ESSAYS AND OTHER WRITINGS (NOT LYRICS) - PAGE 1 OF 4

Except Uncle Kenny
clever title
ESSAY # 9
Tom Jensen
Survey of World lit
{struck: Engl} per. F
3/29/94
---
Having a close family member involved in
drug and alcohol abuse can be very difficult
for a young child to deal with. I know because when
I lived with my uncle, grandmother, and mother I saw
the indirect and direct effects of this everyday. Most people
know a family member, regardless of distance, who has
had similiar problems but few have lived with one.
Having a problem of this magnitude not only affects the
single person but also the whole as far as people involved
or close to the single person. I can't write because Rob
is yelling, Thank you.
My Uncle has had problems with cocaine for
the most of his adulthood and because he is not a wealthy
man he often needed money to furnish his habit which
he gradually became suched into. Rather than getting a
job he chose to steal from my mother, grandmother,
(his own mother), and upon occaision would swindel
me out of my allowance. Having a family member
steal from me changed my perception of trust.
When raised, children are taught to trust family
members because they care and love you but when
this speech was given to me I would always hear
the words "except Uncle Kenny".
By being surrounded with this being, totally consumed
by marijuana, alcohol, cocaine, and cigarettes I learned
as I got older and more exposed to these types of
---
I learned what to watch out for and what
of trouble could mean and how I could realize
Another lesson I learned was responsibility and
responsibility for one's actions. When my Uncle was
finally sent to jail for a variety of crimes I
realized he was gone and I, at 11, was the man of
the house. During my next years without him
I made myself promise I would never end up
like him because I saw how much it hurt my
family. My family has done too much for me
for me to ever let that happen.
Family relationships are the strongest ones
that can be built and usually it takes an awful
lot to break them but once you do you can
never {struck: block out} take away the hurt {struck: th} you caused them.
For that reason alone I will never {struck: [?]}
be "except Uncle Tom".

Excellent sentence structure well written, Tom - you express well! 87
---
rld Literature
rs. Angelini
In-class Writing

Topic: Family Relationships

In this clas period write an essay in which you discuss some aspect of
family relationships. Who has had the most influence on your life so far?
Your mother, father, another relative, or a sister or brother?
Discuss how this person has affected you in a way that you think may
last all of your life.

Use a title page; staple this sheet to the bottom.

Number pages correctly.

Proofread for spelling and punctuation.

This will be Essay #9

The length of your essay will vary, but it should be 350 - 500 words minimum.

Uncle
(2) Drugs - close to home - shows drugs can
be easily abused without conscious of it
how it can happen to someone you loved
(1) steal , no trust family
(3) jail - responsible for actions, see other
family upset and sad over uncle and you
keep hoping/make sure it don't happen to you
because too much hurt is put on family, too
much care has been put into you to let that happen

[#1]
[#2]
[#3]

Kristin within
6 months -> NOV. 15
3 children
before 2005 (25 yrs old)

SEVEN

Scorpio ([date removed])
Cancer ([date removed])
very
compatible

10 m/h +
(
3 19 28 37 44 46
8 17 25 32 41 44
)

Tom Jensen
December 11, 1996
Essentials of Writting EN21.102
Movie Revue

[scribbled text]
#3
[scribbled text]
[scribbled text]
[scribbled text]

hidden
signs

[multiple horizontal lines]
---
David Fincher's Seven is quite possibly the most riveting horror flick since
Silence of the Lambs. The film stars two detectives, one played by Morgan Freeman
and the other played by Brad Pitt, trying to solve a string of bizarre murders. These
two detectives' styles are very contrasting. Detective Summerset, played by Freeman,
is a clever, solitary man with experience on his side trying to crack one last case
before he retires. Detective Mills, played by Pitt, on the other hand is a straight
forward, know it all rookie who soon learns that he is out of his league for he has never
seen anything like these murders before.
The first murder is a gruesome sight: a hideously obese man tied to a chair who
was forced to eat spagetti until he passed out and died. The second murder is even
more dramatic, a lawyer is forced to cut off 1 pound of his own flesh in order to avoid
being shot to death. The detectives find him dead in a pool of blood, missing a chunk
of flesh from his side, with the word "greed" written on the floor in blood. So begins a
string of murders revolving around the seven deadly sins gluttony, sloth, greed, lust,
pride, envy, and wrath.
This film does not portray any of the actual murders, only the gruesome
aftermath - corpses of all stages of composition. Seven is set in a grim, anonymous
city where it is always raining, this only adds to the darkness of the situation.
Throughout the film Mills and Summerset are constantly searching through dim, unlit
rooms and ratty corridors. In the final scenes, they leave the wet gloom of the city and
travel to the desert to witness the final two devestating murders.
---
Seven is disturbing to watch not just because it is a creepy film about a psychopath ( Kevin Spacey), but because the killer's master plan is so ingenious. Equally disturbing is the fact that this fictional story could be true if someone was actually sick enough to attempt it. The killer seems to be an average man who is so fed up with the world that he devotes his life to showing others, through his crimes and the people he kills, how corrupt the world really is. He considers each victim, including a lawyer, a rapist, and a prostitute, deserving of death and he takes it upon himself to act as judge and jury. The role Spacey plays as the ruthless killer is commparable to that which Anthony Hopkins plays in Silence of the Lambs for he has a very calm disposition, unnoticable in a crowd.
After watching this movie and realizing the full significance of what it is trying to portray I sat up for over an hour pondering over whether or not a scenerio like this one could actually happen. I believe if someone was willing to prove a similiar point that they could actually get away with it. I strongly recommend this film to anyone with a strong stomach and a desire to be scared.
---
468
411
shit - Shysa
ASSHOLE- ARE SHLO
Fuck You - Ficken dear

Conditional,
(SCRIP)
Unconditional (with conditions),
(PRUG)
and
Unconditional Love
(BLAG)

you'll understand later

Tom Jensen
Essentials of writing 21.204
November 20, 1996

Very
Late
I would have received a B, handed in on time
(D)
Tom -
I find your classification contradictory. In
reference to your opening paragraph, you won't against
one using the word love but then you tell me to
write that you love the Boston Globe sports section.
---
Love is a verb that is used much
too loosely. Many people accidentally misuse
the word love, they use love and like
synomonously, causing the word love to
be used much too often. love has many
meanings and many forms and can be
broken down into many sub-topics. One
simple example of this is conditional and
unconditional love. Today's world oversimplifies
love even though it has many meanings.
In my life, there are three types of love,
conditional, unconditional, and a mix between
the two. Each one is very different to me
yet, under Webster's definition, no specification
is given. [I'm not sure what you mean in this last sentence]
The first type of love I would like to
touch upon is conditional love, which is
loving someone or something as long as
it meets and continues to meet your
standards. If, for example, I love to eat
Twinkies and I end up eating so many
I get violently ill and I no longer
eat them my love for them is conditional
Conditional love is usually present in all
types of love. For example, a love for
a husband and wife is supposed to be
isn't this an example of love you're warning against in your 1st paragraph: meaning love mean like
---
This is not a guide because it has nothing to do with normal, acceptable human conduct.

unconditional but (in an extreme scenario) if the husband murders the wife's parents the wife, most probably, will no longer love her husband. The danger in conditional love is that it is never always true love because requirements must be met.

Unconditional love with conditions is what happens in intimate or very deep relationships, usually families and married spellery Unconditional with conditions love would be defined as: warm attachment or devotion between two entities as long as neither of the two act in such an extreme way that forgiveness could never be given (i.e. murder, adultery). This love is illustrated in family relationships, relationships between good or great friends and pets. My parents have forgiven me for some rather large mistakes but if my mistake is too large they may not. This love could also be found between man and material goods or activities, a mountain climber may love to climb mountains until he's lost for a night and almost dies of hypothermia, Another man may love his car until it's engine won't turn over leaving him

This is often forgiven by the way

---

don't you see that people cannot love things activities? Love is an emotion relegated to human relationships

later for an important meeting and
therefor causing him to loose his job.
This love is very strong but can be
lost in an extreme situation.
Unconditional love is set aside for
very few things for a large majority of
people. I, myself, feel unconditional love
for very few things: my cat, nature,
running, and the Boston Globe's sports
section (which could, possibly change). Others
feel this love for God, their occupation, and
probably some activities. To have this love,
I believe, is to be happy and the more
things you love unconditionally the better
you will feel about yourself and your life.
The world would be a better place to
live and relationships between people
would be much improved if certain
designations (or new words) were invented
for each type of love. This way, people
would have a better understanding of
how others close to them really felt about
them. Love is more complicated then it
seems.
Tom

How can you lump God and work? If one believes in God one loves God unconditionally. One enjoys one's work but I can think of several days [?] my work [?] [?] [?] [?]

# 1
# 2
# 3

Doctor Kevorkian and Euthanasia

Tom Jensen
December 13, 1996
EN 21.102P
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JENSEN 1
Assisted suicide is moral and should be decriminalized (if not
legalized) in all fifty states. I shall prove this by giving
statements from Jack Kevorkian supporters, telling the stories of
right-to-die spokesmen, and explaining the benefits of legalizeing
doctor assisted suicide.
Pro-euthanasia people typically portray euthanasia as a case
of individual liberty. If a person decides that he or she wants to
die, perhaps you or I do not think this is a good decision, but
what right do we have to tell him or her that he or she cannot do
this? Like abortion, euthanasia is not for everyone in every case
but it should be available to those who feel they need it. Doctor
assisted suicide should be legalized because if a doctor cannot
perform the suicide the individual may not be sucessful and couldy
suffer more as a result. Assisted suicide should also be legal
because it provides a serene death, opposed to what could be weeks
or even months of suffering.
This topic is quite possibly the most controversial issue in
today's medical field. Euthanasia is defined as the deliberate,
painless killing of persons who suffer from a painful and incurable
disease or condition. Performing euthanasia or assisting on a
suicide is illegal and punishable by court of law in the United
States. There is one man who is risking his medical profession and,
some say, even his life in order to stand up for his belief that
terminally ill people who are suffering have the right to end their
life. This man, who many consider a hero, is Dr. Jack Kevorkian.
---
JENSEN 5
Dr. Kevorkian." says Cheryl Gale,48, who wears number "13" in
honor of her husband Hugh, the 13th suicide Kevorkian assisted.
Recently, more than a dozen members of this group gathered
over Neal Nicol's (a counselor who helps Kevorkian) house to chat
with each other and the man they consider a hero, Dr. Jack
Kevorkian. "Whatever anyone else says, he'll always be a saint,"
said Doreen Ackner, whose sister died in February 1993 with
Kevorkian's help.
One new spokesman for the right to die movement is Noel
David Earley, a terminally ill Rhode Island man who suffers from
Lou Gehrig's disease. Earley, who is 47, had announced he would
kill himself on December 4th, before amyotrophic lateral
sclerosis decimates his muscles and nerves, making it impossible
for him to swallow and then suffocating him. Since the disease is
progressing differently, Earley has since rescheduled his death
allowing him more time with his friends.
Earley's suicide is an escape from suffering and a protest.
He believes the terminally ill should be allowed to kill
themselves. No healthcare professional will attend Earley's
funeral, although one doctor did tell him how to kill himself and
even supplied him with what he needed to do it with. Earley said
he will not reveal the doctor's identity because of a recently
enacted Rhode Island law which makes assisting a suicide a felony
punishable by up to 10 years in prison and a $10,000 fine.
Earley's illness mainly restricts him to a few square feet
in his home and he stays mostly in a big blue recliner. He often
---
speaks to healthcare workers and friends preparing them for his
death. He wrote Dr. Kevorkian, who offered to help him but Earley
declined after finding someone local.

Earley says he approaches the day peacefully, confident he
is doing the right thing. The day he dies, he plans a party with
his friends. "I'll do the things I love most in this world - food
and sex...Then I'll inject myself with the compound and I'll go
to sleep. Then the fun begins. It's the greatest adventure I'll
ever have."

People like Noel David Earley, who are doomed to great
suffering, deserve a pleasant death. No one should be forced to
suffer against their will because the government will not allow a
doctor to help a terminally ill person end their life. Would it
be better if Noel David Earley found no one to help him and died
miserably in a hospital bed? The answer is a simple "No."

Legalizing doctor-assisted-suicides would have many
benefits. Patients would be able to die peacefully without their
family and friends seeing them suffer, less money and resources
would be used to keep those who want an end to tubes, machines,
and suffering alive, and finally, more jobs would be available in
the medical field. Legalizing doctor-assisted-suicide is not
designed to push ill people towards ending their life it will
simply offer them a choice between a miserable death or a
peaceful one.

JENSEN 6

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JENSEN 2
Kevorkian's name first became known six years ago when this
retired pathologist inserted a needle into the arm of Janet Adkins,
a 54-year-old Oregon woman who was in the early stages of
Alzheimer's disease, as she lay back on a pallet in his 1968
Volkswagen van. "Have a nice trip," Kevorkian said as she flipped
a lever that sent a deadly combination of chemicals into her veins.
"Thank you, thank you," she whispered.
Today, at 67, the man who built the suicide machine is
possibly the best -known and most controversial- physician in the
nation. He has been charged with murder and charged with the more
ambiguous crime of assisting suicides. He has been in and out of
jail, been tried and aquitted, and has watched as his medical
liscences suspended. Kevorkian's actions have dramatically
focused attention on what is usually called the "right-to-die"
issue. Since he began, several states have held referenda to
legalize physician-assisted suicides. Voters in Oregon have
approved an assisted suicide question, but that law has been
challenged in courts and put on hold.
Throughout it all, Kevorkian has kept on helping people die.
Less than a month ago, in a headline grabbing display of contempt
for the authorities, the body of Nicholas Loving, a 27-year-old
Arizona man with Lou Gehrig's disease, was left in the Oakland
County medical examiner's parking lot, lying in the same battered
van in which Janet Adkins died. Kevorkian jokingly told authorities
this was done in order to save tax payers' money. Loving was the
23rd person to die with the help of Kevorkian, who

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JENSEN 3
says he doesn't mind the nickname "Dr. Death." Though the courts
have ruled that assisted suicide is illegal, and although Kevorkian
faces trial this fall on murder charges for two earlier suicides,
nobody expects him to stop.
"I have always said that the patient comes first," Kevorkian
said in an interview, "I have always said that even of no one
supported me, I'd still do this - even if they burned me at the
stake, because a physician's mission is to prevent suffering."
Surprisingly, no other physicians have openly performed what
Kevorkian calls "medicides." He believes the reason no doctors have
helped him is because of "the cowardice of the medical politicians
who run organized medicine."
Kevorkian is not in jail because of the public support he has
received and because of the backing of the media defending assisted
suicide. Richard Thompson, the Oakland County prosecutor and a
Kevorkian foe, has expressed fears that any kind of trial could
result in an aquittal, no matter how strong the evidence against
him. "There is such a thing as jury nullification," Thompson said,
"This happened in 1994, when a Detroit jury found Kevorkian
innocent of assisting suicide, even though he cheerfully admitted
to doing so."
While on trial in Michigan Kevorkian surprised his lawyer by
likening himself to an executioner whose duty is to "implement
justice." Kevorkian also asked "When an executioner pulls the
switch on the electric chair, is it his wish to kill a human being?
Or to fulfill his duty to...implement justice and uphold the law?

