...exacerbated in the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 where the Americans discovered that the Soviets were installing nuclear missiles in Cuba, ninety miles off the coast of Florida. The technological boom: was in its infancy however it was a time where the military began to rely on computers including aspects of their nuclear arsenal which caused anxiety over the level of power given to technology. The Vietnam War: was at its peak at the time of publication for “I have no mouth” in 1967 with the largest U.S military offensive occurring in February. The war represented a time of ambiguity with American participation being sold on the basis of the “Domino theory” however by 1967 the public’s opinion on the war had split with protest being a regular occurrence. It was a time of public unrest and upheaval showing a cultural anxiety which is reflected within “I Have no Mouth, and I Must Scream”. What Subgenre does it adhere to? In relation to the historical patterns of science fiction “I Have no Mouth and I Must Scream” can be categorised within the “New Wave” phase of science fiction that occurred approximately within the 1960’s and 70’s. The text fits the idea of being a social science fiction where although the catalyst of the narrative is a technological change the main focus is on the social environment that caused that change, and the social implications of the advanced technology as a metaphor for existing human conditions. However the text is better described within the...
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...when they heard the most horrific scream. Layla immediately jumps up. “WHAT WAS THAT?” “I..um…don’t know. Should we check it out?” “What do we have to protect us?” “I can call on Mina, my magical llama.” “Nooo….Ashlynn…just no. Here grab this twig, and I’ll take my pillow.” “What are you going to do with a pillow? Sing them a lullaby and make whatever that was fall asleep.” “Shut up.” In a crouched position, they headed for the woods. Somehow the friends sensed the scream came from that direction. As they were walking, Ashlynn spotted a blood trail then heard footsteps to the right of them. She grabbed Layla’s arm and pointed to the right. There was obviously something or someone walking. After a moment of silence, they decided to follow. Finally, it stopped. Layla and Ashlynn crept close enough to see what it was. It happened to be a grizzly bear. They ceased with fear. “I know you are there. You both fail at being sneaky.” Layla almost fainted. She whispered, “Did that bear just talk? It can’t be.” “Indeed I did, sweetheart.” “How can you talk?” Ashlynn demanded. “The same way you can, by opening my mouth. Humans are so naive to believe the conception that animals can’t talk.” Layla jumped back into the conversation. “Did you hear that awful scream?” “Yes.” “Do you know what happened?” Ashlynn asked. “No. You see when the scream took place, I was…uh…running…from a tiger. This must have been the fastest tiger alive.” ...
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...myself included, much too prone to. And it is this screaming that consistently accomplishes nothing. What is the first thing I and so many others do when we are screamed at? We get defensive. And in this defensiveness, we tighten our grips on our beliefs, we put our hands...
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...Welcome to good burger home of the good burger can I take your order? I hated saying those words every time someone entered Mr. Good Burger. It must have been the worse job anyone could have. I greeted the customers as they each placed their order. I couldn’t stop starring at my hand watch for closing time. “An hour and a half that’s a long time to go” I said to myself. Every time I looked down time only seem to be going slower. There was never anything exciting about Mr. Good Burger , except for maybe the part where your friends come in but even than it wasn’t anything special it seem more embarrassing than anything else. Kids ran around the playground, Parents watched and teenagers gossiped. There wasn’t anything other to do than to eardrop trying to bypass time until closing. I began to get lost in the gossip of the students seating closest to me. “WHAT IS A MATTER WITH YOU?” I jump in reaction of the loud scream quickly turning to see where it was coming from. Unable to find the source I began to search the place with my eyes and notice papers flying all over the outside of Mr. Good Burger parking lot. I was so invested in the drama that I didn’t notice it was time to close up and go home. Everyone quickly ran outside to witness the commotion. Trash cans were tipped over papers were thrown everywhere. My face turned into confusion not able to recognize the strange faces causing all of this. Until it hit me, the crazy girl from the forbidden house down the street has escaped...
