Chapter 3

When it rains, it pours...

Because of my teachers concerns that Liz and I may be on drugs, I had to start mandatory drug and alcohol counseling through school (despite that fact that I never drank nor did drugs). My counselors name was Stacey and she came from Behavioral Connections. Stacey was nice, but no amount of niceness could make up for the fact that she had a large mole, the size of a dime on her right eye. Once a week I met with Stacey in a sick room that was more along the lines of a dilapidated janitor’s closet. She would ask me questions like “do the whites of your eyes turn yellow”, in which case I would just unwillingly stare at her mole and wonder how the hell I ended up there.

I was also on probation at this time. I was given probation of no less then 6 months, and depending on the discretion of my probation officer and parents, I would remain on it anywhere up until my 18^th birthday. My probation officers name was Brian Cox and he was awesome. I had to meet with him twice a month usually, once at his office with my mother, and once at school alone. When I we met at his office it reminded me much of my sessions with Keith. I sat silently as my mother expressed her concerns and he listened attentively while nodding his head. She over exaggerated nearly every situation, but I knew it was pointless to try to defend myself. I waited until I met with Brian at school, in which case our meetings were a welcomed relief from any class I may have been in at the time. Unfortunately our talks were always brief. Aside from debating on whether or not to get some kind of restraining order between me and Liz, my parents were currently pushing for him to extend my probation. I knew that if it were up to him alone he wouldn’t have done it, but legally he had to honor my parents’ request. We usually just sat and made small talk, talked about sports, sometimes I would take the opportunity to defend myself from anything my parents had said in our previous meeting. These talks were refreshing because he sympathized with me and credited me as an intelligent girl who just made a mistake. Brian had much more severe cases to deal with, and we both knew that. I thought about the delinquents who had thrown paper at me trying to get my attention, I’m sure he had those kids to deal with. I was his easiest case and we were wasting each others time, but there was nothing either of us could do about it.

As I said, my problems at school did not make my problems at home any easier. Just as things had slowly started to cool down with my parents, they had fired back up again. It wasn’t long until I found myself back in counseling yet again. This time I didn’t go to family services, instead I had a new counselor at the Fort Meigs Psychiatric Center. My mother and I went in together on my first session, where we were directed to a brightly lit room with giant windows. Everything I looked at was floral, big floral overstuffed couches with fluffy floral pillows, puffy floral curtains and drapes, even floral wallpaper. This place made me sick. It was the exact opposite of my first counseling environment at Family Services. This was not the kind of environment I wanted to open up in, this place reminded me of the gynecologist’s office, another place I did not like to open up in (ha!). My counselor was young, bright, and bubbly. She introduced herself to us as “Lizzie”, and I could feel my mother cringe. This was the first thing that pleased me about the entire situation.

My sessions with Lizzie were monotonous and boring and I don’t think I ever really confided in her. I think a large part of that was the fact that she was a female (I would find later on in life that I tend to form better bonds with males, particularly older ones). Together, we accomplished absolutely nothing. It wasn’t her fault, she tried her best. Her office made me insanely uncomfortable and talking to her only made me miss my days of talking to Keith. I was completely unresponsive and our sessions only lasted a few weeks.

Despite the fact that my parents rarely ever supported the idea of me leaving the house or doing anything that could be defined under the word “fun”, they began to lighten up a little. Of course, I am well aware that by now the only reason is because they were concerned with my sexuality, thanks to my Spanish teacher. So unlike the reactions of most parents when their daughters begin to hang out with boys, my parents seemed to almost encourage it. 

Chapter 2

“It is better to be alone, than in bad company.” –George Washington

My first day of my sophomore year I don’t remember even saying a word. I sat silently through all my seemingly boring classes dreading them, dreading my classmates, and dreading the coming school year. I only remember a few of my classes that year.

2^nd period- Western Civ. (I only remember this because Mr. Miller is still to this day one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen in my life.)

4^th period- Spanish II

6^th period- Chemistry

7^th period- Chem. Lab

8^th period- Geometry

The last four classes I remember for one reason and one reason only, Liz.

I knew only a few things about Liz from my general observations; she was fairly new, she dated my friend Lindsay’s brother, and she was quiet and always looked pissed off. On my first day of Spanish class Liz and I were seated next to each other and put into the same Spanish “family”. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this because of the “always looked pissed off’ thing I mentioned earlier. She appeared about as welcoming as….something horribly unwelcoming. When Chemistry class rolled around, once again Liz and I were seated next to each other (I guess now looking back I can technically credit the method of alphabetical order for us being friends). We were also paired up as lab partners, which means we would be forced to spend 90 consecutive minutes working together everyday. Immediately following Chemistry was the last period, geometry. Geometry class would bring about the one moment where we both decided to ourselves that we would be friends.

Eventually Liz began to actually talk to me. Not just talk, but go on and on about how she hated her life, she hated her parents, she hated Ohio, she hated her ex-boyfriend, she hated her sister, she hated the color baby blue, she hated girls I won’t name, she hated chemistry, she hated girls with blonde eyelashes, she hated bad teeth, she hated the texture of yogurt, she hated basically everything. There’s a 90% chance she hated me too. This time I felt like Keith. The 90 minutes we were forced to spend together turned into 135 minutes as we added geometry class to the time frame. These 135 minutes consisted of Liz lying on the table, elaborating on exactly why she hated everything in life, and me doing our homework and listening. This never bothered me. In fact this was usually the highlight of my day, because no matter how much she complained, I never thought her reasons for hating everything were any less than justified.

