Sonnet 1

As time doth sleep upon thy youthful heart,

Now waging war against all tender flesh,

A slander summons none but one remark:

Tis thoughts, not age which make a man feel fresh. 

She greets him like a friendly taproom maid, 

and slips her blade within his sunken form;

Sweet liquid seeps in weary accolade,

And crown'd with jewels engraved with words forlorn. 

Yet babes know not the callow sense of he 

who weeps at chance now lost by those long cold,

Horizons fail to feign uncharted seas,

From laughing eyes, first wrench'd before made old.
      How free am I to waste what's given me,
      Whilst thou doth claim regained eternity
           

The Son's Final Appeal

  Haemon: I see today that my father has encumbered yet another issue
               But one of his own doing, my poor father of proud tongue.
               To the grave, I shall love him still, but as for his stubbornness
               May it be damned! He chooses to ignore the error of his
               Ways should his subjects see him weak, but it is his
               Obstinacy which shall break the walls of Thebes.
               For certainty, I am less fearful of the invader's blade than of
               My Father's piercing edicts. But he shall not be persuaded
               By equally inflammatory words and I must first appeal to
               Him as the humble servant that I am. "I am your son, sir," I
               Shall say, and "by your wise decisions my life is ruled, and
               Them I shall always obey. I cannot value any marriage-tie
               Above your own good guidance" (143). Perhaps my kindly
               Approach will be accepted with good favor, and he will be
               More inclined to consider the modest council of one who is
               Of lesser stature. I recognize that my dearly betrothed has
               Sparked his poor temper, so wisdom shall guide my talk of
               Her and the blessing of Athena will ease my words should
               His stubbornness prevail.
                    In this day of bloodshed, it is Reason who shall have
               Her victory, and should my father not take her side, I
               Cannot leave without speaking truthfully and openly. If my
               Kind words fail, Reason shall be my blade of choice. First,
               I will parry by adding, "Father, there is nothing I can prize
               Above your happiness and well-being. What greater good
               Could a son desire," but my lunge shall be "surely, to think
               Your own the only wisdom, and yours the only word, the
               Only will, betrays a shallow spirit, an empty heart" (145).
               Truly will my sword pierce his heart of logic or it shall sever
               Our bond forever. For between the glory of Olympus and
               The fate that lies in Hades, no crueler punishment is that than
               To live under the shadow of ignorance. My wife, may the
               Fates will her soul to the Isles of the Bless'd should her cord
               Be severed from this world forever, she buries her brother
               With honour, and I shall renounce her never. Who profits
               From my father's pigheadedness and who shall be the
               Citizen of his heart? War and betrayal have blinded him to
               The needs of the individual, and the laws which govern all
               The Heavens have been lost in his quest for glory. Ha! He'd
               Be an excellent king on a desert island! (146) Perhaps if no
               More can be said, this shall be my only pleasure in what
               Might be our last exchange. For I cannot go on living in a
               State void of morality and cursed by the gods. Should I find
               My betrothed on her deathbed, it shall be mine too, and
               We shall wonder through the mysterious fields of eternity
               Forever. But one last opportunity will my father have to
               Change his ways - I concede nothing else. Reason or Death!

ASB Woes

“Mr. Scrappy, come back!”

The team got only a glance of the black loafers as Ed ran out of the room. While the oppressive heat of the day wafted into the room, the tired paint seemed to flow down the vanilla-scented walls, dead to the world, lacking the energy to keep its place. In the sharp corner, even the plastic tree drooped it's faded green leaves to the floor. The air was moist and thick as it covered the gang in a slippery layer of perspiration. Melanie, sprawled out on the couch, desperately fanned herself with a stray leaf of paper, the notes of the day's meeting. Hanna, surviving on a minimum of her normal sleep was thrown against the wall like a limp doll, too exhausted to seek oasis in the sanctuary of the pitiful fan whispering its pathetic breeze against the backs of Dani and Madison. Sonia was God knows where; the most cunning, she had probably put a down payment on a gorgeous pool, fully equipped with a diving board and a British butler months ago. Keaton sat on Uncle Fuddrucker in the centre of the room, slipping in and out of a dull consciousness, trying desperately to recall the team's purpose for being at school in the first place.