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...high bookcase press into my back as I play with my long curtain-like hair. A worn out copy of Sense and Sensibility lay in my lap. I look up as the librarian walks towards me. "We are closing now," she says. "Okay." I smile at her. I get up and place the book in the exact spot I found it. I say goodbye to the librarian and step into the night. I take out my iPod and start listening to one of my favorite songs, Words I Never Said. I stay close to the mural covered walls as I walk through the colorful crowd. The racing cars and laughing teens rise over my music so I let it wash over me and I start mouthing the lyrics. I run a hand through my dark hair as the moonlight swims through it. I pass through a group of cheerleaders from tonight's pep rally and turn into a lonely street with only two streetlamps. I hug the wall closer. I can feel the gravel like ground through my shoes with each footfall. There are tall brick walls on each side. I feel blind staring into the darkness that awaits me on the other end. Almost halfway up the lengthy road, I feel the presence of someone else. I let the music washout and look around me. He's walking towards me. I turn around and speed up. And so does he. I'm running now. I feel my hair blowing behind me. The wind is against me and so I lengthen my strides. The rhythm of my breath and my heartbeat harmonize at the fast pace. I break mid-stride. I can't hear his footfalls. I decide to risk a look back. He's standing...
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...Art Memo Office Art Memo I have decided upon the six paintings or sculptures that will reside in the CEO’s office building. Out of the six, three are 19th Century Impressionist paintings and the other three are Post-Impressionist paintings or sculptures. The first one I selected was the Regatta at Sainte-Adresse by Claude Monet. This is a nice, relaxing photo that I would set up in the break room. It falls under the impressionist style because it captures the vision as if I was standing on the beach looking out over the water. Another painting for the impressionist era that I would put in the office building is A Matador by Edouard Manet. I would set this painting up in the conference room because it would remind the employees that sometimes we must stand our ground in order to accomplish the mission. The final painting from the Impressionist period is A Road in Louveciennes by Auguste Renoir. This one, much like the first one would be set in an environment to trigger relaxation. The first of three painting or sculptures I would select from the Post-Impressionist period is Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh. This is a powerful piece of art and very famous. It is meant to capture the transcendent essence of the stars and the night. Another painting from the Post-Impressionist period is The Scream. This painting was done by Edvard Munch. This is a great painting because it reminds anyone who sees it about the struggles of life. The last painting I would select for the office is...
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...A scream echoes outside. The drumlike thumping of the monster's feet rattled all the houses. This is the beginning of the end of my story. It all started on a glooming summer morning; the sun was tucked away behind the Iron Mountain, which cast a shadow on our village, Lancaster. This was nothing unusual, for this happened every day. We lived at the foot of the mountain and never experienced the sun shining against our skin or the rays beaming on our eyes. My family was one of the few who were left of the abandoned project to find riches in the Iron Mountain. We were never able to leave because we had all been genetically adapted to the dense air around us; if we were exposed to the pure oxygen we would suffocate. I had heard many stories...
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...Create Your Own Religion “I created you and the world on which you live. I created the realm in which your world exists and it in my hand. I control that which you cannot stop or escape and under which all is bound. I am all knowing and understanding. I know that by nature you cannot achieve perfection and I do not hold that against you. I am your father Largesse and I love you.” These are the first words Largesse wrote to his devote followers the Pragmatics in the Tomes of Creation. Largesse is the sovering god of the Lucid religion. Worship of Goddess Durga is based on myths where Durga symbolizes the divine power. She is depicted as a large fat man who holds a sphere in his right hand and a scribe in his left. The sphere that he holds contains the universe in which we live. The scribe is used to write in her Tomes Of Creation “I give on to you twelve holy temples in which I have placed the vassal of my will, The Tomes Of Creation. To keep my Tomes free of human corruption I have made it so that only the scribe that I posses may write with in the Tomes. The temples are your sanctuaries while in them no harm will come to you. Use the locations of my twelve temples as the beginning of the twelve holy cities. All are free to come visit and read of the Tomes and I will damn all who attempt to stop my people from reading its truth for them self’s. ” After Largesse created man he gave them twelve great temples that he distributed about the earth as dwelling for his Tomes and...
