I am fully aware that no one reads this. I don't really care. XD

          I was writing a long winded research paper a couple of weeks ago. T'was on Emily Dickinson, a masteress of poetry. I was pegging the reason of her reclusion as the development of Panic Disorder with Agoraphobia, which is a fo-reeeallll condition. I was analyzing one of her poems and thought, "Man, this is fun. There's a lot in these poems." Before I had time to do the three poems I had planned for, though, I was almost at my 2,000 word limit. The remaining space (and then some) had to be reserved for my conclusion. I was disappointed because I also had planned on analyzing her letters, but I didn't get anywhere near doing that. Anywho, I decided that since I never use my xanga and no one ever reads it, I would use this blog to analyze poems by Dickinson, as well as by other poets. 

          And Joseph said, "Let there be analysis." 

          Now, Dickinson never ever gave her poems any titles. They were numbered. Because we need names to call things by, we use the opening lines of each poem. Her poems are so short that I might analyze two, but we'll see. 

          Today shall be: Afraid! Of who am I afraid?

Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?
Not Death — for who is He?
The Porter of my Father's Lodge
As much abasheth me!

Of Life? 'Twere odd I fear [a] thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or two existences —
As Deity decree —

Of Resurrection? Is the East
Afraid to trust the Morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my Crown!

Fear is a big thing in Emily's poetry. Like I said up there (^^^), I came to the conclusion that she had Panic Disorder with Agoraphobia (One defining factor in my conclusion was this poem: http://inamidst.com/dickinson/anthology, fifth poem down. In my opinion, the poem exhibits a description of her panic attacks.) 

So who is she afraid of? She’s not afraid of death, apparently. In fact, she had something of a fascination with death. Throughout her life, she could hardly comprehend how many people were dying around her. I don’t doubt that she feared death sometimes, for most people do at least a little. But read “Because I could not stop for Death-” (http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Because_I_could_not_stop_for_Death_%E2%80%94) and it’s more of an interest and observing nature that she has with death.

She says that “Death” is the “Porter” of her “Father’s Lodge”. Death is capitalized (Emily very often uses capitals to draw emphasis and imply things) so we can assume that is the personification of death, such as the Grim Reaper. Or, she may be talking about the idea of death. Either one could work. She says death is a Porter. A Porter is either someone who carries luggage or someone who stands at a door. She capitalized the f in Father, so perhaps she is not talking about her earthly father, but about God. In the Bible, the word father has a capital F when talking about God. Dickinson said many times that the King James Bible was a great inspiration for her, as conflicted as her faith may have been. So, “Death” (either the personification or the concept) is the one who stands in the “Father’s Lodge,” and assuming the “Father” is God, the “Lodge” must be heaven. So, Death stands at the doorway of heaven. This could mean many things. It is very much open to interpretation, and I don’t know if I could finger the exact meaning, but hey, its analysis. Whatever I say might as well be right. So, perhaps Death is the one that opens the way to heaven, as a porter would open the door for one who is entering. Heaven via death, for death is the vehicle with which eternal life is attained, which is very much ironic. But, I digress. Dickinson says that it abashes her. To be abashed is to be ashamed, or embarrassed, or disconcerted, or having a feeling of guilt. So, is she ashamed of death? Ashamed that one must die to enter the Father’s house? Embarrassed at such a prospect? Or does this not settle right with her, that God should be associated with Death at all. Or does she somehow feel guilty? This last one I cannot quite see working.

Well, I’ve raised more questions than I have answered. I think I'm going to leave the second and third stanzas for my next post. It's late and I need to do crap tonight in order to not fail school. 

Chill, you spazerts. 

\,,/~Joseph~\,,/

A Free Trade of Ideas

Those who deny free speech are hypocrites in that they use that right to denounce that right. Thus, those who deny free speech are few and far in between, for we use this right every day. So can we all agree that it is important? Dandy. Let's move on.

                I came across an interesting little thing in my history book while doing overdue homework. It's about dissenters in WWI and how the government somewhat smudged the right of free speech to resemble "Free speech, AS LONG AS IT DOESN'T SCREW WITH THE WAR." A certain Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes said in regards to such a case of dissenting such as this: "... the ultimate good desired is better reached by free trade in ideas-that the best test of truth is the power of the through to get itself accepted in the competition of the market..."

