I must admit that there is a driving force behind my blog this week. Something I thought would spice my motivation. I read Andrew’s blog today and I feel I need make a rebuttal in offering a different perspective. No offense intended, the blog was wonderfully written, well supported, and absolutely understandable, but I seemed to get an entirely different message from this seemingly basic and grotesque story. Basically, I feel that I need to stand up for Gregor’s psychological mind as he transforms from a man to a bug. And, for all of you that tend to think the opposite of my profound thoughts I will explain my opinions.
I feel that the first sentence of the story is the most philosophical proposal of the entire story. It starts with a question that stayed in my mind throughout the entire story. Is this story just a dream, or is this really happening? You could argue that this is actually happening as an extreme way of Gregor’s psychological mind relieving himself from his demanding duties, but I think that the transformation from human to bug is an intense metaphor. I think that his mind is so overwhelmed by the pressures of his everyday life that it had to create an escape. Gregor receives little appreciation for his duties as he provides for the family. With demanding work and little appreciation, I cannot blame him from mentally turning himself into a bug. I believe that Gregor cares deeply that he is a bug. He does not care that he looks like a bug, but he appreciates the mental break. He cares about the repercussions of turning into a bug: no work, relaxation both physically and mentally, and powerful negative feedback that drives him mad.
This all seems fine to Gregor, until he realizes that he is nothing but a burden— an insignificant burden to the people around him. I see Gregor as someone that has lived his entire life trying to please others and not cause any ripples in the waters he inhabits. This bug that he has uncontrollably turned into has put him under a bright microscope (slight pun intended), a place he is unfamiliar with and ultimately ashamed of. He has become a burden to the people around him, what he has lived his life to avoid and the resulting feeling is shame and embarrassment. He feels bad that his family has to live with a bug that is so revolting. Ironically, he is not self-absorbed and concerned, but instead he is conscious of the people that he is affecting with his hideous appearance. He bows down to these criticisms just as he bowed down to his duties before he was stripped of his human qualities.
I would like to thank Andrew and praise him for writing a blog that posed a tremendously provocative stance that inspired me to write my blog. I learn the most from people that challenge my view of situations.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Ain't No Reason
There ain’t no reason things are this way.
Its how they always been and they intend to stay.
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.
Preachers on the podium speakin’ of saints,
Prophets on the sidewalk beggin’ for change,
Old ladies laughing from the fire escape, cursing my name.
I got a basket full of lemons and they all taste the same,
A window and a pigeon with a broken wing,
You can spend your whole life workin’ for something
Just to have it taken away.
People walk around pushing back their debts,
Wearing pay checks like necklaces and bracelets,
Talking ‘bout nothing, not thinking ‘bout death,
Every little heartbeat, every little breath.
People walk a tight rope on a razors edge
Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons.
It could be a bomb or a bullet or a pen
Or a thought or a word or a sentence.
There Ain't no reason things are this way.
It's how they always been and they intend to stay
I don’t know why I say the things I say, but I say them anyway.
But love will come set me free
Prison walls still standing tall,
Some things never change at all.
Keep on buildin’ prisons, gonna fill them all,
Keep on buildin’ bombs, gonna drop them all.
Working your fingers bear to the bone,
Breaking your back, make you sell your soul.
Like a lung that’s filled with coal, suffocatin’ slow.
The wind blows wild and I may move,
The politicians lie and I am not fooled.
You don't need no reason or a three piece suit to argue the truth.
The air on my skin and the world under my toes,
Slavery stitched into the fabric of my clothes,
Chaos and commotion wherever I go, love I try to follow.
Love will come set me free
There ain't no reason things are this way
It’s how they always been and they intend to stay
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.
-Brett Dennen
Its how they always been and they intend to stay.
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.
Preachers on the podium speakin’ of saints,
Prophets on the sidewalk beggin’ for change,
Old ladies laughing from the fire escape, cursing my name.
I got a basket full of lemons and they all taste the same,
A window and a pigeon with a broken wing,
You can spend your whole life workin’ for something
Just to have it taken away.
People walk around pushing back their debts,
Wearing pay checks like necklaces and bracelets,
Talking ‘bout nothing, not thinking ‘bout death,
Every little heartbeat, every little breath.
People walk a tight rope on a razors edge
Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons.