If it weren’t for Liz I would never have been awake Tuesdays and Thursdays in Spanish class. Every Tuesday and Thursday meant she would get stoned before school, which meant that she spent 4^th period chucking sharp dangerous pencils at me from across the room trying to get my attention. We had a lot of fun in Spanish class. We completely ignored the fact that we were surrounded by a multitude of students and had our own conversations in the back as if class wasn’t actually happening. We asked the big creepy kid that sat in-between us who had better ears, eyes, nose, mouth, teeth, fingernails, elbows, knees, thighs, toes, and wrists, everything we could think of. I think he always said Liz had better everything, but that’s okay because he wasn't so great himself. When we were really bored we would trade clothes. I would take off my shirt and toss it to Liz and she would do the same, usually discreetly. There was of course the one time we were in mid trade and I tossed her my shirt but she thought it would be funny to not do the same. So as soon as the bell rang I had to chase her down the hall in my coat and bra until she would give me my shirt back.

Good times.

When we weren’t raising hell in Spanish class we were doing so in Chemistry. We would usually steal the lab manual of a girl we knew who knew what she was doing, copy all of her labs, and then sit on the heater the rest of the class with the lyrics to “The Whole World” by Outkast in our hands, alternating singing parts. We pestered our friend Adam in everyway possible, drawing penises all over his book bag, everyday, and making fun of his ears. Any other time was spent in the lab actually doing work, usually mixing dangerous chemicals and setting things on fire. Other fun activities would include putting skittles and menstrual pills in the student teachers coffee, climbing out the window, and ordering pizza in the middle of class on our cell phones. The great part about this is that our teacher claimed she saw everything, “she had eyes in the back of her head” but yet, she never saw any of this.

Geometry class wasn’t quite as exciting, but by the end of the day we were getting worn down. Usually we would sit down and Liz would stare at me excitedly, waiting for me to open my book bag. When I would open my bag and pull out giant containers of miscellaneous acids that she would hide in my bag from Chemistry, she would burst into laughter. I would do our homework and then we would ask permission to go to the office and photocopy it, which we were always allowed. When I wasn’t dancing on a desk in the back with thigh high stripper boots on, we were usually crying, literally crying, about our lives. No one ever noticed us, no one ever paid attention to us, and so we just did what we wanted all the time. Our teacher was also a 500 pound man who never really stood up, just scooted around in his roller chair. Everyday Liz and I would leave class early because well...he literally couldn’t stop us. He certainly couldn’t run after us, so instead he just yelled at us through a giant megaphone he kept under his desk as we ran down the hall.

All of these times would make our year somewhat tolerable. But before the first semester was even over we had managed to make our Spanish teacher complete despise us. We still to this day cannot figure out what exactly we did that caused this. After all, I had one of the highest grades in that class, and probably spoke Spanish better than most of my classmates. Liz did well too, and we were both to quiet to really bother anyone, usually talking to no one but each other. Eventually a conference would be called with both me and Liz’s parents. The result of this conference would be my teacher telling my mother; that me and Liz scared the other kids, that there was too much of an age difference between us, that she thinks we are on drugs, oh and that she thinks we are lesbians. Though now that I think of it, this very quite possibly could have something to do with the changing-clothes-in-the-middle-of-class thing...Oh no actually, I remember, there was a girl who sat next to us who really WAS a closet lesbian at the time, and she DID make lesbian comments on a regular basis, though we had no contribution to this, the comments were just made in our vicinity, figures. As if we didn't both have enough problems at home as it were, this in no way made our lives easier. As if we didn’t both have enough problems at home as it were, this in no way made our lives easier.

I've been thinking a lot lately, as I usually do. But I've been passively thinking without a need for any particular explanation on any particular subject or event. The aggressive analysis that usually accompanies my thinking has started to become a detriment to my state. Its created this constant insatiable need to act, to change, to alter or accommodate.

I like some drugs, really there are only two that appeal to me. I feel as though sometimes they open up new doors of perception, and when used occasionally, this can be very beneficial to a persons perspective on reality. I've been thinking about two separate experiences on two separate drugs, though they may seem silly I have remembered them because I find them to be important.

The first experience in reference I felt suddenly overwhelmed by basic choices. We were driving, and my friend asks me, which way should we go? I say, go right, as though it were obvious. Then I thought about it and I said, well or you could go straight. Then I said actually you can go left to. We can get there either way. We can go a shorter more convenient route, we can take a longer way or we can take a completely ridiculous way- either way we can get there, eventually. And then I started to get anxious, and I started to wonder how I manage to make simple basic choices every moment of everyday. I thought about how a basic choice can effect everything, outlying a pattern for the future. Then I thought about creation, I looked at stop signs and wondered who decided to make them red. They could have chosen any color. Then I thought about art, and how there are endless options in a simple creation. There is really no more relevance to this than the overwhelming anxiety I felt by something that I mindlessly and passively do every single day.

