Orwells such, Such Were The Joys....: Alienation And Other Such Joy :: essays research papers

Orwells "Such, Such Were the Joys...." Alienation and Other Such JoysGeorge Orwell expresses a feeling of alienation throughout "Such, SuchWere the Joys...." He casts himself as a misfit, unable to understand his peers,the authorities placed over him, and the laws that govern his existence. Orwellwrites, The good and the possible never seemed to coincide (37). Though heshows his cogency to enumerate what is good, he resigns himself to apredestined state uncertain of where exactly he fits in society, his attitudeis irreconcilable with what he knows society expects of him. Orwells childhood savvy of society forces him into only one possible direction, failure.This essay is the maturing Orwells response to childhood subjugation, a subtleexposure to the evolution of Orwells thought.     Orwells life as a embarkment school student at Crossgates occupies hismemory of childhood and serves as the platform for his views on life.Repeatedly Orwell describe s the society of the school from which he is outcastThat bump on the hard mattress, on the first night of term, used to give me afeeling of abrupt awakening, a feeling of This is reality, this is what youare up against. Your home might be far from perfect, but at least it was aplace ruled by love rather than by fear, where you did not have to beperpetually taken out of this warm nest and flung into a world of force andfraud and secrecy, like a goldfish into a tank mount of pike. (23)Young Orwell, impacted by this, hard, disorienting situation, realizes he isalone in a hostile, harsh environment. Orwell uses the image of the warm nest,a womb, from which the child is thrown, then innocently forced into adestructive reality. This reality is Crossgates, an educational institution butalso a primary residence, the home Orwell lives in on a daily basis for anumber of years. Far from the love of his familial home, Orwell finds thatCrossgates does not nurture nor raise a boy to manhood, bu t rather destroys allthat he loves and trusts. Hopelessly dominated in this environment, he iscompelled to accept a mentality of insecurity and inferiority and becomes thefodder of others--the winners of society.     Sim and Bingo, the spiritual and emotional guides of Crossgates, feedoff of this regretful mentality and their carefully constructed school environment.By the social standards that prevailed about me, I was no good, and could not beany good. But all the different kinds of celibacy seemed to be mysteriouslyinterconnected and to belong to much the same people.

Kurt Cobain: Collection Of Personal Accounts From Family Relatives :: essays research papers