"I think I'm going to throw up," mumbled Dani under her breath, barely capable of being understood.

"I second that," replied Madison.

"Me three," said Melanie.

The words, hardly audible to Keaton as he pictured a tall glass of lemonade before him, seemed miles away. The team had two weeks to plan for Tolo yet hardly any work had been accomplished during this hiatus caused by the recent heat wave that had hit Seattle like a wrecking ball. One might as well have asked them to clean the school rather than make any progress, the former being more likely. The recent memories of the past ASB teams seemed to offer some solace, as their events always appeared to be miraculously pulled off in the allotted amount of time.

"You're the president, Keaton, take charger!" Mr. Ed's advice from the day before floated in some random area of Keaton's delirium. His face revealed no motivation, and the team mirrored the same.

"Another day," he said to himself, "no one will be disappointed."

No sooner did he let out his last remark, a little freshman strolled past the room in her bright pink t-shirt with the Nepal mountains standing hopefully on her back. She turned sharply spotting the team in their devastating condition and offered a luminescent smile.

"Oh my gosh, are you guys planning Tolo? I'm so excited!" she excitedly burst out.

As if awakened from their slumber, the team turned slowly to the youthful voice in the doorway.

"You guys are the best! I wanna be on ASB when I'm a Senior, maybe even when I'm a Junior! Bye guys!" She rushed out of the in hot pursuit of her date which she spotted in the hallway. His quick footsteps could be heard retreating from the clicking of her heels.

Suddenly, as if a cool breeze had flown from the tip of Mt. Rainier to rejuvenate his body, Keaton jumped up from the fluffy Panda with a newfound energy in his eyes. He saw the sunshine pouring through the hallway windows and could smell the sweat autumn leaves as they danced in the wind. The soft sound of the breeze outside seemed to overpower the light clanking of the ancient fan, and he looked down at his weary comrades.

"Well what are you all doing lying down? We got work to do! Allons-y!"   

  

Personal Statement

                  When I was little, I absolutely hated jazz.

                  Of course my definition of "hate" was much different in kindergarten or second grade. I hated jazz like I hated eating new foods; like I hated wearing three layers of tight, uncomfortable clothing when I wanted to play in the snow. Jazz was that extra hour I had to sit still in church, listening to an abstract message by the preacher. It was foreign and irritating. I didn't truly understand the genre, and I hated what I didn't know.

                  I clung to the common stigma that classified jazz as outdated and irrelevant to my generation. My naive understanding of music hadn't yet spread to the complexities of jazz. As a result, I was missing out on an entire social, historical, and musical culture that was more valuable than I could have anticipated. However, as fate would have it, a childhood filled with daily piano lessons, emphatic music teachers, and a willingness to learn would set me on a path of musical discovery that ultimately fostered my desire for higher learning and a diverse lifestyle. 

                 The first jazz seed was planted by my energetic and passionate elementary music teacher, Mr. Smith. Pulling from his own prejudice, during class, he played soundtracks from films like Star Wars and Lord of the Rings; while the music was playing, he explained how a composer could tug at the emotions of an audience simply by creating a beautiful melodic contrast in the score. In his class, otherwise bland and repetitive tunes transformed into exciting and masterful pieces. 

                  Near the end of fifth grade, our high school jazz band performed for us during a surprise assembly. As the students on stage mirrored Mr. Smith's passion, I felt something tug at me inside. I wanted to be on that stage with them. Listening to the classic tunes like "In the Mood" and "Sing Sing Sing", I was hypnotized by the blend of the sound and I felt a longing to share the buzz they got as they played. 

                  That summer, Mr. Smith gave me my first jazz tunes to practice in hopes that one day I would join the band. When the desire was finally fulfilled in eighth grade, I remember that first day, sitting in the front row of the band, nervously waiting to begin. The fifty minutes that followed were filled with a freight train of color and emotions as music gushed out from the bells of the instruments. I distinctly remember my sensitive ear drums being especially sore for the remainder of the week. 

