Thursday, October 28, 2010

Scribe Post 10/28

Today in class, we discussed some of our points of confusion within the text.
One of them was when, after the narrator comes out of the bushes after the night in Harlem, he falls down into a hole. The narrator thinks they are cops because they are white, but they are only regular men who want to join in on the looting. The narrator, as soon as he realizes they aren’t cops, turns to run and falls into an open hole. He ends up realizing that there is nowhere else he can go, and it becomes the place where he has an epiphany about his life. This is the same hole where he is living at the beginning of the book, in the prologue.

Important quote: “This is the way it’s always been, only now I know it”
Other times when the narrator has been trapped in darkness by white people:
When he was in the hospital in chapter 11, and he couldn’t move or leave, or even remember his name, and he was being kept there and watched by white people.
His entire life, he has been trapped in his own metaphoric “hole”, and the ideas and actions of white people kept a lid on his self-expression. He has always been stuck, in a way, because everything that happened to him in life was controlled by other people.
Examples:
  • When he was sent to college by a wealthy white man, only to be expelled for something that was out of his control
  • When he was sent into the city with false hope that he would get a job
  • The Brotherhood used him as a figurehead and made his decisions for him

This is an article from The Huffington Post on a similar, but more modern topic:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ron-christie/post_1156_b_775111.html

We discussed the American Dream, and whether or not it is accessible to all people in this country. We agreed that, at least according to Ellison, the likelihood that a person will be successful in this country depends on which social group you belong to and where you were born. Some people are born in situations which make them more likely to reach the idyllic “American Dream”.

We also discussed that the symbol of his castration during the dream sequence can be seen as a representation of the narrator's loss of identity. He retaliates by telling them that they have stopped him from creating more generations of people for them to oppress. He expresses hope that the next generations will not be as oppressed as this generation.

The next scribe is: Jordan Tucker

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Invisible Man Discussion

Today in class we discussed what the symbol of “invisibility” means. He realizes that the is just a puppet. He can make an effect on people, but nobody takes him seriously. An example of this is after he drove Mr. Norton and went to explain what was going on. No matter what he said he was going to be kicked out of collage. Similar to how you humor a child whenever he/she says something, weather or not you believe it. We also discussed how the event of falling into the hole is similar to how he is treated thought the book. The white man was always above him and forces him to stay in the dark.

Confusing things explained:

In the beginning of Chapter 22, Invisible man was arguing with the brotherhood. They were arguing about Invisible man organizing a funeral without permission. They wanted Invisible man to be part of a unit rather then having opinions about things. They wanted to use him as a puppet.
    Clifton was called a traitor for selling Sambo dolls, which is a racial slur. Sambo dolls are dolls that exaggerate the facial features of African-Americans. Another reason is because Clifton did not want to be treated as a puppet by the brotherhood.
    The hole that Invisible man was in at the end of the book is the basement that he was in during the prologue.

The next scribe is... Sam B.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Why I Am not African American

I am not African American because that is not all of me. My Carmel colored skin is only the depthless exterior of my substance and soul. The roots that I grow on this planet Earth don’t solely correlate with my African routes. Instead I yearn to grow roots on this earth that inspire other to be something other than their routes too. I am a daughter, a sister, niece and grand daughter. I have dreams that entail more than escaping my skin or becoming the model Black in the neighborhood. I have dreams of dancing on the beach at night and going sky diving, simple stuff, that involves me putting my toes in white sand and being near white clouds. Brown is not my only color. African American is not me.

Why I am not Middle Eastern


I identify myself as a Middle Eastern person, but I am not Middle Eastern for several reasons. I wasn’t born in the Middle East. I also don’t speak Arabic fluently. Although my parents came from there, it is said that you only come through, not from, your parents. Khalil Gibran once said that. Does reading Middle Eastern literature make me more Middle Eastern than I’m not? I don’t know. There are probably a variety of reasons as to why I don’t fit the Middle Eastern stereotype: I’m diplomatic, racially ambiguous, but also have multiple identities.

I am not just an Arab by culture or ethnicity, but a French speaker, an American, a Christian, a Buddhist, and a citizen of the world. To say I can only have one identity (that of a Middle Eastern person) is obliterating. To not let all the other aspects of me help define me is not being just. Let me be what I am, and let my many facets, dimensions, and idiosyncrasies speak for themselves.

Why I am not an energetic person

I identify myself as an energetic person

Why I am not an energetic person. What I want to be, is not what I am. I try and try, but as I come closer to truth I only further myself. I want to be energetic, I want to be fun. I want to just have a good time and be the center of attention. However, that is not what I am. I am someone who enjoys to be by themselves. I am someone who would rather play video games, or train for soccer than be put on trial by society’s laws. I am alone but I am not lonely, and I enjoy the peacefulness. The stress is taken away and I do not have to worry if my friends will find my next joke funny, for the only jokes I say are inside my head, and I always find myself funny. I identify myself as an energetic person, however I am what I am.

Why I am not a fun person.

Why I am not a fun person because I love nothing more then sitting on the couch and eating half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s half baked ice cream on a Friday night. Now that does not sound fun, fun is going out with your friends and having a party with a huge group of people and going meet new people. Fun is staying out past your curfew because time just got away from you and when you go home you have to sneak into your house and tip toe up the stairs. Not channel surfing for hours and passing out on the couch before eleven o’clock there for I am not a fun person.