Kurt Cobain Collection of Personal Accounts From Family RelativesI would like to share some of the memories and perceptions I have concerningthis unique, noble-minded and genuine human being c in alled Kurt Cobain. I knew Kurtduring his teen-age years in the period from close to 1979 to 1984. I was in mymid-30s and living in and near Montesano. My sister espouse Kurts dad, Don, and excessively lived in Montesano.My grandfather comprehended the in circulateigence and individuality in Kurt at a timewhen Kurt was being beaten down mentally and physically. " grandad" a lot told meof his respect for Kurts tenacity and compassion even though he was inemotional pain. Shortly before Gramps died, he had been talking ab place Kurt. Helooked at me and said words to the effect that he could see a nobility aboutKurt that he had never seen in anyone in all his 70 years.One time, Gramps invited Kurt along on one of our steelhead fishing trips. Wewere spread out a few hundred feet apar t along the Wynooche River. only of asudden, we heard this horrendous combination of screaming, warbling and yodelingfrom Kurt, who was upstream and out of sight. Gramps told me to run up there andhelp Kurt, who must have drug-addicted a big fish. When I reached Kurt, he didnt evenhave his line in the water. When I asked him what was going on, he just lookedat me with those piercing eyeball and considerable grin. He said, "Oh, Im just trying tothicken my vocal chords so I can scream better" When I went back to Gramps totell him, he just grinned and said, "It figures, Well just let him be" We cannow say, "Thank you, Kurt, for thickening your vocal chords"Kurt didnt fit the general mold of society in a logging town, and so he wasbeaten upon by people who didnt understand him. One day I heard that he was ina postulate a few blocks away. When I ran to the scene, the oppose was over. However,I heard from a friend that Kurt was assaulted by a burly, 250-pound logger type.Evidently, Kurt did not even fight he just presented the bully with theappropriate hand gesture everytime he was knocked down until the bully gave up.To top it all off, Kurt just had that usual grin on his eccentricA final footnote to this small remembrance of Kurt A wonderful picture comes tomind of a rare, sunny day when I peeked out the windowpane into the yard.Kurt Cobain Collection Of Personal Accounts From Family Relatives essays research papers Kurt Cobain Collection of Personal Accounts From Family RelativesI would like to share some of the memories and perceptions I have concerningthis unique, rare and original human being called Kurt Cobain. I knew Kurtduring his teen-age years in the period from about 1979 to 1984. I was in mymid-30s and living in and near Montesano. My sister married Kurts dad, Don, andalso lived in Montesano.My grandfather comprehended the intelligence and individuality in Kurt at a timewhen Kurt was being beaten down mentally and physic ally. "Gramps" often told meof his respect for Kurts tenacity and compassion even though he was inemotional pain. Shortly before Gramps died, he had been talking about Kurt. Helooked at me and said words to the effect that he could see a nobility aboutKurt that he had never seen in anyone in all his 70 years.One time, Gramps invited Kurt along on one of our steelhead fishing trips. Wewere spread out a few hundred feet apart along the Wynooche River. All of asudden, we heard this horrendous combination of screaming, warbling and yodelingfrom Kurt, who was upstream and out of sight. Gramps told me to run up there andhelp Kurt, who must have hooked a big fish. When I reached Kurt, he didnt evenhave his line in the water. When I asked him what was going on, he just lookedat me with those piercing eyes and huge grin. He said, "Oh, Im just trying tothicken my vocal chords so I can scream better" When I went back to Gramps totell him, he just grinned and said, "It figur es, Well just let him be" We cannow say, "Thank you, Kurt, for thickening your vocal chords"Kurt didnt fit the general mold of society in a logging town, and so he wasbeaten upon by people who didnt understand him. One day I heard that he was ina fight a few blocks away. When I ran to the scene, the fight was over. However,I heard from a friend that Kurt was assaulted by a burly, 250-pound logger type.Evidently, Kurt did not even fight he just presented the bully with theappropriate hand gesture everytime he was knocked down until the bully gave up.To top it all off, Kurt just had that usual grin on his faceA final footnote to this small remembrance of Kurt A wonderful picture comes tomind of a rare, sunny day when I peeked out the window into the yard.

Three Short Pedagogical Pieces by Sidney Fein :: Sidney Fein Literature Writers Essays

Three Short Pedagogical Pieces by Sidney Fein I. Teaching Logic, or Barnabus Ploy At the last minute Professor Hugo caravan der Weg decided to return to Holland. Perhaps he was homesick, missed pitched roofs and legalized narcotics, meatballs and rice table. No one told me. Maybe no one knew. Though I was deprive of the pleasure of meeting Professor v. d. w., his decamping was consequential for me. As Distinguished Visiting Professor (my pompous rating) I was obliged to teach only two courses per semester. My subdivision chairman for the year was a decent fellow named William Pitt, like the prime ministers. He was one of those people who have the knack of turning high fretfulness into a variety of charm and he telephoned at the end of August to beg me charmingly to take on another class, with no preparation and for no money, one of v. d. w.s orphans. Its logic, he declared, as if he had said something that amounted to an argument. Pardon me? The course. Its 210, Logic. Please? P retty please? He then proceeded breathlessly, as though convincing me were a matter of speaking a runon sentence as rapidly as possible. Look, I wouldnt dare to ask just now its a requirement for a muddle of our students, though you shouldnt have more than twentyfive all together, so it wouldnt be fair just to substructurecel it and theres nobody else who can take it onwell, except for Harold Whitson but hes already agreed to do The Flying Dutchmans Rationalism seminar for me so I cant possibly ask him. No, that wouldnt be fair. I could almost hear him throwing his gaze heavenwards. What can I do? Deans have it fairly easy they can rely on simple bullying. But I think one of the criteria by which department chairmen are selected must be their ability to get people to sigh and say okay. So I sighed and said okay. Butlogic? The class very was a requirement, as Pitt said, though in a respect he didnt mention. The Philosophy department, perhaps Pitt himself, had maneuvered things so that PH210, Logic, could be taken to fulfill the undergraduate mathematics requirement. While this clever bit of academic politicking insured a healthy enrollment, lots of FTEs in the lingo of the trade, and looked good on the accounting sheet of the wisdomlovers, it in addition guaranteed classes filled with the reluctant, resentful, and resigned.