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JENSEN 4
What's his aim?" Kevorkian has maintained that as a doctor he has
a duty to help end patients' suffering, even if it means ending
their lives. He states that he only deals with the terminally ill
and even then only after an extensive evaluation lasting up to
several months. He also says that once a patient decides against
suicide, he no longer offers his services, even if the patient
changes his or her mind. "Once they refuse, that's the last. That
action indicates ambivilence, and ambivilence is not a good basis
for a descision in this profound situation."
In Kevorkian's book, "Prescription Medicide", Dr. Kevorkian
states some of his objectives, such as legalizing doctor-assisted-
suicide and the creating of "suicide centers created specifically
for the good of moribund subjects" that offer them "a serene,
dignified death." These centers would also provide removal of
organs for transplants.
A new state wide poll shows 71 percent of Michigan residents
oppose trying Kevorkian; only 22 percent want him to stand trial,
and not all of those believe he should be convicted.
Among Kevorkian's supporters are the family members and
close friends of the 24 people Kevorkian has helped commit
suicide. This group calls themselves the "survivors" and many
complain of being harassed by the media, badgered by the police,
forced to testify in criminal trials, and one has even been
threatened with prosecution. Many of them wear chains with gold
numbers on them to remind them of their deceased loved ones.
"Each different number represents the order of their suicide by

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REFERENCES

Brovins, Joan M. Dr. Death: Dr. Jack Kevorkian's Rx: Death.
Simon & Schulster Publishing, New York. 1993

H.W. Wilson. Suicide.
New York Publishing, New York. 1995

Betzold, Michael. Appointment with Dr. Death.
Momentum Books, Michigan. 1993

Kevorkian, Jack. Prescription - Medicide: the goodness of
planned death. Promentheum Books, New York. 1991

Kevorkian, Jack. The Story of Dissection.
Crown Publishers, New York. 1994

Dear Rachel,
Here it is, no more beating around the bush. I Love you very, very much. But not as much as you love me. Who do I blame? Your mom, for conditioning you to go so much without love that once you find some of it you hold on to it for dear life, hoping that it will give to you what she never could. I almost felt like a "mother" to you, trying to always do the best and trying not to be selfish like her. I now realize that wasn't my place nor should have I tried to take it, but I felt someone had to. I blame Kristin for stealing my heart and creating a situation where the chips were stacked against you from day one, a situation in which you could never compete, even though if placed in a fair and square deal you would have rose miles ahead of the competition. I blame myself for putting you in the whole situation, even though that is the only thing I regret about our time together. But I now believe that this maybe for the best, after all. You deserve someone who will give you a fair deal from day one, a situation which I could not provide. I prevent you, whether you know it or not, from having a shot at true inner peace and happiness. For from now on you will always feel uneasy and unsure even if we were to try to give it another go. That is why I am now writing the final chapter in this Romantic Drama. Unfortunately happy endings only happen in the movies. I love you very much and would like no greater treasure in the world than to remain a part, as big a part as you'll let me, in your life. You are, without a doubt, my best friend. To lose you as a friend would hurt me as much as losing me as a boyfriend will hurt you (if not greater-for it is worse to lose a whole than a part). I am deeply saddened by this whole chain of events and would do anything not to hurt you. Because of this fact I am afraid to hurt you anymore than I already have. Please contact me by any means necessary, but please don't leave my life, for I will never give up trying to be your best friend again. I miss you and love you and have to do what's best for you even if it means hurting you now, I'm sorry.

Love,
Tom

Tom Jensen
Dangers of Alcohol
Court 101
Professor Your Honor

As I turn on my television I find a baseball game on ESPN and I say to myself, "Alright! The Colorado Rockies are playing, they're fun to watch so I'll leave 'em on." I sat down on my couch put my feet up and the remote down. The first batter I saw hit a pitch down the firstbase line and it was just foul. The fan in the front row tried to grab the rolling ball but he missed as he dropped his beer and the ball rolled further away. I laughed. On the next pitch he hit a deep fly ball towards left field, right on the warning track but the fielder caught it right in front of the big Coors Light sign. Did I mention the name of the ballpark they're playing in is Coor's Stadium? By the way, Coor's slogan is "Tap into the Rockies."

During the fifth inning there was a fight in the stands, probably drunk college kids, and a whole row got ejected. They were pretty nice seats because as soon as they got tossed the seats had been taken by fans sitting further behind them. Between innings I kept the station on because Coors has some funny adds with their "Beer Man" advertising campaign. The first add between innings was a Coors add.

I believe I see a marketing strategy here: sports fans and beer go hand in hand. Personally, I am a sports nut. I go to about ten RedSox games a year, see an average of one thousand beer drinkers, see a few drunken fights, slurred swearing and taunting, and have to stare at the scoreboard sponsored by Budweiser.
---
I almost shy away from bringing potential girlfriends out to a game because it takes an open mind and alot of patience to tolerate all that goes on here at "Friendly Fenway". I always seem to have the seats with the most obnoxious drunks around but I started thinking maybe they're everywhere. The one exception with all the beer around that I don't mind is that I teach whomever I'm with to spot the guys and gals who have had a few too many. Its a game I call "Wet Hands." You see (a little background information) Fenway concessions allow only two beers to be purchased per trip so when people grab one they grab two. My college education leads me to believe that they get drunk twice as fast (College Algebra, I think). So I have whoever's with me look at the fans carrying beer in each hand. If their hands are wet then they're probably too drunk to walk straight and therefore have spilled some of their four dollar beer. This method is quite effective so if you're ever at a Sox game try it out.

This small piece of the puzzle represents most of the problem with alcohol: Its completely unavoidable. The phrase 'out of sight, out of mind' does not apply here. If I have a drinking problem I can't avoid being around it (like I can other drugs), I'm slapped in the face with it at every corner I turn. The only safe place to be is inside an empty room. I can't lock myself in the bathroom (Scope and the oh so intoxicating Big Giant Q - NyQuil) and hide and, my God, I can't even go to church because the Priest drinks wine every chance he gets. Even at Salem State I can't escape, Cappuchio's liquor store is thirty-three steps to my left and I know of students who drink during class. No escape, nowhere to hide.
---
Another problem alcohol presents are all the connotations associated with it: feel good, relax, mask your problems, party and meet members of the opposite sex. When I went to Framingham State College I had my first taste of drinking - college style. Picture a Keg Party with about four hundred people all laughing, smiling and screaming while funneling beers left and right. Beautiful girls getting drunk and horny and macho guys doing macho guy stuff. I fell in love. I thought I went to heaven. I soon learned that heaven and hell are seperated by a razor's edge.

Is drinking bad? Well, having a glass of wine or beer with dinner isn't exactly anything to go to AA meetings over. But what happens when after one beer you want another...and another...and so forth? If you're an idiot like me you play Russian Roulette with a shot glass. You tell yourself that I'll only have maybe two or three and no more. Sometimes you get lucky and stop and other times you spend your free time writing papers for your local judge.

I've seen many, many things in my tweny-plus years and I've come to find many truths about life and the nature of people. The most relevent to this paper is that there are those who can drink and there are those that can't. Guess which category I fall into? One clue- this paper. Some people are extremists when it come to alcohol, they either drink like a fish or they never drink because they know what they'll be like when they do. Knowing is half the battle. Acting in accordance is the other half. I've come to find that I know what to expect from myself if I do drink: Wet hands at Fenway.

Ask anybody who is still a cigarette smoker why they haven't quit the
---
act of inhaling smoke which cause wrinkles, shortness of breath, cancer and eventually death. Most often the answer will be that they've tried but either their husband or neighbor or boss smokes and the urge to have one is too strong to overcome. I've heard people say that they've quit heroin but can't stop smoking cigarettes. Alcohol is just as strong.

Alot of comparisons are made between alcohol and cigarettes and anyone who's ever been to a bar knows they often go hand in hand. Though both can kill you if you abuse them, the rate at which they do is very different. First and second hand smoke take years and years of contact before the risk of death becomes close but with alcohol death can occur at any time - even if you've never even drank. The phrase "Think when you drink" came about because of the obvious fact that some people don't. Countless drinking and driving deaths happen every year and too often the fatalities are innocent victims in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Men in particular always seem to get more violent when they consume alcohol. The expression 'Beer Balls' is a popular term used to describe how alcohol causes more fights and more domestic abuse. We all know someone who gets real rowdy when they're liquored up and who's always looking for trouble. There's also 'Bottle Cap Sniffers' who have two or three drinks and can't remember from six o'clock on. Maybe they took somebody home and got pregnant or even HIV. Maybe they drove home and ran over their neighbors cat or even their neighbor. The scary thing about alcohol is that you just never know what your getting into. To some people alcohol is like gunpowder, its that powerful and everybody knows
---
Go find the rest of this!
its numbered already!

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THE MAGNIFICENT
SEVEN
CLASS MAGAZINE
ENGLISH COMPOSITION 102 - S1
FALL 1999
PUBLISHED BY PROFESSOR KIMBERLY UNDERHILL

Tom Jensen
Wealth & Hellness ☺
March 28, 2001
Take Home Exam

1. Can you be sick and well at the same time? State three examples.
I am sick, though I am well. I am an alcoholic and I will always be one. I will always be prone to abuse booze and right now I am sober. I am well right now because I haven't drank in a while yet I am sick because I am an alcoholic.
I am doing fairly well with my life over the last two or three years and I continually try to raise the level of those around me. Though I have recently felt somewhat apart from society as I am becoming increasingly sick about the future of the world and people on a whole. I now cheer plane crashes, killing sprees and natural disasters as I feel there are about 4 billion too many people in this world. I am doing well yet I am sick of my surroundings.
I believe that there can be a separation between both body and mind. Some may experience bad physical health yet have a great positive attitude towards their life. The opposite is also true as one may have a great physical body yet suffer from a mental disease, or just possess a poor conscience. One's body may be sick yet their mind may be well.

6. What is the spiritual dimension of health? What is important to access this? How might someone help this and what are the challenges of not having this wisdom?
The spiritual dimension of health is that many people lack the completeness that is necessary to live a meaningful life. Many think that they are the center of the earth and that the sun only comes up for them. Others may focus too narrowly on only a few particular elements of themselves. Wellroundedness is essential for anyone who is not a genius. Sure, Einstein and Mozart were well served by focusing on their work in order to better serve humanity yet there are not many of us who fit that mold. Being too narrow allows for severe alcoholism, greed for money and any other type of extremism that generally brings down the level of society.
Society is better served when individuals realize their place in this world and are willing to make sacrifices for the good of fellow man and the preservation of the earth. People who are not in tune with their spirituality can gradually destroy the moral fabric of society. Placing something above yourself also helps you find out what is really important to you. The best way to achieve health is to start at the top of your body and work your way down. Your head is the most important thing. All of life revolves around your head. It's like the engine of a car. A corvette looks nice but you're never going to get very far if the engine's missing.

8. What are effective ways of preventing STD's and birth control?

+11/5
Excellent
word!
---
Abstinence is the safest way to keep from itching, expanding your belly or
dying for lack of immune system. But let us be a little more realistic here.
The best bets:
METHOD EFFECTIVENESS VS. STD EFFECTIVENESS VS. CONCEPTION
condoms 30-60% 98%
cervical cap 50-75% 98%
diaphragm 50-75% 96%
pill 0% 99%
Norplant 0%

10. What are the aspects of physical health. Why is it important to attend to
the physical? How can you improve? What are danger signs following
exercise?
Physical health has many aspects including outward appearance, such as
body type, shape, hygiene and posture. The inside part of your body is also
important to your physical health. The body is transportation for your soul and it is the only
means of interaction that we have in this world. Physical health determines how
long you get to carry your soul around for. Physical health also has an impact on
your mental health as many people will perceive your personality through your
physical body. We all get an impression of people by what they look like. If you
have any serious physical health problems it may be harder to make people see
you as an equal worthy of being taken seriously.
Improving your physical health can be done through proper diet, exercise
and attempting to avoid any risky behaviors which may place your body at risk.
Walking around in Dorchester at three in the morning is a decent example of
avoiding risky behavior patterns. Primarily though, proper diet and exercise and
avoiding heavy drug use, drinking and cigarette smoking are probably the best
ways to maintain good physical health.
Danger signs after exercising can include shooting pains, dizziness,
cramps, muscle aches and severe increase in your breathing. If someone feels
any of these symptoms they should work out less and if there is no ease of
symptoms then they should consult their doctor.

