its surface.

And G-d said, let there be light. Today the lights went out. You never realize that things could go wrong until they have. I guess that's why Murphy is so revered for his laws. He was one smart cookie.

Three minutes ago the world ended. The sun smoked and threw its cigarette butt into the forest of the world. It exploded into one giant flame. Gravity put it out.

It's funny how that happened. And it only happened because everyone in the space was confident all at once. Not one creature was thinking to itself, "what if?" or "maybe I shouldn't." The universe echoed with outbursts of "Definitely!" and "Perfect!" and even the occasional "This is as good as it gets!"

Why am I alive you ask? Because a split-moment before the flame went out, I thought, "Oh wait! I left my stove on!" There's a loophole for everything they say. Well, "they" no longer exist. But they sure were right.

I'm essentially floating in nothingness and pondering what to do. It isn't very hard as there's much more not to do.

I've decided to slowly eat my fingernail cuticles for sustenance. I figure, vanity is the least of my worries right now and survival is right up top there. I try not to worry about what will happen when they've disappeared. No matter, I haven't received a manicure in years. There'll be plenty to munch on.

You know what I've been really wondering about? How I could've been the only person to have lost confidence at the moment history ceased existing. I mean, I know why everyone was confident at the same time. The manager of Earth announced over the P.A. that he and all the other managers of their respective societies in space had agreed to live in peace and let there never be a shortage of anything. I guess it was people's natural greed that turned them to complete elation. Most certainly I was not excused from this natural right of passage into being an animate object. However, I knew that no matter what they could've given us, they could never know that my stove was on, and if it burned down my house I would die. And I didn't want to die. Not when so many good things were happening.

I guess it's because no one has stoves anymore. They went out of fashion soon after self-cooking/baking/broiling/steaming/etc food was developed. Everyone criticized me for being old-fashioned. Well, who was right this time? Hmm, it's lonely feeling smug by yourself. Slightly pointless even.

If only religion still existed I may spend my time pondering why G-d (or any other higher power) did this to us or if he could create a new place for me to live; but after those scientists from Fargity proved the big bang theory all religion was shot to hell (yes, that saying exists even without religion). Some people still thought some divine fate was leading us. Then ethnologists from Kimrop sent us the message that it was just the ultraviolet rays that were controlling our actions. After that people began to quiet down. It took the older folks time to adjust, but what with all the anti-aging serums that were created, they had plenty of time afterwards to accept the facts and get on with their jobs or whatever it was they did in their spare time.

Do you know what really bugs me though? It isn't the fact that I could die soon, or that perhaps there is someone that is still living out there. It isn't either that with the sun gone I have no real control of my actions. It isn't that I can't see and that there's nothing to hear. I'm even okay with leading the remainder of my life in solitude without any sexual companionship.

What really, truly bothers me, is whether or not I had left my stove on.

I've listened to a
Sacred song
That could be played
and heal the world
But you just wouldn't listen to it,
Would you?

Faces say
What words cannot
Tears are known
Throughout this land
And in anywhere
That anyone
Could go.

Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out in silence.

Your faith ran out
And you didn't know
Just exactly what there was to do.
So, you set out
To look for answers.

You wandered near
And you wandered far
Over the moon,
With the dish and the spoon,
And the cat
that played a lament
For the cow.

Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out in silence.

And as you wandered
Through the hills
You stumbled on
A secret field
And it was there
That you found her. 

Standing by the wishing well
The light of the moon
Shining on her hair
And those bewitching
Starlit eyes. 

Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out in silence.

She told you this
And she told you that
And she made you think
That the wrong
was right
And all in all, basically,
She used you.

Without a care
She left you there
In the tangled forest
Of despair
And it thrived upon your tears
For many years.

Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out in silence.

It seems to me
I've been round the world
I seen these hills
I've roved these shores
I went to all the corners
Of this earth.

I've seen your banners
Of wickedness
and seen the wars
you waged and won
and seen the cities crumble
at your call.

But power doesn't make the best
And hate is not a noble quest.
It brings even mighty princes
 to their knees.

Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out in silence.

Long ago,
You let me learn
What was real
And true and beautiful,
And you, you used to tell me
Of the world.

