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| engineer |
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| mel with deadly bananas |
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| banana zombies |
Monday, April 21, 2014
glass
th writing may have not been bad, but the place was improper
like he was a good story teller, but this was no place to be telling stories.
a news paper, so checked over he must have been a spending almost as much time covering his ass and making nice with people as much a s he spent writing.
when did he start to lie? why what piece was bland he chose to lie?
did he think he would never get cuught?
where the lies like the bought papers we just talked about? did he feel forced to lie to make his way a head?
if he did not have those personal relationships would he have been caught sooner?
also the class room was weird, he was not getting praise from his parrents or peers, but form a teacher and students. he wanted to be like the people who inspired him, and make the teacher who made him proud.
like he was a good story teller, but this was no place to be telling stories.
a news paper, so checked over he must have been a spending almost as much time covering his ass and making nice with people as much a s he spent writing.
when did he start to lie? why what piece was bland he chose to lie?
did he think he would never get cuught?
where the lies like the bought papers we just talked about? did he feel forced to lie to make his way a head?
if he did not have those personal relationships would he have been caught sooner?
also the class room was weird, he was not getting praise from his parrents or peers, but form a teacher and students. he wanted to be like the people who inspired him, and make the teacher who made him proud.
Monday, April 14, 2014
the humanities project
blair witch project
for my film comparison i chose to do the last movie i watched, the blair witch project! i watched it at a friend’s house during a sleep over, so i chose to re-watch it without screaming and talking over the film.
compared to citizen Kane, the filming seems quite messy, only in the first scene in the grave yard has any real filming techniques, with wide panning shots and close camera framing the grave stones. but in the planning and the concept of the film i think they are more alike. the directors never where on set on the blair witch. the left boxes in the woods for the actors, and planted some people in the town to tell the actors stories about the witch. they really wanted the actors to show fear in a real way.
for effects, the entire film is a gimmick. two cameras in color and in black and white. stands where almost never used, making the whole film look like a home movie. if anything the effects are the story telling. you never see the monster, or any violence shown on camera. suspense through the whole film the shoe never drops.
the suspense in psycho is different from the blair witch. in Blair witch the actors go looking for trouble, wandering into a woods they know is cursed,with little food and a bd map. and the way it is filmed makes it feel like you are going along with them, the camera held at a person hight, and it moves like your head. psycho is “normal”. setting aside the inn keep with creepy birds and mommy issues this is a normal motel stop.during the slasher scene the actress remains unaware until she attacks her. but we can see him creep up on her and we can easily replace our selves in this scene. I shower and someone could sneak up on me!
the blair witch project was made in the 90’s and it kinda showed how collage students live. before they leave they all make jokes and take shots and act like “adults”. but later in the film the behave like children, yelling at each other, and crying for their parents. the end scene has one of the actors standing in the corner of a room like a child, waiting for death. so i think this film is a twisted coming of age film. the actors try to act like adults when on the camera for the documentary, lowering their voices and changing their clothes a little, but swear and make dirty jokes in the next shot. showing the weird melding of a 20-something year old.
i think the future in film will be leaps and bounds toward computer generation, but also a back to basics. Pacific Rim was shot with a lot of models and fully built sets and props and made the film seem a lot more real. or with directors like wes anderson, models and color pallet can make films iconic to that director, while still being engaging and other worldly.
for my film comparison i chose to do the last movie i watched, the blair witch project! i watched it at a friend’s house during a sleep over, so i chose to re-watch it without screaming and talking over the film.
compared to citizen Kane, the filming seems quite messy, only in the first scene in the grave yard has any real filming techniques, with wide panning shots and close camera framing the grave stones. but in the planning and the concept of the film i think they are more alike. the directors never where on set on the blair witch. the left boxes in the woods for the actors, and planted some people in the town to tell the actors stories about the witch. they really wanted the actors to show fear in a real way.
for effects, the entire film is a gimmick. two cameras in color and in black and white. stands where almost never used, making the whole film look like a home movie. if anything the effects are the story telling. you never see the monster, or any violence shown on camera. suspense through the whole film the shoe never drops.
the suspense in psycho is different from the blair witch. in Blair witch the actors go looking for trouble, wandering into a woods they know is cursed,with little food and a bd map. and the way it is filmed makes it feel like you are going along with them, the camera held at a person hight, and it moves like your head. psycho is “normal”. setting aside the inn keep with creepy birds and mommy issues this is a normal motel stop.during the slasher scene the actress remains unaware until she attacks her. but we can see him creep up on her and we can easily replace our selves in this scene. I shower and someone could sneak up on me!
