Sal: Well Matthew---looks like this is the end. It was really nice being your avatar even though this is only my second time talking in your blog.
Matthew: Sal, you live through me---you are always speaking. Every single post I write, you write.
Sal: Yeah, yeah whatever---I've heard it all before. You're a good kid though, I like you. Keep writing and you too---someday--will have developed a voice so strong that maybe you will also start a movement---a revolution.
Matthew: Thanks Sal, not only for being my avatar---but for doing what you do. The way you lived life is so inspiring to me---it is my dream to live a life as beautiful and exciting as yours was. The only reason I use dashes is because you do it and use them instead of commas. So really---at the end of the day---my writing is just a sorry attempt to emulate your spontaneous prose.
Sal: *laughs* You're a great kid. Never stop writing and never stop learning. Take what the world gives you and engrave it in yourself---but most of all---"live, travel, adventure, bless, and don't be sorry."
Matthew: Forever.
Every character that we have read about has been a representative of the human individual's dealings with the obstacles faced throughout their course of life. Through Marjane, we are met with the obstacles of identity and war---how our identities are solidified in order to secure ourselves enough to remain sane. In A Man In a Case, Byelikov continues the human's desire for security by constantly sheltering himself and the environment around him---an irony that shows human insecurity at its highest. From our readings, we have explored the inner workings of the human mind and emotion---taking what we ingest and culminating it with our own world view. Perhaps we are asleep and this is all some sort of branch of a dream we are foreign to and, therefore, cannot differentiate from reality. But whether awake or not---we are here in this world living our life---and for that---we should be most thankful for.
During my fellow classmates' performance of David Hwang's play, The Sound of a Voice, I noticed how the whole atmosphere and tone of the play seemed almost dreamlike---as if the characters were disconnected from reality and acting in this sort of limbo. Dreams have always been attached to the topic of reality. Whether they have some sort of significant meaning in our lives or are merely fantasies---the value of dreams has been argued over many years. From Freud's theories to The Matrix---the discussion almost seems universal in everything we encounter. And as I struggled to think about what to write to fulfill the number of posts requirement, I rummaged through my old iPhone notes that ranged from March of 2012 to now. Notes that included poetry, lyrics, unfulfilled lists and plans, but particularly some of dream accounts. I have a lot of vivid dreams and when I wake up from them---I try to make it a habit to write them down. Here is one particular dream (which I pieced together from fragments of my remembrance and refined of course to correct the typos and incorrect grammar that I had in my half-awaken stupor). ---------------------------------------------------------------- I am riding a train for the second time with a small British child who faintly resembles George Harrison---as I talk to the conductor who is also British. We reach our station and talk and he says how his colleague and friend just died yesterday. I give my condolence. I bid farewell to him and the child and go to a toy store where my girlfriend works. My whole family is present there too and I walk over to my friends: Daniel---who has become increasingly over weight---and Will who is silent. Daniel is talking about something and is upset and I tell him that I notice his weight problem. He gets mad and his girlfriend consoles him telling him she likes it. We arrive in Italy to visit my great aunt and while we are there we are informed that foreign countries has decided to start a nuclear war and bomb us. Seeing that we are all doomed we all gather in a plaza awaiting our end and honor those who gave back to society. As I stand with all of my relatives and two friends, the bomb drops and I see this wave of gold and purple hit the ground. I feel no pain but I feel as if I've entered some place different. I hear the cries and voices of my relatives and suddenly I see my dead body lying before me. I crouch down and lay on the stone tiled floor. And all of a sudden I wake up in my house. I check all the rooms and I find no one. The streets still have cars driving but I can't make out their drivers. I decide to fall asleep and I wake up to my mother and her brother. They begin to write their goodbye letters and wills and I begin to also. We enter a line and my mom and I decide to stop by a room. I break down to mother saying that I am uncertain on whether I will go to Heaven. I confess to my mom and she consoles me. I tell her that I argued with my dad in the car the other day when I was alive, saying, "Maybe I'll die young." As I cry to my mom I feel my consciousness return---with my eyes closed. I open my eyes to the new day.
Last class, Kseniya did a presentation on Anton Chekhov and his impact on Russian literature. At the conclusion of her blog post, she ended it with one his quotes, "Take care of the human inside you." I feel as human beings, we are often reckless in our actions, for we see that our perceptions and decisions affect us both directly and indirectly. The quote may seem misinterpreted for promoting a sheltered life---but at its core---it calls us to maintain a clear conscience. A clear conscience leads to a peace of mind, which leads to an evocation of positivity. But why do we find ourselves---day to day---become attracted to that which is dark and wrong? Are we innately evil like Thomas Hobbes says? Why do I always put rhetorical questions in my posts? Perhaps the key to living is to remain indifferent to all things so we will never be bothered. Or perhaps maybe it is just to simply
Sal: Matthew, what the hell are you doing? I haven't been in one of your posts yet! Do you not know how to follow directions?