11. What have you learned about health and wellness that you would want
to share with a younger child that you wish you knew when you were
younger?
I have come to realize that one does not wake up one day, such as I do,
and decide that they are a druggie, an alki, cigarette dependent with a poor diet
and seriously lacking in sleep. These are all patterns that have developed over
the course of my life. We are all creatures of habit and we must be careful in
which activities and past times that we take up because if we are not consciously
involved in monitoring our actions then we may wake up one morning and say as
I do every once and a while "What the &$#(*_#@ happened to me?" The
secret to good health is rooted when we are young. The secret is to avoid pitfalls

We can learn! we can
change

Addiction
are spiritual
[?]
---
does believing that ketchup is a vegetable. I have been trying to eat healthier lately but it never lasts very long. I would like to get into a more set eating pattern but I live in a dysfunctional family and my scheduling often does not allow me to come home until well past 7 PM. I should start choosing alternative snacks such as fruit or celery but I have developed a liking of chicken kabob salads so at least that's a start.

16. What are the responsibilities of an individual and community dealing with an addiction. Examples please.
There are many programs set up to council those who are victims of addictions. There are endless supplies of AA meetings located around Salem and several health and recovery services in the immediate area such as CAB located at Shetland Park. There are several shelters such as Cromby Street that will help those I need as well. The problem is that people do not believe in social services programs aimed at treating people with self induced addictions. Bush certainly isn't going to help if his program for education is any indication. I have mixed feelings as well. The responsibility is mainly placed upon the individual who suffers from an addiction to seek treatment. No matter how much support an addict has in place there will always be moments when there is no support and times like these will dictate that individual's ability to successfully overcome his/her addiction.

It sounds cold but the truth is that if you make your bed then you have to lie in it and I always believe that people should be held responsible for their own actions. Period! If treatment and support groups can serve as a helping hand then that is great but it should not be the government's or state's responsibility to provide money and shelter for someone who chose to inject illicit drugs into their veins and contracted HIV or AIDS. Nor is it the government's responsibility to shelter and support individuals who chose to become so overweight that they become shut ins. We all have two legs and we all go through tough times and I believe in Darwinism so if you can't make it in the real world then maybe it is best for society if you do cease to exist. Life can be cruel but take one for the team.

19. What does it mean to deny and enable addictive behaviors? How can this be a problem in the family/ What actions can an individual take to change this?
Da Nile is a river and it always floats downstream leading trouble away from you. That's what they think. Denial is a last resort by an addict to mask his/her problem or addiction. It is a way to justify an unjust act and a way to continue one's pattern of use. It is bullshit, nothing more. Enabling usually stems from love. My family contains two severe, severe, severe cases of enabling and amazingly neither one of them pertains to me. You can not change enabling because some people will do anything in the name of love and protection. Some of these people are worse than the ones that they are enabling.

excellent
V
---
Case #1 My aunt married an alcoholic who helped her get off coke. Over the last ten years she has become an amazing person who hardly even parties anymore. She has a good job, nice car, nice house and a decent life. The only monkey wrench thrown into her nice life is that her husband is a raging alcoholic (complete with the shakes) who works out of state so that they can continue to coexist. Her happiest days are spent alone. She moved to Fla. Long ago and misses her family yet will not leave the sun of a bitch for all the farms in Cuba. She is torn between staying and going, although deep down she knows she should come back to Mass and leave his drunk ass (poetic wasn't it?). We have weekly talks as I continue to try to persuade her to leave. She will not put her foot down and say to him if you ever drink again then I will leave you forever. She is enabling him to drink by continuing to put up with the bullshit and always saying it's okay hunny I still love you. She'll probably never leave.

Case # 2 My grandmother has a son who was hit by a car when he was about twenty. Ever since his accident he has led a life of heavy drug addiction, stealing, fighting, raping, and anything else that would make the casual observer see someone as a welcome addition to the death chamber. He's in jail for at least five more years for armed robbery. My grandmother has continually supported him at the expense of herself and our other family members. She is very religious and believes that God likes what she's doing. Even God would recommend beheading for this horrible human being. Definition of enabling: Driving your son to Lynn in the middle of the night and buying a lot of coke with your own money and even going door to door on Washington Street because you're not sure which house is the crack house. He has a broken leg so he waits in the car. To quote the great John Wayne "Martha, get my gun."
---
A.K.A.
case study
# 1

MARRIED TO SOMETHING ELSE

You watch him come stumbling through the door
Find yourself wondering if you can take it anymore
The wedding ring bonds until death does part
But what's on your finger is not in your heart

After ten years its still the same
While the love is gone
The smell of whiskey still remains

You stare at the door until he comes home
Thinking your happiest days are spent alone
It's tugging at your heart
It replays in your mind
When he's sober he's one of a kind
But that only happens about half of the time

You know you can't let him drag you down
That's why he lives in another town
You dream of a future where you are free
Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.........

No, no, no
The wedding ring bonds until death does part
But what's on your finger is not in your heart

If you're not looking ahead
Then you're falling behind
But you'd never let it happen.........
A second time

Well its never too late for another start
Age doesn't matter when it concerns the heart

You know there's only one shepherd
And he's up there
You've found for him another sheep
For which to care
God knows everything doesn't always go
As it was planned
When you come to him for help
He'll understand

---

You've broken your shears
And you've cried your tears
You tried to quiet your fears
But realized the wasted years

If you're not looking ahead
Then you're falling behind
Well its never too late for another start
Age doesn't matter when it concerns the heart

Its time to say your peace
And pray a little prayer
To hope he'll make it on his own
When you're not there

Then maybe he'll take a deep look
Down inside himself
And realize he's married to something else

Scanned

Tom Jensen
Feb 9, 2001
Wealth and Hellness☺
WELLNESS PLANNING

No, I never would have thought that I would be given the opportunity to work on rehabilitating my drug and alcohol addiction for college credit. To think that I thought that the best thing about this semester was taking History of Baseball (HIS 311) for credit. Top that! You did! As usual, I will attempt to blend poetry with my everyday life and in this case my wellness planning. As I have been facing these same problems for over five years my poetry is quite entwined with my use. Many 3:00 AM poems have been influenced by more than just my creativity. I know the road and I know how to succeed yet saying and doing are often found on opposite ends of the highway.

My life in a nutshell: a small window into the scene of my reality. After one of the craziest nights of my life I was hoping to turn the page. I waited out the hangover and put my time to good use. I started reading a book for college and I had to read a chapter on addiction. Four pages into it I took some pills that I had. Seven pages into it I was walking in the cold to meet my dealer. I made up my mind not to read anymore that night. Something inside me gets triggered when I see pictures of girls smoking bones and four lines of coke sitting on a mirror. That was page 156. I made it one more page and it was all over.

I have to go to court ordered weekly alcohol classes and some of my biggest times of weakness is when drugs and alcohol is brought to the forefront and rammed down my throat, bled into my veins and shoved up my nose. Not everyone can carry their cross all the way down to the end the road. I sometimes wonder that if I was blind and deaf would I still have the urge to party? No outside influences or passing temptations. See no evil, hear no evil. But I guess we all have our crosses to bear.

Just what is the secret to overcoming the largest obstacle in your path down the road of life? If you're me, alcoholic's anonymous can play a large role in your quest for sobriety. When I was going to meetings earlier this year I had over four months under my belt. I stopped going and I soon stopped being sober.
Alison's Airplane is AA...
---
ALISON'S AIRPLANE

I find my religion in the basement of churches
Never mind a pew
Here I sit trying to learn from my mistakes
God knows I've made a few
If you'd made as many as I have
Then you'd probably sit here too

Here I sit and reminisce it all
Biding my time by reading slogans on the wall
A higher power is what I need
Something above myself can set me free

You can only tell what you're really worth
When you realize that you're not the center of the earth
The sun does not rise for you
No matter how much you want it to

Gravity was made for many reasons
Something to do with the sun, the moon
And the changing of the seasons
It may be true that it pulls you down
But in order to walk the road ahead
First your feet must meet the ground

Then the rest is up to you
Use your better judgment if you want to
If you choose to walk back down the road
From which you came
Don't point your finger at me
That finger of blame

Alison told me she had an airplane
Of course I didn't believe it
So I asked her to teach me how to fly
But she told me I couldn't see it
She said if you want to go for a ride
First you must know that the airplane's inside
At the time I didn't quite know just what she meant
But now I realize that Alison's Airplane is Heaven sent
---
There is no single factor that either makes or breaks addiction or sobriety. Everything in this world is part of one giant chain reaction. Just as the earth rotates on its axis and revolves around the sun one's life and patterns are often one giant circle of repetition. You wake up you take a shower, you brush your teeth, you have breakfast and go to work. You come home and have dinner, watch TV, pick out your clothes for the coming day and go to sleep. The next morning the cycle continues. We are all taught repetition as we are young and we are conditioned to it. Hence the struggles of an addict. This cycle becomes ingrained into the fabric of your existence. You hang with the same friends and you do the same things. You drink the same beer, you do the same drugs. You spend the same money. The whirlwind in which you're caught in moves so fast and the suction becomes so strong that you can not expect to take out just one variable of the equation and immediately begin a new pattern of existence. In the case of the addict you must make changes so drastic as to knock the rotation off its axis and into a new one.

I have two schools of thought on fighting drug addiction and alcoholism. The first one is to realize the biggest evils you face and substitute a lesser for the worse ones. The methadone program for heroin addicts. In terms of my father, going from raging alcoholic to a pot smoker. He lives a functional life by smoking dope at night. If he still drank then he would be dead. He substituted the apple for an orange. This may cure the specific addiction yet it does not change your addictive nature. He now only stutters and forgets his name occasionally. Rather than forgetting whole weeks and weekends due to alcohol induced blackouts he might now only forget to check his mail. Does this work? Yes, to a degree. He has the will power to stick to the plan. I consider this idea a compromise where you don't get exactly what you want but you still get what you need.

My other school of though on addiction is to use all types of drugs and alcohol yet only on a limited basis therefor limiting the effects of excessive use of any one drink or drug. For instance, Monday night smoke a little dope. Tuesday night maybe a few painkillers, Wednesday night snort a few lines, Thursday night have a few beers and so forth. By using this system you do not get the constant nosebleeds, hangovers or memory losses that would occur if you concentrated your addiction in one specific area. You are still an addict but I think that many addicts would live longer lives if they practiced this philosophy. Still you run the risk of overcoming a multitude of addictions when you finally come to the point where you really want to quit. I have tried both of these schools of thought and am perhaps the originator of this way of thinking. Both of these have their positives and negatives anyway you look at it.

I often ponder the possibility of knocking my addictive habits off their axis by completely changing my surroundings. I have an aunt in Florida who is dying for me to come down and live with her. Her husband is an alcoholic but he's done real well over the last few months. He works out of state in order to attempt
---
to save their marriage and she is dying for companionship. My life is very entrenched in Salem and so is my addiction. I see familiar memories, faces and past party spots on a daily basis. My family needs me here and my schooling is going phenomenally well as I have made Dean's List for five semesters in a row. I'm making great money working with great people at my job and having lost my license for another year and a half the bus here really comes in handy. But often in the back of my mind I have thought that leaving might be the best solution. A change as big as moving a thousand miles away is the type needed when trying to overcome an addiction such as mine. But even this is not a surefire way to break the chain.

BREAKING THE CHAINS

Out in the distance
I think I hear someone calling my name
I guess even here
I am still not alone

To think that solitude
Was the reason I came
To be out here
So far from home

No matter where you go
Something or someone will find you
You'll never be able to break every chain
There is always one that will bind you

Go ahead and try
Go ahead and try
Go ahead and try to break the chain

Go ahead and try
Go ahead and try
Go ahead and try but some things will never change

I know what I must do. I must confine myself to isolation and dive into my own pool of knowledge. I must dedicate myself to sobriety and all of its positive and negative ramifications. I will lose something in the process but I will also gain from it. I know that I will do something great in this world as long as I do not die from an overdose or drunk driving accident (I've had two already and my first one brought me within three inches to the left of a telephone pole of death). My fate is in my hands and only my hands. Excuses are like assholes...everybody's
---
got one. I know at one end of the road there is a light at the end of the tunnel
and at the other end a dead end. The choice is mine.

DEAD END
I know who you are and who you want to be
I know you're entrapped and you want to be free
You can't put off until tomorrow what needs to be done today
We've had this talk so many times before there's not much more I can say
---
When the days become years you'll know that its true
You'll look back and say why didn't I listen to you?
If it don't happen soon you'll never see me around
The reason I've gone is you've been bringing me down

I've been down that road let me tell you my friend
That sooner or later you'd see a dead end
The road will deceive you with its ups and its downs
It's hard to find direction with your head spinning round

You're flying so high in the sky with heaven so near
Feeling your heart beat with heaven so near
Even when you gaze down you feel no fear
You'll need a parachute to come back down my dear

Come on my darling its time to turn the page
The only way you're not dying is from old age
Please stop now 'cause I just can't wait
You're all grown up it's time to get things straight

I've been down that road let me tell you my friend
That sooner or later you'll see a dead end
The road will deceive you with its ups and its downs
You gotta get it together turn your life around

Two years later - I'd hope to see you again
But I couldn't make it so flowers I'll send
I tried to convince you but you wouldn't bend
So sorry for you now you'll never mend

I've been down that road I told you my friend
But sooner not later you saw the dead end
The road has deceived you with its ups and its downs
Its just so sad I'll never see you around

Tom Jensen
March 18, 2001

Poetry
1. What is the title of the poem? A PERFECT WORLD
2. Who is the author? TOM JENSEN
3. What is your poem about? IT IS A POEM CHALLENGING MANY OF THE IDEAS AND VALUES WHICH MANY AMERICANS PRESENTLY EMBRACE. IT IS ABOUT THE WORLD SPINNING TO FAST AND PEOPLE GIVING UP TOO MUCH TIME AND DEDICATING THEIR LIFE TO THINGS THAT ARE OF LITTLE IMPORTANCE.
4. What mood does you poem express? VERY REBELLIOUS AND OF A SOMEWHAT ATTACKING NATURE. AUTHOUR SEEMS TO FEEL A GREAT DEAL OF SEPERATION BETWEEN HIMSELF AND THE SOCIETY AT LARGE.
5. Are any of the words repeated throughout the poem? RISE UP IN REBELLION COULD YOU BE SO BOLD?
6. Is there any alliteration? OTHER MOTHER'S SONS TO WAR
7. What interesting verbs are used? FEEL TRAPPED LIKE A RAT
BREAK THE MOLD
8. Are there any similes? MY WHOLE WORLD'S A FIGHT
LIKE A HAMSTER ON A RUSTY WHEEL
TRAPPED LIKE A RAT
9. Name some descriptive adjectives from your poem. FEET SO BUSY WALKING
POKER FACE
10. Are there any metaphors used? THE WHOLE WORLD'S A FIGHT
THESE IDEAS YOU'VE BEEN SOLD
A HAMSTER ON A RUSTY WHEEL
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD
11. What did you like best about this poem? I WROTE IT AND IT IS SO DAMN TRUE. THE IMAGERY CAN BE POWERFUL IN SOME VERSES. THE IDEA IS ONE OF PROGRESS.
---
A PERFECT WORLD
The whole world's a fight I can't get no peace
My mind gets disrupted when it's at ease
Watching the sunrise is a long forgotten art
Feet so busy walking separate from the heart
When was the last time you noticed the moon?
I'm surprised you've forgotten so soon
There's so much more than what you've been told
Rise up in rebellion, could you be so bold?