Why I Am Not Reliable

I am not a reliable person. I would like to be a reliable person but the one thing that gets in the way is how unreliable I am. I know that I have good intentions and that I want to be known as somebody who can get the job done, but I am not. I have a bad tendency to be lazy or slack off. I have a nasty habit of neglecting the jobs I am given. When somebody asks me to do something, I always say yes, but saying yes is only half of the fight. The other half is where I fall short. Where I let up at the first sign of a problem and give in to my desire to do nothing. I am pulled away from my responsibilities and taken hostage by the temptations of TV, sleep, and video games. I want people to have faith in my drive and my ability, but I just don’t know that it’s there.

I am not a Sane Person

Why I am not a Sane Person



I am not a sane person because I do not think logically. I tend to make up crazy ideas in my head like stories and fantasy realms and possess them as though they were reality. Not that I am insane when I do things like that, it is just not a realistic view. But alas, I continue making up my fictional stories containing warlocks, elves and gremlins and I live them. I will never talk with somebody about what could be out there when we die; what will happen to us, or where we will go. However, the only time I like to think about death is when I think that I will get superpowers when I die and fly around fucking with people. This is just who I am; I cannot help it, I cannot hide it.

Why I am not motivated

Two days ago I found myself in a familiar place stuck between procrastination and my losing battle of dedication. Why would I sit for hours and work, when I can cram it all in, in one fell swoop. I have no passion for what I need to do and have lost the will to do what I can. So I’m left sitting in my room, waiting; almost hoping. But there’s no motivation in hope. The only thing you will ever get from hope will come if you are successful in what you hope for; it will come in the form of desire. Desire might lead to action and as soon as you decide to act you have become motivated. But I hope no longer because all chances of success have left, all forms of desire have failed. So it seems, today, I will not be motivated; another day I might choose to find the will that brings me to hope that will guide me to desire that might lead me to motivation.

I Identity myself as a relaxed person

I identify myself as a relaxed person. I like to relax and it feels good. I dont not want to work hard. I just like to spend time relaxing, Feeling good and just generally chilling. Relaxing is like an sprt for me, or an activity. I will pencil in my day and put in relaxing time. Ill get my soft blanket, kick my dog off my bed, and just look up at the roof of my room. Which is a pastime on its own, it starts off very boring but when you start thinking, it all falls into place. However, my favorite thing to do though is while relaxing, to get a sweater and sit outside and look at the beautiful, darkening sky. But mostly, I identify myself as a relaxed person because I like lying down.

Why I am not a unique person.

I wake up, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, get dressed. Everyone else that I know wakes up, eats breakfast, brushes their teeth and gets dressed. I do what everyone else does everyday. I go to school. All of my peers go to school. I'll go and see a movie. Who hasn't seen Avatar. I walk in the most efficient way possible as does everyone else, I live my life with the need for food and water like everyone else. I'm like everyone around me and do things no differently than them. If I were unique I would crawl on all fours down the street dressed in clothes made of exotic materials not meant to be worn. Instead of English I would make noise to communicate and I would do nothing the same anyone else. I'd sleep all day and be awake all night, eating only what I felt like and when I felt like eating it. I would travel the world and do things no one has ever dared do. I'd run through the desert wearing a sweater and walk barefoot through the Arctic. But I am not unique and I do not do any of these things.

Why I Am Not An Athletic Person-Ikey C

Well to start off I hate to run. I wish exercise came without running. So many movements. Trying to work as one well oiled machine, but i am not much of a machine I am more like a used tomato soup can.
I love chips and dip and everything that might get lost in between couch pillows. Push-ups have never been fun. Why go from holding myself up to lying on my belly then pushing myself back up, why not just stay stationary on the ground with my belly resting upon wall to wall carpet. I find that a big leather chair is so much more comfortable than a nice wet pair of cleats that where used yesterday and the year before that. Why pass the ball to a team mate when I could just ask my best friend to pass the dip.
The best thing about being not athletic is no one calls you a ball hog or no one makes fun of how bad you are. You are your own referee, you make the rules of what happens on that couch. You are the ref that decides how fat is too fat. You are the pusher who tells yourself get off your lazy ass and go for a run.

Why I am not a Canadian person

I am not Canadian because I do not live in Canada, at least not all the time. I like hockey but on TV and not when im actually playing and, given a curling stone, I will do nothing with it. My accent is American lacking that weird mix between a flat unemotional monologue spiced with a British twist I do not mind the cold but, neither do most New Englanders and, furthermore; waking up, I check the Boston weather not the Montreal news.
I am not Canadian for I order breakfast simply " two pancakes, one egg, and a cup of coffee," and not the French-Canadian language of " two eggz-doublesmile. toast buttered-upsidedown. no white sugr cufey, pay later or check now?" As you can see, I can not even understand what a Canadian even says and so, am not Canadian.