I write aimlessly in my Psychology class to avoid taking mundane notes. Today I wrote a great deal of what has been on my mind lately:

How many paths are available to any single individual? Only the paths all ready cleared? Perhaps sometimes we are limited to one solitary path? Or can we create a path wherever we choose? Because we are innately free, and possess free will, our choices then would be unlimited, infinite- and this, when acknowledged can create a fatal distress and distress. An anxiety which can and must be overcome. When that anxiety is inflicted upon us, infecting the spirit like a plague- there are a variety of questions and conclusions which arise. The first question being- Is life worth living? If one answers "no", then this anxiety is increased. There is a search for a solution, as the answer is essentially a 'problem', a sickness of the spirit. Even in the face of futility we are still presented with choices, the first of which being that we choose to live. But under what pretenses do we choose to live? We can live by embracing this futility, by continuing to adhere to values and ideas that are the certain status quo- Or we can live by trying to escape this futility, this hopelessness with a denial of much that makes us human- emotion, conflict, material wealth, et cetera. Or, we can choose to willingly die, determining that there would be more authenticity in death than in the decision to keep living. So again we come to the question of Camus: Do we die voluntarily, or hope in spite of everything? At this point after hopelessness has inflicted the spirit, there are two options, but one solution. The two options to live, that I mentioned before, I see both as a kind of nihilism. But the question I ask is are there two separate kinds of nihilism? Can there be an authentic nihilism, rather than merely a nihilism based upon bad faith? If we address again the potential 'solutions' the sickness of the spirit- is there a difference between choosing to live accordingly, realizing the absurd nature while all the while engaging in it regardless, manifesting it- versus realizing it and choosing not to engage in it, not to propel it or feed it, to value life but recognize it as a sort of...prison. Essentially either way we come to the conclusion that we choose to live, simply because we are alive. We take action through inaction. But if we choose to 'hope' in spite of everything- do we not find ourselves playing a role? The role of the conceptualized human being? And if we 'hope' in spite of everything, what exactly is it that we are hoping for? Some value to be affirmed- that love, or happiness, or the ideas that we value most highly can still be achieved, even though we have all ready determined they cannot? Even though subjectivity and freedom and absurdity have proven otherwise? And what about the other solution, where is the hope then in absolving ourselves of the collective human essence that history has created- would there still be some element of hope that we are struggling to achieve? Is it peace perhaps? Do we have hope for peace when we remove ourselves from the fundamental human condition? Is peace any greater of a value than say love, or happiness, or success? I think that there may be a difference. Is peace greater than the spectrum of human emotion? Does it exceed it? If the opposite of love is hate, and the opposite of happiness is sadness, and the opposite of success is failure- what then, is the opposite of peace? The entire range of human emotion is at the core intertwined- all of which cause us to 'feel', no matter what the feeling. But is peace on the other hand, the absence of all human emotion? If so, can this indifference exist without apathy? Can one truly exist, and be at peace while others suffer around them? Is this condition not contagious? Can we make ourselves immune? Can we effectively embrace an inner peace- and if we do so, is this truly accepting the absurdity of life?

I will no longer analyze my state in order to determine a specific emotion, an explanation, a vindication. Instead I will select none, accepting them all as a collective static. They all come together as something to form nothing recognizable, each canceling the other out. A combination of all expression with no particular domination. A peace through chaos. Can there be peace in chaos? Can we simultaneously feel the entire spectrum of human emotion- solving the problem of apathy, while all the while concentrating on no specific one- thus feeling none of the anxiety that propels us into preemptive action- to alleviate, vindicate, and affirm- but to simply accept it in its entirety?

The other experience I wanted to mention, was sort of the opposite of this first. I think I was lying outside on the ground, and my senses were so heightened I could hear and feel everything- I just lie there and could feel everything pulsating, all the energy of the universe, it was like one collective heartbeat, a breathing, this profound rhythm that I was a part of. I felt so small, and yet like I was a part of something bigger. It was really calming, really peaceful. And that is the feeling I always want to remember.




If one determines "yes", I have to ask why?

A very brief essay on the meaning of life

Bits and pieces of thought, in no particular order.

In lieu of Halloween I want to take some time to discuss some relevant topics of ghosts, death, and the like. I think it would be safe to say that we all carry a different concept of death.
Based on our life experiences and our encounters with it, an individual perspective of this inevitability has been formed. Some people believe that after death there is nothing- that death is merely the opposite of life, a state of pure nonexistence. Others believe in other ideologies- taught to them through religion, mythology, science, philosophy, et cetera. Many believe that death is not nonexistence, but the beginning of a new existence, or a continuation of the old existence. Some believe in reincarnation, that the energy or the soul of an individual will be manifested into a new living form, which the actions of their previous life will decide accordingly. Others believe in some notion of heaven or hell- and that our morality, and our 'goodness' will get us into the Utopian kingdom of heaven, while a life of evil doing and malice will lead us into a fiery eternal damnation. Of course, many believe in some mixture between all of these concepts- I myself, being one of them.