And the memories
of days before
when wickedness
was on the move
and light was here
and freedom's call cried out.

Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out in silence.

Perhaps life has
A reason
A rhyme
And perhaps
It's just a matter of time
Till our crying voices
Reach  some listening ears.

But it's not a valiant
Battle cry,
It's not wise words
that will enlight,
It's the broken plead
In between the tears.

Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,

Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out,
Crying out in silence.

How do I know what a hard days work entails?
I sit around worrying whether I will fail
I struggle to sit
I struggle to read
I struggle to meet the most basic of my needs
My friends have no confidence in me
See you in a homeless shelter in a few years "B"
These pointless words they lend vocation
For they have no motivation
They don't come from a home full of depravation
And neither do I
This I'd be hard-pressed to suggest
Before it left my mouth
I'd be fed a silver spoon
I'm bouncing off rubber walls
There's nowhere in this house where I can do wrong
On Sunday I think I'll try the stairs
See if they hurt
As much as their reputation entails
If I were a public enemy
I'd be the best-fed felon in the penitentiary
I've got a feeling
Deep within my bones
A feeling seldom misread
Because I have it honed
That before it's all said and done
I'll have to sink to the bottom and live alone
But if they have their way
I may bring down those around me
The entire household
Those who I value most
I could not stand the repercussions
For my sister is still beautiful and young
Because I've worn on my parents
In such a way
It's apparent
My mother has seen better days
My father is getting inpatient
He's starting to rage
I have no limits
Only those I put upon myself
I'm reaching those
At the end of my parent's threshold
I'll pay it all back someday
I've often told
The only question I have left
Where is the gold?

A revolution is commonly defined as a violent overthrow of the current rulers or system of government, in favor of a new, often completely different structure. While some revolutions are similar to this description, such as the French or Vietnamese Revolutions, many revolutions take an entirely different form which may or may not include battle. The United States, which has never experienced a typical revolution in the process of its development, conveys that a revolution can be a defense, rather than an affront, to the current situation, or it can be peaceful and scarcely noticed, except in hindsight.
Although the American Revolution was a war, it was not a battle to establish a new system of government; rather, it was a fight to defend the status quo in America. In general Americans were happy with their status as a colony, until the British wanted to introduce change. Then, the Americans wanted the situation to remain as it was previously.
After colonization, the British virtually left the colonies alone, following a policy known as salutary neglect; when they began to reevaluate their policies after the French and Indian War, Americans protested adamantly. During the salutary neglect period, there were some unenforced trade laws in place. After the French and Indian War, Great Britain attempted to enforce these laws and create taxes to fund American defense. The British also imposed the Proclamation Line of 1763, which told the Americans that they could not move west of the Appalachian Mountains. This new interest in the affairs of the colonies is what sparked a revolution to defend the previous conditions when the colonies were left to their own devices, rather than an overthrow of the British system in favor of something completely different.
The United States has also experienced revolutions, such as during the presidency of Andrew Jackson, which reformed the nation without bloodshed. That peaceful revolution gave the common man power in American politics, formerly controlled only by the wealthy upper class, and no vicious revolt was necessary.
It was a reform of political thinking, rather than a violent overthrow, which brought Jackson into the White House, signifying newfound power, possessed by the people in the form of lowered voting restrictions. Many western states eliminated the property qualifications for voters, and the eastern states followed suit and amended their constitutions to eliminate those qualifications as well. This resulted in white manhood suffrage throughout the United States, allowing the masses to assert what they valued in a political candidate and contributing to the revolution that was taking place without slaughter. The Jacksonian Revolution was completely different than most revolutions because it peacefully transferred power from the elite to the common man.
Both of these revolutions in American history are contrary to the common opinion of what constitutes a revolution. They defy the stereotype that all revolutions consist of a violent overthrow of power.

