The author of this charter is King James, and "well disposed subjects".
The audience would be the people who are living in the new colony, and all of those who are concerned with it.
The purpose of the writing is to express the authority on which the colony of Virginia has been founded on, and to show the boundaries of the peoples influence on the land, what they own, how much they own, and how they can own it. it was like a mini-constitution, but it wasent real laws, at least concerning behavior of the settlers. It was more a code of conduct, and a
The tone is authoritative. There are no superflous words, they speak with professional vocabulary, and reliability.
I don't think this is a persuasive piece of writing. They speak with authority, their position in society gives them that. Therefore: They do not have to persuade the people to follow what the charter says, their word is law. It doesn't need emotional appeals. But I noticed they did make a appeal with religion, although I'm not sure what category of persuasion that would fall under.
In the third paragraph," We... by the Providence of the Almighty God...may in time bring the infidels and savages... to human civility."
I heard someone say today that there were no emotional appeals in the article, which gave the piece more authority, and I agree. The fact that there was no or little emotion to be found in the charter indicated a certain power from the speakers, that they do not need to rely on tugging heartstings to get the settlers to see their way.
Also, the fact that they used extensive lists was informative to me. They used very specific and detailed lists and descriptions of the territory. They were knowledgeable about the subject, and they gave details that almost served as proof that they were to be listened to.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Virginia Charter
The author of this charter is King James, and "well disposed subjects". The audience would be the people who are living in the new colony. They are writing to express the authority on which the colony of Virginia has been founded on. They are also writing to show the boundries of the peoples influence on the land, what they own, how much they own, and how they can own it. The tone is authoritative. There are no flowery words, they speak with professional vocabulary, and reliability.
I dont think this is a persuasive peice of writing. they speak with authority, their position in society gives them that. therefore: They do not have to persuade the people to follow what the charter says, their word is law. It doesnt need emotional appeals.
I dont think this is a persuasive peice of writing. they speak with authority, their position in society gives them that. therefore: They do not have to persuade the people to follow what the charter says, their word is law. It doesnt need emotional appeals.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Response to "The cruelties of the Spaniards committed in America" with templates
In the exerpt from "Destruction of the Indies", Bartolome` de Las Casas states very clearly the plight of the natives that lived there. He stated the Spaniards commiting atrocities such as "ripping up their bellies, tore[tearing] them alive in peices.", taking babies from their mothers and "dasht the brains of these innocents out on the rocks" among many others. Bartolome started that their actions were reminicent of "tygers, wovles and lions", as "inhuman" and "detestable".
I could not agree more. I find it encouraging that there were some men who saw the spaniards deeds for what they were. There is no excuse for treating any member of humanity like that, as "filth of the earth". They showed not neglect, but outright cruelty, giving the native people less respect than one might give roadkill. I find it even more despicable that they attacked and tortured people who saw them as gods. The natives would have treated them with respect and reverance, and for no reason besides the ovious taking pleasure in others people pain, they were decimated by a force technologically advanced, but morally bankrupt.
I could not agree more. I find it encouraging that there were some men who saw the spaniards deeds for what they were. There is no excuse for treating any member of humanity like that, as "filth of the earth". They showed not neglect, but outright cruelty, giving the native people less respect than one might give roadkill. I find it even more despicable that they attacked and tortured people who saw them as gods. The natives would have treated them with respect and reverance, and for no reason besides the ovious taking pleasure in others people pain, they were decimated by a force technologically advanced, but morally bankrupt.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Writing Philosphy
In general, I write for myself. I will take a thought, or more the beginnings of thought, and try to alter them into something worth reading. I attempt to work nature, creativity and beauty into my writing with rhythm. Speaking fluidly has never been easy for me, so the advantages of eloquent writing are especially significant. The thought of taking something so fragile and surreal as a thought, and changing it to become tangible never ceases to amaze me. Therefore, when I write, I have a purpose; to not waste my time with ugly words and graceless sentences. I try to make my writing entertaining for the reader, and at the same time, meaningful to me. My goal is effectively conveying my purpose, while maintaining my passion for poetically inspired communication.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Summary of Charles Deemer's Essay
I think Charles idea is that traditional teaching is not effective with a power imbalance. The teacher assumes total control of the classroom, and he believes that the (lecture) class stifles real thought, and therefore, real learning. The teacher is viewed as a deity, for lack of a better word, because of greater experience. To learn, he says, is to make the student think, not to accept or memorize. The best learning environment, where it has the most practical application, is one where the student is actively engaged, really to challenge contradictory ideas. Deemer stated that in order for creativity to be generated, the pupil should be forced out of a their "comfort zone", which is a line I have heard parroted here at Psec. I believe his ideal learning environment would be similar to a Socratic seminar, where everyone's ideas are considered equally, allowing for discussion and debate, broadening perspectives.
