Glogster

Topic Proposal Blog Post

What makes mind control work, is it the influence of a mind altering

drug, a repetitious teaching, a strict abusive punishment, or a few of

these combined?  Atwood's text confuses me, as it jumps back and

forth from remembering the past and trying to forget it. Then fitting

into the present, yet looking forward to a better future as the past

they remember use to be before the war began.  Before this crazy

mandated mind control society took over.

       I plan to research different types of mind control to see how 

they are administered and the effects of them.  Referencing the long

term and short term effects and duration of them.  To see if people

can really be made to forget their past lives or just suppress it be-

cause it is forbidden.

      I chose this mind control topic to help me better understand 

Atwood's writings about a world controlled by this.  How the people

are like pawns in a world they have their jobs and duties and yet do

not have freedom of choice anymore.  Yet down deep inside most of


them the past ways are not forgotten just suppressed for a time.


These suppressed memories rear up from time to time and are un-


acceptable.  This is why that personally I believe mind control really


down deep inside does not work at all on people.
www.answers.com/topic/mind-control

Mid-Session Check in Blog

Dear Ms. Cline,

I have thoroughly enjoyed this English class this year.  I realize now that i was a bit rusty in writing and composing an essay, but I feel quite comfortable about it now.  My biggest challenge in this class so far has been using a computer to do my class on line.  I learned many things about this you taught me how to use the rich text format, how to submit URL's, how to copy and paste and most of all how to make a blog and post things to it.  I can say i learned quite a bit in just one class of how to do a class on line.  This was my first experience to do a class on line and even though I stressed it a bit, I was able to talk to you and refocus and get the assignments presented the way you wanted them.  Thank you for the wealth of knowledge you gave me in this one class. 

How have the readings in the class affected me?  Well, I really enjoyed O'Brien's stories and did not realize that I liked reading war stories.  I am reading the Handmaids tale now and I just can't seem to get into it yet, but as you taught me to hang in there and not make a preconceived idea of the book until it is completely read so as i complete this book i will form an opinion on it.  The poetry i read in this class i enjoyed and tried my self to write poetry.

How has literary analysis different from other types of writing i have done in college?  This literary analysis helped teach me to analyze the meaning behind the poem or story instead of just summarizing what i read.  This i thought was pretty cool it made me think deeper about what i was reading.

What are my goals for the second half of the session?  My goals are to be a better reader and contemplate what i write and what i read and think about it in a different perspective like analysis.  My ultimate goal for this class is to do very well so that my reading and writing skills are at their best for other classes.  I thank you for all the teaching you have given me and the things i learned in this class i will carry with me forever.  Thanks again.   Dottie Kee

Swirl In Their Head

Marines, the memories that swirl in their head.

Memories of friends alive, fallen heros, and now dead

 The chaos, the noise the fear and the smell,
The heat and the sand this sure must be hell.

Marines the memories that swirl in their head 

Wake up to morning or wake up to night,
The fear that they feel it just cant be right.

Why don't the politicians or anyone understand,
Are we fighting for freedom or just for some sand?

Marines the memories that swirl in their head.

The images they see the after math of war,
Body parts and pieces all over the ground,
Casualties of war strewn all around.

When will it end this bloodshed they see?
They pray to God, just don't let it be me.

Will they go home and be the same or is all
of this going to declare them insane?

The swirls of these memories are burnt in their brain.

By Dottie Kee 

.

Tim O'brien, The things they carried

It was a moral split.  I couldn't make up my mind.  I feared the war, yes, but I also feared exile. I was afraid of walking away from my own life, my friends and my family, my whole history, everything that mattered to me.  I feared losing the respect of my parents.  I feared the law.  I feared ridicule and censure.  My hometown was a conservative little spot on the prairie, a place where tradition counted, and it was easy to imagine people sitting around a table down at the old Gobbler Cafe' on Main street, coffee cups poised, the conversation slowly zeroing in on the young O'Brien kid, how the damned sissy had taken off for Canada.  At night, when I couldn't sleep, i'd be screaming at them, telling them how much I detested their blind thoughtless automatic acquiescence to it all, their simpleminded patriotism, their prideful ignorance, their love-it-or-leave-it platitudes, how they were sending me off to a fight a war they didn't understand and didn't want to understand.  I held them responsible. (page 42-43) Book The Things They Carried By Tim O'Brien.


