VictorRusesky's profile

Timothy Ross English 1510 Tara Hendin November 30, 2007 Death by Degrees Self-inflicted violence is a new and mostly unrecognized epidemic of our times. It deeply permeates certain areas of youth culture and creates physical and emotional scars that will have far reaching consequences on millions of Americans for the rest of their lives. What exactly is self-inflicted violence, and who suffers from it? What is the true nature of this abuse within the individual, and how might it be helped? Ac...

Death by Degrees Self-inflicted violence is a new and mostly unrecognized epidemic of our times. It deeply permeates youth culture and creates physical and emotional scars that will have far reaching consequences on millions of Americans for the rest of their lives. What is self-inflicted violence? Why has such a strange and harmful thing become so widespread? How do we stop it? This report will address these questions, and primarily focus on the true nature of this abuse within the individua...

I picked up a banjo and was enlightened. Plan A for my future life crashed and burned. Plan B quickly followed with a neat little tailspin at the end. Plans C-Z do not exist. Cling to that banjo, Timothy, cling to it. Amen. The banjo is now gone, so I must instead cling to myself. Ah, what poor company I make! Therefore, I will compose a poem, and I will call it The Tree: -One thing of beauty can I see--not of Earth, or of me -not of sun, rather, a collection of the three. -In that glass, tha...

I wake up when they tell me to wake up. This is one thing that I have trouble with. How do they know when I am to wake up? How do they know when is time to sleep, and when is time to work? It seems very random. In my childhood, I slept when I did and woke when I did. This way seems…forced. Unnatural. I said this once, and I was struck very hard for it. They said that I was to forget the old ways, and forget that I had ever lived in them. I suppose they are right; all in all, it is a good way...

My head rests on the desk. I've already made a mistake--I am not resting. There is no rest here. My head is lying on the desk. Yes; lying. That word denotes the correct connotation. My head is lying on the desk in signification of my total cognitive surrender. This is not my desk. The begrimed grooves of adolescent territorial markings have changed. The cleaning people must have switched them. Why they do is a great mystery of life. I suspect two things: that the cleaning people live bright, ...