In his essay he uses many similar viewpoints in the form of quotes. This is effective because it show he is neither the first or the only on with ideas on a less rigid teaching structure. He backed up his argument with various proofs, witch gives him more reliability.
In his essay he uses many similar viewpoints in the form of quotes. This is effective because it show he is neither the first or the only on with ideas on a less rigid teaching structure. He backed up his argument with various proofs, witch gives him more reliability.
Socialism, Equality and Robin Hood (Psec entrance essay)
What is social justice? If you look at the phrase itself, it would mean fairness that relates to a society or a community. But what does that entail? Does it mean equality for all people, and if so, in what context(s)? Does it mean that”… justice will be achieved in all aspects of society, not just in… law” As Wikipedia.com states? In order to discuss this topic, you need a basic definition, but that is harder to come by than you might think. For me, Social Justice is a community, even or situation in witch honesty and integrity are the standards by which justice is achieved.
In my research for this topic I came across multiple definitions of Social Justice, which varied somewhat. Glenbow.com claimed it was the,” The fair distribution of advantages, assets, and benefits among all members of a society.” This brings me to my social justice issue; that our society is in dangerous proximity to becoming a socialist nation. The statement above is just one example. Socialism is dangerous, because it starts out using people’s good nature against them, brining emotion into politics, and eventually stealing from the public under the guise of equality. Let me explain.
I call this occurrence Robin Hood-isim. From the time we are young, we have been told stories of how the corrupt rich man lords his money and power over the helpless poor. Then, a noble hero, like Robin Hood, takes from the rich man and gives to the poor. That makes for a feel good ending. But this becomes vastly dangerous when we apply this concept to society. The definition above states that advantages should be split evenly between members of a community. But is that truly fair? Those who work hard should reap the benefits of their labor, such as with the principals of capitalism. Does justice mean that those who contribute more who receive more? The principals of socialism allow people who are lazy to receive the same advantages as those who work their way in to success.
The name of accumulation of wealth has been diminished into something greedy, underhanded and selfish. Wealth brings to mind expansive mansions and fast cars, self-indulgent people living in surplus in luxury. If someone looks at capitalism from the viewpoint of the poor, they would be inclined to see this as unfair. But if they are not working and are able to, then their economic situation is just. Capitalism, allows those who are willing to put forth the effort a chance to get ahead, and that is truly fair.
You might say that this is technically not a social justice issue. But if we look at the definition, it absolutely is. Taxing the rich to pay for the poor, “evening the playing field”, ”equal distribution of advantages” are all clever covers for outright theft by the government. And if stealing is not considered a breach of integrity, then I don’t know what would be. I’m not saying the underprivileged should not receive help, if a man or woman is unable to work due to age or physical disability, then that’s a situation where it’s our duty to help. But illegal immigrants and those making a living on welfare are a liability to our nation, and should not be given the same advantages as the working class.
If social justice is a true goal of America, I think we must return to the standards for witch our founding fathers. America is a capitalist nation, but we are being led astray by the liberals, political correctness, and even the word “equality” itself. In striving for equality in all aspects of life, we have lost the value of labor. Equality may mean that all people should be equal, but that should never mean the benefits of labor and skill should be taken from the deserving just because there are those who are unwilling to sweat. The mindset of America needs to change, because justice is a trait worth fighting for, and working for.
In my research for this topic I came across multiple definitions of Social Justice, which varied somewhat. Glenbow.com claimed it was the,” The fair distribution of advantages, assets, and benefits among all members of a society.” This brings me to my social justice issue; that our society is in dangerous proximity to becoming a socialist nation. The statement above is just one example. Socialism is dangerous, because it starts out using people’s good nature against them, brining emotion into politics, and eventually stealing from the public under the guise of equality. Let me explain.
