Stranger then Fiction/Short Story

Do we really know who we are and what our role is in the world? No
Do we have the freedom to choose for ourselves? No
Do the choices we make lead us to our fate even though we are the ones making the choice? Well we make choices thinking they are our own choices but they could very well be fated choices that we make
How can we know if we are really making the choice? We don't

There once was a man that lived on the top of a hill. He had a long white beard, a sleeping problem and no friends or companions except for his cat, Scuffles. Scruffles was, well, scruffily with gnarled orange and white fur and had a meow like no other.
Everyday the old name, whose name was Alex, worked in his garden and mended his livestock. And at the end of the day would make dinner, for both him and Scruffles, and they would sit together and listen to the radio until they eventually went off to bed.
One morning Alex woke up but to his surprise Scruffles was not at the end of his bed. But he took no note of it and just assumed his cat woke up early to find a mouse to chase.
He went to the kitchen and made breakfast, but Scruffles did not appear. And all throughout the rest of the day Scruffles did show up. Alex thought this was very strange and desided to go look for him.
He went all around his hill shouting for his long time friend but no avail. Had Scruffles gotten eaten by a fox? Alex did not know, but mornfully trudged back to his house.
That night Alex ate dinner, listened to the radio and fell asleep all alone. That night he had a nightmare like never before. He dreamed that he, Alex, had in fact brutally murdered his own pet and buddy. He dreamed that he brutally murdered his cat while sleep walking.
With a sudden wake, Alex leaped from his bed and ran to his closet. In his closet were very old mechanical parts, because when Alex was younger he had always wanted to build a time machine. And since he knew he had killed his cat he felt this time was as good as any to finally make the time machine. His plan was to go back in time and save his cat.
So he built his time machine, which he named Galactica four, and went back three days.
There he was, looking at himself and Scruffles listening to the radio, after what seemed a delightful supper. He didn't want to disturb, or confuse his past self by just walking up, so his plan was to wait until they were both asleep.
So, in the middle of the night, Alex walked up to his bed and softly took his cat and started for the Gilactica four. But then he stopped... There was only room for one in the Gilactica four. Without hesitation he put Scruffles in first and pressed go, and he went after.
On the way back all Alex could think about was how proud of himself he was a saving his beloved cat. But when he opened the door and steped out into his bedroom there was no cat. What happened?
Alex looked at the recent trips the time machine had made, and then with a look of utter shock he realized what he had done. He had sent Scruffles to the ice age. There was nothing he could do about it now, he would never be able to find his cat in all the ice and snow. All there was left to do was mope. And mope he did. For the rest of his life all the could think about was how stupid he was to think that a dream could have come true. It was nothing but a nightmare.

complete freewill, destiny and determinism

To me, determinism sounds most accurate. It seems like people always act somewhat like their parents but they also act like the people they are around.
Alcoholism, for example, can be hereditary but friends and life situations also influence it.
Sometimes I even find myself wondering, if free will is letting me choose to wake up a certain time or if its just fate that knows I will think about the time I wake up but it already knows what time I will choose.
I think most people want to think there is a bigger picture for them and that fate has it all ready and waiting. Its like a small hope. And people that believe in free will know they have to work for it because if they don't it might all go away.
Personally, destiny sounds pretty great, but I feel like determinism just fits. Over time I've grown to realize that whenever I go to a different place or am around different people I tend to act different.
I definitely think that people,surroundings and family affect a person tremendously.