I Am Not White

I Am Not White

I am not white because I don’t segregate against any one that is not the same color as me, because I’m not racist, is that why you don’t think I’m white? I’m actually not white because I don’t “rep” a certain heritage or flaunt cash out of my pockets. I’m not white, the stereotypical one that you first think of, because I’m more than one sided, not just white, I have many more ethnicities than you would think. Just because I’m white and because I’m a catholic, you think that I’m homophobic: lie, I don’t have a problem with love and who some love. You think I lack origin? I know who and where I am and from. I am not white.

-Meg .. I HAD SUCH A BAD DAY TODAY SO THIS IS WHY IT IS NOT THAT GOOD. hi

WHY AM I NOT A FUN PERSON

I am not fun when im boring. I am not fun when im by myself, solitary keeps me quite and I sleep. When im in a bad mood, I am no longer fun and those are the worst of times. But at times I am serious, when I need to be.

Why I Am Not A Colorful Person

Why I Am Not A Colorful Person
I am not a colorful person because I am uninteresting. I enjoy the same bowl of milk and cereal each morning with a glass of water. White milk. Transparent H20. I arrive at school and although the daily schedule varies it is comprised of the same entities. The same 3:25 pick up and the ride home goes unchanged. A monotone experience. Black and white-mostly white. There is no color in this life. Either you're right, or you're wrong. There are no gray areas. Any variation of the rehearsed daily adventures is slight, if apparent at all. Color is not seen in my clothing or in my skin. Black is all the colors combined, yet white is nothing? I am nothing. If I am nothing, I'm certainly not colorful. A white house in the suburbs is invisible, completely lacking color. The people inside the white house in the suburbs disappear within. I have done nothing spectacular; however, I have done nothing short of acceptable. Not good or bad-just O.K. Blank.

Why I am not an artistic person

I am not an artistic person. I lack the creative skills and focus to paint the same color in different shades over and over again. I lack the patience it takes to bend wire and clay and breath life into a new sculpture. Pencils and markers frustrate me because they smudge, and every single sketch I make I throw into the trash can. I don’t have the determination or the drive to finish a new project. Months fly by before I manage to finish one drawing. Photography does nothing for me, and my pictures always turn out to be blurry and gray.

Art hurts me. It takes my hands and warps them into something ugly and rough. After working with wire, I am covered in blisters. After spending 8 grueling hours painting, my fingers and my face are smeared with slimy paint. Art engulfs me and intrudes in my personal space. It finds a home in my hair, on my pants, between my fingers, and even somehow finds it’s way to my face. It curls up and finds a home in my personal bubble. I hate how it takes me captive. I am not meant for it, but it is meant for me.

WHY AM I NOT FUN

I am not fun when im boring. I am not fun when im by myself, solitary keeps me quite and I sleep. When im in a bad mood, I am no longer fun and those are the worst of times. But i can be serious at times, when I need to be.

Why I am not an Armenian?

I identify myself as an Armenian person.
Why I am not an Armenian?

I am not an Armenian because I do not live by Armenian traditions. My life is not lived like an Armenian life, with Armenian music, dance, art. I was not born in Armenia and do not live there. My tie to Armenian culture is weak. I go to an American school and have a great deal of American friends. I have surrounded myself with Americans and live an American lifestyle and follow their social norms more than an Armenians.

Why I am not a complicated person

Why I am NOT a complicated person.
I am not a complicated person because I do not do much. I run through my day the normal way, the safe way, the same exact way every single day. My emotions run on a greyscale, never reaching black or white, just different tones of blah. For this I am about as deep as a shower, but I’m not shallow, it’s too expensive of an adjective. The only adjectives I own are “okay” and “alright.” I never mess up and I never do good, I just float on by. I’ll never make you laugh; in joy or in spite, but that’s okay. In my simplicity I know exactly the person I am and exactly the person I’ll die as, is there anyone else in the world like me? I’m simply too simple to care.

Why I am not a Latina?


I am not a Latina because I do not like to listen or dance to Salsa and Merengue. I hate the smell and the spicyness of the rice, beans and chicken that my grandmother cooks. I dislike having to speak Spanish because my grandparents do not understand my “No, I don’t want to’s” or “Why do I have to’s?” I am not a Latina because being Latina is not in my blood. By living in the United States, I do not want to be a Latina and that is why I am not one. Although I love watching the Red Sox play, I also love watching the Celtics and at times, the Patriots playing because that is what makes me American. I love listening to Pop, Hip Hop, Techno, Country and Rock and Roll because I do not have to dance it with one specific style, but instead I could be free about it and move the way I want to move. That is being American, being free to be who you want to be, and that is why I am not a Latina. Latinas are so traditional by following all the same traditions and customs that their ancestors did, even when they have moved from their countries. I like to try new things and by doing this, I do not like to follow all of the norms because it will just simply label me as one thing, and I am more than that.

Why I am not a relaxed person


I am not a relaxed person because I get stressed out easily when I am given lots of homework. When my room gets dirty I freak out and throw everything out my window. When the neighbors more the loan I open the door and yell at them “shut it off”. when I am driving and I get stuck in traffic I start cursing at all the other drivers. When someone tells me to relax I get angry.