I believe death gives life meaning. Of course the role of death varies from culture to culture. Some cultures are more sensitive to the idea of death, while others are less. Some embrace it fully, while others isolate it from their lives. I've been studying the effects of death through research on suicide. I have my theories about death and the Western world in particular. Maybe it is our very 'civilization' that is making us become uncivilized. Here we experience a cleaner death, a more sanitary death. Less people are dying around us, people aren't being killed by the mass violence of war, people aren't slowly starving to death, people aren't dying on the streets from disease, people are not freezing to death due to lack of shelter. Now I realize that all of these things are happening in America, but the key word here is 'less'. Death here is more impersonal, we prepare, we purchase death insurance, we buy our burial plots- and then we quietly die- heads our nodded in due respect and everyone goes on their way. We don't want to inconvenience anyone here. If we are dying we are pushed into the shadows, so as to not discourage the living. Why? Why do we not take the time to really acknowledge death? Why do we not let it affect us? Is it because we don't have the time? Time. Maybe we're so busy delaying our deaths that we don't stop to really acknowledge life.

The existentialists say that, "Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom." I agree with this, but sometimes I wonder if there is more than one level of anxiety. Then again, I realize I may be simply saying the same thing. Citizens of our 1st world nations seem to increasingly suffer from a particular form of anxiety- a temporal anxiety- a constant need for productivity, a constant craving for progression and advancement and accomplishment. We value time. We get anxious because we have this deep fear of wasting time. We stay busy, and would rather constantly impose preemptive action rather than 'wasting time' recollecting, considering, being.

I fear that we become so busy with physical progression to make our existence more comfortable- with building and infrastructure, economics, politics, and technology- that we begin
to lose sight of each other, of humanity. This is why I've been so interested in the topic of suicide lately. There is an inescapable demand of your attention when a person chooses to take their own life- its aggressive, its personal, its an 'inconvenience'. For example, if we are to see a person killed in a car wreck, it is troubling for sure. But in this case we can consider them a victim of circumstance. We comfort ourselves through simple passive philosophies like everything happens for a reason and that it just may have been their time to go. But what happens when someone commits suicide, especially someone close? These simple philosophies no longer apply, there is no escape from questioning why. Death in the case of suicide is passive by no means- it is aggressive, a choice, a conscious action based on the will and desire of the person. Being confronted with the question of why a person would choose to die rather than live, can have a profound impact on a person, forcing them to aggressively question the meaning of life.

Do you know how they say in a haunted environment you will experience hot and cold spots, drastic changes in temperature? It is because when the spirits present try to manifest into a physical form, they do so by extracting the energy around them. Like ghosts, I think of death as a black hole, and life as the distance in between. I suppose its pessimistic to say, but I view life as a sort of slow death- a long realization and acceptance, a draining of all meaning, hope, and faith. Really, we are battling death everyday, fighting to not become nothing- and just because we continue to live does not necessarily mean that we've won.

A relevant story.

I was never afraid of much. When I was younger I was afraid of the dark, and I was also afraid to be alone. I could be alone but I always had something on, a radio, a tv, anything. I needed a constant connection to the outside world, so that I never felt completely isolated. The closest I've ever come to nightmares are waking dreams, like day dreams, only a lot of them were hallucinations- of abstract things like inhuman like motion, very slow and fluid, or very quick and jerky. And my 'monsters' or ghosts were never really detailed, never had horribly distorted features or anything, in fact they had no features at all. I've always had visions of large dark masses of energy. I suppose when I was younger I thought of them as 'furry' but they weren't so much furry as they were vibrating. They were really like black holes- something I was scared of because I was afraid to be sucked in by its energy and destroyed.

So the movie that has done the best tapping into my fears is the Japanese film Kairo or "Pulse". I watched it again tonight to see if it was as good as I remember it being the first time. At first after watching it I didn't feel that it was, but as the night has gone on I've been thinking about it more and more.

I can really relate to it. The movie is about a ghost invasion. I still don't think I've completely grasped the entire plot- but the characters begin to see video of ghosts on their computers. They reach us through the internet. The ghost invasion is sort of symbolic, it seems almost like a kind of philosophical sickness, and its contagious. People begin to disappear. Upon encountering a ghost, the people all fall into an all most trance like state of serious depression. They lose hope, and eventually either kill themselves, or just fade away into nothingness becoming ghosts themselves.
People are infected with hopelessness, because the ghost invasion overwhelms them with a feeling of isolation and loneliness. The movie does a really good job at generating that feeling within you too, you can feel the isolation.

The characters really interested me. The main characters who either killed themselves or faded away were the ones who at the beginning asked more questions and acknowledged right away what was going on. The characters who survived the longest appeared somewhat naive. Not only naive, but seemed to be often in denial.

I think this movie is very relevant to us. I've been studying suicide lately because I think it is the only method of death that really demands our attention and forces us to ask questions. But this act of 'giving up' I think can be contagious. And I started to think about the basic nature of any animal, and that is to keep surviving, to live and to multiply. To continue to manifest themselves and their species even if it seems pointless. But we are a more evolved species. We are a more intelligent species. But now I wonder that the more we evolve, the more intelligent we become, the more we stop depending on ideology such as our religions to validate the meaning of life- could this be our future? And then I realized, ironically, is that the only reason any of us keep going is because of this notion of hope. And its these seemingly 'naive' characters, the ones who refuse to acknowledge futility, that are able to survive.