                Not a bad thought: very pro-free speech. It made me think. The free market is about products, but in this case ideas, philosophies, whatever you prefer. Next in line is the consumer, the person who buys into these ideas. Now, my question is, should truth really be left to the free market? Should ideas be left to the free market? Granted, those are two very different questions. Truth can be an idea, but any given idea is not necessarily the truth. See, truth, in my humble opinion, should not be left to the free market because the power of that truth (arguably) is the number of consumers who by it. Well, that's how the free market goes. If truth is left to the free market and its power is determined by the number of consumers it has, then that leaves much more room for lies to make their way to the top. Take Nazism for example. Nazism, as we know, was not/is not/never will be the truth, but it still rose to the top in Germany. Why? Because the consumers bought it. The free market is at an even playing field (hopefully), so that means lies are just as likely to reach the top as the truth is. Then variables come in such as advertisement and persuasion and (dare I say it) propaganda. In the free market, it's all in the consumers who buy it and the number of them. The thought of ideas in general being left to the free market is an idea I'll let you guys chew on. 

Also, some things you run into when approaching these ideas are freedom of opinion and free will. Take those into consideration as well. They make my decision on this very iffy. I’m still not completely sure.

So, what do you think? Should the truth or even ideas at all be left to the "free market"?

Chill, you spazerts.

\,,/~Joseph~\,,/

The Legend of Zelda...

... is my cocaine. 

Snow has kept me inside a lot this week. Zelda has kept me alive. I'm prone to a bad outlook on life and am highly neurotic (I can't handle any sort of stress or pressure) so I require an escape from reality. Music, writing, and books have been my escape, but my headphones broke, I've only been able to write one or two things because my mind just can't think of anything, and my mind does not have the capacity for books right now. So fantasy is my escape, and Zelda is fantasy. I did a post years back about my new discovery of Zelda. I just started playing Ocarina of Time then, and was but a greenhorn in the matter. I've since beaten Ocarina, Wind Waker, got most of the way through Twilight Princess before I had to take it back to Blockbuster (gee, that must've been a long time ago, right? XD), and I'm playing Majora's Mask currently. It has to be one of the most difficult games I've ever played, but I immerse myself into so much. Sometimes I truly wish I was Link. Most people want to be heroes, right? Link is a courageous guy, and the admirable thing about him is that he's brave no matter what, which exactly how I'm not. I second guess everything, I cower in the dark, I can't look people in the eye. I do look people in the eye, but what they don't realize is that I'm not actually even looking at them. I'm an arguer, but I argue only because I'm afraid. I have everything to prove, but I'm not here to prove anything. I'm here to be left alone, not to save the world. =/ I'm the exact opposite of Link, so I guess that's why I play the game so much. It's a whole different universe full of oddities, villains, and challenges to be overcome. I guess I'm just not content with this universe's oddities, villains, and I don't want to overcome its challenges. It's funny, because when people meet me, they tend to think that I'm a very bold person and sometimes they're even scared of me. I heard one or two people even call me brave. Psh. Me? Brave? I can't even look in the mirror without cringing, because I can't stand to look at myself. One thing I definitely know: someone isn't brave if he can't even stand up to himself. Link never had to stand up to himself. He was never even afraid. I honestly wish I was like that. I also wish I had a fairy constantly hovering over my shoulder to keep me company. That would be awesome. I've found that stuffed animals don't talk back. Walls don't talk back. The rain doesn't talk back. Even people do, but the things in which I seek comfort don't talk back. Unfortunately, I talk back. I don't make a very good self companion, I'll tell you that much. 

But hey, did you visit this blog to hear about videogames and self torment? Probably not, which in that case I really don't know what you expected to find. :P

Chill, you spazerts.

\,,/~Joseph~\,,/

A Long Awaited Return... pfffff, of course not.

I'm not going to apologize for the fact that I have not posted for a year and a half. Nope. Not going to.

Sorry. 

Anyone who had followed me not doubt has forgotten who I am. I sometimes forget, myself. But as I stated in my second to last entry, I don't post when I have nothing to say.

Naaah, I'm just fricking with ya. I had plenty to say. I just forgot xanga existed. Facebook overtook my life. But then I realized that my family is on facebook, so they can monitor what I say. That inhibits my mind. Thus, I came back to xanga. But no one remembers me, no body is on xanga, etc. So, I came back now simply so I can speak into... thin air. An air that's frosty with emptiness, ripe for the warmth of words.

Ooo, I gave myself Buddha chills right there! Buddha chills are when you're fat and you say something so deep you get goosebumps. Buddha chills, everyone. Buddha chills. 

This means there ought to be Confucius sweat, too. 

The logical thought sequence would to proceed to Socrates farts, but I won't go there because I'm mature. So mature.

I sure hope I'll have stuff to say in the future. Hello xanga, I am your prodigal son. I hope you run to me with open arms. 

Chill, you spazerts.

\,,/~Joseph~\,,/

I cannot come to reason with myself.