Why I am not a Jewish Person

I identify myself as a Jewish person.
Why I am not a Jewish Person

I do not follow the ten commandants. I have quite often said the name of the lord my god in vain. I do not always remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. I am not a Jewish person because in the past I have doubted the existence of god. I find myself to not believe in the many customs and rules that the more religious sects of Judaism follow. I believe that woman are treated like crap. The orthodox woman are not allowed to follow their dream but instead they are forced to raise their many children, take care of the house, complete chores, and most become a slave to their husband. In synagogue, the place of worship, woman are forced to sit with other woman and upstairs or in the back, while the men sit with other men and have the perfect seats. At the western wall in Israel for example, if a woman’s son were to have their Bar Mitzvah, the Jewish right of passage, the woman would have to watch the most special event of the son’s life by standing on a chair on the opposite side. I am proud to be a Jew, but sometimes I wish that these customs would change

I am not a music producer

I am a music producer

I am not a music producer because music to me is not expressive and anointing to me. Music to me is a bunch of sounds when I hear it. I don’t take music seriously like it’s the only thing in my life. I am not a music producer because I don’t know how to even make music or know what type of beat if great for a music artist. I am not a music producer because I don’t have a ear for music meaning, I don’t know which instrument goes for which part of the song.

Why I am not a basketball player

I’m not a basketball player because I hate the game. I am plain just not interested in sports. I don’t want to run, get sweaty, and gross. Every time I see the beaver country day school basketball team I just want to vomit. Just picturing the running makes me sick to my stomach. The basketball looks like a giant orange and I am deathly allergic to oranges. All basketball players are too aggressive and it scares me. I do not want to be pushed around and knocked to floor. Look at this face, this is the face of a model. Why would I ever take the risk of ruining my top class modeling career over 10 sweaty guys trying to put a giant orange into a hole. Basketball players a just savages.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

10/18 Symbols in the Invisible Man

In class we discussed some of the recurring symbols in Invisible Man and what they may mean. We started with the Grandfather. We discussed how the Grandfather is one of the first symbols in the book and is returned to after almost all bad situations in the book. The grandfather seems to represent the black man being forever beneath the white man unless he fights to over come it. Another very important symbol is colors specifically black and white. These are symbols that are apparent throughout the book, but shown most powerfully in the Liberty Paints factory. In the factory the Invisible Man has to add 10 drops of a black substance to each bucket of white paint. Eventually the Invisible Man notices the paint has a sort of gray tint to it. This draws attention to the name of the paint, "Optic White." The color white itself is a very multi-layered symbol within the book, and includes White America, America itself and purity in some cases. The third important symbol we discussed was veils. Veils are mentioned few times in the book, but the idea of the Founder lifting the veil can be seen several times, for example with the letters. Veils involve a form of willful ignorance among the characters. The next scribe shall be BARROW!!!

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Scribe Post 10/20

In the beginning of class, we had a grammar lesson on parallelism (similar ideas or phrases joined together in the same sentence in a grammatically correct way). This is a good website to practice and learn parallelism: http://owl.english.purdue.edu/owl/resource/623/01/

During the Invisible Man discussion, we were asked to think about the key symbols we thought were the most significant and powerful in the book so far.

It was decided that Eyes signify a number of things:
1. The inner and true self. On page 102, the narrator says, "As we approached a mirror Dr. Bledsoe stopped and composed his angry face like a sculptor, making it a bland mask, leaving only the sparkle of his eyes to betray the emotion that I had seen only a moment before." In this quote, the narrator says that the only evidence of Bledsoe's real emotions is in his eyes.
2. How he is viewed within society and the larger world. Jordan took us to page 336 when the narrator says, "Perhaps simply to be known, to be looked upon by so many people, to be the focal point of so many concentrating eyes, perhaps this was enough to make one different; enough to transform one into something else." He describes how the way the world sees you can change the person you are.
3. Someone's point of view. Karan noted that on page 343 the narrator says in his speech, "Think about it, they've dispossessed us each of one eye from the day we're born. So now we can only see in straight white lines." The message is that they have developed a parochial view of equality. It goes back to how the Institute taught in one way. What's interesting is the use of "white" as an adjective before "lines," which could mean that whites are responsible for their blindness.

Colors of animals was another key symbol. David pointed out that a quote on page 337, "three white men and three black horses," signifies that whites come before blacks and thats how its always going to be.

Also, the juxtaposition of the colors black and white throughout the novel is a symbol of hierarchy of society. Mr. Neal pointed out that Ellison uses these colors at Tod Cliftons funeral because Harelem is rising up and shutting out the brotherhood who abandoned them. They're taking control from whites and gaining power but it's hard to keep it.

We also discussed the distortion in the color white (ex. the coal painted white).
Guilded - wood w/ thin layer of gold; "the perfect image that if you just scratch it shows the corruption underneath." - Mr. Neal

**Remember to continue the conversation on racial stereotypes in the next class.

The next scribe is Courtenay!

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Scribe Post 10/12/10 & 10/14/10


These past two classes we have discussed a few topics, first the Invisible Man chapters 11-15, then three readings from the Norton Reader, and lastly writing techniques to use within descriptive writing. Our first class discussions began with the Invisible Man, so we will start with that.