Matthew: Sorry, Sal. I've just been so busy, I hope you will still be my avatar.
Sal: Yeah, yeah. I was reading over your class presentation---I disagree with one thing.
Matthew: And what may that be?
Sal: The theme---it is not death. Although I partly agree with what you are saying---I feel that the primary theme is the search for one's identity.
Matthew: You're just saying that because that's all you ever write about!
Sal: Don't be ignorant! Anyways---Marjane is living amongst the lost Iran---and it is in this turmoil that she struggles to find herself.
Matthew: You prove a good point, Sal, if only you didn't drop out of Columbia.
Sal: I had that---I was already through that.
Matthew: Didn't Charles Manson say that?
Sal: No.
Matthew: By the way, why did you wait to discuss Persepolis with me almost a month after I wrote about it?
Sal: Because you never included me in your posts!
Matthew: Hmmm, I have been feeling an unexplainable absence in me lately.
Sal: You're searching for yourself---we always are.
Identity---a universal theme that can be found in almost any work of literature. Is there really any use of a journey of self-discovery? Or are we already and fully here?---our identity already intact---with no need for searching. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream," had a tremendous impact on the African-American's struggle for freedom---but the question arises whether they were searching for their identity in the present America or merely the acceptance of a fully established identity that they already possessed.
During my experience reading literature---I have come across two general perspectives on the search for identity. One comes from Aldous Huxley's The Doors of Perception, in which he says, "Our goal is to discover that we have always been where we ought to be." Here he suggests that our identity has and will always be there---that there is no need to find it somewhere else. However, I do find a contradiction in his words, for is it not a journey that we must endure in order to come to this realization and discovery?
Contrastingly, in Herman Hesse's Demian, the author says, "I realize today that nothing in the world is more distasteful to a man than to take the path that leads to himself." Here, Hesse disagrees with Huxley's view in saying that the identity does not lie in oneself---but wherever the path that points elsewhere leads to. Is the existence of a middle ground between these views possible? Or will it always either/or? Sal: "One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple."
The play, A Man In a Case, tells the story of two lovers who seem to come from opposite ends of the spectrum---while, the girl is carefree and loving, the man is extremely reserved and timid. Although the man constantly patronizes his fiancé for her naiveté, she continues to express her love for him unconditionally. What causes people to want to create such a strong connection with another human being? From reading the play, I learned that one cannot continue living a sheltered life forever. They will never be able to fully experience the whole ride we call "life," and as a result, deprive themselves of the chance to be truly fulfilled. Concerning myself, I often find that I forget to live in the present. My mind is always running---taking me to places both in the past and future, never stopping to appreciate the present beauty around me. I often find it difficult to stop this habit, for I know that it is difficult to have full control over ones mind and imagination without having it excessively expand. Consequently, I end up setting unrealistic expectations for everything in my life which just leads to my own disappointment, sometimes going as bad as a depression. I realize that the solution to my problem is to simply and gradually change my ways---but the lesson I have to learn seems to always get lost in my own mind. I always have the time to get better and I am trying so hard to make the best of it. But every time I focus on working towards a better self, I always get lost in the process---it is always either/or. At the end of the day---at least I can say that I am trying, right? In the words of the late Lou Reed, "I don't know where I'm going, but I'm gonna try for the kingdom if I can," but for now, "I guess, I just don't know."
A subpar meter poem I wrote---when I was still a moody seventeen year old dealing with teenage angst---that never saw the light of day. I was really into the movie, Lost In Translation, during the time I wrote this and I figure that it relates to Persepolis pretty well, considering that Marjane was "lost in translation" when she went to Vienna having to adapt to a whole different culture.
Astray
Enter the night in a strange foreign land
Seen through a glass as you watch the lights dance
Am I writing for the second time today just so I can get four posts on my blog by tomorrow? Maybe. But do not let that make you think that there is no sincerity in my words. I still have not done a post that contains dialogue between me and my avatar and I also have not shaved my face in almost three weeks and I am starting to seriously doubt whether I can go through the full Movember. Self-confliction epitomized.
Anyways,
today I attended the poetry reading of my Introduction to Poetry professor, Dave Denny. I was very impressed and entertained by the level of skill that Professor Denny had both in poetry and beard growing. My favorite poem of his was a mash-up of Frankenstein and the presidents in his lifetime. The two subjects were intertwined so smoothly and masterfully with the intensity of it all elevating as professor's voice raised and raised until finally reaching its peak and letting out that ominous but comedic shout, "IT'S ALIVE!!!" Truly amazing.