So if we begin to really question the meaning of life, really obsess over it, what conclusions would we come to? It seems that the people of the 'civilized' world I mentioned earlier, who overlook death to get on with their business, who remain unaffected, they survive. They are not overtaken by the sadness, the absurdity, the chaos- they still struggle to impose order, to progress, to accomplish. Is this naivety and indifference to the most important philosophical question of all time what it takes to truly survive it? And if this is the case, are every single one of us living completely in bad faith? Is living in collectively living in bad faith, better than not living at all? Like I said, just because you stay alive doesn't mean you don't fail- an individual death can occur even while that individual is technically alive- "annihilation of the spirit", I believe they call it.

Will there ever come a day, when our intelligence has evolved to the point of which we begin to realize that existence is futile, and that we came from nothing, and will all inevitably become nothing again? This hopelessness is a sort of disease. I feel it. I feel it strongly, and often, especially as I get older. I go through these oscillations, and I've developed sort of bi-polar tendencies. Sometimes I'm more aware of my isolation, I don't feel anything because that feeling can never be validated, I can never be validated- I feel very sad. Other times I fight it so violently, and become crippled by emotion from trying to find that validation in other people, by striving to feel an element of 'togetherness'. I always end up back to that feeling of isolation, and I want to collapse within it and isolate myself completely but I feel this responsibility to continue to interact. If we all gave in to our isolation, if we all stop interacting with each other, if we all excuse existence as unimportant, we all all become unimportant, and we all turn to ghosts, we cease to exist.


Something else I thought was interesting, was the relevance of a computer program at the beginning of the movie. The program was suppose to be a model of our world, a representation of its chaotic nature. All it was really was a black screen with these tiny white dots floating around. The description was that when the dots are further apart, they want to be closer to each other, but when they come together, they die.

The randomization of the dots on the computer program I think I understand very well, as simple as it is. The dots are all alone but they are also collectively together in their individual solitude. They are alone, but they are the same. They want to become one, but they can't, or else their individual self dies- and so they just bounce off of each other- causing an eternal pattern of friction, of interaction, that is really that same hope that keeps us going.
















Nonetheless, entropy prevails.

The Concept of Freedom

The Concept of Freedom: Sartre, Plato, and Huxley's Brave New World.


“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.” -Jean-Paul Sartre

The texts of Sartre, Plato, and Huxley all address what is undoubtedly the most desired element of all of human existence: freedom. Conveniently, all three texts have presented the notion of freedom in a very different light. Sartre, a prominent advocate of the Existentialist doctrine, references freedom in relation to subjectivity and inter-subjectivity, stressing not only the freedom of the individual but the freedom of all of man. On the other end of the spectrum is the work of Huxley, a humanist writer, who in Brave New World creates a hypothetical and futuristic dystopian society in lieu of freedom, which eliminates the importance of the individual through manipulation and conditioning. Plato depicts freedom metaphorically in the Allegory of the Cave as a process of awakening, of enlightenment, and of becoming. To me, these three representations of freedom depict the philosophical struggle between Nihilism and Existentialism. And not only do these correlating texts depict the struggle between the two doctrines, but they also delineate the common misrepresentation of Existentialism and its easy descent into Nihilism. I find this relevant as the primary objective of Existentialism is to apply meaning to life: utilizing ones freedom- whereas Nihilism is the state of nothingness, the annihilation of the spirit, and therefore the denying of ones freedom.