Starting off class, we discussed any concerns or comments that we had about the chapters -- questions, confusion, etc. A lot of the preliminary confusion surrounded how the man actual arrived in the hospital in chapter 11, which was first voiced by Sarah Jane. It was then clarified by Mr. Neal that it was a result of the explosion that occurred in the previous chapter, but we then went into further discussion surrounding the symbolism within that scene. Toast brought up some good points, namely that perhaps his "third eye" represented knowledge, or power in a spiritual sense, and that the repetition of grey was relating to the fact that the man was starting to see the world in different ways, rather than a convoluted black and white vision.

Next, Bruna brought up the idea of the "white man's burden" being portrayed through the Brotherhood. She noted that despite the fact the man was nowhere close to being an articulate speechmaker, it was interesting how they asked him to help them campaign. This then brought the class to the conclusion that they, in fact, just wanted to have a minority to help support their cause through the manipulation of marginalized minorities.
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Two days later, we are brought to the 14th and we start of class with a quiz on our personal vocabulary words. Right after this, we dive into the three Norton Reader essays; "He Said no to Internment," "Saved by Strangers," and "Chasing Evil."

We started our discussion with Mr. Neal asking which story did we enjoy the most and the response was varied. Karan and David expressed their like of "He Said no to Internment," because of the historical interest, after which Noah talked about why he liked "Chasing Evil," because it gave greater depth into a story he already knew about -- then Jordan described how much she enjoyed "Saved by Strangers," because of both the writing style and the humanity that was found within it. Overall, throughout the class there was what seemed to be an almost equal dispersion of who liked what.

After this, we broke up into small groups to discuss the writing styles and techniques within each of the essays. After regrouping as a class, we shared what we had come up with. Style choices that came up were: factual information that wasn't particularly descriptive, but informative, colorful language, and constructing sentences so that they weren't flowery, but still provided good descriptions.

Afterwards we worked on our own writing journals, which Toast shared with the class. It was a lovely story about the French countryside that compelled some people to tears, after which class ended.

The next scribe is . . . Sara Radin!

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Scribe Post 10/12/10

Today in class, we discussed the revision of our personal narratives. We were given 15 minutes to work on it in class. We talked about how revision is the action of putting in sentences and taking them out. Revision is also the insertion of descriptive and figurative language. One idea that we didn't say was that editing is NOT revision. Revision is specifically the addition (or subtraction)of language that adds to the essay or piece as a whole. After these revisions we discussed what questions we had on chapters 11-15. A few topics we talked about:
-When the narrator is being operated on, he is getting a lobotomy without his head getting cut open. He is in some sort of machine.
-The narrator believes that the doctors are out to get him and he establishes that the purpose of the operation is to "cure" him of questioning society and how it works.
-The woman at the end of chapter 11 with the red delicious apple is a symbol of Eve, and the meaning behind this symbol is that Adam and Eve ate the fruit from the Forbidden Tree of Knowledge, and the narrator has been reprogrammed to not question things like Adam and Eve did.
-When the narrator finally speaks up in chapter 13, his speech is terribly formed; he doesn't know the name of the leader he tries to mention, and he stutters multiple times. But, in spite of all this, he still manages to speak out and revert back to his earlier state.
-One important thing we took from this speech is that the narrator is not making a speech for the brotherhood because of his good speaking technique, but actually because he is a bad speaker. His lack of speech making skills show in his speech, and the brotherhood is aware of this and have him speak to make him a bad example of his race.

The next scribe is....








THE TAUSMEISTAAA
(Taus)

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Prologue Rap

Living in Harlem all on his own
Under a hotel, in a room where light shone
The light’s actually stolen but no one will know
He is invisible and he’s got nowhere to go

He has no name, and it seems like no goal
He lives without identity, but it seems his life’s whole
And even when he sits, alone every night
He is invisible, and he knows it’s all right.

Invisible Man Rap

Invisible Man Rap




You know you can’t see me

this is what describes my invisibility

but I see

how hard I work to fit in my family tree

fit in to what my grand pappy reached

now I understand the meaning of his speech

he spoke

more distant than under Harry Potter’s cloak

and now I’ve got to climb that long golden rope

to get to the place that I decided I would go

not harlem, not brooklyn

I’m not tryin’ to be crookin’

I just figured out what bledsoe was cookin’

and now it’s burnt

tried to pass it off as me getting work

professor filled with hate and he don’t know about my hurt

I’m talking about the fight

I got my eyes knocked but it’s them who cant see me in the light

I fight

I wage

and it’s you who turns the page

now I’m in my hole in a spectacle of light

and it’s my right

Invisible rap

In the south dude got a scholarship
it was thru the fight won the knowlegship
years went past he was doin good
till norton showed up and brought him to the hood

it was bledsoe threw him out,
up north he moved, it was mad sad

in the city of dreams he found no way
ran into blu who took him back to the golden day
came away with a messed up view,
got even worse wen emerson spew-d
bledsoe didnt want him anymore so he got in his head settle that score
wanted to kill that D-bag soe
btw narrators name was Joe
not really.