It's inevitable. It is human nature for people to pick on each other. Growing up, almost everyone at some point was either the bully or the recipient of the bully's charms. Savagery is innate in each person, and there is no getting around the cruelty that develops, even among friends. Everyone, at some time in his/her life, will be mean to another person, an inherent cruelty which, rather than being outgrown, continues on throughout their life.
Unkindness among peers can start at a very young age. When I was in second grade there was a new kid at my school. He wasn't the most attractive boy, with thick glasses and a small head to go with a rather large body. To make matters worse he had the perfect name for bloodthirsty second-graders: Chip. He sat alone on the jungle gym every day at recess, until some of the other kids came to taunt him, hurling insults and woodchips. They came up with clever little phrases to call him, like "Woodchip" and "Chip the Dip." He was the target for my classmates' cruelty.
The pattern of unkindness didn't stop on that elementary school playground, it continued on through my life. When I was in seventh grade I displayed this vicious streak towards my best friend Lauren, who loved the latest teenybopper pre-teen craze: Hanson. At first, I joined her in this madness. We both bought the CD and listened to it constantly. While she continued to drool over the three "gorgeous" brothers, I soon tired of the unending "MMMBop." Soon, I began to despise the trio, while Lauren became still more devoted, insisting she would one day marry Taylor Hanson. Annoyed to no end with her constant chatter about the brothers, I devised a plan to show her what I really thought. I proceeded to cut the heads off pictures of Hanson, to glue them to the bodies of girls, and to plant the new creations in her backpack. Needless to say, later that night my mother received a phone call from her mother (It just so happened that we're neighbors and our mothers are friends). She!
 came over to my house so we could "talk," which consisted of me bawling my eyes out and apologizing profusely and Lauren, sitting awkwardly silent and uncomfortable. What I did was mean, but human savagery doesn't end with adolescent pranks.
The cruelty of youth carries over into college and adulthood, and is not only in my own experience, but also in the experience of others. During Deb's freshman year in college, she lived in a triple in the dorms. Her roommate Corrie was her friend before they entered college, but their other roommate, Mary Lee, was placed with them later. Mary Lee had some interesting characteristics, including her habit of eating salad without lettuce and spelling her name "M'Lee," which, to Deb and Corrie, seemed worthy of teasing. They began to call her Millie, a name that she despised, and soon other students picked up on the "nickname."  Millie loved to listen to Gregorian chants, an idiosyncrasy that only increased the incessant teasing. There were also many other differences between the girls that did not benefit Mary Lee's situation. Corrie and Deb were both of one denomination and from Michigan; Millie was another denomination and from Ohio. Corrie and Deb told their friends about M!
illie's oddities and her reputation as being a little strange grew to impressive heights.
People can always find a reason to tease or mock someone else; it's a natural talent that the human race possesses and practices. This trait is not limited to the young, but can be found in all age groups, and is a habit that should be guarded against and learned from. 

There is a place I remember as being the last place I remember. I'll ask you kindly not to judge me too strongly as I recall the details of the onset of my present condition. There were situations there....

Living creatures wore the skin of dead ones. I saw things moving in unnatural ways.  Things happening, things deliberately good, things like red traffic lights always being green and hash browns always properly browned on their tops.  Other things extreme and far more to the sinister side of things I felt were near.

How could I justify this life of solitude and self-imposed exile that I was captain of? I couldn't, not in any regular sense. Nor in any irregular sense, try as I did. I stopped all contact with the few friends and family I had. I felt they wouldn't notice anyhow. My skin seemed to have toughened up a bit since I last left the apartment, which was three weeks ago. I was changing in a most horrible way, and so I submitted and let night after night bring with it its gallery of silence and revulsion.

I proceeded to be a lone construct, an abstraction such that I required no reaction.  No movement whatsoever...ever. 

I would live a life of eating live, small animals. At first, little bugs that fed on the dead skin by my bedside. Then onto the moths that nested in my old clothes. The walls of my apartment continually receded and shrunk. I admitted, out loud, to the things around me that I was not at all at ease with any of this. This behavior and perception was all new and very different but I accepted it as part of my transformation. The things I wore soon began to wear me and this frightened me to shaking. I rustled my roach-body comfortable.

The world looks bizarre, tall and skewed.  I remember what it was to be up there in the place of living, but only in the vaguest of ways. It's an itch on my leg.  One of them, I can't tell which.

My landlord has given up on any hope of payment from me but I don't think I care about such things any longer. The head on my new body is occupied with thoughts of a very different nature now indeed. My inability to preen my antennae is really wearing me thin.