In Huxley's Brave New World the societal goal is a universal happiness. This universal happiness is attained through the abolition of family, natural birth, negative emotions, discomfort, individuality, and even love. Ironically, in this attempt at a trans human society, the very essence of humanity itself has been completely eliminated in order to create a more 'humane' civilization. Perhaps the biggest problem of this dystopian society is the wide spread and encouraged use of the drug soma. Of course the people do not see soma as a problem; on the contrary, they see it as the solution to their problems. People use soma on a regular basis to monitor their state of being and maintain a state of stasis. Soma is not like some other drugs, it does not enhance ones senses, nor does it induce a heightened state of creativity or intellect. Soma is no less than any other opiate, somewhat relative to heroin which causes people to be merely content with their emptiness rather than to fill it. The use of soma results in a numbing of the mind, body, and spirit- essentially forcing people into a zombie like state. The citizens, through conditioning and the use of soma, have eluded feelings of depression, discontent, and anxiety: evoking a more comfortable and apathetic state of indifference. Furthermore, the citizens also fail to engage in the other extremity of emotion, the highest of which in our case is love. It may seem easy to rid ourselves of emotions such as hate, or unhappiness, but on the other hand, when we rid ourselves of these emotions that we deem negative, unpleasant- we also rid ourselves of their positive counterparts. Without hate or unhappiness, what good are love and joy?
Human emotion should not be regarded as a system of opposites, as they cannot exist independently of each other, but rather are co-dependent. You cannot place them side by side and say, "This one is good, and this one is bad." As far as I am concerned the two emotions are intertwined, and the only emotion that lies in the negative energy spectrum is indifference, the lack of emotion.We love because we fear meaninglessness. In love, we find validation- validation of meaning, validation of life, validation of the existence of ourselves and others as well as importance it that existence. And so without the acceptance of love, and the acceptance of its counterpart, all of human emotion ceases to exist.
The citizens of Brave New World are conditioned, manipulated, and brainwashed in a way that will allow them to more effectively serve and contribute to the general happiness of the community as a whole. They are stripped of their individuality; they are only part of the whole and nothing more. The citizens are born into a pre-determined caste system, which they can never escape. This natural born oppression however induces little feelings of unrest or discontent, as even the lowest classes of society are encouraged to use soma. The soma provides them with an inauthentic happiness, which in turn evades any desire for revolt or change, making them not so much unaware, as comfortable with their lack of freedom.
In Brave New World history is non existent, there is no past to learn from. It makes sense, as what use could 'Utopian's' possibly have for history? If the acme of human civilization has all ready been acquired, than history is irrelevant. The problem here is that there is no longer a need for progression. Salvation has all ready occurred, and there may be no past to learn from, but there is also now nothing to look forward to. The future is predetermined and there is no need for creation. The citizens of Brave New World remain in a state of unknowing despair, in a state of hopelessness where there is no room for growth. They have misinterpreted the goal of human existence, placing the lot of their values into the idea of happiness. However, there is more value in freedom than in happiness. In fact, it could be inferred that freedom is not only the highest of human values, but the only essential human value. With freedom we have the freedom to be either happy or sad, to love or to hate, both of which vindicates the other. Freedom means freedom of choice, and I believe that oftentimes the word freedom is misappropriated. It seems that commonly people believe that the key to freedom is to be free from responsibility. However, this is untrue. In fact, there is a profound responsibility that lies within freedom, and it is this responsibility which makes it so difficult for so may to embrace. The people responsible for the disingenuous state of being in Brave New World, though they may have meant to free humanity, have actually acted in bad faith, and have thus killed it.
Even the controller (Mustapha Mond) recognizes the futility of the dystopian society, which is made apparent in his comments on Bernard's plea not to be exiled to Iceland. "One would think he was going to have his throat cut. Whereas, if he had the smallest sense, he'd understand that his punishment is really a reward. He's being sent to an island. That's to say, he's being sent to a place where he'll meet the most interesting set of men and women to be found anywhere in the world. All the people who, for one reason or another, have got too self-consciously individual to fit into community life. All the people who aren't satisfied with orthodoxy, who've got independent ideas of their own. Everyone, in a word, who's anyone..."
The citizens of Brave New World have eliminated meaning from their lives. They live Nihilistically, and have chosen to deny their freedom, sacrificing it instead for an inauthentic state of happiness. Such a dystopian society as that depicted in Brave New World would deeply discontent the likes of Sartre and the other Existentialists. I believe that he also would find this illusion of happiness as presented in Brave New World to be completely nonsensical. As I said before, about freedom being not only the highest of human values, but the only essential human value, Sartre affirms this in the following passage: “When I declare that freedom in every concrete circumstance can have no other aim than to want itself, if man has once become aware that in his forlornness he imposes values, he can no longer want but one thing, and that is freedom, as the basis of all values.” Even in the citizens illusive happiness; that forlornness, despair, and hopelessness has not been eliminated, it is only being avoided. They have chosen not to embrace their existence, and to sacrifice their freedom to a higher power (society in this case) so they do not have to undertake any sort of responsibility. With this sacrifice they have also lost the ability to be human, to feel, to create, and to choose. Simone de Beauvoir, a colleague and close friend of Sartre, once said that, “Freedom requires moral courage.” With that said, from an Existentialist point of view the citizens of Brave New World in fact created quite the opposite, they use illusions and methods of escapism to live authentically, and there is nothing courageous about their world.