I call this occurrence Robin Hood-isim. From the time we are young, we have been told stories of how the corrupt rich man lords his money and power over the helpless poor. Then, a noble hero, like Robin Hood, takes from the rich man and gives to the poor. That makes for a feel good ending. But this becomes vastly dangerous when we apply this concept to society. The definition above states that advantages should be split evenly between members of a community. But is that truly fair? Those who work hard should reap the benefits of their labor, such as with the principals of capitalism. Does justice mean that those who contribute more who receive more? The principals of socialism allow people who are lazy to receive the same advantages as those who work their way in to success.
The name of accumulation of wealth has been diminished into something greedy, underhanded and selfish. Wealth brings to mind expansive mansions and fast cars, self-indulgent people living in surplus in luxury. If someone looks at capitalism from the viewpoint of the poor, they would be inclined to see this as unfair. But if they are not working and are able to, then their economic situation is just. Capitalism, allows those who are willing to put forth the effort a chance to get ahead, and that is truly fair.
You might say that this is technically not a social justice issue. But if we look at the definition, it absolutely is. Taxing the rich to pay for the poor, “evening the playing field”, ”equal distribution of advantages” are all clever covers for outright theft by the government. And if stealing is not considered a breach of integrity, then I don’t know what would be. I’m not saying the underprivileged should not receive help, if a man or woman is unable to work due to age or physical disability, then that’s a situation where it’s our duty to help. But illegal immigrants and those making a living on welfare are a liability to our nation, and should not be given the same advantages as the working class.
If social justice is a true goal of America, I think we must return to the standards for witch our founding fathers. America is a capitalist nation, but we are being led astray by the liberals, political correctness, and even the word “equality” itself. In striving for equality in all aspects of life, we have lost the value of labor. Equality may mean that all people should be equal, but that should never mean the benefits of labor and skill should be taken from the deserving just because there are those who are unwilling to sweat. The mindset of America needs to change, because justice is a trait worth fighting for, and working for.
Rain
The sky seemed to ache above me. A flat, toneless gray, it sat there, content to merely exist. I was sitting in the rain, small cold drops hitting my shoulders and legs. The reason why I sat there was lost even to me. The green foliage of the trees shuddered at they were kissed by the rain, I watched them steadily. The branches would bend ever so slightly as the leaves collected, then in a rush; they would bow, splattering the pavement below with a few large drops. The process would repeat again.
The contrast of the red wood of my deck and the lush emerald grass framed my view to my right, to the left, the shining grey reflection of the slate sky in a window. My thoughts were only broken by the sounds of ugly machinery working nearby. I scowled. Trust humanity to ruin a moment like this, with their iron machines and tools that seem to defy everything nature intended. I wondered vaguely how long it had been since any of the workmen sat in the rain and listened, if they had ever done so.
The puddles around my feet danced as the rain fell, shimmering silver pools that rippled happily when touched upon. I traced my fingers through the nearest one absentmindedly, why was I out here? Intrigued, I watched my jeans soak up the rain. The drop would sit there on the fabric for the smallest moment, triumphant at its victory over gravity, but would inevitably then sink dejectedly into the jeans to touch my skin. I laughed inwardly at its presumption.
My reflections meandered thoughtlessly; my face was turned to the sky. The rain was not like any poet would describe, as soft tears cascading down ones face or any thing of the like. They hurt, jarring me a little, as if they wanted an answer as much as I did to my question and were probing me for the answer; why was I out here? After a time the rain became disenchanting, settling in my mind as merely cool water instead of soothing sound. I got up and brushed water into the place I had been sitting. It should be a secret that I sat there for so long.
But I would return to my creature comforts of my house, as I always will. Even now as my hair smells of fresh air and my clothes dry upstairs, as I sip coco and try in vain to tell you of my experience, I wonder why I went out there. It may seem trivial to you, maybe even a little daft, but I will continue to wonder.
The contrast of the red wood of my deck and the lush emerald grass framed my view to my right, to the left, the shining grey reflection of the slate sky in a window. My thoughts were only broken by the sounds of ugly machinery working nearby. I scowled. Trust humanity to ruin a moment like this, with their iron machines and tools that seem to defy everything nature intended. I wondered vaguely how long it had been since any of the workmen sat in the rain and listened, if they had ever done so.