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...the year 1935. As I was plowing the dirt in the field, I heard the grass rustling. I stopped my work and looked around for my father who had been working only 15 feet away from me. I wipe the dirt from my hands and face onto my plaid shirt and jeans. I look down at my boots then to the grass again. I see a rabbit pop out of the grass near me. I pick up my shovel and slam it against the ground near the small rabbit. I looked around as I started hearing wind whirring near me. I looked off into the distance and saw it. A 7,000 foot high dust storm coming right at me. I hold my hat onto my head and run to the house. The house was at least a mile away from where I had been working. As I run I scream for my father “Papa!” I continuously yell as I get closer to the house. The house is 2 stories high and is old, wood on the outside is rotten and warped on the bottom, the room is a sun-bleached brown. The house is old and weak. I breathe heavily as I run, I jump onto the porch of the house and look around for my dad. No sight of him. I run into the house and yell for my mother “Mom! The storm! Its back!” She rushes in with worry and begins to wet cloth and stuffs them in the windows, wids cracks of the house and around the doors. “Where’s your father Mary?” She asks as she hands me a wet cloth....
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...walls are blank and colorful. Black. I can move. Trying to release sound any sound, nothing comes. Beeping- the noise hurts my ears. Beep, beep beep beep. Then no noise. I think she is waking up Can you hear us? Who is talking?.. I think someone is talking. I feel unusually giddy. Where am I? Truck! There was a truck. My legs hurt. I jolt awake. It’s four months since the blank room and I still had pleasant nightmares. The sad, melancholic, but beautifully fascinating nightmares. Maybe they were delightful, I can't tell. I reach for the water next to me; I can't reach it. I don't want to get up. My legs hurt....
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...in this case Violet, have a desperate need for attention, understanding and love. Another theme is Christianity and religion. The short story sets medias res on a cold day where a little girl, the main character, “pretends to be smoking, clamping imaginary cigarettes between her lips before exhaling with a billowy mist of breath”(Line 3). The girl and her family are on their way to church to celebrate Christmas. The girl, Violet, is little and curious. Even though she’s mute she is still interested and aware of the environment. She has a really lively imagination and when she walks in to the church her eyes catches a painting of a woman dressed in blue. The painting is surrounded by lots of candles, and is placed “higher than the rest of us”(line 28). At this time, she’s not aware that she’s looking at Virgin Mary – the holy mother of Jesus. She loves her. The relation and connection she feels talks to her in a way she does not know. This scene brings us to the whole conflict of the text and a big change in Violets life and mind. Because then, on a Sunday, she is drawing an imaginary painting with ballet dancer on an elephant’s back. Suddenly she sees the front page of her father’s newspaper with a great black and white photography of the woman in blue. “She must be quite famous”, Violet thinks, but something is different this time. In the arms of the woman in blue is a baby held. When she sees the baby, she feels jealous – probably for the first time: -“I stared at the baby’s...
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...all I could see were the people who were always there for me, the people who picked me back up whenever I was down. There was one thing missing from their faces: Life. Their broken bodies were scattered here and there but nonetheless they were not moving. A blood curling scream erupted from my mouth but no one else was there to listen to it except me. I had caused this; I had claimed the lives of all my friends. I knew that they were not going to come back or talk to me or go for a movie with me. I just knew that this was the end. But still even in my denial I could make out the voice in my head saying...”They brought this on themselves, don’t torture yourself for it”. I wanted to crawl into a hole and rot in there for all eternity, but no matter how far I ran I realized that what had happened could never ever be changed. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I could only see an ashen, terrified face covered tears. It all began like this…. 6 hrs 38 min and 3 sec BACK I was running shirtless with my hands flailing above me screaming Whoooo!! I had lost my mind (yes I was drunk) and had no clue what was going around me. All I knew that I was having fun and I didn’t care what would happen. I heard laughter around me but one laugh caught my attention and in a second I knew that this night was going to be a blast. “I have an amazing girl-friend, what could go wrong?!” I said. What I didn’t know that in exactly 1 hr and 22 min everything was about to turn around. TIME PASSES I knew...