There is a Nietzschean quote that I believe ties the representations of Sartre, Plato, and Huxley together, and that is this: “I praise, I do not reproach, [nihilism's] arrival. I believe it is one of the greatest crises, a moment of the deepest self-reflection of humanity. Whether man recovers from it, whether he becomes master of this crisis, is a question of his strength!” – Friedrich Nietzsche, Complete Works Vol. 13. If Brave New World is a representation of a Nihilistic society, and Sartre represents Existentialist ideals, than Plato's Allegory of the Cave represents a persons struggle with enlightenment and the choice between the two- the crisis and self reflection that Nietzsche references.
The line, “To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images,” from The Allegory is relevant, as the shadows are only presumed truths. The citizens of Brave New World find value and meaning only in happiness, but their happiness is only a projected happiness; an illusion, an inauthentic and generic emotion. The quest for freedom is difficult. Though freedom does not need to be found, per se (it is all ready inherent) it is embracing the responsibility within it that people find to be so difficult. I believe that Plato sums up this struggle of embracing freedom in the following lines: "And now look again, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision, -what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them, -- will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?” I think that these lines are a perfect metaphor for the awakening of an individual and their decision to embrace both truth and freedom. As the prisoner ascends from the confinement of the cave, and into the light, he finds truth, and in that truth he finds freedom. The prisoners’ quest could be seen as the common quest of the Existentialist. The line, “At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him?” can be related to another quote of a well known Existentialist, Soren Kierkegaard in his saying, “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” And what does this mean? It means that this process of becoming is certainly difficult, and many people would choose to avoid these 'anxieties' that freedom causes by sacrificing it rather than embracing it.
The prisoner has broken free of his restraints, and as his eyes adjust in the light, begins to see clearly. Eventually all of the manipulation, conditioning, and illusions of truth he had once known he now sees as they are- shadows of the images. But still he struggles- the line, “will he not be perplexed? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?” shows that even after the prisoner has seen reality, he still struggles to disassociate himself with what he has been conditioned to believe. It is easy to give way to conditioning, so that we can then leave the responsibility in the hands of a higher authority. It is much easier to accept the values that one has been handed, rather than to create and validate ones own meaning. Our emotional responses are based on value. When we value nothing, we lose our ability to respond emotionally, and we then lose the very essence of what makes us human.
Both Brave New World and Sartre's Existentialism were written roughly within a close proximity of each other. I consider both texts to be a cry, a noble attempt to make people aware of their error, and of the realm of destruction in which society is bordering. Sartre writes in a matter-of-fact sense, lightly making people aware of their possible philosophical short comings, and offering solutions for them. Huxley uses Brave New World as a borderline scare tactic, by proposing the hypothetical destination of the path we are (or were) on. Brave New World was written close to a century ago, and what worries me most is the similarities between the world presented in the novel, and the world that I currently live in. We have become self proclaimed victims; victims of society, victims of each other, victims of ourselves, victims of chemical imbalance. After all what more is Prozac, Lithium, and a slew of other prescription drugs than a modern day fabrication of Soma? Why do we insist on numbing ourselves? Do we really believe that happiness is as simple as a script and a bottle? Is there really happiness in this? Is there really freedom in this? I don't believe so. I don't believe that there is even freedom in happiness. Happiness comes from oppression, even of the self. When we choose to numb ourselves to the absence of feeling we are oppressing what makes us human. No, there is no freedom in this. The path we are on is dangerously close to that of Brave New Wold. In a land which claims to be the land of the free and the home of the brave, it is time to take initiative to be so. There are no shortcuts on the path to enlightenment, to truth, to freedom. Freedom requires bravery, and this quest is the most epic of human action.

flaws of feminism

Higamus, hogamus
woman's monogamous
hogamus, hugamus
man is polygamous
-william james

Problems
Puratinism, fairy tales, victorian culture
-Some women would rather be treated as sexual objects than be canonized. Women don't like being romanticized or idealized any more than they like being insulted or humiliated.
Imitation of men
-There is far too much imitation of men in the womens movement. That is merely a displacement of power.
-All they succeed in doing is reversing roles. Women have become the predator, the aggressor, But nothing is ultimately changed by this.

Generalization
-slogans do not give strength because generalizations are untrue. Many intelligent women for a work for which some are unfit is not effective. The group does not always give strength, because it moves on according to the lowest denominator of understanding. The group weakens the individual will and annihilates the individual contribution. To object to individual growth of awareness in women is to work against the benefit of the collective whose quality is raised by individual research and learning.
-We ignore the fact that the evil comes from individual flaws, undeveloped human beings.
-Group thinking does not give strength. It weakens the will. Majority thinking is oppressive because it inhibits individual growth and seeks a formula for all.

Victimization and Self Destruction
Women have suffered at the mercy of patriarchy for hundreds of years; physically, emotionally, and mentally. Physical pain however, is temporary. It is the mental oppression, the social conditioning which manipulates our idea of femininity, that greatly concerns me. These false ideas of what it means to be a woman, are passed on from generation to generation. It is learned when daughters mimic mothers, it is learned through archaic fairy tales, it is learned through media representation, it is learned through tradition and religion, it is learned through manipulation. Above all, and the saddest realization to me, is that it is not men who are doing this. The oppression of women is self inflicted. We, as women, are denying our own freedom.

-Each woman has to know herself, her problems, her obstacles. I ask woman to realize she can be master of her own destiny. To blame others means one feels helpless. While we wait for others to free us, we will not develop the strength to do it ourselves. When a woman has not solved her personal intimate defeats, her private hostilities, her failures, she brings the dregs of this to the group and only increases its negative reactions. The real tyrants are guilt, taboos, educational inheritance- these are our enemies. The real enemy is what we were taught, not always by man, but often by our mothers and grandmothers.
Karpman drama triangle,

• The person who is treated as, or accepts the role of, a victim
• The person who pressures, coerces or persecutes the victim, and
• The rescuer, who intervenes out of an ostensible wish to help the situation or the underdog.

"I was right not to be afraid of any thief but myself, who will end by leaving me nothing." ~Katherine Anne Porter
-(35 years ago) The woman of the future will never try to live vicariously through the man, and urge and push him to despair, to fulfill something that she should really be doing herself.
- If we take the responsibility for our situation, we can feel less helpless than when we put the blame on man or society. We waste precious energy in negative rebellions.
-They missed authority, the very thing they had struggled to overcome. Women as dependents.