This set pattern you follow is just one of their lies
A world lacking communion, only ME's and I's
Through competition our brotherhood has been broken
As no one's acknowledged these words that I've spoken
Everything, even people, filed by order and rank
Number one built the Titanic yet down it sank
There's still time left to return these ideas you've been sold
Rise up in rebellion, could you be so bold?

Some say if winning isn't everything than why keep score?
Those same people send other mother's sons to war
I could be like you or maybe someone else
Sometimes they see me and ask me "How I feel?"
I respond "A hamster on a rusty wheel"
If you feel trapped like a rat in this world so cold
Rise up in rebellion, could you be so bold?

I'll keep on fighting no matter what's in store
But at least I'll know what I'm fighting for
My own little peace and quiet in this world so fast
This world makes me dizzy because it's moving to fast
Round and round they go as they spin their wheels
Trying hard to keep their poker face on when the dealer deals
Stop going for broke when you'll win if you hold
Rise up in rebellion, could you be so bold?
---
The brokers in the suits and ties walking down Wall Street
The ones with the diamond watches and their hair so neat
They get so stressed out playing all their Wall Street games
They get home and yell at their wives and forget their own kid's names
All for the love of money and nothing more
If they call that rich then you can call me poor
If they tell you the lie 'all that glitters is gold'
Rise up in rebellion, could you be so bold?

As I climb up the mountains or float over the sea
I find myself alone and contented and alive and free
No need to look at my watch or punch a clock
And I notice my feet when I go for a walk
It could be like this if enough people believe
Just as the wind blows a flower, I'm planting my seed
The time has come for us to break the mold
Rise up in rebellion, could we be so bold?
---
A PERFECT WORLD (ALTERNATE VERSES)

The whole world's a fight
I can't get no peace
I've spent my whole life
Looking for what I can't see
For what will never be
As the only thing that will set me free
Is an unknown memory
That somewhere and somehow
Lives inside of me
Inside a locked door
For which there is no key

The whole world's a fight
I can't get no peace
My mind gets disrupted when it's at ease
An uphill right from the start
Feet so busy walking separate from the heart
When was the last time you noticed the moon?
I'm surprised you've forgotten so soon
So concerned with the future that the present is gone
Never taking time to stand still
We just keep moving on
Why not take a break before you break
But we're all judged by the choices we make

WELLNESS by Tom Jensen

What is wellness? That is certainly a good question to start with when one is trying to decide how well one's well is. I would consider wellness the successful achievement of one limiting one's negative characteristics and traits. By limiting the negative in one's collective body and soul the effect, therefore, is accenting the positive. Addition by subtraction if you will. So, since coming to the very real acceptance of who I am and what I do I am able to make a judgment over how well is my wellness. What flaws have been noticed, studied, and fixed? What traits have I stepped back from my eyes and observed from another frame of reference? How have I felt about my relationships with friends and family? What have I yet to achieve on the Totem Pole of life, how far have I climbed? All things of this nature make for interesting talk and type but the main element one has to remember is that all of these subjects are subjective to the observer. Anyone may relate oneself to others in an attempt to compare actions and sometimes even justify an unjust act. One's immediate circle acts as the shell in which the egg is kept. On one hand, the shell can protect the egg from predators, harm and frying pans but the shell also succeeds in limiting how far the egg can expand and thereby cut off the egg from the far away chicken of happiness. I am the egg man, sorry Mr. Lennon.

But, as the more I learn the more I see how correct my poetry can be. It seems society has reached the point where it can no longer envision evil and therefore attempt to prevent evil from happening in the first place. It is only after the original act has been done that the necessary corrections are deemed worthy.

Cannot fix the flaw - only patch the hole
The potential of diamonds results in coal
Abie to race the race though blind to the goal
Only glimpses and pieces never the whole

I am living the paradox which is the same as society. I am able to see the goal ahead of me. I am well aware of my major flaws and I certainly do hold the potential for greatness and diamonds. That is the good part. The problem lies in the fact that I am aware of the flaw but I choose to only patch the hole. Never giant changes, only small subtleties which meagerly reshape my path towards
---
the future. The dark side of the diamond shows his grim face. In life, knowledge is the ultimate power but how should one feel if he is the knower yet not the doer? So many ignorant fools would die to think just one great thought. Why take it for granted when one has so much to share in so little time? This is the dilemma of the people caught in the trap.

My wellness is as it finds me, finds me as I have been, in the same structure, same form. Faces change just as does the weather. My feet are always moving but it's not always up. A life which was created and I now call my own. A time when the only time one can truly take the time to gather one's inner thoughts is a time when is only an afterthought. A busy productive day only ends in an even busier unproductive night. Voices have warmed me and wisdom has guided these voices. The face has a name and the deed is a game. Just as the earth spins so does a day as patterns emerge and it takes more to wash away a sand castle than just a single wave. Or so the saying goes...

Salem State Log, Thursday, February 18, 1999, Page 16, Living/Arts section. Includes unrelated article "The North Shore's best Chinese take out" by Matt Genese (about Salem Jade restaurant). Main article: "The best band you probably never heard of" by Tom Jensen, Contributing Writer. Text: "...quick check to see if you have a pulse: Have you heard of The Beatles? Yes, good. Bob Dylan and the Band? Yeah? I'm proud of ya' already. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers? Groovy. Now it gets a little harder...Roy Orbison? (Yes, the Pretty Woman song) great!!! Here it is, drum roll please......The million dollar question-Jeff Lynne? No? Don't worry, me neither. But what do these musicians all have in common? I'd like to introduce you to the Traveling Wilburys: Nelson Wilbury AKA George Harrison of The Beatles, Otis Wilbury AKA Jeff Lynne AKA the guy you've never heard of, Lefty Wilbury AKA Roy Orbison, Lucky Wilbury AKA Bob Dylan, Charlie T. Jr. AKA Tom Petty...A remarkable sophisticated musical [culture] developed, considering there [were no] managers or agents, and the fur[ther the] Wilburys traveled the more their [adventur]ous their music became, and the more it was revered by the elders of the tribe who believed it had the power to stave off madness, turn brunettes into blondes and increase the size of their ears. But as the Wilburys began to go further and further in their search for musical inspiration, they found themselves the object of interest among many less developed species of nightclub owners, tour operators and recording executives...band just may be the greatest collection of individual talent ever. Harrison and Dylan are in their own atmosphere as far as rock goes. Petty has had a great career with the Heartbreakers and I've seen Orbison on those greatest hits of the 80's commercials on TV. We still don't know who the heck Otis Wilbury (Jeff Lynne) is or where he came from but the tests aren't back yet...It is surprising to see such big name stars blend together into the harmony that the Wilburys create. Although I sometimes confuse Petty's voice with Dylan's in a couple of songs (quite a compliment, huh?) I assure you I can tell Orbison and Harrison...But a tiny handful survived and the last of the Traveling Wilburys and the songs gathered here represent the popular laments, the epic and heroic tales which characterize the apotheosis of the elusive Wilbury sound. Good listening, good night and Let Thy Wilbury Done. Unfortunately, the list of remaining Wilburys has been reduced by one since Roy died. They've been looking for a replacement and have interviewed several candidates, among the noteworthy include Weird Al Wilbury- he sure can polka, Snoop Doggy Wilbury- I'm sure they're trying to find a younger, hip-per fan base, and finally there is George Michael Wilbury- even though he hasn't gotten a call back he still has faith. The Wilburys recorded two albums, Volume 1 and Volume 3, but there is no Volume 2. Volume 1 won a 1988 Grammy for Best Rock Performance Group and included such hits as "Handle with Care," "End of the Line" and my personal favorite "Last Night," which became my college life theme song. This..."

[Green marker across the page: "Scanned"]

Tom Jensen
April 29, 1999
Creative Writing
Professor M.

The Independence of John Brown

[Only the title page is photographed - the essay itself is typed on cards 1838 and 1839]

May 18
ELA's B-Day

Tom Jensen
January 27, 1999
Creative Writing

A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall
---
The smoke from a half lit cigarette waves aimlessly through the air. A light brown guitar sits in the corner awaiting the delicate touch of it's master. Three empty notebooks sit atop the table curiously wondering what will fill their blank pages. Will there be small sketches of beautiful young women or perhaps some silly verses about how everybody must get stoned? An old weathered, green chair, still feeling the pain of a dropped cigarette, reminisces about the time it's owner, the master, once sat for what seemed like an eternity trying to capture the soul of a man named Hollis Brown. An old, rusty razor lays, forgotten, in a corner clutching on to one last piece of cocaine. A broken guitar string sits beneath a pile of trash still humming the melody of what it prays comes true in "Forever Young", and in the state of mind that it will never be thrown away.

A familiar face appears from behind a closed door. All of the objects in the room experience a buzz of excitement. Perhaps one of them will receive their master's attention, if even only for an instant. The master sits upon the green chair and sighs. "Must be another sad love song", the chair thinks to itself. The razor, on the other hand says, "I think he's angry at the world, I hope he's not as angry as that 'Masters of war' song... You know, the one that goes:

And I hope that you die
And you're death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

The master grabs the yellow notebook and begins jotting down a few lines. The guitar waits patiently, for it knows that the master always uses him and the notebook together. As plain as bread and
---
butter and as sweet as peanut butter and jelly. After a little while, just like clockwork, the notebook is set
aside and the inevitable happens. A quick tuning and he's off. "What'd he write, can you see?" asks the
guitar, even though he'll be one of the first ones to hear. To which the notebook responds, "It's kinda hard
to see considering everything's upside down but it looks like it says..." At that very instance the master
begins strumming along and starts singing softly:

Close your eyes, close the door
You don't have to worry any more.
I'll be your baby tonight.

"Boy, were we off!" shouts the guitar, over the loud playing. "Sounds like a happy song."
After a quick cigarette and a half of joint the master begins to think to himself. He wonders to
himself if all of the pain and sacrifice of all his endless nights of writing and playing are worth
it. He wonders what will fill the next blank page. He remembers the night he turned heads as his audience
watched (some in anger that he "sold out" and others in enjoyment) as he magically blended folk and
rock into one. He remembers the boos, the cheers, and all the fans over the years. A smile is brought to
his face as he thinks of going from playing in corner coffee shops in New York all the way to the big time.
He thinks of the night in the Chelsea Hotel writing "Sad-eyed Lady of the lowlands" for his wife Sarah.
The master sits back in his chair, puts his feet on the table and stares at his pen. He stares deliberately at
his pen as if looking for inspiration. The pens screams out inaudibly, "I love you, man!" But alas. The
master cannot hear these words of love, though, he just continues staring at the pen.
The master then begins thinking about his almost fateful motorcycle crash and begins humming
something about "knocking on heaven's door". The old, rusty razor yells with pride, "He used me that
night, my God! I didn't sleep for a week!" The notebook, always of good humor, responds, "HELL, you
could have killed him right there!" The master is always the center of attention in this room, as you might
expect. Of course, being the greatest of all time can have that effect on people, er... things.
As the master was about to take a little rest he began to pick up a magazine in which he has been
quoted. He ponders the ups and downs of being famous and all of the expectations that come with it. He
---
reads his dialogue from an article about him, "You can't try to come up with songs that people will think
is all hip and cool, you have to write for yourself. There are too many phonies out there and all the one hit
wonders. They come up with a gimmick catch phrase, write some mumbo jumbo and the people love it.
Six months later they've blown all their dough and the fans never even knew who they were."
As he gazes out the window at the pouring rain out side the master wonders again who exactly he is
writing for, who are the ones who really enjoy his work. He doesn't realize that his biggest fan is sitting
right here in this room, it is actually his guitar. The two make a marvelous pair, not unlike the guitar and
the notebook.
Sometimes in this world in which we live in things are not always what they seem. This is the
reason that the master continues with his work- to explain the unseen, to show what is right, what is pure
and true and consequentially, what is wrong and needs to be changed. So with his aging face, fading voice
and wearing guitar he carries on with no direction home, like a rolling stone. He knows how it feels to
have to seek shelter from the storm. He is aware that the times they are a'changing and he's spreading the
word to the uninformed. With that thought he begins to sing a few verses from one of his songs:

Stake my future on a hell of a past

Looks like tomorrow is coming on fast

Ain't complainin' 'bout what I got

Seen better times but who has not....

The guitar understands the master's thoughts as they have been partners for many years. If not for
anyone else, he has been touched by their many nights together. The guitar has experienced what life
outside the room is like through the master's music and is happy inside the dry, warm room. For the master
has predicted that a hard rain's gonna fall and when you're made of wood you can't really hold an umbrella
can you?
As the master is getting ready to lay down for a night's rest he happens to realize that he was
sitting on one of his albums: SELF PORTRAIT by Bob Dylan. And on that note he falls asleep contently
remembering what someone once said to him, "Don't think twice, it's alright."