                   Five years later, I still get that feeling when I play jazz. However, I've gained something even more valuable. As I began to understand jazz theory, I also started to see these connections between my experience in band and new areas of learning I might not have otherwise understood. 

                   Recently, I've become absorbed in the realm of psychology and have begun to discover how elaborate and complicated it can be and how in many ways it relates to jazz. For example, just as a performer cannot construct the best solo without an advanced knowledge of say a blues scale, neither can a therapist help a patient if he or she does not have an in-depth understanding about the intricacies of a relationship. Jazz is like completing a complex mosaic in that, once one can comprehend the tie between the drummer and the pianist or between the baritone saxophone and the bass trombone, the overall picture becomes clearer and the music richer. In the same way, psychology must be approached from multiple angles to accomplish anything practical. I've come to see that both subjects have to be taken as comprehensive wholes, and by integrating the tools gained from one practice, a student becomes more successful in the other field of learning. In all cases, it is critical to look beyond one's understanding of the basic tune. A base knowledge is insufficient to master any significant area of higher learning. 

                     Because of jazz, I feel empowered to delve into new horizons completely foreign to me. In the future, I hope to approach the unknown with less hesitancy and to ignore the social stigmas that may hold me back from discovering a breath of knowledge that might one day become a part of my identity. Regardless of the subject, it's my dream encounter another unique genre of learning that will give me the same impassioned feeling that consumes me whenever I play jazz.   

            

Affirmations and Personality

E (11%) N (25%) T (50%) J (56%)

ENTJs have a natural tendency to marshall and direct. This may be expressed with the charm and finesse of a world leader or with the insensitivity of a cult leader. The ENTJ requires little encouragement to make a plan.

ENTJs are often "larger than life" in describing their projects or proposals. This ability may be expressed as salesmanship, story-telling facility or stand-up comedy. In combination with the natural propensity for filibuster, our hero can make it very difficult for the customer to decline.

ENTJs are decisive. They see what needs to be done, and frequently assign roles to their fellows. Few other types can equal their ability to remain resolute in conflict, sending the valiant (and often leading the charge) into the mouth of hell. When challenged, the ENTJ may by reflex become argumentative. Alternatively (s)he may unleash an icy gaze that serves notice: the ENTJ is not one to be trifled with.

Overall, the commentary is generally pretty accurate. I do want to say though that I'm pretty hesitant to put faith into anything that comes across sounding like a horoscope. You can put a variety of different bits and bobs into a personality test to make it sound unique. In addition, this particular type seems to focus on a very specific aspect of my personality, that being perhaps the most obvious part of it, so I don't find it very useful. Plus, I could have gone either way on a few of the questions anyways. I think anyone can be "persuasive" if they need to be, and I'm not sure how keen I am to agree with how one-sided and analytical this combo seems. Several of the questions dealing with emotional and sympathetic characteristics seemed to me to be too absolute. For example, (and I paraphrase) the question would be something like "do you ALWAYS sympathize with people, grow from their stories yada yada yada". Quite frankly NO! I don't always do that but that certainly doesn't mean I'm that jerk that pushes the grandma in front of the moving vehicles on the sidewalk! I might be taking my results too personally. Anyways, I embrace my results and I'm interested to see what everyone else got.

For my affirmation I got
1. Leader
2. Perceptive
3. Funny
4. Driven
5. Confident

Keaton is going to go far in life. No matter what he chooses to do, he will work at it with all his being. He could choose pretty much anything he wanted with his numerous talents. He has an appreciation of diversity and a determination to experience as much as he can in life. He has an understanding of others and an especially strong gift of encouraging and lifting up others when they need it most. With all of his achievements and talents, one may be concerned to meet a proud, stuck up character, but instead they will be pleasantly surprised to be confronted by a humble and mature individual of integrity.

Thank you so much to the people who took time out of their day to fill this out for me!

Keep Moving Forward?

Going back is the quickest way on:

                 I only underlined about three quotes in Mere Christianity that really stuck out to me. This was one of them.