the blair witch project was made in the 90’s and it kinda showed how collage students live. before they leave they all make jokes and take shots and act like “adults”. but later in the film the behave like children, yelling at each other, and crying for their parents. the end scene has one of the actors standing in the corner of a room like a child, waiting for death. so i think this film is a twisted coming of age film. the actors try to act like adults when on the camera for the documentary, lowering their voices and changing their clothes a little, but swear and make dirty jokes in the next shot. showing the weird melding of a 20-something year old.
i think the future in film will be leaps and bounds toward computer generation, but also a back to basics. Pacific Rim was shot with a lot of models and fully built sets and props and made the film seem a lot more real. or with directors like wes anderson, models and color pallet can make films iconic to that director, while still being engaging and other worldly.
make it dream djjdjdjdjddjdjdj
i know i am dreaming. i am shaded but sill baking. salt thick in the air and thick on my
lips, for the heat i cant see the sun.towering ponderosa pines
shifting and groaning on the breeze, making it twilight, with only thin
slashes of light between the trunks. the Forrest around a summer cabin,mixed with a rode trip through California red woods.
needles scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth, remembered from a childhood of running in the woods.
moving forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a Carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneath after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and itching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine. i want this to stop,a lucid twist, and i am there, stepping through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.or rather a ledge.massive boulders shattered and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below.here is openness here. wide cloudless sky, and flat fading desert. the lake is in a basin, the lake is twisted, cut from rivers, making a deep bowl in the desert, bright blue against so much red and brown. with one island in the middle,with a light house, bright and hard line of white in so much red and blue.lake Powell.
i came here when i was 14, with my mom dad and sister, when we went there was nobody, but in my mind it is a crowded beach. people with towels and umbrellas placed carefully on the rocks crowding the cliff and the slope to the beach.
a lake and people a, relief after a Forrest, brown trunks, brown needles and my own dirty brown hands, red and blue are the colors.
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny.pink. suntan lotion and salt after miles of pine refreshes my nose.and the lake matches the sky, not a cloud in sight, hopeless blue.
down the slope, cat stepping around people and carefully between towels, down to the water line. I take off my shoes and peel off my socks pine needles and mold fall out. musty clammy foot sweat. pants rolled tight around my calves, with feet cool in the water. the sky is a bowl framed in red earth. even when my eyes slide shut, i see red. water laps and talks,so clear and blue i can see the bottom it looks so shallow, like i could walk across the whole lake.
but poking at the edge of my mind is The light house. inorganic and odd. it was not here when i was awake, so why would i make it when i am asleep? rigid hard white, a half remembered Greek building sitting on top of a sandstone pillar. squinting to look at the bright whiteness in the blue and red.
another twist and i am there, standing at the lighthouse door. pushing open cool glass doors and up thin steps. the top i can look across the entirety of the lake.
needles scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth, remembered from a childhood of running in the woods.
moving forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a Carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneath after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and itching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine. i want this to stop,a lucid twist, and i am there, stepping through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.or rather a ledge.massive boulders shattered and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below.here is openness here. wide cloudless sky, and flat fading desert. the lake is in a basin, the lake is twisted, cut from rivers, making a deep bowl in the desert, bright blue against so much red and brown. with one island in the middle,with a light house, bright and hard line of white in so much red and blue.lake Powell.
i came here when i was 14, with my mom dad and sister, when we went there was nobody, but in my mind it is a crowded beach. people with towels and umbrellas placed carefully on the rocks crowding the cliff and the slope to the beach.
a lake and people a, relief after a Forrest, brown trunks, brown needles and my own dirty brown hands, red and blue are the colors.
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny.pink. suntan lotion and salt after miles of pine refreshes my nose.and the lake matches the sky, not a cloud in sight, hopeless blue.
down the slope, cat stepping around people and carefully between towels, down to the water line. I take off my shoes and peel off my socks pine needles and mold fall out. musty clammy foot sweat. pants rolled tight around my calves, with feet cool in the water. the sky is a bowl framed in red earth. even when my eyes slide shut, i see red. water laps and talks,so clear and blue i can see the bottom it looks so shallow, like i could walk across the whole lake.
but poking at the edge of my mind is The light house. inorganic and odd. it was not here when i was awake, so why would i make it when i am asleep? rigid hard white, a half remembered Greek building sitting on top of a sandstone pillar. squinting to look at the bright whiteness in the blue and red.
another twist and i am there, standing at the lighthouse door. pushing open cool glass doors and up thin steps. the top i can look across the entirety of the lake.
wc
http://www.powellguide.com/
http://www.ag.ndsu.edu/trees/handbook/th-3-169.pdf
http://theanthrotorian.com/history/2012/10/17/greek-white-and-blue
http://www.ag.ndsu.edu/trees/handbook/th-3-169.pdf
http://theanthrotorian.com/history/2012/10/17/greek-white-and-blue
light house
i am shaded but sill baking. salt thick in the air and thick on my lips, for the heat i cant see the sun.towering ponderosa pines shifting and groaning on the breeze, making it twilight, with only thin slashes of light between the trunks.
needes scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth.
go endlessly forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones and hair of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a Carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneath after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and iching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine.
through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.
or rather a ledge.
massive boulders shattered and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below.here is openness here. wide cloudless sky, and flat fading desert. the lake is in a basin, cut by rivers making it twisted and deep.
a lake in a desert, being a relif after a Forrest.after brown trunks, brown needles and my own dirty brown hands, red and blue are the colors.