Resentment and Nihilism- The viscous circle of oppression.
"Philosophy based on resentment"
Anxiety of the woman.
-The fear is in women, not in men, but it was learned from men.
Karpman Drama Triangle
-Women must stop reacting against what is.
"When we abolish the slavery of half of humanity, together with the whole system of hypocrisy that it implies, then the 'division' of humanity will reveal its genuine significance and the human couple will find its true form." -Simone de Beauvoir "The Second Sex"

misandry- hatred of males

misogyny- hatred or distrust of women

elitism
monolithic-characterized by massiveness, total uniformity, rigidity, invulnerability

Power struggles.

-There is no liberation of one group at the expense of another. Liberation can only come totally, and in unison.
-How can an intelligent, creative, original woman relate to men of genius without being submerged by them? The conflict of the woman's wish to merge with the loved one but to maintain a separate identity is the struggle of modern women.
"Heroes"
-Too intelligent to be deceived, too wise and too proud to be subjected to this display of power which did not protect them but endangered their existence as individuals.

Reconstruction
-The day that woman admits what we call her masculine qualities, and man admits his so called feminine qualities, will mean that we admit we are androgynous , that we have many personalities, many sides to fulfill.
-Man has been uneasy about this self revolution of woman, but he need not be-because, instead of having a dependent, he will have a partner.
-Not consumed by the passions of romantics which made them prefer death to the loss of love (Lou Andreas- Salome)
-She preserved her autonomy while surrounded by powerful, even overpowering men.
-She took her pattern of life from men but she was not a masculine woman. She demanded the freedom to change, to evolve, to grow.
-They had learned the subtle art of oscillation, which is human. Neither strength nor weakness is a fixed quality. They had learned rhythm, suppleness, relativity.
-The offer of total love was unusual. A love without egocentricity, without exigencies, without moral strictures. A love which did not define the duties of women.
-She is not yet totally appreciative of his tenderness, his growing proximity to woman, his attitude of twinship rather than differentiation.

sincerely, America.

Dear Loyalty,

(that suffered a sharp pang)

War and peace has brought their changes and great anxieties,

the face of the earth was furrowed by floods and fire,

the faces of mistress and maid were furrowed by smiles and tears...

I could never have accorded myself with a tearful mood.

For they loved me desperately.

When I frowned they trembled, but loved me.

When I smiled, they asked no greater blessing of God.”

You must pardon my tears-

It was the revulsion of feeling.

As if society had nothing left to do but grow old and get ready for the winter.

It was a singular beginning,

... and in the sky the stars shone on as if nothing had happened.

See gentle patience smile on pain

The devil that lurks in every strong man's blood leaped up-

He put his hand upon his brother's throat

Slavery's black shadow seemed to darken all the world

'Don't let us disturb you', I said. 'There is plenty of room for us all.'

Instead of darkening, the haunted landscape began to brighten.

I was tired.

I was hungry.

I was everything but discouraged.

Of my ancestry I know almost nothing.

They have spent the best days of their lives in slavery.

Physical freedom, political power-

all these in turn have waxed and waned,

until even the last grows dim and overcast.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Will America be poorer if her coarse and cruel wit

be replaced with loving jovial good humor?

There are to-day no truer exponents of the pure human spirit

of the Declaration of Independence than the American Negroes.

Freedom ain't free if a man ain't free

Were you there when they nailed him to a tree?

I didn't realize I was crying until I tasted my tears in my mouth.

I have come after them and made repair.

A period of introspection, a space of retrospection, then a mixture of both.

Out of this an awful calm.

The great belt on the wheel of time slipped

and eternity stood still.

“You are very happy are you not, with youth, health, friends, riches, fame?”

Pity not this busy monster, mankunkind

Don't say that everything within is Western styled.

Even if it is built of jade, it has turned into a cage.

If you had a foresight, you should have regretted coming here.

Now you will be forever sad and forever resentful.

so much depends

upon

good fences.

Good fences make good neighbors.

(And that has made all the difference.)

And are American little boys the best little boys? -James p.283

How do you like your blueeyed boy

Mister Death?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws.

One day anyone died I guess

whose drown face sleeps with open eyes

who might have made the leap, not as a leap

but a succession of brief,

amazing movements.

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions

which a minute will reverse.

But the hushing of the criticism of honest opponents is a dangerous thing.

I still have a dream.

I know that even death could not destroy your ambition.

O my enemy. Do I terrify?

Wherever you see them, run, because they hate you.

My tears are now hushed and faint.

But the crying begins all over again.

Children screaming under the subways!

Boys sobbing in armies!

Old men weeping in the parks!

the lessons badly learned

I came to explore the wreck

I came to the see the damage that was done

everyone has died at once

There is a revolution going on.

Look at the horizon and listen.

The woods are full of wardens.

where you going?

no walking.

no running.

no standing.

The police is men in black who get kids and send them to Tijuana.

I don't feel good don't bother me.

Today the headlines clot in my blood.

Who calls anyone civilized?

My children are hungry and the animals

who live in the backyard are starving.

There is somebody new killed everyday.

People had to share food.

People got sick.

People cried all kinds of tears.

O Starry- spangled shock of mercy

Rise up! There is no limit to this dust!

War and peace with nothing in between.

All you lost during that war was sleep

because you stayed up all night watching CNN.

We wait for the easiest vision

A book of myths in which our names do not appear.

I've seen actual news footage.

The eternal war is here.