The puddles around my feet danced as the rain fell, shimmering silver pools that rippled happily when touched upon. I traced my fingers through the nearest one absentmindedly, why was I out here? Intrigued, I watched my jeans soak up the rain. The drop would sit there on the fabric for the smallest moment, triumphant at its victory over gravity, but would inevitably then sink dejectedly into the jeans to touch my skin. I laughed inwardly at its presumption.
My reflections meandered thoughtlessly; my face was turned to the sky. The rain was not like any poet would describe, as soft tears cascading down ones face or any thing of the like. They hurt, jarring me a little, as if they wanted an answer as much as I did to my question and were probing me for the answer; why was I out here? After a time the rain became disenchanting, settling in my mind as merely cool water instead of soothing sound. I got up and brushed water into the place I had been sitting. It should be a secret that I sat there for so long.
But I would return to my creature comforts of my house, as I always will. Even now as my hair smells of fresh air and my clothes dry upstairs, as I sip coco and try in vain to tell you of my experience, I wonder why I went out there. It may seem trivial to you, maybe even a little daft, but I will continue to wonder.
Coffee
She was unapologetically beautiful, sitting in the wrought iron chairs of the corner coffee shop. Chocolate hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose spirals. Her delicate features were interrupted only by her wide green eyes, witch were infinitely expressive as they surveyed the world. Hey eyes were her own favorite feature, even though she could never get far in a lie before they betrayed her, while her face broke into its characteristic grin.
She said cross legged in the rain, her graceful hands wrapped around some distastefully expensive coffee drink. Even though there were chairs nearby that were covered by garish umbrellas, and indeed a worn leather armchair by the fire inside, she made no effort to move. She sat so still that rain clung to her dark eyelashes, her makeup smudging in an attractive way.
Her presence at the shop was not entirely unexpected; she had a regular drink and greeted the baristas by name. Even so, the eyes of the casual passerby lingered on her thin frame for too long to be entirely accidental. She looked at the small fraction of the bay she could see from her chair, a small shiver shook her. She had always loved the water, but had been hopeless at swimming lessons. She would kick and kick like they told her to, but inevitably her head would slip below the surface and she would have to be pulled out, choking and coughing.
Her thoughts drifted back to Brian. She shook the water out of her eyes, a motion more to clear his image from her mind than anything else.
"Don't think about that." She mumbled shamefacedly, addressing the steam spirals issuing from lid of her coffee. But there way no denying she missed him…
"It was for the best." The words rang hollow in her ears, no matter how many times she repeated them to herself, they meant nothing. Empty shells of words that might once have had meaning, but for now taunted her with illusions of reprieve. After a while only the dregs of her coffee remained, a sigh escaped her. "No good things last…" The rain had picked up now, the gray and purple clouds swirling ominously above. She afforded this sight one cursory glance before standing to leave. A workmen cat-called to her across the street, she closed her eyes briefly in anger, then wove her way back into pedestrian traffic. She would back at this spot tomorrow, just as she had been here yesterday. You would never see her with a book or newspaper, only a coffee in her graceful hands, and on the rarest of occasions, like today, the sparkle of unshed tears in her wide green eyes.
She said cross legged in the rain, her graceful hands wrapped around some distastefully expensive coffee drink. Even though there were chairs nearby that were covered by garish umbrellas, and indeed a worn leather armchair by the fire inside, she made no effort to move. She sat so still that rain clung to her dark eyelashes, her makeup smudging in an attractive way.
Her presence at the shop was not entirely unexpected; she had a regular drink and greeted the baristas by name. Even so, the eyes of the casual passerby lingered on her thin frame for too long to be entirely accidental. She looked at the small fraction of the bay she could see from her chair, a small shiver shook her. She had always loved the water, but had been hopeless at swimming lessons. She would kick and kick like they told her to, but inevitably her head would slip below the surface and she would have to be pulled out, choking and coughing.
Her thoughts drifted back to Brian. She shook the water out of her eyes, a motion more to clear his image from her mind than anything else.
