Greetings friends! How lovely it is to be talking to you again. And by talking to you I mean typing into a large white box. Ah, the joys of modern technology! Taking the faces out of face to face communication!
Well, I've had a busy, busy day. I've been learning about the ways of dissecting a piece of text in English Language, graphology and phonology and so on.
In Biology I've discovered how to do a fancy thing on excel that allows me to base a particular cell's contents on the contents of cells that depend on it's content to derive their own while avoiding the loop that this normally crea- sorry, I've just realised, this is only interesting to about ten people around the world and nine of those people work at Microsoft.
Anyway, in Drama you'll be glad to hear that we appear to be now at last moving on from the whole tangled web our last plot seemed to be and are now ploughing forward with new ideas.
In English Literature, we have been exploring the work of Robert Frost. I fear I may be developing the stereotype of being rather death-obsessed, considering it seems that every time we discuss a poem I seem to immediately link it to mortality. Fields of corn become so many lives for the Reaper to carry away. Beautiful flowers become symbols of transience and the fragile nature of our existence. To me, the happiest love heart is merely a essential internal organ ripped from someone's chest.
I don't know what it is about poetry that brings out the portentous in me. A poem can never be about something simple when I analyse it. I always make it out to be essentially about time, love, hate, decisions or, usually, death. I can't help it, if I may refresh the archaic definition of a word, I am a ghoul, one who is obsessed with death.
Anyway, I'm sure you're all very tired of listening to me talk for now, I know I am. So I bid you a good night, and remember: You're going to die.
Sweet Dreams!
Well, I've had a busy, busy day. I've been learning about the ways of dissecting a piece of text in English Language, graphology and phonology and so on.
In Biology I've discovered how to do a fancy thing on excel that allows me to base a particular cell's contents on the contents of cells that depend on it's content to derive their own while avoiding the loop that this normally crea- sorry, I've just realised, this is only interesting to about ten people around the world and nine of those people work at Microsoft.
Anyway, in Drama you'll be glad to hear that we appear to be now at last moving on from the whole tangled web our last plot seemed to be and are now ploughing forward with new ideas.
In English Literature, we have been exploring the work of Robert Frost. I fear I may be developing the stereotype of being rather death-obsessed, considering it seems that every time we discuss a poem I seem to immediately link it to mortality. Fields of corn become so many lives for the Reaper to carry away. Beautiful flowers become symbols of transience and the fragile nature of our existence. To me, the happiest love heart is merely a essential internal organ ripped from someone's chest.
I don't know what it is about poetry that brings out the portentous in me. A poem can never be about something simple when I analyse it. I always make it out to be essentially about time, love, hate, decisions or, usually, death. I can't help it, if I may refresh the archaic definition of a word, I am a ghoul, one who is obsessed with death.
Anyway, I'm sure you're all very tired of listening to me talk for now, I know I am. So I bid you a good night, and remember: You're going to die.
Sweet Dreams!
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