Scanned

Tom Jensen
Creative Writing
Feb. 20, 1999

I'm still here for a reason

---

Boy, what the heck happened last night, I feel like I got ran over by a truck. My head
ached, still pounding from all the alcohol - almost a full bottle of Canadian Whiskey. My
chest felt bruised along with my upper right shoulder as I was trying to remember how I got
home the previous night, or should I say early morning. My mind drew a blank. The last
image I could gather was sitting outside my house holding an empty bottle. My entire body
felt a soreness that I can only compare to what a Boston Marathon runner might feel after
completing the last step of the 26.2 mile course. Continuous questions began running
through my head: where was my friend who was supposed to sleep over that night? What
happened to me that made my whole body hurt? What day is it, anyway? Suddenly the
flashback of sitting in my father's minivan listening to the radio entered my mind. The most
intense fear I've ever known raced down my spine and made my pain all the more real. At
that point I said a quick prayer that his minivan was still sitting in the driveway. I staggered
out into the kitchen and my fears rang true as I gazed at a police document sitting on the
table. The only word I remember reading was minivan.
As tears ran down my face I crawled back into bed, just barely noticing the blood on
my pillow. To this day I remember nothing about that almost fateful night. What
information I got was from police reports, my father and my friend. It wasn't until a week
later that all the pieces were finally in place and I realized just how close I came to meeting
Elvis.
It turns out that I blacked out about 2:30 in the morning and wanted to drive to
Denny's restaurant. I went inside and grabbed a set of my dad's keys and started walking

---

towards the minivan. My friend was sober enough to tell me not to and took my keys from
me. I was completely smashed and I said, "If you're taking my keys 'cause I'm drunk, I'm
taking yours 'cause you're drunk too!" For whatever reason, he gave me his keys and he
told me to sit in my dad's minivan and listen to the radio. he knew that the radio was battery
powered and I didn't need the keys to operate it. There's nothing scarier than a smart
but
drunk, unfortunately my friends good thinking didn't save the situation. Somehow I
managed to grab both sets of keys and as soon as my friend left me alone, thinking I was
safe, I sped off.

I don't remember the crash nor do I recall where I was coming from at the time I did
crash. Luckily, no one was on the road at 4:30am, if they had been, I could have been
scared
scared for life (besides my tongue). The thought of taking a human life because of stupidity
has haunted me now and again since the accident. Just the thought of drinking and driving
prevents me from ever doing it again. If that telephone pole had been a tree I'd already be
a murderer.

After the accident, when I was finally emotionally ready to leave my room my father
thought it would be a good idea if I saw the minivan. It wasn't until then that I realized what
the full magnitude of my actions was. I remember seeing the front of the driver's side but
not the passenger's side. The phrase I've used to describe it is "that the engine had
shotgun". The front passenger's side was pushed back to almost the seat and I still have
horrifying thoughts about what would have happened if my friend was drunk enough to
come with me. Actually, I know what would have happened...death. There was no tire or

---

attachments on the passenger's side, basically there was only three/fourths of the car remaining.

The bruises I mentioned earlier on my shoulder and chest undoubtedly were the marks from the seatbelt. Many nights after I have stayed up wondering who up there in heaven told me to put it on. Was it my grandfather who passed away long before or perhaps even God himself? Maybe it was my way of justifying driving drunk, maybe I thought it would be safe to go as long as I wore it? I don't know how or why but it did get me thinking. Being the biggest optimist I know, I believe very strongly that God saved me because I have a greater purpose on this earth. I think that I have some sort of destiny to do something in this world. It could be anything from having a child who grows up to be a great leader to myself growing to be a great writer or teacher, I can't put my finger on it but it makes me strive to be the best I can be. I'm constantly trying to deserve my second chance because I could have very easily become another name in the obituary column.

The cop who was first on the scene estimated that I was doing about sixty miles an hour right before the telephone pole abruptly put a stop to my "joyride". The foundation of the telephone pole had been moved about an inch or so towards the direction I was heading. There were no skid marks which indicates that I didn't brake and I gather that I probably passed out while driving. The power on the street was knocked out for a day and the irony is the pole I hit was on the street that my friend who gave me the bottle in the first place lives on. Want more irony? This happened three blocks from my house and I was heading back towards my house from the general direction of Denny's.

---

The thing that scares me the most is what if I had made it back to my house safe and sound? Since I blacked out I would have never known I'd left and would have defended myself until the day I died (which was almost that morning). Also, I'd have never had learned my lesson.

I've become a strong believer in fate and am coming around to the belief that everything happens for a reason. I've gotten a lot out of this incident (besides biting a hole through my tongue, eating through a straw for ten days, losing my license for a year, having my car insurance cost more than the funding of the space program, not leaving my room during my entire April vacation because of deep depression and finally, costing my father about four-thousand dollars) that has helped me and even made me stronger. I've slowly learned to live each day to the fullest for it might be your last. I don't drive drunk and I've even started wearing my seatbelt. I'm also being a designated driver tonight - how's that for irony?

Good. Watch your punctuation!

Tom Jensen
April 29, 1999
Creative Writing
Professor M.

The Independence of John Brown

[Only the title page is photographed - the essay itself is typed on cards 1838 and 1839]

Tom Jensen
April 29, 1999
Creative Writing
Professor M.

The Independence of John Brown

[Only the title page is photographed - the essay itself is typed on cards 1838 and 1839]

Tom Jensen
April 29, 1999
Creative Writing
Professor M.

The Independence of John Brown

[Only the title page is photographed - the essay itself is typed on cards 1838 and 1839]

Tom Jensen
April 29, 1999
Creative Writing
Professor M.

The Independence of John Brown

[Only the title page is photographed - the essay itself is typed on cards 1838 and 1839]

THE INDEPENDENCE OF JOHN BROWN by Tom Jensen

As the morning sun begins its rise overhead the sparrows sit atop
the old apple tree as they do every morning at about this time. The
steady chirping added to the whistling of the warm breeze are the
only sounds that can be heard this early in the morning. The busy
sparrows can be seen diving from their boughs toward the dying
grass in their daily search of worms. They pick about the parched
earth for even the slightest morsel of food and equally small insect.
Food around these parts is hard to come by, even the small amount
it takes to feed such a bird as the sparrow. Once, on this exact spot,
stood a bird feeder and even a birdbath, both filled almost daily
Though the feeder and bath are still there, they have become broken
and empty over time. The last time they were filled with food and
water was before the life of the present sparrows now residing on the
limbs on the old apple tree.

Not far from the apple tree is a small fenced in horse corral,
though indistinguishable now. The beams of wood that once
surrounded the perimeter have long fallen to the ground; the splits
and cracks in the wood along with gray discoloring reveal the wear
and tear blended with the beating of the hot sun. Once, the
foundation stood strong and each beam carefully fit interlocked with
one another creating a strong and sturdy stable. Sometime ago a
beautiful Arabian, palomino horse could be seen galloping around
the field with the sun glistening across its golden body

At sunset, the flaxen mane and tail of this magnificent animal
stood so bright that even if covered by the darkest shadow the color
would resemble that of the moon. Its coat was always clean and his
mane and tail brilliantly white and always combed. A full trough of
clean water and a bucket of oats always available. And as the stable
became dilapidated and gradually decayed over time, so did the life
of this once spectacular animal. Its mane and tail slowly darkened to
(continues - more pages, not in the photo)

Tom Jensen
April 29, 1999
Creative Writing
Professor M.

The Independence of John Brown

As the morning sun begins its rise overhead the sparrows sit atop the old
apple tree as they do every morning at about this time. The steady chirping
added to the whistling of the warm breeze are the only sounds that can be heard
this early in the morning. The busy sparrows can be seen diving from their
boughs toward the dying grass in their daily search of worms. They pick about
the parched earth for even the slightest morsel of food and equally small insect.
Food around these parts is hard to come by, even the small amount it takes to
feed such a bird as the sparrow. Once, on this exact spot, stood a bird feeder
and even a birdbath, both filled almost daily. Though the feeder and bath are
still there, they have become broken and empty over time. The last time they
were filled with food and water was before the life of the present sparrows now
residing on the limbs on the old apple tree.

Not far from the apple tree is a small fenced in horse corral, though
indistinguishable now. The beams of wood that once surrounded the perimeter
have long fallen to the ground; the splits and cracks in the wood along with gray
discoloring reveal the wear and tear blended with the beating of the hot sun.
Once, the foundation stood strong and each beam carefully fit interlocked with
one another creating a strong and sturdy stable. Sometime ago a beautiful
(continues - more pages, not in the photo)

BOB DYLAN:
POET, LEGEND AND PIONEER

Tom Jensen
November 15, 1999
Intro. To Poetry
Biography Sketch

Jensen1
---
Trying to sum up the career of singer/songwriter Bob Dylan in a mere five
page paper is akin to naming all the songs he wrote in alphabetical order- from
"A Fool Such as I" to "You're no Good." All anyone has to know is that he has
thirty-three songs that start with W; Need I say more?

Bob Dylan was born Robert Allen Zimmerman on May 24, 1941 in Deluth,
Minnesota. Robert Zimmerman strolled on the stage in the early sixties with a
guitar on his shoulder and a harmonica in his mouth. Music has never been the
same since. He arrived in New York city hoping to replicate his hero, folk singer
Woody Guthrie. Not only did he replicate him but he surpassed him. Dylan's
writing ability and overall talent quickly propelled him towards stardom and
legend status among the music world.

Dylan is credited with blending folk music with rock and roll and also
reconnecting country and rock. Not to mention as well as reinventing the singer
and songwriter genre. In 1964, Dylan wrote "Mr. Tambourine Man," which was
the first hit of the Byrds in 1965. And so began folk rock.

The intensity of his performances and his live in-the-studio albums
(Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde) were a revelation. His lyrics were
analyzed, debated and quoted like no pop music before them. "I consider myself
a poet first and a musician second. I live like a poet and I'll die like a poet." -
Dylan said in 1978 according to "If There's An Original Thought Out There I
Could Use It Right Now: The Folk Roots of Bob Dylan (Zuckerman). He enlarged

Jensen2
---
pop's range, as well as its vocabulary. The music Dylan made in 1965 and 1966
revolutionized rock.

His songs electrified the civil rights movement, and breathed new life into
the folk music genre. As the mood in society and music changed so did Dylan as
he altered his perceptions of who he was and what he wanted to say. Dylan has
gone through a variety of stages in his music career but the only label that can
truly be applied is a pioneer.

I think that Dylan has already given so much of himself and so altered the
course of poetics in America that no matter what he does it's just gravy at
this point. Dylan has almost single-handedly brought language back into
its original poetic form which is minstrelsy.
- Quote on Dylan by Allen Ginsberg in the Georgia Straight on May 25,
1971.

One of Bob Dylan's first accomplishments to becoming a spokesman for
his era was the anti-war protest songs and lyrics. The 1960's were a time of
great change as the uprooting of the establishment became a goal of many new,
young thinkers. The old ways of fathers and grandfathers were being ridiculed as
many young people searched for something to believe in. Not all of them found
exactly what they were searching for, yet many things were ruled out along the
way. Hating war and war protest became a common tie that united many young
adults of the '60's and Dylan was a pioneer for this movement. The voice of
change can be heard in the following excerpt:

MASTERS OF WAR
Come you masters of war

You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hind behind walls

Jensen3
---
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
That I see through your masks

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Dylan is famous for pointing out the flaws, not only of his generation, but
of life. It seems that Dylan, being quite the visionary, sees people acting like
sheep and following what they're told as opposed to what they feel. When
people act this way they are easily taken advantage of. There are things in life
that are precious and must be preserved yet there are many people out there
who take advantage of everything at every opportunity. In other words: it's alright
ma, (they're only breaking the foundation of what is sacred to this world):
IT'S ALRIGHT, MA (I'M ONLY BLEEDING)

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Made everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates

Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have to stand naked

During the 1960's old values were quickly being displaced by new ones
Jensen4
---
and there was a growing tension between father and son / mother and daughter.
A generation gap was being discovered like none before as revolutionary change
was nearing. The power owned and abused by the elders of society was being
challenged by fresh young minds who were becoming more and more outspoken
over the injustice. Bob Dylan became a symbol of change and instant
spokesman for his generation with songs like this:

THE TIMES THEY ARE A'CHANGIN'

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.

Jensen5

Because of Bob Dylan many fans divide music into four parts: 1) music by
Dylan; 2) music that influenced Dylan; 3) music influenced by Dylan; and 4) crap.
On the subject of music, Dylan says the following: "The world don't need any
more songs. They've got enough. They've got way too many. As a matter of fact,
if nobody wrote any songs from this day on, the world ain't gonna suffer for it." -
Quote by Bob Dylan in 1991 as seen in "Bob Dylan" (Richardson).
---
It's good that Bob feels this way because, quite frankly, there are no
songs left to write because he's already written them all. He's probably covered
every topic imaginable, not including the endless symbolism that he often
incorporates in his works. The bar has been raised so high that no man could
reasonably believe to rise above the bar that is Bob Dylan.
Dylan critics may charge him with changing his image (as well as his
religion) one too many times and perhaps puncturing eardrums with long winded,
high pitched, harmonica solos. Still, others may say that his voice leaves a lot to
be desired and that the older he gets the worse he gets.
On the other hand, a Dylan supporter could make the argument that the
evil and corruption that encompass many of Dylan's songs cannot be completely
heard and understood if in perfect harmony. Often the truth is not pleasant nor
soothing yet must be seen as is. Life is not always on key.

Jensen6

Works Cited:

"Allen Ginsberg on the New Dylan." Georgia Straight 25 May. 1971. C1.

Richardson, Susan. Bob Dylan. New York: Chelsea House, 1995.