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny.pink. suntan lotion after miles of pine refreshes my nose.but i am a stranger here, so carefully no one sees me.
the lake is twisted, cut from rivers, making a deep bowl in the desert, bright blue against so much red and brown. with one island in the middle,with a light house, bright and hard line of white in so much red and blue.
down the slope, cat stepping around people and carefully between towels, down to the water line. I take off my shoes and peel off my socks pine needles and mold fall out. musty clammy foot sweat. the wet breeze and open air makes my feet feel cold. roll up my pants and wade in to the water. so clear and blue i can see the bottom it looks so shallow, like i could walk across the whole lake.
pants tight around my calves, and feet cool in the water,the sky is a bowl framed in red earth. even when my eyes slide shut, i see red. sun giving me a head ache. water laps and talks.walking the beach
no light house one
i am shaded but sill baking. salt thick in the air and thick on my
lips, for the heat i cant see the sun. pines
shifting and groining on the breeze, making it twilight, with only thin
slashes of light between the trunks.
needes scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth.
go endlessly forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones and hair of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneth after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and iching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine.
through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.
or rather a ledge.
massive boulders shattered and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below.here is openness here. wide cloudless sky, and flat fading desert. the lake is in a basin, cut by rivers making it twisted and deep.
a lake in a desert, being a relif after a Forrest.after brown trunks, brown needles and my own dirty brown hands, red and blue are the colors.
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny.pink. suntan lotion after miles of pine refreshes my nose.but i am a stranger here, so carefully no one sees me.
down the slope, cat stepping around people and carefully between towels, down to the water line. I take off my shoes and peel off my socks pine needles and mold fall out. musty clammy foot sweat. the wet breeze and open air makes my feet feel cold. roll up my pants and wade in to the water. so clear and blue i can see the bottom it looks so shallow, like i could walk across the whole lake.
pants tight around my calves, and feet cool in the water, back warm against hard sandstone.
flat on my back on a out cropping the sky is a bowl framed in red earth. even when my eyes slide shut, i see red. sun giving me a head ache. water lapps and talks.
needes scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth.
go endlessly forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones and hair of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneth after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and iching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine.
through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.
or rather a ledge.
massive boulders shattered and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below.here is openness here. wide cloudless sky, and flat fading desert. the lake is in a basin, cut by rivers making it twisted and deep.
a lake in a desert, being a relif after a Forrest.after brown trunks, brown needles and my own dirty brown hands, red and blue are the colors.
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny.pink. suntan lotion after miles of pine refreshes my nose.but i am a stranger here, so carefully no one sees me.
down the slope, cat stepping around people and carefully between towels, down to the water line. I take off my shoes and peel off my socks pine needles and mold fall out. musty clammy foot sweat. the wet breeze and open air makes my feet feel cold. roll up my pants and wade in to the water. so clear and blue i can see the bottom it looks so shallow, like i could walk across the whole lake.
pants tight around my calves, and feet cool in the water, back warm against hard sandstone.
flat on my back on a out cropping the sky is a bowl framed in red earth. even when my eyes slide shut, i see red. sun giving me a head ache. water lapps and talks.
Friday, April 11, 2014
essssssay take 2
i am shaded but sill baking. salt thick in the air and thick on my
lips, for the heat i cant see the sun. pines
shifting and groining on the breeze, making it twilight, with only thin
slashes of light between the trunks.
needes scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth.
go endlessly forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones and hair of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneth after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and iching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine.
through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.
or rather a ledge.
massive boulders shattered and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below.
down down down far below a lake in a desert. a desert being a relif after a Forrest.
after brown trunks, brown needles and my own dirty brown hands, red and blue are the colors.