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...the day importance. It was the fifth of January. He could hardly believe a year had passed since Mrs Henne-Falcon had given her last children's party. Francis turned suddenly upon his back and threw an arm across his face, blocking his mouth. Peter's heart began to beat fast, not with pleasure now but with uneasiness. He sat up and called across the table, "Wake up." Francis's shoulders shook and he waved a clenched fist in the air, but his eyes remained closed. To Peter Morton the whole room seemed to darken, and he had the impression of a great bird swooping. He cried again, "Wake up," and once more there was silver light and the touch of rain on the windows. Francis rubbed his eyes. "Did you call out?"' he asked. "You are having a bad dream," Peter said. Already experience had taught him how far their minds reflected each other. But he was the elder, by a matter of minutes, and that brief extra interval of light, while his brother still struggled in pain and darkness, had given him self-reliance and an instinct of protection towards the other who was afraid of so many things. "I dreamed that I was dead," Francis said. "What was it like?"' Peter asked. "I can't remember," Francis said. "You dreamed of a big bird." "Did I?" The two lay silent in bed facing each other, the same...
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...which lent the day importance. It was the fifth of January. He could hardly believe a year had passed since Mrs Henne-Falcon had given her last children’s party. Francis turned suddenly upon his back and threw an arm across his face, blocking his mouth. Peter’s heart began to beat fast, not with pleasure now but with uneasiness. He sat up and called across the table, “Wake up.” Francis’s shoulders shook and he waved a clenched fist in the air, but his eyes remained closed. To Peter Morton the whole room seemed to darken, and he had the impression of a great bird swooping. He cried again, “Wake up,” and once more there was silver light and the touch of rain on the windows. Francis rubbed his eyes. “Did you call out?”‘ he asked. “You are having a bad dream,” Peter said. Already experience had taught him how far their minds reflected each other. But he was the elder, by a matter of minutes, and that brief extra interval of light, while his brother still struggled in pain and darkness, had given him self-reliance and an instinct of protection towards the other who was afraid of so many things. “I dreamed that I was dead,” Francis said. “What was it like?”‘ Peter asked. “I can’t remember,” Francis said. “You dreamed of a big bird.” “Did I?” The two lay silent in bed facing each other,...
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...diagnose mental illness has fascinated me since I began research into Psychology a few years ago. It is argued there is a fine line between being a genius and being insane. Scientific evidence has been thrown back and forth to support and refute this hypothesis and yet I believe that there is no clear answer. I hope to explore this border and, using mentally disturbed artists, to explain how, if there is such a thing as insanity, it can be beneficial to the world and not seen as an obstacle. There is such bias and so many flaws in diagnostic systems that we cannot be sure to what extent someone can be creative without being labeled as insane. My aim is to find the relationship between the two, studying artists such as Edvard Munch and Van Gogh. Their art has influenced artistic movements such as post-impressionism and expressionism. It is thought their mentality influenced their work. Creativity is defined as ‘producing or using original and unusual ideas’. Biologically, creative ideas occur from unconscious states of mind, from random nerves being fired. It has been shown that highly creative abilities are common in people who have family history of mental illness and thus they carry a higher risk of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Research into the Thalamic region of the brain show high dopamine levels is the common link between creative and schizophrenic minds. This can support the idea that artistic people could have mental disorders exemplified in their work. Insanity...
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