A few words concerning the latest drama…

First they called him a “white supremacist” for expressing views different from those of the mainstream media. But I suppose any of us who’ve had the guts to express our own opinions have gone through similar over the last few months.

But then they called a man who was sexually abused a child a PEDOPHILE. I knew something was fishy when I saw the news headlines (I mean, come on, it’s the mainstream media). But when I learned the truth, my heart fell.

And now they’ve cancelled his book, as a last attempt to kick him as he lies on the ground. I know the “Dangerous Faggot” isn’t one to care what other people think, but no human can go through that much without becoming disheartened. Like Donald Trump and Paul Joseph Watson, you have me hope that things can get better and that the SJWs and establishment won’t defeat us. My heart goes out to you.

To use the words of that scumbag Shia, but with a twist, THEY will not divide us. We will not be beaten down. No more.

You said at Cal Poly last month that you want your listeners to know the truth so that as many of them as possible will go to heaven. You’ve been fighting for us. We’re here for you, Milo.

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The Truth About Haters (And Why They Don’t Really Bother Me Anymore)

For anyone who has known me for an extended period of time, I used to be a very sensitive soul. I desperately wanted to please people and I would change my opinion quickly in order to be liked. And while that girl isn’t completely gone, I’ve realized that over the past year, I’ve become much more confident… and less willing to deal with crap.

“How do you live with yourself after getting broken once again?” a tumblr poet asks.

Answer – you don’t. you pick up the shattered glass of the version of you that was too weak, throw away every single piece you don’t need and create a new one. you reinvent yourself, build it up from dust and bones, glue it all together with hope, and stand up taller. you forget all the lies and heartache, leave behind everyone who ever dared to lay a hand on you and start anew. you come back to life as someone who will know better, as someone who knows they deserve better and step lightly into the world again. ready or not, you gather your strength and go, for the new version of you has still so much to learn [sic].

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Top Ten Reads of 2016

Most books I read aren’t new releases, but I thought I’d do my own list of my favourite books that I read this year. Some are new, others not. I decided to stick to books that I read for the first time this year, so that rules out favourites like Hamlet and The Lord of the Rings. I chose books that made me fall in love with them because they are clever, well-written, and just add to the literary discourse of the human heart.

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The Catholicity of Emily Dickinson’s Poetry

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One of the major themes in my American Literature class this semester has been that of Providence and the conversion narrative – our major example being that of Mary Rowlandson, who trusts in God and sees Him as “weaning” her desires from life, family, even the skin on her own back to more fully “convert” her to a purer form of Christianity. I find the theme of trust in Providence very interesting – and perhaps a little more real – in the poems of Emily Dickinson.

Many of Dickinson’s poems have been called blasphemous by critics such as Helen Vendler. While it is true that Dickinson’s poetry does suggest that she fell often into the sin of Despair (e.g. #320 – “There’s a certain Slant of light”), the fact that religious elements are in so many of her poems, I argue, illustrates that while she struggled with faith, she did not entirely give up hope.

122
These are the days when Birds come back -
A very few - a Bird or two -
To take a backward look.
 
These are the days when skies resume
The old - old sophistries of June -
A blue and gold mistake.
 
Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the Bee.
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,
 
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear -
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
 
Oh sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze -
Permit a child to join -
 
Thy sacred emblems to partake -
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!

 

In poem #122, Dickinson writes of looking back not only to the “old sophistries of June,” but also the innocence and belief of childhood. Back then she was unable to “partake” of the “consecrated bread,” but then, at least, she had stronger belief. Dickinson wishes that she could experience that longing again. She realizes that having religious fervor is much better than being able to receive Eucharist with no belief, and perhaps this is why she never took Communion (x). I quite enjoy Ashok Karra’s analysis, in which faith, like a mustard seed, has not yet been planted in the ground. However, it is floating about in the air, ready to be grasped. Perhaps Dickinson is unable to reach for faith yet, but the fact that she is staring at it with wonder and longing is much more hopeful than one who rejects it and turns away.

Perhaps it is due to her church community, which viewed Dickinson as not yet “converted,” that she questions her lack of faith with such despondency. A more accepting community, in which Dickinson’s smaller faith would have still been appreciated as faith, would have produced much different poetry, that is certain. She knows that “This world is not conclusion” (#373), but apparently, according to her church community, she is excluded from the glory of the next. Therefore, Dickinson’s “Faith slips” as she sees only empty “Gesture, from the Pulpit” where they claim that their faith is superior to hers. Their joy in the Lord only makes her stumble (#312), and so she scorns their happiness because it makes them weak – only preaching, not practicing. In fact, perhaps it is Dickinson who has had the true conversion, for her hardship gives her a strength (#861) beyond any of theirs – it is an “imperial affliction” (#320) which leads her to God. She, like Mary Rowlandson, and unlike the hypocritical people of her church, “can wade Grief – / Whole Pools of it” (#312).