I cannot rap to save me

I cannot rap to save my life

But I can at least try this time

No more living under anyone’s thumb,

I have an animal inside

I once thought pride

Was something distrified

Thought that I had all I needed of it

In order to survive

Never thought I’d be strung along

Or kept from succeeding

Or picked clean like Poor Robin

Picked and cleaned for the picking

But here I was all along

In an endless cycle

Which I did not know how

To break free from

It’s ironic how

I find the strength in myself

From people

Less than edified

They’re crazy, yes

But am I not crazy, too

Not to know the difference between

Imprisonment and freedom

Not to know

The definition

Of pride

Scribe Post 10/5/10

Today in class we discussed the latter part of Chapter 10 in Invisible Man, and we talked about making making invisible things visible.
We discussed three events.
1)The narrator walking in on the meeting at the paint factory. Mr. Neal pointed out that this party that he walked in on will come to symbolize the communist and socialist parties of the time.

2) The next event in the chapter we covered was the narrator's fight with Mr. Brockway. The invisible man thought that Mr. Brockway had stabbed him; when in reality, he had merely bitten him. This is an example of the black on black racism that goes on throughout the book, as well as demonstrating the invisible mans anger issues. It can also connect back to his fight in the prologue-he believed the man was trying to kill him, when he really was not.

3)The third event we discussed was Mr. Brockway setting up the accident in the paint factory. This was a symbol for manipulation of power. People in power often manipulate it so that the lower people fight amongst themselves-this accident was a symbol and an example of that.
The next thing we did was discuss how to make things that are invisible, visible. For five minutes, we looked for things that were made in china. We found 34 things. The point was to take an abstract idea-China is the world's factory-and make it visible. We started reading George Orwell's "Down the Mine", which takes an invisible group-coal miners-and makes them visible.

And the next scribe is Sam!

Invisible Man Chapters 8-10 Class Discussion

On a sleepy Monday morning, the 11th grade English class came together. Taus started the questions rolling by asking Mr. Neal what his favorite element was. Lets just say Mr. Neal had a difficult time answering. First siding with Au (gold) and ending with Barium. As a class we then discussed the chapters 8-10 in Invisible Man that were read over the weekend. We analyzed those chapters by going over thoughts or questions us students had come up with. We particularly went into depth of young Mr. Emerson, Taus giving us the lead, “Is there something wrong with him?”, he asked. Mr. Neal replied with, “There is nothing wrong with him per say, but there is definitely something invisible that Ellison is trying to make visible”. With that question said and put out into the minds of us students, books were torn into trying to find the answer.

We began analyzing young Mr. Emerson’s ways and some came up with answers. We first described him, he was nervous, odd, that there was something up with him. Imogene gave a wild guess “He is gay”, Alexys connected the gold cuff links that young Mr. Emerson wore back to Dr. Bledsoe.

In the end as a class we decided that young Mr. Emerson is exotic and probably gay, but was trying to help Invisible Man the whole way by telling him that he did not in fact want to meet with his father because he was a cruel soul. At the end of his spiel he tells the Invisible Man that he already was his fathers prisoner and that the Invisible man should not follow into his footsteps.

Thats it folks....!
The next Scribe-r (?) is EMMY...good luck.

-Imogene Edson

Invisible Man Chapter 8-10.

Reactions on Ch 8-10 of IM

Bruna: Narrator never says his name.
Why? Because he is invisible; symbolism behind every African American person-he could be anyone.
Noah: More of a positive sections.
Jay: Going to NY, how he describes Harlem.
Courtney: Homeless man and the dog?

Reactions to the letter:: "Not fair, game is exposed"
"Vail is being lifted"
Recognizing his invisibility. He is starting to realize the hypocrisy of the social structure.

Kike-Racial slur for a Jewish person.

Mr. Emerson: Nice, polite, how he says; "Have a seat please", he is different.
What is odd? Something he might be hinting at?--
Descriptions of eyes. Mr. Emerson vs. Bledsoe

Symbolism-Exotic bird in the cage. People that have important things to say are often trapped in a cage.

Page 180-Description of office
Foreshadowing what is about to come.
First Paragraph-Jay-"Same as all other white people, foreshadowing it will be different"

Page 187-
"Going to tell the truth"
Bottom of 187-anything odd?; "Jim and Huck Finn; Why go back; So much you can do here where there is more freedom; My father considers me as one of the unspeakables; curious about what lies behind the face of things?"

Ellison makes him seem like he is above every one else-Karan
Beating around the bush, wants to tell IM about Bledsoe's intentions, is he trying to be professional by not speaking directly?-Sara
Everyone's following what they think should be the norm-David
Hiding something from his past that we don't know about-Sarah Jane
Mysterious person in higher power-Amanda
More equal rights, bring out liberties, Emerson does not agree with his father, does not want to follow in his footsteps-Bruna

Mr. Emerson is a homosexual. Mr. Neal is stating it "because he is a professional reader".
Swing his hips, touches his knee, 'unspeakable'

Famous book by Sigmund Freud-Totem and Taboo
Symbols in ch 10 tomorrow.

Next scribe is.... Jake!