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny.pink. suntan lotion after miles of pine refreshes my nose.
but i am a stranger here, so carefully no one sees me.
and my plainness here.
the only red i have to offer is a sting across my cheek, a cut from branches dragging along my face.
the lake and the sky the same color: uncaring blue. cut only by red land. the people and the earth have no interest in blue. i can only offer the brown of my sweaty hair, grubby hands, and squinting eyes.
there is openness here. wide cloudless sky, and flat fading desert. the lake is in a basin, cut by rivers making it twisted and deep.
the jewel in the middle: a light house.
pure white so stark against the orange and the blue and the cloudless sky. white. sleek harsh minimalism, hard lines against the curves of nature.
needes scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth.
go endlessly forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones and hair of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneth after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and iching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine.
through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.
or rather a ledge.
massive boulders shattered and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below.
down down down far below a lake in a desert. a desert being a relif after a Forrest.
after brown trunks, brown needles and my own dirty brown hands, red and blue are the colors.
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny.pink. suntan lotion after miles of pine refreshes my nose.
but i am a stranger here, so carefully no one sees me.
and my plainness here.
the only red i have to offer is a sting across my cheek, a cut from branches dragging along my face.
the lake and the sky the same color: uncaring blue. cut only by red land. the people and the earth have no interest in blue. i can only offer the brown of my sweaty hair, grubby hands, and squinting eyes.
there is openness here. wide cloudless sky, and flat fading desert. the lake is in a basin, cut by rivers making it twisted and deep.
the jewel in the middle: a light house.
pure white so stark against the orange and the blue and the cloudless sky. white. sleek harsh minimalism, hard lines against the curves of nature.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
descriptive essay dream 1
i am shaded but sill baking. salt thick in the air and thick on my lips, drying and cracking. for the heat i cant see the sun. pines shifting and groining on the breeze, making it twilight, with only thin slashes of light between the trunks.
needes scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth.
go endlessly forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones and hair of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneth after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and iching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine.
.
through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.
red is the color after so much brown
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny carefully not looking at the stranger through their sunglasses.
massive boulders shatterd and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below
the contrast of sparkling water , open skies, and ocher stones. it makes me squint after so long of brown dryness.
but i am a stranger here, so carefully no one sees me.
and my plainness here
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
the only red i have to offer is a sting across my cheek, throbbing and hot, a cut from branches dragging along my face
needes scrach me. the sap sticks to my hands and hair, fir filling my nose, sticky bitter in my mouth.
go endlessly forward,stopped under the branches, knot in my lower back and in my shoulders. my cheek and forearms sting. watching my feet trudge through shed bones and hair of the trees. craking and snapping under my feet, toasted a carmel brown on top, rotten to mold silver dust underneth after i kick it up.
getting stuck in my socks, pricking and iching. with sweat, on my temples, under my shirt, dripping. making a curved path down my face and around my stomach and spine.
.
through the thicket last dusting of pine needles
a beach.
red is the color after so much brown
red sunburn bodies lain about. looks hot and shiny carefully not looking at the stranger through their sunglasses.
massive boulders shatterd and warn to smaller stones showing red and orange, and painted green in the water below
the contrast of sparkling water , open skies, and ocher stones. it makes me squint after so long of brown dryness.
but i am a stranger here, so carefully no one sees me.
and my plainness here
corporate red : towels, umbrellas, bikinis, all trying to blend with the red stone.
the only red i have to offer is a sting across my cheek, throbbing and hot, a cut from branches dragging along my face
Monday, April 7, 2014
at the end of the paper said that 70% of customers are from the us. the next highest cluster is 15% from the uk.
what is happening that more than half is from the us and the next highest is 15%.
are out collages that much diffrent? or highschools?
i know the US and UK have much different grading scales, could that be it? that my failing paper at 50 points would have been a c paper?
no. that cant be it teachers grade accordingly. bad is bad no matter the measure.
but for me i have cheated on tests to save my grade. could this be what this is for? i dont want my grade to suffer, so i pay a professional to do it?
and those professionals, 6 to 12 hours for one paper being paid 11$ is not even close to minimum wage.
what do these people do, that they need to do this, are they collage grads with no job prospects? are they ashamed? or do they look at it as getting by, like i did on my test?
what is happening that more than half is from the us and the next highest is 15%.
are out collages that much diffrent? or highschools?
i know the US and UK have much different grading scales, could that be it? that my failing paper at 50 points would have been a c paper?
no. that cant be it teachers grade accordingly. bad is bad no matter the measure.
but for me i have cheated on tests to save my grade. could this be what this is for? i dont want my grade to suffer, so i pay a professional to do it?
and those professionals, 6 to 12 hours for one paper being paid 11$ is not even close to minimum wage.
what do these people do, that they need to do this, are they collage grads with no job prospects? are they ashamed? or do they look at it as getting by, like i did on my test?
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
person writer
i love how the program shows how to type diffrent types of papers
and it seems more helpful than just a text book
the writers review seems help full but it is super easy to just auto correct the paper to whatever it says is correct
and it seems more helpful than just a text book
the writers review seems help full but it is super easy to just auto correct the paper to whatever it says is correct
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