On days when her despair becomes too extreme, Dickinson wishes for “[t]he privilege to die – ” (#588), thereby provoking her theme of depression throughout her otherwise lighthearted or cynical poetry. With such a lonely life, it is not hard to see why Dickinson makes God her “Inquisitor” (#588).  However, Dickinson knows all too well that a person needs the pain of the “Augur” and “Carpenter” to become a properly-formed “Soul” (#729). She is “the vivid Ore” who, after being purified by her religious experiences, no longer needs “the Forge” of her Protestant church – “the designated Light [has] / Repudiate[d] the Forge – ” (#401). Therefore, even though her church has not deemed her to be “converted,” Dickinson has actually weaned her affections – or at least she claims to in her poetry, such as in #782 when she “let[s] go” of her love for  a person because she knows that the “Great Progenitor” (God) will not reject her, like human beings inevitably will. The words of those of her church are merely the “Contempts – of time – ” (#830).

Interestingly, Arthur McMaster believes that Dickinson’s poetry seems to express an interest in Catholicism. The Protestant, anti-Catholic environment surrounding Dickinson could explain why she struggled so much with faith – not faith as a whole, for she did seem to believe in God, but rather, which kind of faith she should choose. McMaster believes that Catholic ideas of free will and salvation would have appealed much more to Dickinson than the predestination of her upbringing. One can see Dickinson struggling with the idea of predestination especially in #706 (“I cannot live with You”), for she is unable to wean herself of her affections to her lover (and therefore opposing #830, but who says that one cannot change one’s mind later on??). Therefore, he is one of the Elect and she knows that she is “condemned to be / Where You were not.” Sarah Klein, however, states that Catholicism was foreign to Dickinson and therefore such theories seem incorrect. Whichever is the truth, it is unquestionable that her themes of faith are Catholic in essence.

For example, in poem #124, the question is raised whether “the meek members of the Resurrection” will rise to be with their Maker, but this is because all are nothing in the sight of God. When people on the earth are nothing but “Dots, / On a Disc of Snow” to the majestic Deity, one’s high status does not matter: “Diadems – drop – / And Doges – surrender – .” Life will go on (“Grand go the Years, / In the Crescent above them – “) when a person dies – all that matters is whether he or she will awaken to be with Christ.

In #232, Dickinson wonders whether to forgive the person who “forgot” her. Her mind wanders back to her Biblical background and she remembers how Jesus forgives Peter for denying Him three times. Therefore, she must follow her Saviour’s example – “Could I do aught else – to Thee?”

Kanye West Taken to Psychiatric Ward for… Wait for It… SPEAKING TRUTH!!!

'The Jonathan Ross Show' TV Programme, London, Britain. - 28 Feb 2015

Kanye West was hospitalized Monday, handcuffed and taken against his will. His personal trainer decided that he had been “acting erratically” and decided to call the police. People Music now claims that Kanye is just exhausted, suffering from sleep deprivation, and that he chose to go to the hospital of his own free will. It seems strange that the stories would change within a few days.

Of course, this must have nothing to do with the fact that, on tour, Kanye had just supported Donald Trump (oh, the horror!), denounced Hillary Clinton, and told his fans that Facebook, Apple, and the media was lying to them. Mainstream media called this truth-telling “a series of bizarre” incidents. Oh, and what takes the cake is that Kanye knows about Pizzagate and that he told his fans about that, too. The Big Brother certainly doesn’t want that getting out. No wonder Kanye was handcuffed and hauled off to the hospital. Anyone who tells the truth and knows a little too much in this age is obviously mentally unstable. (Shouldn’t celebrities like Madonna be the ones deemed as needing help instead?)


Anna Elizabeth is a university undergraduate who is tired of seeing how no one wants to listen to the truth these days, all fed by the lies of the mainstream media.

Richard III {play review}

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Two nights ago, I went to see Richard III at the Vertigo Theater with my Shakespeare class. It was the opening night of the play and a new take on the classic story for many; however, it was my very first time ever going to see a play. I might have been biased due to this fact, but I was absolutely enchanted by my experience.

The acting was phenomenal. From gut-wrenching sobbing to the dramatic dream scene, I was kept on the edge of my seat. I was particularly impressed with the actor who played Richard, the villain. As Richard is a cripple, the actor kept his leg slightly off the ground and twisted a little – he never let go of this hobbling position. Even with eerie villainous laughs, Richard still managed to keep the audience enchanted by him, swayed by his own humorous words – which is just exactly how Shakespeare meant Richard to be. The actor did such an amazing job, in fact, that I would definitely go to see a play just to see him perform again. Lady Margaret was also amazing – so much so that she seemed even better on the stage than she did on paper (but the, the stage is where she belongs, isn’t it?)

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The Man Who Spoke

Due to the fact that I hardly ever blog on here (since I feel like I have to have long, intellectual posts in order to make blogging worthwhile), I decided that I’m going to try something new – short, little posts about my day, what I’m reading, etc.

So, without, further ado, here is my little happy moment of the day. [originally posted here – with grammatical mistakes and all]

 

This morning on the train on the way to school, there was an older man with a cast. Despite his injured leg, he moved from bench to bench, talking to people about how he was trying to quit smoking, how he was going to the doctor’s, about Calgary in general, etc. I was slightly annoyed, but more amused.

I was immersed – or trying to be – in reading short stories by Edgar Allan Poe. I hope the man wouldn’t try to come and bother me after all the other people left the train (I get off at one of the last stops, and it often happens that I am the only one left in the car). He didn’t try to initiate conversation, however, and I felt almost…. disappointed?

As he got ready to leave the train a few stops before me, I looked up and gave him a smile. He smiled back.

“That must be a good book you’re reading,” he said. “You were so into it. Have a good day.”

Just thinking about it now makes me smile.