UNTITLED

rap about the book
500 hundred pages i wonder how long it’ took
im mean take
hope you dont mind if i toss it in the lake
sever it to my dog on a plate
i mean a platter
your ego gotta shatter
you must become invisible
thats the principle
and be divisible
by 1
amongst each other
holding hands like brother and brother
cause we are 1 people like a family
i dnt look like you, and you not me
but you treat me the way you want to be
together forever
no matter the weather
become invisible and the world will be better
just listen to the speak of lippmans class
slow down life cause i be over in a flash
take a breath of fresh air your movin to fast

Friday, October 1, 2010

THE GALEANO PROJECT: INVISIBLE MAN

NI**ER

Dark as the midnight sky the oh so esteemed doctor said.
This Bledsoe character believes he knows everything about the world. Knows everything about the man that walked in his office.
Saying Nigger as if it does not hurt himself. Bledsoe is weak and insecure.
Saying Nigger was supposed to bring pain to another but his words backfire, the bullets new destination is Dr. Bledsoe.
Saying Nigger was meant to pierce the soul.
Saying Nigger means oh so much more to Dr. Bledsoe, he knows the pain of the word, he has fought the good fight, but continues to fight while climbing the ladder all the way to the top
The man in his office is just another rung.
Saying Nigger, Bledsoe hopes that this brand new and pesky rung will not stay for long.
Saying Nigger is the first step in his long road of self-destruction.
When the man leaves for a bright future. Bledsoe sits in his office waiting for the next rung in the ladder of his life to appear.

Ikey Chafkin


LIGHTBULBS

In the city of blinding lights, he hides himself away in a basement. It is a hole in the ground, this basement, but is not dark, not damp and dank and musty like you would expect; it is warm and bright. It is brighter than the entire city. There is more light than he knows what to do with, but he knows that without the light, he would be visible. Only in the light of his basement can he truly be invisible. When one is in the darkness, one is truly seen for who they are- in the light, there are simply whoever you want them to be. He loves the light, for he loves his invisibility. The light confirms that although he is invisible, he has by no means vanished. It reminds him that he is alive.

Christina Leleon


Bledsoe

Bledsoe stands where he wants on the line, does what he wants to the line and defines the line. He knows how the line works, every weak spot, every point where he can warp and bend it to reflect his image in the greatest way. Bledsoe has stood on the line between black and white to get where he is and to maintain that position, but he doesn't care about the line. He lives by his own rules and everyone else does too. He lives by his own rules under the rules of the white men. He controls them as much as they control him, his mask of greed and lies used to deceive them. Though he's become many things the one thing he isn't is bitter. He keeps his cool and stays calm while standing on the line, warping the line, controlling and getting his way. Bledsoe defines the line.

--Omari Spears


Norton

A man of prestige and a man of great power. In the middle of the 19th century he lived. The founder of a college for blacks. The protagonist's relationship with him is limited to being his driver.
Unfortunately for the protagonist, While he was driving Mr Norton one day, things went wrong. It started with Norton requesting to be driven out of the way because he was curious about what lay in that direction. From there Norton asked to stop the car. All was still well until Norton spoke to a certain black man in the area they had stopped.
Before long Norton was a changed man. He was torn apart from the inside out and was losing control. The protagonist did what he could, but was physically unable to make things better for Norton. It wasn’t until he had witnessed several more traumatic experiences that he finally began to recover from his meeting with the black man.
Upon return to the school, Norton went back to his quarters and summoned the headmaster. He assured the protagonist that he would not be blamed for his bad experiences that day, but the headmaster was not so understanding. The protagonist was expelled from the school that night.

--Diego Fiori


THE BLIND TRUTH


The Reverend spoke, and the community listened.
In Alabama, a college, at that church, stories were told. Reverend Homer A. Barbee talked about a man. This man was not like many of his counterparts, for example he was black. However this black man was educated, and led his people to education like Moses led his to the promise land. Another thing about this man was that he was blind. This happened when a cousin splashed him with lye.
Despite all of the adversity, this man becomes self educated, goes north and furthers his education. Yet he returns only to start a college and help out his fellow black brothers and sisters.
There is a man in that room. He listens to the sermon, and remembers. He remembers the words that his Grandfather had told him before he died. This man thinks about those words, and then thinks about the sermon. That man becomes deeply moved by the sermon, and is remorseful of his previous actions with Mr. Norton, a man who is on the board of directors.
Then this man looks at the Reverend. He sees that the Reverend cannot see.

--Zeke Satloff





And Beginning of Ends


The train steamed North, The narrator heading for Harlem, for work, for closer . Beside him sat the Vet, the instigator, bound for Washington and his own sense of closer. He talks to him as if an old friend, the words which shattered the protagonist's dream spilling out to challenge the narrators confidence a second time. Wise from the past, little penetrates the narrators mind, much like his grandfathers words remaining undigested. Filling the narrators head for space, not thought. The vet talks much like the grandfather too. referring always to the glory of white men and, the acceptance of black repression. He departs, " Offering fatherly advice," advising to leave Norton alone. In a simple sentence he broke the only white bound our narrator had and, in a simple second he was gone with the life our narrator wished he still had.

-Ben Logan


My Win?