All three of these stories have this same type of situation going on, besides the Vietnam War there is a battle raging on in the young men's minds, hearts, and soul.  In all the stories none of the young men wanted to die, they all felt psychologically and emotionally sick.  They all try to be tough and not cry or look scared, but they all are.  They all fear being embarrassed, ashamed, blushing, or hearing the scoffers calling them names like sissy or pussy. The true reality of losing their life in a split second is always on their mind first and foremost.


In the mind it is a battle between good and evil, right and wrong.  The norm of what's wrong does not stand true in war.  For instance killing is wrong, but when it comes down to kill or be killed it's not wrong any more.  We try to raise our children to have a sense of right and wrong, but when they go off to war it all changes and it's like they've just entered the twilight zone.


It affects their heart, not just physically by beating faster because of fear, but when they see one of their guys die  right in front of them it is a heart break, a terrible gut wrenching heartbreak.  They want to just scream out and cry at the top of their lungs, but the fear of being called names is so strong.  They hold all their emotions in as best they can tolerate, but  some still cry in silence.  Then as soon as the chaos is over they all have to regain their composure and find the nerve to keep humping it and go on.


It even goes as far as to bother ones soul.  The traumatic impact and stress this puts on these young men alter their lives forever.  They will never be the same young men they were before they went off to war.  This awful scar will impact them off and on for the rest of their lives.  I wish with all my heart that war would never have to exist.  That we could all live peaceably, but if this were true we would all live at Walgreens, (the perfect world).  By Dorothy Kee

www.illyria.com/tobhp.html 


Works cited; Tim O'Brien, The things they carried, book

My response to two poems

http://www.paperbackswap.com/Innocent-Victims-Brian-J-Karem/book/0786012730/The two poems I chose were, The Victims by Sharon Olds and The Colonel by Carolyn Forche'.  These 2 poems impacted me greatly and brought back memories long since forgotten.  I remember when I was about 11 years old I was curious, as many children are, about what could be in the high cupboards above my parents closet in their bedroom.  So I climbed up there with the use of a chair.  In the highest one I opened it and in the far back corner was a little bag made of some kind of material and it had stuff in it.  I strained to reach it and got a hold of it.  I brought it down to see what was in it.  I opened it and poured the stuff out on my parents bed.  There were all kinds of buttons like off of military uniforms, bars with stripes on them, and insignia like pins.  At my age of 11 I really did not know what all this was, but it was cool to inspect it.  After a while my Mom came in the room and got angry with me, she asked me where I got the bag from.  I told her in the high cupboard over her and Dads closet.  She told me to put them all back in the bag an never speak of it.  I asked why?  She told me those were souvenirs my Father had collected off of dead people from WWII.  Oh, I said and quickly put them all back in the bag.  It gave me a chill to think I was touching something from dead people.  I never spoke of this to my Dad and soon forgot all about it.  Until I read this poem The Colonel when in "line 22 it read, "He spilled many human ears on the table."  This was a horrible reminder of what I opened many years ago.   It reminded me of the victims and people that were dead that this stuff belonged to.  I remember how gruesome it must have been and how scared it made me feel.

In the other poem, The Victims by Sharon Olds was another reminder to me of my childhood.  My father was overbearing and demanding to my mother and us kids.  He worked 12 hours a day 6 days a week and Mom stayed home with us kids.  When Dad was tired or drunk he took his anger out on his family or an inanimate object.  Thus we were all victims under his rule.  He had large meat cutter bear paw hands and when he put his forceful fist to a door or whatever it usually broke.  I remember one time locking myself in the bathroom and he pounded on the door for me to unlock it, but I didn't.  Soon, I saw his fist come right through the door.  I opened the door with sad scared eyes and I guess the door took all of his aggression.  He just yelled at me in his deep voice to go to my room for my punishment.  I was ever so glad the door took the hit for me and I just got sent to my room.  Now Mom was mad because he broke the bathroom door.  So now he simmered down and said he would fix it tomorrow.  There were many explosive episodes like this in my home, but it all ended when my parents divorced.  My father cheated on my Mother after 30 years of marriage and the marriage was over.  In the poem The Victims "lines 1-2 it says," she took it and took it in silence, all those years" this was a reminder of what my family went through.  When they divorced us kids were glad because now the arguing and fighting ceased.  In line 3-4 in The Victims poem it says," and he kids loved it." this was how I felt relieved and happy.   By Dorothy Kee