"Don't think about that." She mumbled shamefacedly, addressing the steam spirals issuing from lid of her coffee. But there way no denying she missed him…
"It was for the best." The words rang hollow in her ears, no matter how many times she repeated them to herself, they meant nothing. Empty shells of words that might once have had meaning, but for now taunted her with illusions of reprieve. After a while only the dregs of her coffee remained, a sigh escaped her. "No good things last…" The rain had picked up now, the gray and purple clouds swirling ominously above. She afforded this sight one cursory glance before standing to leave. A workmen cat-called to her across the street, she closed her eyes briefly in anger, then wove her way back into pedestrian traffic. She would back at this spot tomorrow, just as she had been here yesterday. You would never see her with a book or newspaper, only a coffee in her graceful hands, and on the rarest of occasions, like today, the sparkle of unshed tears in her wide green eyes.
Clouds
The sunset was truly spectacular that night. It was one of those sunsets where even the people who don't care about clouds would pause and stare for a moment, lost in the beauty of color. The sky melted from a robin's egg blue to a rich plum, and was sprinkled with shockingly gold clouds. Nearby I heard you utter some useless platitude, but I wasn't really listening, and neither were you.
The bench we shared was viciously uncomfortable, an ugly modern thing. Its steel frame was dented, the paint peeling off to reveal naked metal underneath. I heard your voice imply that I look at you; slowly I forced my eyes from the sky. You were staring at me with an expression I had not seen before. Of course I had seen you exasperated, the conversation we just had was one we've had previously. But this time there was a certain finality in your eyes that told me more than slow, clumsy words could ever express. In that moment, we both cold have turned and walked away and had both been in perfect understanding of what had taken place, but society couldn't allow that. Therefore I found myself stumbling through some awkward transition that I found more repulsive more that its intended meaning.
"Maybe we should… take a break for a while. You know, while… until I get things sorted out…"
You replied with some bland assent that I managed not to hear.
There was no egg blue in the sky now, and the golden clouds had lost much of their color. They looked unpolished and dull, but I didn't mind. Your words drifted to me, but I noticed something else I hadn't before. It was an inflection of disappointment; though whether it was borne of me, or in yourself, I couldn't tell. You had finally given up on me, and I would never say I blame you.
The concrete in front of us was deeply scarred and pitted. The roots of a large elm tree nearby had grown underneath and cracked it, allowing little sprigs of this or that to grow there. My body raised itself and you followed suit. Your eyes pierced me one last time with a long, searching look, before you turned away. In an instant, you were out of sight. Maybe I should have said something to you, or grasped you hand as you left, but there was no need. A sweet breeze played across my face, scented with a heavy, warm smell. The last fingers of light fell behind the skyline, and I smiled as a raised my eyes to the sky.
The bench we shared was viciously uncomfortable, an ugly modern thing. Its steel frame was dented, the paint peeling off to reveal naked metal underneath. I heard your voice imply that I look at you; slowly I forced my eyes from the sky. You were staring at me with an expression I had not seen before. Of course I had seen you exasperated, the conversation we just had was one we've had previously. But this time there was a certain finality in your eyes that told me more than slow, clumsy words could ever express. In that moment, we both cold have turned and walked away and had both been in perfect understanding of what had taken place, but society couldn't allow that. Therefore I found myself stumbling through some awkward transition that I found more repulsive more that its intended meaning.
"Maybe we should… take a break for a while. You know, while… until I get things sorted out…"
You replied with some bland assent that I managed not to hear.
There was no egg blue in the sky now, and the golden clouds had lost much of their color. They looked unpolished and dull, but I didn't mind. Your words drifted to me, but I noticed something else I hadn't before. It was an inflection of disappointment; though whether it was borne of me, or in yourself, I couldn't tell. You had finally given up on me, and I would never say I blame you.
The concrete in front of us was deeply scarred and pitted. The roots of a large elm tree nearby had grown underneath and cracked it, allowing little sprigs of this or that to grow there. My body raised itself and you followed suit. Your eyes pierced me one last time with a long, searching look, before you turned away. In an instant, you were out of sight. Maybe I should have said something to you, or grasped you hand as you left, but there was no need. A sweet breeze played across my face, scented with a heavy, warm smell. The last fingers of light fell behind the skyline, and I smiled as a raised my eyes to the sky.
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