Here is the house.

It is green and white. It has a red door. It is very pretty. Here is the family. Mother, Father, Dick, and Jane live in the green-and-white house. They are very happy. See Jane. She has a red dress. She wants to play. Who will play with Jane? See the cat. It goes meow-meow. Come and play. Come play with Jane. The kitten will not play. See Mother. Mother is very nice. Mother, will you play with Jane? Mother laughs. Laugh, Mother, laugh. See Father. He is big and strong. Father, will you play with Jane? Father is smiling. Smile, Father, smile. See the dog. Bowwow goes the dog. Do you want to play with Jane? See the dog run. Run, dog, run. Look, look. Here comes a friend. The friend will play with Jane. They will play a good game. Play, Jane, play.

Here is the house it is green and white it has a red door it is very pretty here is the family mother father dick and jane live in the green-and-white house they are very happy see jane she has a red dress she wants to play who will play with jane see the cat it goes meow-meow come and play come play with jane the kitten will not play see mother mother is very nice mother will you play with jane mother laughs laugh mother laugh see father he is big and strong father will you play with jane father is smiling smile father smile see the dog bowwow goes the dog do you want to play do you want to play with jane see the dog run run dog run look look here comes a friend the friend will play with jane they will play a good game play jane play

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eddressshewantstoplaywhowillplaywithjaneseethecatitgoesmeowmeowcomeandp
laycomeplaywithjanethekittenwillnotplayseemothermotherisverynicemotherwilly
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llyouplaywithjanefatherissmilingsmilefathersmileseethedogbowwowgoesthedogd
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mesafriendthefriendwillplaywithjanetheywillplayagoodgameplayjaneplay

Comments

  • What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with acting like the scum of law enforcement that you are? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your movements are being tracked right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your corruption and brutality was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking morals. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.
  • Quiet as it’s kept, there were no marigolds in the fall of 1941. We thought, at the time, that it was because Pecola was having her father’s baby that the marigolds did not grow. A little examination and much less melancholy would have proved to us that our seeds were not the only ones that did not sprout; nobody’s did. Not even the gardens fronting the lake showed marigolds that year. But so deeply concerned were we with the health and safe delivery of Pecola’s baby we could think of nothing but our own magic: if we planted the seeds, and said the right words over them, they would blossom, and everything would be all right.
  • “I'm surprised. Those clothes… but, aren't you…?”

    Quiet as it’s kept, there were no marigolds in the fall of 1941. We thought, at the time, that it was because Pecola was having her father’s baby that the marigolds did not grow. A little examination and much less melancholy would have proved to us that our seeds were not the only ones that did not sprout; nobody’s did. Not even the gardens fronting the lake showed marigolds that year. But so deeply concerned were we with the health and safe delivery of Pecola’s baby we could think of nothing but our own magic: if we planted the seeds, and said the right words over them, they would blossom, and everything would be all right.


    ...?!
  • Vampire Lady of Corvidia

    (The other Jane)
    I don't yet have a red dress
  • Quiet as it’s kept, there were no marigolds in the fall of 1941. We thought, at the time, that it was because Pecola was having her father’s baby that the marigolds did not grow. A little examination and much less melancholy would have proved to us that our seeds were not the only ones that did not sprout; nobody’s did. Not even the gardens fronting the lake showed marigolds that year. But so deeply concerned were we with the health and safe delivery of Pecola’s baby we could think of nothing but our own magic: if we planted the seeds, and said the right words over them, they would blossom, and everything would be all right.


    ...?!
    It was a long time before my sister and I admitted to ourselves that no green was going to spring from our seeds. Once we knew, our guilt was relieved only by fights and mutual accusations about who was to blame. For years I thought my sister was right: it was my fault. I had planted them too far down in the earth. It never occurred to either of us that the earth itself might have been unyielding. We had dropped our seeds in our own little plot of black dirt just as Pecola’s father had dropped his seeds in his own plot of black dirt. Our innocence and faith were no more productive than his lust or despair. What is clear now is that of all of that hope, fear, lust, love, and grief, nothing remains but Pecola and the unyielding earth. Cholly Breedlove is dead; our innocence too. The seeds shriveled and died; her baby too.

    There is really nothing more to say—except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how.
  • Cory doesn't live here. Corey never lived here, actually. You may remember him living here for a while, his cherubic smile meeting you as you enter the kitchen, but that, like most things here, was a dream, and you never had dinner taken up to you in the Red Room, never played badminton in in the fields. Pecola was real, once, as was the father of her child, and marigolds grew there, where the weeds grow shorter than elsewhere on the grounds. But those are shards of truth in a field of what is not. 
  • i think this book has brought me to a deeper understanding of racism than anything else i have ever read or been told
  • I have not read The Bluest Eye, but I have read Beloved. I didn't know that Toni Morrison wrote the stuff you quoted, but it did have that same sort of feel to it.

    Toni Morrison knows how to hit beneath the belt. I'm glad you didn't roll with the punches.
  • i dont think these are punches you can roll with, this book is just utterly relentless
  • That concurs with my reading of Beloved


    I commend you for continuing the book despite the gut punches
    I have to, I have a paper to write

    it is due monday
  • “I'm surprised. Those clothes… but, aren't you…?”
    Jane said:

    what is this thread about


    Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, which is apparently a really brutal read.
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