But regarding the class I am taking by him, we are currently studying about Pablo Neruda, whom Ms. Patton was talking about a few days ago and whose poem we had to read for homework. The evolution of Neruda's poetry is quite interesting. Starting out as a love poet, Neruda delved into more surrealistic imagery and themes in the 1930s while still maintaining his primary subjects of the sea, women as mother nature, etc, as his involvement in the Communist movement influenced his writing. In one of his most famous works, Canta General, Neruda displays a more dark and somber tone with drawn out Walt Whitman-esque lines and a wide range of diction. As oppose to this, Neruda's volumes of The Elementary Odes, displays a more a minimalistic approach, with some lines being just one word with the poem's subjects just common items. Neruda's ability to be deep and complex as well as minimalistic and economical in his writing, while also being accessible, is a quality that I find myself trying to achieve as I go through my days. When I write prose, poetry, and songs and instrumental parts and arrangements, I always feel that there should a balance between intricacy and simplicity, while still retaining some sort of universal appeal for listeners and readers. I feel that the primary intention to create any form of art is not to satisfy the viewer, but rather to be such an expression of oneself that the viewer relates to it as a byproduct of the artist's expression. Now I do not want to start rambling on about the philosophy of aesthetics, so I will end this post just like how I started (from the "Anyways,") with the first poem that really got me into poetry.
One of my favorite records of all time is Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, which is why I used its album cover as my background. And also I think it looks cool. Aside from that, throughout the album, the lead singer, Jeff Mangum, sings about the many aspects of life---exploring themes of war, love, death, family, and God---subjects all expressed in our reading, Persepolis. His lyrics shows the Holocaust through Anne Frank's eyes---depicting the love, death, etc. that she experienced during her time. However, one must not mistaken the record as merely an album about Anne Frank---but a portrayal of the unpredictability of life that human beings so often encounter. The album opener, "The King of Carrot Flowers," starts off just like Persepolis, depicting the playful naiveté of childhood and adolescence against the backdrop of war---in this case---World War II, until finally going into the title track: a simple four-chord progression song exploring the concept of living life and how strange it is. Similarly to Marjane, the title track questions one's purpose in life, evoking the same curiosity that she possessed throughout her youth. The next song, "Two-Headed Boy," which is my personal favorite, is about lovers living through the Holocaust. There is an underlying sorrow throughout the song, for Mangum sings of how when the war is all over, he and his love will still be together and that even if they do not make it, they will continue to be in love through all the pain, suffering, and separation. From a universal standpoint, this can be seen as a general representation of one's undying hope for survival during crisis. Despite the helplessness that one faces in bleak situations, they still face the comfort of their own idealistic thoughts, which creates for them an eternal place of refuge---something that not only Marjane, but her family and fellow countrymen held within themselves throughout the war and dictatorship. After a short interlude, the following track, "Holland, 1945," continues with the message of hope as Mangum sings, "Now we must pick up every piece of this life we used to love, just to keep ourselves at least enough to carry on," something Marjane tries to do continuously throughout the book. The eight-minute epic that follows a second interlude after "Holland, 1945," is Oh Comely, a track whose main focus is the remorse and attachment one sometimes feels when recalling their past experience. Marjane does just this---regretting her abandonment of her Iranian culture as a result of trying to fit in Austria, and holding on to the memory of her executed Uncle, wishing so badly to find some way to bring him back. The next song, titled, "Ghost," is a reaction to "Oh Comely," which is about learning from the past and using the experience to become stronger and move forward. It also delves into culture and tradition---how the legacy of one's past ancestors---good or bad---will always live within them, in addition to any other significant figures that they may have once had. Likewise, the spirit and legacy of Marjane's uncle, grandma, and everyone else she met along the way, continues to still live within her---for the culmination of this and her experience has become her identity. After a another interlude, the album closes with the track "Two-Headed Boy, Pt. 2." The song sums the whole album by touching on subjects such as religion, family, love, and departure all throughout the song. It ties everything else into one context, continuing the story of the two lovers in the Holocaust, with the boy questioning God on why tragedy took his lover and how he watched his fellow brothers die, with the final line concerning his lover as Mangum sings, "But don't hate her when she gets up to leave." At the end of the day, the album tells us to accept whatever happens to us in life, for there is absolutely no use in dwelling in the past. Marjane held onto the past frequently, from not accepting her uncle's death to not forgiving herself for her imperfections and mistakes. She is able to finally find closure when she lets it all go and leaves Iran for good.
If you actually spent this whole time reading this entire post, I thank you because I probably would have stopped reading after the first three sentences if I were in your position, especially if I was reading about a band or artist I was not familiar with. It is the truth and I accept it. But all in all, if you did not read this and just skipped to the bottom, I will not hate you when you get up to leave. Peace and love forever and always.