Zuckerman, Matthew. If There's An Original Thought Out There I Could Use It
Right Now: The Folk Roots of Bob Dylan. 1997
<http://www.expectingrain.com.html>.

Tom Jensen
December 1, 1999
Intro. To Poetry
Process Paper

BOB DYLAN

In my opinion there are two different forms in which poetry can be
categorized into - poetry that is a pleasure to the eyes (as in Shakespeare or
Edgar Allen Poe) and poetry which is a pleasure to the ears (as in music and
opera). Simply put there is written poems and songs. The poetry which is
included in both categories is often the most challenging. It takes more skill and
more of a mastery of both language and its sounds. I have never been attracted
to poetry in only word form - I appreciate beats and percussions. It is for this
reason I decided to choose Bob Dylan : Master wordsmith, master musician.
Upon first thoughts about presenting the works of Bob Dylan in the form of
a term paper I quickly realized that this is no easy task. Finding enough sources
on the life and works of Bob Dylan was the easy part. Narrowing down outside
opinions on his greatness and influence in the area of rock and roll, the use of
symbolism in song, folk music and society at large proved most difficult.
While first beginning to gather information I immediately entered my
bedroom and consulted the liner notes on the twenty something Dylan albums
that clutter the wall. I scan the song titles, searching for what I would consider
---
[Handwritten: Iden]
his most influential and message-orientated pieces. Several hours later the
tentative list had been narrowed down to eleven. Clearly, more time was [Handwritten: you example supports view research needed. how]
necessary. As I put the list aside I grab my shorts and some suntan lotion and [Handwritten: can you write it to illustrate the additional time spent?]
begin surfing the Web. First stop is BobDylan.Com, a website containing all his
song titles, verses and albums. A great resource for any poetry fan, let alone
rock and roll fan.
The final step becomes browsing a biography of Bob Dylan that hides in a
drawer. This source provides the necessary quotes from Dylan himself, a
mandatory ingredient of any attempt to explain and illustrate the influence that
Dylan has had during his musical and song writing career. The proverbial icing
on the cake.

[Handwritten: why?]
The result of these efforts yields a satisfactory paper in this humble [Handwritten: why switch from simple past tense]
opinion. The brief nature of the assignment in relation to an artist of this
magnitude creates a major challenge for a writer. The challenge of trying to
decide whether the reader is best served by a brief summary of key points and
ideas in the artist's life opposed to going into greater detail on fewer issues in [Handwritten: is quickly apparent.]
order to have an in-depth look at a specific area of the artist's life and works.
This writer chose a more summarized view, believing that there are too many
aspects of Dylan's influence to focus on merely one or two.
Any changes that could be made to this paper would include writing a
more focused paper on one specific topic - perhaps on Dylan's influence on [Handwritten: or]
rewriting the singer/song writing genre (or perhaps a paper focused on Dylan's [Handwritten: great idea!]
contributions towards the '60s revolution and anti war protests). I could always
[Handwritten: great to know about this!]
---
chose three different songs of his to analyze and use for examples of his
greatness. Any way you cut it Dylan is a great talent.

Your enthusiasm shines through
And is polished by your
able organization.
100

Tom Jensen
January 27, 1999
Creative Writing

A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall

The smoke from a half lit cigarette waves aimlessly through the air. A light brown guitar sits in the corner awaiting the delicate touch of its master. Three empty notebooks sit atop the table curiously wondering what will fill their blank pages. Will there be small sketches of beautiful young women or perhaps some silly verses about how everybody must get stoned? An old weathered, green chair, still feeling the pain of a dropped cigarette, reminices about the time it's owner, the master, once sat for what seemed like an eternity trying to capture the soul of a man named Hollis Brown. An old, rusty razor lays, forgotten, in a corner clutching on to one last piece of cocaine. A broken guitar string sits beneath a pile of trash still humming the melody of what it prays comes true in "Forever Young", and in the state of mind that it will never be thrown away.

A familiar face appears from behind a closed door. All of the objects in the room experience a buzz of excitement. Perhaps one of them will receive their master's attention, if even only for an instant. The master sits upon the green chair and sighs. "Must be another sad love song", the chair thinks to itself. The razor, on the other hand says, "I think he's angry at the world, I hope he's not as angry as that 'Masters of war' song...You know, the one that goes:

And I hope that you die
And you're death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

The master grabs the yellow notebook and begins jotting down a few lines. The guitar waits patiently, for it knows that the master always uses him and the notebook together. As plain as bread and butter and as sweet as peanut butter and jelly. After a little while, just like clockwork, the notebook is set aside and the inevitable happens. A quick tuning and he's off. "What'd he write, can you see?" asks the guitar, even though he'll be one of the first ones to hear. To which the notebook responds, "It's kinda hard to see considering everything's upside down but it looks like it says..." At that very instance the master begins strumming along and starts singing softly:
---
Close your eyes, close the door
You don't have to worry any more.
I'll be your baby tonight.

"Boy, were we off!" shouts the guitar, over the loud playing. "Sounds like a happy song."

After a quick cigarette and a half of joint the master begins to think to himself. He wonders to himself if all of the pain and sacrifice of all his endless nights of writing and playing are worth it. He wonders what will fill the next blank page. He remembers the night he turned heads as his audience watched (some in anger that he "sold out" and others in enjoyment) as he magically blended folk and rock into one. He remembers the boos, the cheers, and all the fans over the years. A smile is brought to his face as he thinks of going from playing in corner coffee shops in New York all the way to the big time.

He thinks of the night in the Chelsea Hotel writing "Sad-eyed Lady of the lowlands" for his wife Sarah. The master sits back in his chair, puts his feet on the table and stares at his pen. He stares deliberately at his pen as if looking for inspiration. The pens screams out inaudibly, "I love you, man!" But alas. The master cannot hear these words of love, though, he just continues staring at the pen.

The master then begins thinking about his almost fateful motorcycle crash and begins humming something about "knocking on heaven's door". The old, rusty razor yells with pride, "He used me that night, my God! I didn't sleep for a week!" The notebook, always of good humor, responds, "HELL, you could have killed him right there!" The master is always the center of attention in this room, as you might expect. Of course, being the greatest of all time can have that effect on people, er... things.

As the master was about to take a little rest he began to pick up a magazine in which he has been quoted. He ponders the ups and downs of being famous and all of the expectations that come with it. He reads his dialogue from an article about him, "You can't try you have to write for yourself. There are too many phonies out there and all the one hit wonders. They come up with a gimmick catch phrase, write some mumbo jumbo and the people love it. Six months later they've blown all their dough and the fans never even knew who
---
they were."

As he gazes out the window at the pouring rain out side the master wonders again who exactly he is writing for, who are the ones who really enjoy his work. He doesn't realize that his biggest fan is sitting right here in this room, it is actually his guitar. The two make a marvelous pair, not unlike the guitar and the notebook. Sometimes in this world in which we live in things are not always what they seem. This is the reason that the master continues with his work- to explain the unseen, to show what is right, what is pure and true and consequentially, what is wrong and needs to be changed. So with his aging face, fading voice and wearing guitar he carries on with no direction home, like a rolling stone. He knows how it feels to have to seek shelter from the storm. He is aware that the times they are a'changing and he's spreading the word to the uninformed. With that thought he begins to sing a few verses from one of his songs:

Stake my future on a hell of a past
Looks like tomorrow is coming on fast
Ain't complainin' 'bout what I got
Seen better times but who has not....

The guitar understands the master's thoughts as they have been partners for many years. If not for anyone else, he has been touched by their many nights together. The guitar has experienced what life outside the room is like through the master's music and is happy inside the dry, warm room. For the master has predicted that a hard rain's gonna fall and when you're made of wood you can't really hold an umbrella can you?

As the master is getting ready to lay down for a night's rest he happens to realize that he was sitting on one of his albums: SELF PORTRAIT by Bob Dylan. And on that note he falls asleep contently remembering what someone once said to him, "Don't think twice, it's alright."

[TITLE PAGE]
Scanned [green marker]

YEAH!
ESSAY 1

Tom Jensen
Final Draft of Essay 1
December 15, 1999
Professor Underhill
---
[PAGE 2]
"When you find that one thing in life that really grabs you - go with it. Considering the fact that we all spend the majority of our life either working or sleeping, doing what you love makes life worth living. It's when the little voice in your head says 'Yeah!' that's when you'll know." These few sentences have been etched into the frame of my existence ever since I sat in Professor M.'s classroom eight months ago. To hear the magic of these words at the time they were spoken still awes me - so simple, yet I never realized how important this concept was. I finally understood how important doing what you love is. This is the one time in my life where everything fit perfectly together all at the same time. I was in a class about creative writing being guest lectured by the novelist who uttered those special words. The author, Deborah Sand, was obviously grabbed as she has authored many novels and articles on many subjects. She seemed so happy. A happiness I thought could only be seen in dreams. What can I say? I was grabbed too.
Throughout my writing life I had always been hindered by rules. As a young child my writing activities were limited to what I did on my summer vacation and book reports. As high school came my imagination widened but the spectrum by which I could showcase my talents didn't - more book reports. Essays comparing and contrasting two authors' writing styles (I still am haunted by nightmares regarding two particular authors named Rose and Sizer) were as creative as I was allowed to get. Even the marvelous institution known as Salem State College would not free me from my shackles as they required my
---
[PAGE 3]
attendance in English Composition I. Even though my GPA appreciated the course, the monotony of writing the same five-paragraph essays lulled my creative senses to sleep. My love of writing began to fade.
In hopes of rekindling the fire that burned in my pen and my heart, I began writing on my own. I began writing about anything I could think of: poetry, songs, even articles for the college newspaper. I soon found that in writing poetry my creative nature excelled; every rule was thrown away. I escaped from form and structure - there were no commas or paragraphs, no thesises or periods - only freedom. Song writing became my own form of rebellion for all the picky papers I was forced to write in my earlier schooling. Every new poem was a slap in the face of the organization that every previous teacher had thrown at me. Topics and areas that I covered and wrote about for the college paper were completely up to me as I wrote on topics ranging from The Traveling Wilburys to the Meier Hall computer lab. My love of writing was saved.
Just as I hit the zenith of my poetry and song writing I began a course in creative writing. Looking back, it was as if I had been imprisoned for a decade, never seeing sunshine or feeling the sun upon my face and then all of a sudden...released... seeing the most glorious sunrise my eyes had ever gazed upon. Freedom to the highest degree. This class was like none I'd taken before; the teacher was a writer first opposed to being a teacher first. She did all the "teacher things," but her perspective was much different than any other teacher I'd previously studied under. She had first hand knowledge of the subject and offered a perspective that few teachers have had the luxury of knowing. She
---
[PAGE 4]
encouraged us to write what we wanted to write; she gave assignments with very few limitations. For instance, my first piece involved inanimate objects talking about how much they loved their master (Bob Dylan). How many papers have been written in college where a couch and a rusty razor "clutching on to one last piece of cocaine" are talking about a rock star? The best part is that I wasn't the only one who liked my piece's creativity. My teacher, who was "completely blown away," read it to the class. With every word she read aloud I felt a deeper sense of gratification. Every syllable she pronounced to the class made me feel increasingly gifted. She picked my paper above all the others. My classmates became an audience of inspiration.
I have a belief that states when people have to present their work to the class, be it in small groups or large, they will do better work. I have clearly noticed that people put more pride into something when it effects more than just that individual student and the teacher. I have a strong feeling that everyone is like me and craves to be picked out of the group and praised. This quest to be applauded and acknowledged as talented drives people to continually exceed expectations.
Every paper our class wrote was read and evaluated in peer groups, which usually consisted of six members. Each new composition I wrote had a guaranteed audience, which both inspired me to write to the best of my ability and also worried me about whether or not they would like it. I imagined that every writer felt these butterflies and I eventually assured myself that it was actually a good thing. For the first time in my academic career, I cared more about my
---
[PAGE 5]
peers' reactions than I did my teacher's. I craved acceptance as a good writer from the majority rather than the one person at the top of the proverbial ladder.
My newfound audience became my inspiration for writing papers. I tried to blend my creative "anything can come out of this kid's brain" style with my trademark sense of humor in an attempt to entertain the reader. I couldn't wait to get home to write, be it for class or myself, and I even brought a tiny notebook with me to work in case I had any earth-shattering ideas. My inner voice began screaming "YEAH!" and for the first time in my life I really did know what I wanted to be when I grew up. Inspiration had come over me like it never had before.
Bob Dylan is a writer who I admire most. He was a key spokesman for his generation during a time where new ideas were attempting to displace old ones. A time when values were changing and differing opinions between father and son and mother and daughter were too far apart to bridge the gap. Dylan captured an era through his poetry and songs. Dylan's ability to capture the soul of so many characters from so many walks of life captivate me to the point where he's achieved hero status. His writing capability is so above his peers that I could only dream of achieving merely half of his status. In my eyes, Bob Dylan is to my song-writing and poetry as the peer group (a.k.a. my audience) was to my paper writing. His works motivate me to attempt to reach his overall achievements just as my audience motivates me to write to their approval and exceed their expectations. But the way I see it, my best song is better than Bob's worst and that means a lot to me. A struggling young writer must look for inspiration anywhere it can be found.
---
[PAGE 6]
While on the subject of inspiration, the fact that the creative writing professor called me a born writer has further cemented my belief that I can make it in such a competitive field. A writer's goal is positive feedback from the reader. My teacher's comments, my grandmother crying upon reading a sad poem of mine, and what I feel in my heart about my talent continually motivate me every morning as I awake to be the best. Well, second to Dylan isn't all that bad, is it?
If I was a religious man I'd pray for the day when I can wake up in the morning and be a writer - first and foremost, rather than a painter or landscaper. To be able to push a pencil rather than a paintbrush. I often wonder what wonderful compositions have been lost due to the fact that I have to work a job with my hands rather than my brains. I have not found a job doing what I love yet but at least I know that I'll know it when I see it. Until I catch my break all I can do is dream towards the day when writing is my job rather than just my favorite hobby. But that day will come because echoing in my ear is the word "Yeah!"

