Five

I'm just going to go through with it. I've been talking about it forever now, so I'm just going to go for it. I hope it turns out how I want it to. I'm going to need some money though. I've been going to work, yay! I hate it when good songs are tied with memories you wish you never made. Ah well, it gives the song a story/meaning behind it. It's almost the weekend! PMG! I disowned my ipod because I don't like itunes. So, I wanted to get a Zune, but that's not going to happen. I'm saving for something else already, and money is tight. In the end, I'm just going to have to use my ipod. I have to create a playlist though. It shall be filled with awesome music. :]

Four

Empty promises. Everyone hates empty promises, but some still manage to make them. As soon as I hear one, I believe it's real. The voice in my head tells me it's not, but I ignore it. Then, in the end, I feel dumb because I fell for it, again. I'll learn, eventually.

Three

It's almost the end of the week. I had planned out a schedule on Monday of things to do for the week. I haven't even done half of the stuff I planned. Procrastination is my hobby. Normally, I wouldn't blame the weather, but today I will. It was raining, it was windy, and it was muggy. I didn't do any homework, which I know is bad. Tomorrow I go home for Houston and it should be a good weekend. My mom is making tortillas de harina, fo sho :D

Two

I can be too trusting to strangers, and have no trust in real friends and family. I either come up short, or go too far. I'm still trying to find my balance. The first few days of class have passed, but I still haven't found my focus or routine yet. I need to get motivated again. I told myself I was going to let things go this year. I had been doing so, but I regressed. I think I have life figured out, but it will always slap me across the face with a reality check...and that's why I keep going. :] Keeps me on my toes

One for 2010

I really thought we were not going to end up like our parents. We were not going to let petty things get to us and ruin our bond. I actually believed (silly me) that we were mature enough to move on and leave the past behind. I believed as a family and mature young adults, we would discuss issues face to face. To my surprise I was completely wrong. I didn't think a new all time low could be set, but damn kid you sure did set one. I was furious. I can honestly say, never in my life have I been this upset and hurt. I was enraged and deeply hurt. I expected so much from you; I have helped you in every way I could.I pushed you to do better with yourself; I believed in you when others didn't. Que poco hombre eres. You did a wrong act towards someone I love. Yes, it is true, but it gave you no right to prove it the way you did. Now, I was ready to do some serious damage, but I'm not. I am not going to stoop down to that level. Unlike you, I was raised better. This issue is not between us, but you can't disrespect people in that manner. Perhaps one day I will forgive you. Not now, it's too soon in my opinion. I do not hate you, but you have disappointed me. If there is still any hope for us to ever talk again, it won't be the same. You're completely right, the apple does not fall far from the tree...because you are exactly like the person you hate the most...your father.

This year I'm glad some people showed their true selves. Now I know who to depend on and who to leave out of my life.

"Friends are God's way of apologizing for your family."

-Wayne W. Dyer

Wild Duck Shooting-- On the Wing

William T. Ranney's oil painting of Wild Duck Shooting -- On the Wing was painted in 1850. It depicts the sport of hunting in 18th century art. In early American colonialism, hunting was common for food. However, it is evident that this painting portrays it as a mere sport. The father and son show "the American spirit." Hunting is seen as a sport that brings a father and son closer to form a strong bond. The dog is a companion to the family and helps gather the kill. The dead ducks in the corner are a prize for the young boy and father. Hunting has always existed since the beginning of time. It is seen between animals, and humans. Animals will kill out of instinct or for protection; humans kill for sport. In America, during the 1800s, hunting for sport was accepted. Today, groups like PETA stand against it. Shooting ducks was a good way for fathers and sons to bond. People still hunt today, but there's limits and restrictions now. The painting well-received in wide audiences; he also made several versions of the same painting. It was also made into several engravings. For it to be well-recieved in masses, shows the mentality of animal rights and emotions in the 1800s. They were objects that could be killed for sport, or perhaps a meal for the family. The dogs is still seen as a companion of man like it was back in the 1800s. The dog looks intently at it's master to quickly please him with the next kill. There seems to be more light on the ducks than the actual people in the painting, almost glorifying the kill. Hunting is still glorified today. The heads of dead animals posted on walls is glorifying murder. Others will defend it as a sport for fun. Regardless, our treatment of animals has remained the same, but the way we think of them as beings has changed.

My Final Paradise

[1] The pasture is an endless sea of green paradise. It is my home; my world. The lake has been my source of life and play pen. The refreshing water brings life to the pasture. The soft dirt under my hooves is relaxing. The quiet breeze across my hide is soothing. Birds fly freely above. This life is wonderful. I can roam the pasture as long as I please, eat all the grass I can, and be with my family. Not a branding iron or electric prod in sight. I live at peace here. In my world I feel no pain. I don’t hurt. I am never lonely. I am never sad. I feel loved here. The man calls me Bessie. He never yells at me, never pushes me, never shocks me, and never hurts me. He is unlike many others. The man shows he cares for me. My life seems wonderful until I wake up from this beautiful dream into my horrible reality.

All I can see is a never-ending sea of cows like me. There is no room to roam free. No space to lie down. My source of water is disgusting. The man here never bothers to clean it for my sake at least. I walk in my own feces, along with everyone else’s that is confined in this small pen. If for some miracle there is an opportunity for me to walk around; it’s difficult. Treading in ankle deep feces is degrading. If the man only knew how atrocious this feels, to be covered in my own waste, he would provide a pasture for us. Wouldn’t he? The horrendous stench in the air causes my nose and eyes to burn. I’m exhausted. Recently, I’ve heard talk that we are going to be killed. The man wouldn’t do that to us after our suffering here in the pen. Or would he? Could he really be this cruel? I wanted to find out for myself to end this curious anxiety. I tried asking other [2] cows, but no one wants to tell me. They all say the same thing. “Does it matter anyways? It will end this tragic life.” I tried asking the man, but all he does is beat me or shock me when I try talking to him. Why is the man evil? After getting nowhere in trying to find out the truth, I feel hopeless. It’s not fair. What gives him the right to kill us? We’ve done nothing wrong. Did I do something to deserve this? Have I angered him? I’ll do anything to make it up for him. I promise I won’t disappoint him anymore. After a couple of days I started to notice the cows in other pens never came back after the man had taken them away. The optimism I had to keep me going was beginning to drain out of me. All this insane cruelty didn’t make sense. Why bother anymore? I’m going to die. Perhaps when I die, I can forever be in my paradise.

On a grim morning the man came with others to my pen. This is it. They opened the gate. It’s happening. The man began shouting at us. He called us worthless stupid animals. I was scared. Where was he taking us? As none of us moved, they pulled out long heavy sticks and ones they called prods. They repeatedly shocked and beat us to get moving. I screamed in pain as the man shocked me while another hit me repeatedly as I couldn’t feel. “Stop!” I yelled. Do they not understand some of us are injured already? Some of us can barely stand, let alone walk. Vicious beings they are. No compassion in their actions. Slowly, we all gradually walk out of the pen into a loud dark box. Is this where I take my last breath? No; we’re just crammed in to be as uncomfortable as ever. I don’t know how long we’re going to be here. I’m starting to worry for some of the others. I know they won’t last longer. They’re depressed, hopeless, and in despair.The loud droning noise of the dark box is a constant reminder [3] of our future death. However, it is a reminder that I am still alive. I lose conscience now and then; hoping to wake up in my paradise. It’s pointless. I try to imagine my amazing world, but nothing. I start to wonder if we will ever leave this box. This is all a cruel game the man is pulling on all of us; it has to be. He enjoys this and wants to see us suffer more. His hate for us is so extreme; he has to push our sanity off the edge. With each passing moment I get more depressed. Will this ever end? I somehow managed to look around me, and I see it—death. Several others had passed out on the floor. I stared at their stiff lifeless bodies wondering how I will die. The sight of my own kind dead on the floor, rotting, makes me sad. Would I die soon? I start to hear the man’s voice again. The loud droning ceases. The door is opened. Relief sets in, but only for a few seconds.

The sun casted rays of scorching light into our eyes. I felt disorientated and fatigued. The ache in my stomach and the intense thirst made me believe I was half insane already. Again, the violent beings would hit and shock us to get off the box. We walked into a huge building. It was dreary, and I had a feeling this would be our last stop. Besides what other ghastly things could they possibly do to us now? This place was new. I hated it. The smell of this new place was awful. I could hear a dull roar coming from the inside. Everyone looked so miserable. We were placed in lines. Then I come back to my senses and my stomach is in knots. The dull roar is clearer now; I could hear the other cows and their blood-curdling screams. Their cries for help were being ignored. I had never heard of cows pleading for their lives so desperately. What could possibly be going on inside to make them shriek like this? A pressure rises in my chest; I can feel my heart race. I have to get out, but how?

Paralyzed by the chaos, I didn’t notice I was being tied by my foot with a chain. Another man is there looking down on me with what looks like a medium slim stick. I look into his eyes, hoping he can at least see my terror and read my cry of help. No sign of sign of mercy. His gaze is cold and blank. It’s as if he has not even there. Not even aware that he is injuring beings. I start to panic. My heart is about to come out of my chest. I see blood on the walls. I try kicking, no use. I try jumping, even worse. Anything I try to do to escape I hurt myself. I feel so helpless. Why can’t I just escape to my paradise right now? Just then, the chain drags me into the air. I’m petrified. I cry. This new place was covered in blood and cows screaming. I desperately wanted to leave, but no hope. I’m in an awkward position, nothing makes sense. Everything that’s down is up. The man approaches me with the slim dagger glistening in the little light there is. He waves it over my neck.

Please! Don’t do it!
[4]
My iris grew in bewilderment as the dark figure approaches my panting heart. The silver dagger is warm with someone else’s blood. Something so elegant, yet so barbaric makes a single cut. A dark red pool of my life poured out at the beast’s whim. The excruciating pain is enough to make me wish I was dead already. Blood gushes out of my neck onto the walls, floor, and his clothes. I gasp for life; I choke. This can’t be. Why must I die this way? I feel him rummaging through my throat and ripping out parts of my body. He’s ruthless. I try begging him to stop, but it’s futile. I am no longer in front of him. I am on the floor bleeding to my death; on the floor bleeding out of my neck, mouth, and nose. I am on the floor struggling to hold onto my life. The pain is unbearable. I can slowly feel my body is starting to let go of life. Everything is becoming dark. I try opening my eyes; but I give up. I’m ready to go to my paradise. I want to stop hurting. I want to stop feeling terrified. I want to feel loved. I want to live.


I found myself in my paradise not too long after the savage act of violence. It feels different, though. Perhaps it’s because I get to stay here and not wake up. I don’t complain at all here. There is no pain, no brutal beasts, and no spine-chilling screams. Fresh blue skies, sweet air, and the infinite sea of green pasture are all I see now. I am at peace.

[5]

Word Count: 1,544

[1]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v250/visualpurple/VisualVitamins/LushWithCow.jpg
[2]http://i735.photobucket.com/albums/ww355/cottonsocks08/MEAT%20-%20COWS/Feedlots.jpg
[3]http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k313/Stoat_2006/cows.jpg
[4] http://www.alv.org.au/issues/cattle/slaughteredcow.jpg
[5] http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a345/vero_h/field-1024x768.jpg