It could be a bomb or a bullet or a pen
Or a thought or a word or a sentence.
There Ain't no reason things are this way.
It's how they always been and they intend to stay
I don’t know why I say the things I say, but I say them anyway.
But love will come set me free
Prison walls still standing tall,
Some things never change at all.
Keep on buildin’ prisons, gonna fill them all,
Keep on buildin’ bombs, gonna drop them all.
Working your fingers bear to the bone,
Breaking your back, make you sell your soul.
Like a lung that’s filled with coal, suffocatin’ slow.
The wind blows wild and I may move,
The politicians lie and I am not fooled.
You don't need no reason or a three piece suit to argue the truth.
The air on my skin and the world under my toes,
Slavery stitched into the fabric of my clothes,
Chaos and commotion wherever I go, love I try to follow.
Love will come set me free
There ain't no reason things are this way
It’s how they always been and they intend to stay
I can't explain why we live this way, we do it everyday.
-Brett Dennen
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Death by Regret
The Death of Ivan Ilych makes the stark comparison between the life of a moral and righteous being and the life of a selfish and essentially meaningless human existence. It seems apparent which method of life would produce happiness and fulfillment, but ironically Ivan Ilych strives to be associated with the egocentric lifestyle that yields misery. The story first reveals itself with the seemingly unimportant and emotionless death of a man named Ivan Ilych. The men are more concerned with the fact that the immense burden of needing to console Ivan’s wife lay ahead of them than the fact that they have lost a close companion.
As the book continues to unravel the life of Ivan Ilych, we realize that he was never actually in tune with himself and his own true feelings and needs. He lived to please and to succeed in the eyes of society. This meaningless life proves to haunt him up until his death as he lies in reflection on his death bed. Throughout his entire existence Ivan was convinced that pleasing society and ignoring the inner pangs of self loss was the road to success and thus happiness, but as he nears the bright light in the enveloping dark sack, he realizes he lived his life completely wrong. I think that the guilt of betraying himself and his desires comes when he sees the pity and remorse that fills his servant, Gerasim. He realizes that the peasant man living day to day without living up to society’s expectations is the only person that can truly care for and connect to Ivan Ilych as he passes. As Ivan Ilych approaches his death, I do not believe that it was the elevation of his feet that curbed his pain, but the compassion that oozed from Gerasim. His family and his friends, those he had always regarded as his closest companions, do not even care to try to connect emotionally to him as his final days approach.
Ivan realizes that without even knowing it, he sacrificed true happiness and deep human connection for the superficialities that consume a life of pleasing society. This ultimately leads me to believe that Ivan Ilych’s regret, self remorse, and endless guilt furthered the progression of his minor disease, ultimately causing his death. He did not die from a floating liver; he died from the staleness of his doctor, the cold shoulder of his wife, the ignorance of his friends, and most importantly the shame of his wasted existence. (453)
As the book continues to unravel the life of Ivan Ilych, we realize that he was never actually in tune with himself and his own true feelings and needs. He lived to please and to succeed in the eyes of society. This meaningless life proves to haunt him up until his death as he lies in reflection on his death bed. Throughout his entire existence Ivan was convinced that pleasing society and ignoring the inner pangs of self loss was the road to success and thus happiness, but as he nears the bright light in the enveloping dark sack, he realizes he lived his life completely wrong. I think that the guilt of betraying himself and his desires comes when he sees the pity and remorse that fills his servant, Gerasim. He realizes that the peasant man living day to day without living up to society’s expectations is the only person that can truly care for and connect to Ivan Ilych as he passes. As Ivan Ilych approaches his death, I do not believe that it was the elevation of his feet that curbed his pain, but the compassion that oozed from Gerasim. His family and his friends, those he had always regarded as his closest companions, do not even care to try to connect emotionally to him as his final days approach.
Ivan realizes that without even knowing it, he sacrificed true happiness and deep human connection for the superficialities that consume a life of pleasing society. This ultimately leads me to believe that Ivan Ilych’s regret, self remorse, and endless guilt furthered the progression of his minor disease, ultimately causing his death. He did not die from a floating liver; he died from the staleness of his doctor, the cold shoulder of his wife, the ignorance of his friends, and most importantly the shame of his wasted existence. (453)
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