                 In this passage, Lewis makes a last ditch effort to convince his audience of the apparent need to admit to one's mistakes. I appreciate this quote firstly because it's one of those lines in the book that is simply poetic. For some reason, these quick memorable lines really resonate with me. It seems odd that after writing two hundred pages of philosophical hard material and metaphors, it's a seven word sentence that affects me most deeply. I cannot say precisely why I found this line so appealing psychologically but I image it happened something like this: the contrast between the long phrases with the intense diction and this short precise one forced a trigger to go off in my head that first alerted me to the difference. At this point, my mind tries to make some sort of connection between the two sentences thus putting it on high alert for any other shred of significant information. In the end, by switching on the turbo in my brain, Lewis raises his chances of getting his point across to a much more receptive reader.
                 Once my mind is fully engaged, I can take the quote from a closer analytical point of view. Immediately I say to myself, "Lewis obviously just used this contrast to grab my attention. Now what does he want me to take away from it?" (I only add all of the previous thoughts because Lewis' style of writing has taught me quite a lot about how to argue a worldview through the medium of literature). After thinking about it more, I can't imagine this line is any truer than from a religious standpoint. To accept the grace that Christ offers, we have to completely deny ourselves and recognize that we are utterly imperfect. By doing this, we must literally unlearn the basic instinct that every human has to keep moving forward. Christ offers a new start, but we have to be willing to relinquish what we've built up in our towers as less. It's difficult. The whole idea of the phrase implies that our concept of life is messed up and that we need help. Why is it so hard to ask for help sometimes?
                 This line challenges me and I hope to find it helpful. Lewis compares our entire personality to being flawed like a math problem. Sometimes I wish it was only that easy, but that'd be kinda boring wouldn't it.

The Over-Soaked Sponge

             Recently, I've come to realize that the boundaries of the world expand as one gets older. When you're a child, a limited sphere of culture and events comprises your entire understanding of life. You know your mom, and you know your dad, and you've met your uncle once or twice and you know him. You've also been to school a time or two when your older brother had to be dropped off and have a slight grasp as to how the institution works. But you've never read an Argentinian novel, or heard a Japanese jazz tune, or seen a BBC drama. Your experiences haven't spread that far yet. But they will, and before you know it you'll have read that play about a king from Denmark and watched that European soccer game.
              What I've found though is that no matter how hard you try, you'll never experience it all. It's not possible. So, should you not even try? I've attempted to find a solution to this question and have therefore assumed the position of the eager and over-soaked sponge. The world is a massive ocean and I am the humble household sponge that tries to hold it all within its pores. But when the sponge is taken out of the water, it can't contain all the information and memories for very long. It was certainly easier when I was younger and the ocean was only a glass of water, but now the world is a much bigger place and I don't have a prayer when it comes to remembering 10% of what I do daily. I'm okay with that though because it beats the alternative. The sponge is made for one thing and to deny it of its serviceability is cruel. Therefore, I will strive to fail, and continue to soak in the most of life as time will condone.

Sincerely yours,
The Over-Soaked Sponge
             

Litany By: Keaton Kerr (not really)

                      You are the silk and the velvet,

                       the brass pins and the honey.

                     You are the red nose on the clown

                   and the hush before the curtain rises.

                      You are the dog's sloppy tongue,

                    and the crust on my morning toast.

            Contrarily, you are not the deep moan of the trees,

                             the new bright name tag,

                 or the first rain that washes away the chalk.

             We both know you will never be the banana slug.

                   Thank God you're not the banana slug.

          I don't doubt you might be last chapter of a story,

                   perhaps even that new car smell,

                      I might lose my cool though

       if I discovered you were that confused rooster all along.

                      A casual glance will reveal in fact

             that you have never been the soft fuzz on the peach

         nor the nasty exchange between the client and the teller

                I'm sure it will come of no surprise to you,

                  that of all the plentiful choices available,

                            I am the trusty spare tire.

                 By chance, I'm also the elephant's lungs,

            as well as that sliver of sunshine through the clouds

             and the broken weathervane on the forgotten barn.

                   I'm also the finely wrapped photo album

                    and the tallest tree in the patch of grass

                 Just remember, I'm not the silk and the velvet.

                         You are the silk and the velvet.

                       Only you are the silk and the velvet.

  I suppose it's only fitting you're the brass pins and the honey as well