YEAH BY Tom Jensen

"When you find that one thing in life that really grabs you - go with it.
Considering the fact that we all spend the majority of our life either working or
sleeping, doing what you love makes life worth living. It's when the little voice in
your head says 'YeahF that's when you'll know." These few sentences have
been etched into the frame of my existence ever since I sat in Professor
M.'s classroom eight months ago. To hear the magic of these words at the
time they were spoken still awes me - so simple, yet I never realized how
important this concept was. I finally understood how important doing what you
love is. This is the one time in my life where everything fit perfectly together all at
the same time. I was in a class about creative writing being guest lectured by the
novelist who uttered those special words. The author, Deborah Sand, was
obviously grabbed as she has authored many novels and articles on many
subjects. She seemed so happy. A happiness I thought could only be seen in
dreams. What can I say? I was grabbed too.

Throughout my writing life I had always been hindered by rules. As a young
child my writing activities were limited to what I did on my summer vacation and
book reports. As high school came my imagination widened but the spectrum by
which I could showcase my talents didn't - more book reports. Essays comparing
and contrasting two authors' writing styles (I still am haunted by nightmares
regarding two particular authors named Rose and Sizer) were as creative as I
was allowed to get. Even the marvelous institution known as Salem State
College would not free me from my shackles as they required my attendance in
English Composition I. Even though my GPA appreciated the course, the
monotony of writing the same five-paragraph essays lulled my creative senses to
sleep. My love of writing began to fade.

In hopes of rekindling the fire that burned in my pen and my heart, I began
writing on my own. I began writing about anything I could think of: poetry, songs,
even articles for the college newspaper. I soon found that in writing poetry my
creative nature excelled; every rule was thrown away I escaped from form and
structure - there were no commas or paragraphs, no thesises or periods - only
freedom Song writing became my own form of rebellion for all the picky papers 1
---
was forced to write in my earlier schooling. Every new poem was a slap in the
face of the organization that every previous teacher had thrown at me. Topics
and areas that I covered and wrote about for the college paper were completely
up to me as wrote on topics ranging from The Traveling Wilburys to the Meier
Hall computer lab. My love of writing was saved.

Just as I hit the zenith of my poetry and song writing I began a course in
creative writing. Looking back, it was as if I had been imprisoned for a decade,
never seeing sunshine or feeling the sun upon my face and then all of a
sudden...released... seeing the most glorious sunrise my eyes had ever gazed
upon. Freedom to the highest degree This class was like none I'd taken before;
the teacher was a writer first opposed to being a teacher first. She did all the
"teacher things," but her perspective was much different than any other teacher
I'd previously studied under. She had first hand knowledge of the subject and
offered a perspective that few teachers have had the luxury of knowing. She
encouraged us to write what we wanted to write; she gave assignments with very
few limitations. For instance, my first piece involved inanimate objects talking
about how much they loved their master (Bob Dylan). How many papers have
been written in college where a couch and a rusty razor "clutching on to one last
piece of cocaine" are talking about a rock star? The best part is that I wasn't the
only one who liked my piece's creativity. My teacher, who was "completely blown
away," read it to the class. With every word she read aloud I felt a deeper sense
of gratification. Every syllable she pronounced to the class made me feel
increasingly gifted. She picked my paper above all the others. My classmates
became an audience of inspiration.

i have a belief that states when people have to present their work to the
class be it in small groups or large, they will do better work. I have clearly
noticed that people put more pride into something when it effects more than just
that individual student and the teacher. I have a strong feeling that everyone is
like me and craves to be picked out of the group and praised. This quest to be
applauded and acknowledged as talented drives people to continually exceed
expectations.

Every paper our class wrote was read and evaluated in peer groups, which
---
usually consisted of six members. Each new composition I wrote had a
guaranteed audience, which both inspired me to write to the best of my ability
and also worried me about whether or not they would like it. I imagined that
every writer felt these butterflies and I eventually assured myself that it was
actually a good thing. For the first time in my academic career, I cared more
about my peers reactions than I did my teacher's. I craved acceptance as a good
writer from the majority rather than the one person at the top of the proverbial
ladder.

My newfound audience became my inspiration for writing papers. I tried to
blend my creative "anything can come out of this kid's brain" style with my
trademark sense of humor in an attempt to entertain the reader. I couldn't wait to
get home to write, be it for class or myself, and I even brought a tiny notebook
with me to work in case I had any earth-shattering ideas. My inner voice began
screaming "YEAH!" and for the first time in my life I really did know what I wanted
to be when I grew up. Inspiration had come over me like it never had before.

Bob Dylan is a writer who I admire most. He was a key spokesman for his
generation during a time where new ideas were attempting to displace old ones.
A time when values were changing and differing opinions between father and
son and mother and daughter were too far apart to bridge the gap. Dylan
captured an era through his poetry and songs. Dylan's ability to capture the soul
of so many characters from so many walks of life captivate me to the point where
he's achieved hero status His writing capability is so above his peers that I could
only dream of achieving merely half of his status. In my eyes, Bob Dylan is to my
song-writing and poetry as the peer group (a.k.a. my audience) was to my paper
writing. His works motivate me to attempt to reach his overall achievements just
as my audience motivates me to write to their approval and exceed their
expectations. But the way I see it, my best song is better than Bob s worst and
that means a lot to me. A struggling young writer must look for inspiration
anywhere it can be found.

While on the subject of Inspiration, the fact that the creative writing professor
called me a born writer has further cemented my belief that I can make it in such
a competitive field. A writer's goal is positive feedback from the reader My
---
teacher's comments, my grandmother crying upon reading a sad poem of mine, and what I feel in my heart about my talent continually motivate me every morning as I awake to be the best. Well, second to Dylan isn't all that bad, is it?

If I was a religious man I'd pray for the day when I can wake up in the morning and be a writer - first and foremost, rather than a painter or landscaper. To be able to push a pencil rather than a paintbrush. I often wonder what wonderful compositions have been lost due to the fact that I have to work a job with my hands rather than my brains. I have not found a job doing what I love yet but at least I know that I'll know it when I see it. Until I catch my break all I can do is dream towards the day when writing is my job rather than just my favorite hobby. But that day will come because echoing in my ear is the word "Yeah!"

AVOIDING MY OLD HOBBY by Tom Jensen

As the slow and steady rain falls from the sky down onto the ground I am awakened by the aroma of my father's coffee as it slowly seeps beneath my door and finally reaches my nose. Upon waking and gathering my senses another thought fills my head. If the morning coffee is ready it must be time for my waking routine of having a cup of hot Java in one hand (with cream and sugar, of course) and a newly lit cigarette in the other. My life is just a series of routine after routine. It is my belief that each person's series of routines either makes or breaks their life, and makes up their lifestyle.

We are all creatures of habit, whether we like it or not. My unfortunate luck is that I always seem to get stuck with the bad habits rather than the good ones. You see, a majority of my bad habits, or routines, are all interconnected. Imagine a chain link fence or perhaps a sweater, each individual fabric or link holds all the others in place. Even if one or two individual structures are removed the form, or routine, will remain the same. This interconnectedness is what makes the structure, in my case the routine, the same. The coffee leads to a cigarette and. the cigarette leads to an even greater evil: drugs and alcohol.

My dilemma is that to take only a part out will not change the structure and therefor do no good. There will still be links to the past. With links to the past still remaining it becomes much harder to change a daily pattern. Not only must the chain link fence be disassembled but its very foundation be torn from the ground. It takes a very strong man to do that - to completely change a lifestyle. In order to achieve a goal of this magnitude the right substitutes must be chosen and a new foundation must be poured. School is that substitute and my strength is beginning to build.
---
At first, it seems impossible to go from one end of the spectrum to the
other, especially in the matter of a day. It takes the help of family, friends and
Loved ones,

Most importantly it takes courage. With every day that passes, as I go from
one end to the other, new obsticles and pitfalls await me. ! know 1 can't give in
and I must avoid them at all costs. The cost of a change this drastic can include
anything from people to places to things and in my case all of the above.
This change is so important to me that many elements that make up my life
must be left by the roadside. Banned from my life are my best friend Frankie (
(for it is much to close to evil), and finally anything of mine which refers to drugs
or alcohol. 1 mentioned that the right substitutes must be chosen. These
substitutes include school, my girlfriend and my father's house. They say that
idle time is the Devil's plaything so school now takes up most of my time. What
time is left is alotted to my girlfriend who persuaded me to change in the first
place. My father's house has always been my safe haven from the life I used to
lead. 1 always knew that someday I'd change so I never included my father's
house in my partying plans and none of my old friends know the number.

It's been a wonderful transformation, waking up and doing something
constructive rather than destructive. Every day that 1 make it through further
adds to the new foundation ! am trying to establish. Before this change in
---
lifestyle 1 viewed my life as a day to day occurrence and on my worst days hour
to hour. Now that I've seen the light, I plan for my future and acting for my long
term best interests is my daily routine. No longer am 1 wasting away my time
nor my mind.

Happiness has always been an achievable goal for me no matter how
desperate the situation has looked. I'm such an optimist that 1 can justify almost
any action. For example, if I got drunk as a skunk I'd almost be happy because I
wasn't doing anything worse. The pathetic part is that I'd look at it and see a
positive, "Well, at least I'm only doing one substance at a time." I've come to
recognize that I can only choose hobbies that are one-hundred percent good for
me, 99.9% won't do anymore. Drinking may be better than choice B or choice C
but in the grand scheme of things its on the bottom of the Totem Pole.

If idle time is indeed the Devil's plaything then homework is my stairway
to heaven. When you've already made the Dean's List with a 3.68 G P A while
doing enough drugs to knock a horse over imagine what you can do straight?
That is the way I must now approach life. A 4.0 G.P.A. is now an achievable
goal. My lifestyle has changed to the point that 1 now get a high out of life and
am even addicted to grades and knowledge. Every page I turn and every
sentence I write gives me a tingling sensation that replaces the effect of drugs I
now stay awake hoping that the teacher gives me a paper to write or a test to
study for. The more schooiwork I have to do, the less time I have to do other
things (including straying from my new lifestyle).

Everyday, memories from the past fill up my head: the happiness and
also the pain that the old life brought me. I try to focus on the negatives rather
than the positives. The pleasures will lead me back while the pain will keep me
---
away forever. If I am ever to succeed 1 must become pessimistic when I
remember what was. The road is long and winding but my strength is beginning
to build.

I know that now is the time for me to change. My buddy from the
basement (the old days) can't change right now because there is nothing in his
life left to fill the void that not doing drugs and partying would leave. I can
substitute enough things to fill that emptiness that I am left with. If he cut all his
ties his world would be empty and he'd be alone on Friday night remembering
how much fun the past was. I think about how fun the future will be.

I was smart in that I prepared myself for this monumental change. By
writing for the school paper even more of my time must be dedicated towards
something other than drugs. My relationship with my girlfriend became a roliar
coaster because of my lifestyle and she forced me to choose one or the other.
Lucky for me I chose right.

My old hobby was so difficult to break that my new hobbies include
anything that keeps me away from the old one. School is now my main hobby
and its working better than expected. The old foundation was strong but my
strength is beginning to show.

Scanned

Tom Jensen
March 1, 1999
Creative Writing

Avoiding my old hobby

As the slow and steady rain falls from the sky down onto the ground I am
reminded of the sound of hot coffee perculating. I think about waking up to the aroma of
my father's coffee as it slowly seeps beneath my door and finally reaches my nose.
---
Upon waking and gathering my senses another thought fills my head. If the morning coffee is ready it must be time for my waking routine of having a cup of hot java in one hand (with cream and sugar, of course) and a newly lit cigarette in the other. My life is just a series of routine after routine. It is my belief that each person's series of routines either makes or breaks their life, and makes up their lifestyle.

We are all creatures of habit, whether we like it or not. My unfortunate luck is that I always seem to get stuck with the bad habits rather than the good ones. You see, a majority of my bad habits, or routines, are all interconnected. Imagine a chain link fence or perhaps a sweater, each individual fabric or link holds all the others in place. Even if one or two individual structures are removed the form, or routine, will remain the same. This interconnectedness is what makes the structure, in my case the routine, the same. The coffee leads to a cigarette and the cigarette leads to an even greater evil: drugs and alcohol.

My dilemma is that to take only a part out will not change the structure and therefor do no good. There will still be links to the past. With links to the past still remaining it becomes much harder to change a daily pattern. Not only must the chain link fence be disassembled but its very foundation be torn from the ground. It takes a very strong man to do that - to completely change a lifestyle. In order to achieve a goal of this magnitude the right substitutes must be chosen and a new foundation must be poured. School is that substitute and my strength is beginning to build.

At first, it seems impossible to go from one end of the spectrum to the other, especially in the matter of a day. It takes the help of family, friends and loved ones.
---
Most importantly it takes courage. With every day that passes, as I go from one end to the other, new obsticles and pitfalls await me. I know I can't give in and I must avoid them at all costs. The cost of a change this drastic can include anything from people to places to things and in my case all of the above.

This change is so important to me that many elements that make up my life must be left by the roadside. Banned from my life are my best friend Frankie ( otherwise known as my buddy from the basement), living at my mother's house (for it is much to close to evil), and finally anything of mine which refers to drugs or alcohol. I mentioned that the right substitutes must be chosen. These substitutes include school, my girlfriend and my father's house. They say that idle time is the Devil's plaything so school now takes up most of my time. What time is left is alotted to my girlfriend who persuaded me to change in the first place. My father's house has always been my safe haven from the life I used to lead. I always knew that someday I'd change so I never included my father's house in my partying plans and none of my old friends know the number.

It's been a wonderful transformation, waking up and doing something constructive rather than destructive. Every day that I make it through further adds to the new foundation I am trying to establish. Before this change in lifestyle I viewed my life as a day to day occurrence and on my worst days hour to hour. Now that I've seen the light, I plan for my future and acting for my long term best interests is my daily routine.

No longer am I wasting away my time nor my mind.

Happiness has always been an achievable goal for me no matter how desperate the situation has looked. I'm such an optimist that I can justify almost any action. For
---
example, if I got drunk as a skunk I'd almost be happy because I wasn't doing anything worse. The pathetic part is that I'd look at it and see a positive, "Well, at least I'm only doing one substance at a time." I've come to recognize that I can only choose hobbies that are one-hundred percent good for me, 99.9% won't do anymore. Drinking may be better than choice B or choice C but in the grand scheme of things its on the bottom of the Totem Pole.

If idle time is indeed the Devil's plaything then homework is my stairway to heaven. When you've already made the Dean's List with a 3.68 G.P.A. while doing enough drugs to knock a horse over imagine what you can do straight? That is the way I must now approach life. A 4.0 G.P.A. is now an achievable goal. My lifestyle has changed to the point that I now get a high out of life and am even addicted to grades and knowledge. Every page I turn and every sentence I write gives me a tingling sensation that replaces the effect of drugs. I now stay awake hoping that the teacher gives me a paper to write or a test to study for. The more schoolwork I have to do, the less time I have to do other things (including straying from my new lifestyle).

Everyday, memories from the past fill up my head: the happiness and also the pain that the old life brought me. I try to focus on the negatives rather than the positives. The pleasures will lead me back while the pain will keep me away forever. If I am ever to succeed I must become pessimistic when I remember what was. The road is long and winding but my strength is beginning to build.
---
I know that now is the time for me to change. My buddy from the basement (the old days) can't change right now because there is nothing in his life left to fill the void that not doing drugs and partying would leave. I can substitute enough things to fill that emptiness that I am left with. If he cut all his ties his world would be empty and he'd be alone on Friday night remembering how much fun the past was. I think about how fun the future will be.

I was smart in that I prepared myself for this monumental change. By writing for the school paper even more of my time must be dedicated towards something other than drugs. My relationship with my girlfriend became a rollar coaster because of my lifestyle and she forced me to choose one or the other. Lucky for me I chose right.

My old hobby was so difficult to break that my new hobbies include anything that keeps me away from the old one. School is now my main hobby and its working better than expected. The old foundation was strong but my strength is beginning to show.
---
INCLUDE WITH state NEWSPAPER Salem article

Introducing the best band you may have never heard of...

A quick check to see if you have a pulse: Have you heard of The Beatles? Yes, good. Bob Dylan and the Band? Yeah? I'm proud of ya already. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers? Groovy. Now it gets a little harder...Roy Orbison? (Yes, the Pretty Woman song) great!! Here it is, drum roll please.....The million dollar question-Jeff Lynne? No? Don't worry, me neither. What do these musicians all have in common?
I'd like to introduce you to the Traveling Wilburys:
Nelson Wilbury a.k.a. George Harrison of The Beatles
Otis Wilbury a.k.a. Jeff Lynne a.k.a. the guy you've never heard of
Lefty Wilbury a.k.a. Roy Orbison a.k.a. The Dead Guy
Lucky Wilbury a.k.a. Bob Dylan a.k.a. Robert Zimmerman
Charlie T. Jnr. Wilbury a.k.a. Tom Petty
Who are the Wilburys and what are they about? Take a look at the liner notes contained in volume one:

The original Wilburys were a stationary people who, realising that their civilisation could not stand still for ever, began to go for short walks -not the "traveling" as we now know it, but certainly as far as the corner and back. They must have taken to motion, in much the same way as penguins were at the time taking to ledges, for the next time we hear of them they were going out for the day (often taking lunch or a picnic). Later - we don't as yet know how much later - some intrepid Wilburys began to go away for the weekend, leaving late Friday and coming back Sunday. It was they who evolved simple rythmic forms to describe their adventures.

A remarkable sophisticated musical culture developed, considering there were no managers or agents, and the further the Wilburys traveled the more their adventurous their music became, and the more it was revered by the elders of the tribe who believed it had the power to stave off madness, turn brunettes into blondes and increase the size of their ears.

But as the Wilburys began to go further and further in their search for musical inspiration they found themselves the object of interest among many less developed species - nightclub owners, tour operators and recording executives. To the Wilburys, who had only just learnt how to cope with wives, roadiesand drummers, it was a blow from which many of them never recovered. They became hairdressers or TV rental salespersons.

But a tiny handful survived - the last of the Traveling Wilburys - and the songs gathered here represent the popular laments, the epic and heroic tales which characterise the apotheosis of the elusive Wilbury sound. The message of the musical travels, as indeed they travels , as indeed they traveled and as I myself must now travel for further treatment. Good listening, good night and Let Thy Wilbury Done.

Unfortunately, the list of remaining Wilburys has been reduced by one since Roy died. They've been looking for a replacement and have interviewed several candidates, among the noteworthy include Wierd Al Wilbury- he sure can polka Snoop
---
NEWSPAPER Salem article

Doggy Wilbury - I'm sure they're trying to find a younger, hipper fan base, and finally there is George Michael Wilbury- even though he hasn't gotten a call back he has "faith."

The Wilburys recorded two albums, Volume 1 and Volume 3, there is no Volume 2. Volume 1 won a 1988 Grammy for Best Rock Performance Group and included such hits as "Handle with Care", "End of the Line" and my personal favorite "Last Night", which became my college life theme song. This band just may be the greatest collection of individual talent ever! Harrison and Dylan are in their own atmosphere as far as rock goes. Petty has had a great career with the Heartbreakers and I've seen Orbison on those greatest hits of the 80's comercials on TV. We still don't know who the heck Otis Wilbury (Jeff Lynne) is or where he came from but the tests aren't back yet.

It is surprising to see such big name stars blend together into the harmony that the Wilburys create. Although I sometimes confuse Petty's voice with Dylan's in a couple of songs (quite a compliment, huh?) I assure you I can tell Orbison from Harrison. If anyone knows who the "Mystery Member" Otis Wilbury is please let me know. He looks a little like Jerry Garcia. If you or your parents have any Wilbury remains remember to treasure them, they might be worth money someday. Even though no one could ever put a price on what the Wilburys mean to me I will trade Volume 1 for Rolling Stones tickets.

If you've lost touch with the Wilburys the last, oh say, ten years there is a reason. The Traveling Wilburys recorded on their own record label - Wilbury, but with so many big stars they all had to sign recording deals. So with their usual recording label on hold they went with the Wilbury label. After Orbison died and the band broke up all the recording agreements expired. Apparently they don't make any more copies of Volume 1 or 3 and only have what hasn't sold yet. However on the internet I discovered that CD NOW and CD LAND say that they have copies for sale. I tried looking at the local music stores for any Wilbury remains and have found none.

So it is now up to us to carry on the Wilbury name. I, for one, am changing my name to Chester Wilbury.

Do you have a scoop? Email me: [private detail]
---
Will Elway retire? Try asking Jordan by Tom Jensen

My name is John El way. I have just been named the MVP of the Superbowl and I may retire. I played minor league baseball (single A with the Yankees) and was MVP of the league in 1987. Did I mention I've been in 5 Superbowls? Enter Mr. Jordan. My name is Michael Jordan. I have just won the NBA Finals and was named the Final's MVP and I retired. I also played minor league baseball (double A with the WhiteSox) and was also MVP of the league in 1987. Did I mention I've been to the Finals 6 times and won all 6?

I give you this statement: No quarterback has ever won three Superbowls in a row. John Elway has won two in a row. I give you this question: Will Elway go out on top? I don't mean just any top we're talking tip of the iceberg here. He has the best running back in football in Terrell Davis, one of the top tight ends in the game in Shannon Sharpe (although you wouldn't know it from watching the Big Game), and a defense good enough to hold Atlanta's offense to just 19 points.

Michael aside, Elway is still a top NFL quarterback who can lead his team to a win. Want further proof? How about more fourth quarter or overtime winning drives (47) than any other quarterback who ever lived. This year he threw for 22 touchdowns and only 10 interceptions, yes better then Drew "pull my finger" Bledsoe. He threw for 336 yards, including an 80 yard bomb to wide receiver Rod Smith, in the Superbowl after a poor performance in last year's win.

I think he will call it a career now that the season is over. He's played sixteen years, won the last two titles and can still walk. John has four kids and a lovely wife that would love to see him for more than six months a year. If he does end it I'm sure he could be the mayor of Denver (until Terrell retires with 12 consecutive MVP's). Jessie 'The Body' Ventura meet John 'The Teeth' Elway.

When football quarterbacks are compared the only statistic that matters is how many Championship rings they wear. Joe Montana was so good they named a state after him, Have you ever heard of even a small town called Marino? Didn't think so. Elway's got two rings and can be considered with the top of his class if not the valedictorian, can't do much better than that can you? Unless of course you're name Is Michael Jordan.

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Tom Jensen
January 27, 1999
Creative Writing

A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall

The smoke from a half lit cigarette waves aimlessly through the air. A light brown guitar sits in the corner awaiting the delicate touch of its master. Three empty notebooks sit atop the table curiously wondering what will fill their blank pages. Will there be small sketches of beautiful young women or perhaps some silly verses about how everybody must get stoned? An old weathered, green chair, still feeling the pain of a dropped cigarette, reminisces about the time it's owner, the master, once sat for what seemed like an eternity trying to capture the soul of a man named Hollis Brown. An old, rusty razor lays, forgotten, in a corner clutching on to one last piece of cocaine. A broken guitar string sits beneath a pile of trash still humming the melody of what it prays comes true in "Forever Young", and in the state of mind that it will never be thrown away.

A familiar face appears from behind a closed door. All of the objects in the room experience a buzz of excitement. Perhaps one of them will receive their master's attention, if even only for an instant. The master sits upon the green chair and sighs. "Must be another sad love song", the chair thinks to itself. The razor, on the other hand says, "I think he's angry at the world, I hope he's not as angry as that 'Masters of war' song... You know, the one that goes:

And I hope you die
And you're death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

The master grabs the yellow notebook and begins jotting down a few lines. The guitar waits patiently, for it knows that the master always uses him and the notebook together. As plain as bread and butter and as sweet as peanut butter and jelly. After a little while, just like clockwork, the notebook is set aside and the inevitable happens. A quick tuning and he's off. "What'd he write, can you see?" asks the guitar, even though he'll be one of the first ones to hear. To which the notebook responds, "It's kinda hard to see considering everything's upside down but it looks like it says..." At that very instance the master begins strumming along and starts singing softly:
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they were."

As he gazes out the window at the pouring rain out side the master wonders again who exactly he is writing for, who are the ones who really enjoy his work. He doesn't realize that his biggest fan is sitting right here in this room, it is actually his guitar. The two make a marvelous pair, not unlike the guitar and the notebook. Sometimes in this world in which we live in things are not always what they seem. This is the reason that the master continues with his work- to explain the unseen, to show what is right, what is pure and true and consequentially, what is wrong and needs to be changed. So with his aging face, fading voice and wearing guitar he carries on with no direction home, like a rolling stone. He knows how it feels to have to seek shelter from the storm. He is aware that the times they are a'changing and he's spreading the word to the uninformed. With that thought he begins to sing a few verses from one of his songs:

Stake my future on a hell of a past
Looks like tomorrow is coming on fast
Ain't complainin' 'bout what I got
Seen better times but who has not....

The guitar understands the master's thoughts as they have been partners for many years. If not for anyone else, he has been touched by their many nights together. The guitar has experienced what life outside the room is like through the master's music and is happy inside the dry, warm room. For the master has predicted that a hard rain's gonna fall and when you're made of wood you can't really hold an umbrella can you?

As the master is getting ready to lay down for a night's rest he happens to realize that he was sitting on one of his albums: SELF PORTRAIT by Bob Dylan. And on that note he falls asleep contently remembering what someone once said to him, "Don't think twice, it's alright."

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"Boy, were we off!" shouts the guitar, over the loud playing. "Sounds
like a happy song."

After a quick cigarette and a half of joint the master begins
to think to himself. He wonders to himself if all of the pain and
sacrifice of all his endless nights of writing and playing are worth
it. He wonders what will fill the next blank page. He remembers the
night he turned heads as his audience watched (some in anger that he
"sold out" and others in enjoyment) as he magically blended folk and
rock into one. He remembers the boos, the cheers, and all the fans
over the years. A smile is brought to his face as he thinks of going
from playing in corner coffee shops in New York all the way to the
big time.

He thinks of the night in the Chelsea Hotel writing "Sad-eyed Lady
of the lowlands" for his wife Sarah. The master sits back in his
chair, puts his feet on the table and stares at his pen. He stares
deliberately at his pen as if looking for inspiration. The pens
screams out inaudibly, "I love you, man!" But alas. The master
cannot hear these words of love, though, he just continues staring at
the pen.

The master then begins thinking about his almost fateful
motorcycle crash and begins humming something about "knocking on
heaven's door". The old, rusty razor yells with pride, "He used me
that night, my God! I didn't sleep for a week!" The notebook, always
of good humor, responds, "HELL, you could have killed him right
there!" The master is always the center of attention in this room,
as you might expect. Of course, being the greatest of all time can
have that effect on people, er... things.

As the master was about to take a little rest he began to
pick up a magazine in which he has been quoted. He ponders the ups
and downs of being famous and all of the expectations that come with
it. He reads his dialogue from an article about him, "You can't try
to come up with songs that people will think is all hip and cool,
you have to write for yourself. There are too many phonies out there
and all the one hit wonders. They come up with a gimmick catch
phrase, write some mumbo jumbo and the people love it. Six months
later they've blown all their dough and the fans never even knew who

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DOCTOR'S OFFICE by Tom Jensen
Tom Jensen
November 12, 1999
Writing for Media
Feature Piece

She sits in the doctor's office watching several children around her playing
with their toys, wondering why life couldn't have been that simple for her. No
limitations, no funny looks - only a carefree child's mentality. It seems that these
children have never knew anything but fitting in and having fun. