Dean Schrödinger

Dawn-in-box-fort

I haven’t met him, at least not as the Dean. Could be a her, but Schrödinger’s always portrayed as a guy.

He’s thinking whether or not to kill me. Whether or not to keep me sane. Maybe he’s already decided, but he’s not allowed to say until later. Maybe i’m already dead.

I’m in a box. I’m not in a box. I’m in a jawlike box with two doors where the lips would be. I entered through one alive and wait to exit alive or dead- unless Schrödinger himself dies, leaving no record of my fate.

The mouth is full of me and it sickens me. I don’t like being eaten, but not eaten. It’s a double locked mouth, with the only key in Schrödingers’ pocket.

 My key is lost amongst tens of thousands of other keys. Some are bigger. Some are more colorful. Some of them will look ghastly to the Dean, some of them beautiful. The ghastly ones he throws to his underlings, who quickly unlock exits marked DEAD and kill their respective cats.  The beautiful ones he unlocks himself. For the beautiful ones he unlocks ALIVE.

 I’ve been told that I might appear a bit ghastly to the Dean. His or her identity remains unknown, so there’s no way to tell until one of the doors are unlocked.

 As for my ghastly appearance, I’d enjoy the death of one or two, oh, wait, fourteen people. That makes me seem a little homicidal at first. And last, if you don’t stick around.

 But I so want to live. I can’t measure myself precisely, but I enlarged myself to be as big as possible without destroying myself. I still fall on the smaller side due to certain restrictions, but I didn’t stay as small as I was at my making.

 The small, ghastly me wants to live so that I can give those without a Schrödinger’s chance a way to thrive. So that they can live without fear of this society. I want to live because I desperately desire to rise the voiceless above us.

  If you see Dean Schrödinger, please tell him to let me live.

____________________________________________________________

 I wrote this while waiting for college acceptance/rejection letters. I didn’t get into my original first choice, but as I became more accepting of other colleges, I realised I got into the best fit. It’s unexpected and far away, providing experiences I wasn’t aware of, and that’s what makes one a great writer; unexpected experiences. 

p.s, Benedict Cumberbatch 

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War of the Worlds-Book Review

wwwWar of the Worlds is such a journalistic novel that a radio adaptation convinced the people of New Jersey to flee their homes, commit suicide or die by a Martian Heat-Ray. I snatched a copy already convinced that this is the greatest science fiction novel of all time. But the journalistic style that made it famous proved to be a downer in novel form; the narrator did little to appeal to the senses and was not a master of the show-not-tell rule.

The Martians first appear nonthreatening; they are blobs that can barely move due to Earth’s higher gravity. (remind you of someone?) Their physical description is so plausible that I would like to ask Wells how he managed to design them with the little astrological knowledge of the 1890s. They kill all humans who go near them by sending out an invisible, instant ray of heat. They later overcome their gravitational difficulties by building 4-legged machines far superior to the horse drawn carriages of well’s time. The narrator compares the Martians to humans as humans are to ants, and slightly less obviously, as Europeans are to the Native Americans.

The protagonist, the Writer, is an anti-hero that does little to move the plot. He is more of a narrator than character in the way he travels England and tells you of his brother’s experiences. Although he does not meet the Martians in person, the Brother is more of a plot mover by taking charge of his situation and does what he has to do to get out of London.

The minor characters are symbolic representations of common human reactions to seemingly impossible situations. The Curate is a religious example of parasitic people who do nothing about their situation and look to scientists, or a god, to solve their problems. The Artilleryman is a prime example of how most people react to climate change; he sits in his hideout surrounded by luxury, always plotting a very good plot to rid themselves of the Martians by using their Heat-rays against them, yet is content to stay comfortable.

A good thesis for this book would compare the Martian colonization to modern climate change. Along with the mass migration that occurs in both the book and with climate change refugees, there is a humbling effect, a realization that “We cannot regard this planet as being fenced in and a secure and abiding place for man.” (p.203)

I would like to ask Wells if he considered writing from the perspective of a Martian instead of a human. Would it not be easier and more effective to write from the symbol of humankind than from the animals they subjugate? Or was the idea not to look down in shame but up as an ant in an anthill about to be crushed? If the latter, why so little appeal to the senses?

Doomsday Countdown

So if you want to torture yourself by knowing exactly how long we have until we’re no longer living in a democracy, here you go.
Update: I corrected the mistake. You can now know exactly how long America has been an oligarchy.A countdown to the Presidential Election CountdownCountup

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