forces from the battle

Different situations I found from the story that include the prostitute are;
when they walk deeper into the middle of the ballroom where the naked prostitute is, '...Yet I was strongly attracted and looked in spite of myself.' Since the prostitute symbolizes America, him being attracted to her is showing us that he likes America. But the prostitute is naked and being exploited by the white men for entertainment, the narrator hates this and does not want to look at her, but does in spite of how much he disagrees with what is happening.
Once they are all around her, she begins to dance, slowly and sensually. 'I felt transported. Then became aware of the clarinet playing and the big shots yelling at us.' The author is showing us that America is being trashed away for the pleasure of the with higher power. The narrator sees that the prostitute (America) is beautiful and become entranced by her 'sensual' dancing, but the he notices the clarinet and realizes that this woman is just being used to entertainment and nothing more. The wealthy white men are waisting America's attributes and turning them into a past time.
To back this up is when one of the surrounding merchants begins to watch her a little too intently. He was an 'intoxicated panda....This creature was completely hypnotizes.' All these people have grown so used to manipulating these prostitutes into sexual entertainment, and they have been doing it for long enough to not even realize or even care what they look like while all of this is going on.
These images and symbols contribute the story because they show what the character is being put through, the things he faces and the emotions he emits. And although the first time I read the story it sounded completely bazaar, and was rather random. It doesn't like a lot of things that happened in this story would really have ever happened but its right on the verge. Meaning, you have to really look for the symbols and know that they are there.

who is this old feathered man?

is he just a man with feathers of an angel?

i think he is a man, but we have to believe that he is an angel. the story wants you to believe that he is an angel.
i think he is a man because if angels are immortal then how did he get so old? why is having so many problems flying? but if he is an angel then maybe the problems he if having is because pelayo and elisenda don't want to give up their new born child and the reason he came was to take the child to heaven.
or since he is only an old man, its all just a coincidence.
i don't really know how this changes the story, its open for personal interpretation.
ok that doesn't really answer the question but thats what i think.

cathedral of irony

the irony that shapes the story.

all throughout the story the narrator has a tinge of jealousy because he doesn't understand what is going on with his wife and the blind man. when his wife tells him about how she will always remember when he touched her face, he feels like she has some sort of feeling for the blind man that she doesn't have for him. he had never met never met blind man and when he heard he would be staying at their house, he didn't want to meet him. he was intimidated and uncomfortable with it.
and then when they are watching the show about cathedrals he feels sad for the man because he cannot see these beautiful buildings and feels compelled to explain them as best he can. then finally the man asks to draw it together. he tells the man to close him eyes and as they draw the cathedral together he understands the blind man, and what he understands beauty to be. he can't see beauty he has to feel and imagine it.
the irony is beauty, and the man is a metaphor for understanding it. when the blind man tells him to open his eyes to see if it looks like a cathedral, he doesn't open his eyes because he doesn't need to. it doesn't matter what it physically looks like, it feels beautiful.

final drapt

for as long as i can remember my dad's favorite thing to do is sail. i could never really understand why or how someone could love something so much. but on the summer before 7th grade i figured it out.


every summer i would go and visit my dad for two months, and as nice as it was to see him, i never truly enjoyed it because i didn't know anyone, and i would end up spending a majority of my summer inside watching t.v, but on this particular summer my dad had planned a little treat. he had signed me up in a sailing program. it was like the y.m.c.a. of sailing and when he told me that i had to do it, excitement wasn't my first reaction.


all i could think about was how stupid i would look trying to sail, by myself, with no friends to laugh about it with. on the first day i had to wake up way too early for summer, drive 30 minutes to some random place, and do something i didn't want to do. but there was no escaping it, and i had to do it.


yet as the days went on, and i began to meet some of the people, and learn more about sailing, i grew to love it. i quickly became an Erkle of sailing. i would eat, sleep, and breathe sailing. waking up at 6:10 and driving to anxious 30 minutes just to see if i could beet everybody to the sign in sheet, became an easy routine. i would sail from 7 to 7 day in day out. and i couldn't have been happier.

it wasn't really the act of sailing that i loved so much. it was the feeling that sailing gave me. it gave me a sense of independence which gave me a sense of self satisfaction. i had done this all on my own.

and then it hit me. my dad began sailing as a kid and will probably sail for the rest of his life. he learned at a young age that he was passionate about sailing. my dad wanted me to be passionate about something, thats why he had me sail. and thats why i believe in childhood passions.

wake up

If the children don’t grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little god’s causin rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.

I guess we’ll just have to adjust.