I won a fight three days ago. Even though it took place in a ring, I do not call it a boxing match. This is because no boxing match would take place like this. I won the fight. All ten of us were payed for our performance. I won the fight. We were blindfolded to the point of no sight. They let us go like wild animals at the sight of a long overdue meal. It’s too bad that we couldn’t see. Throwing; everybody throwing. Bleeding; everybody bleeding. I won the fight. I was hit by their punches that they thought to be arrant, but I thought to be dead on. The ring was slippery from the whiskey spilled from the mindless viewers who saw entertainment, where we saw torture. I won the fight. As the slug-fest waged on, I could feel the dropping of several of my teammates through my bare, trembling feet on the mat. Four left, but I won the fight. It came down to two men after several minutes of blood in mouth and smoke filled lungs from the ever seemingly fiendish-like men who stood and yelled behind the ropes. Round one had ended. Not due to time, but to eliminations. Only two. Blindfolds stripped and back to the brawl. We hit each other. The boy whispered meaningless tries to end the slaughter that I was raining upon him. I won the fight. I won the money. When I was walking home that cold night and wondering why I had signed up for the fight, I asked myself if I had really won the fight.

--Connor Laubenstein


A VIGNETTE TO FIGHTING


I happens at the end of the year. A fight, to decide dominance, for the right to speak. The blacks fight like animals, fighting for a bone. Fists swinging wildly, a duel of blind animals, clawing and scratching. I sit back, relax and enjoy the sport. This is all that niggers are good for, sport and work, they show only enough intelligence to plow a field or throw a fist. The fight ends on a abrupt note, the blacks stop to rest, their tongues hand out like the family dogs. One steps up to speak, we ignore him. He says a dirty word, and is quickly put down. Animals don’t have the right to talk.

--Tim King


The Power is Lost

No one can control them.
Chaos, they move amongst madness. Un-phased by the mayhem, confusion, and anarchy of the uncontrolled crowd the usual suspects keep with their daily routine. The protagonist looks on in horror as the uncontrollable brawl continues; the white man watching from what would seem afar. Up close he shares no comparisons to them except in location. They can not be control nor are they in control; they just wander and react, not act, but rather feed off of each other as a group.
Fear or anger takes over the the majority as the power is lost and the supreme look on. The one in control will never be control and the one watching will never see.

--Nick Laycox


Death Bed


There was a lamp burning at the end of its wick the curtains were drawn there he lay with his son crouched next to him.
His lips moved and all that came out was what seemed like nonsense he had lost it or had he been saner then ever with death lurking in the shadows.
“Keep up the good fight.”
He was the timid and quiet one how had never caused trouble in his whole life but as has his mortality faded everything came out.
“Our life is a war and I have been a traitor all my born days.”
Who had he betrayed that will always be an unanswered question.
“ Live with your head in the lion’s mouth.”
With his dyeing breath he whispered fiercely.
“Learn it to the younguns.”
Now gods knows what he meant he repented for his past sins in his last minutes and left unknown wisdom to his family and it will always lurk in the shadows of their minds.

--Annie Mangone




Journey to Harlem

It happens in the mid nineteen hundreds, when racism is still a very true reality, and almost a quintessential part of American society. Prejudice and power are ideals entitled to a certain people, those of lighter skin, and liberation existed only in the dream of a man, though he never woke-up to remember it.
While departing Tuskegee, Alabama, he is forced to ask himself, whatever happens to a dream deferred? Better to ruminate on that question than to relive the past series of events and consequences that brought him here. Mr. Norton (does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?), the Golden Day (or fester like a sore—then run?), the veteran, who is now sitting inches away from him (does it stink like rotten meat?), Dr. Bledsoe and the word he used to degrade him (or crust and sugar over—like a syrupy sweet?). Ripe with idealism despite having just lost a part of himself, he remained there trying to comprehend the alien feeling that was freedom.
When the cart jerked suddenly, he found himself tangled-up with a white woman. Maybe a dream just sags like a heavy load, he thought as the idea of the woman calling out entered his mind. He struggled to break free from this taboo interaction. Taboo was how he regarded his being so physically so close to her in this moment, but no one else seemed to stir or make a fuss. Not even the woman standing next to him in such close proximity that he could kiss her if he dared. Whatever happens to a dream deferred? He found himself wondering again as the train made a stop that he hastily took advantage of. Feeling overwhelmed by the last twenty-four hours, only a city like Harlem, a city of dreams where everyone runs to, made him realize that a dream deferred does, in fact, explode.

--Nizzie Aswad


Into the Melting Pot

It was in the middle of the nineteenth century. The train was empty, but only the rear was reserved for his colored type. He moved to the back of the train. Enduring his journey out of the fire and into the melting pot of Harlem he was equipped only with his bags, his shiny prize briefcase, and the wise words of the vet:
“Come out of the fog young man. And remember you don’t have to be a complete fool in order to succeed. Play the game but don’t believe in it-- that much you owe yourself. Even if it lands you in a strait jacket or a padded cell. Play the game, but play it your way.”
Even with the oppression of the South shackling you to the roots of its abundant cotton fields, he found the only identity he had ever owned. As the train bent around the hills, the brick low set buildings of Tuskegee disappeared, dissipating behind the precipice of the green earth.
Arriving in Harlem, optimism set in his eyes made him see double vision. He vowed to work hard. He vowed that if any of the important gentlemen should begin a topic of conversation, which he found unfamiliar, he would smile and agree. The freedom of the North not yet to stay set in his bones. When he observed the local laxity, the humble and bustle of the North, he realized he had a small voice here in the North, that he would barely be audible in the buzz of the city sounds.


--Kelsey Taylor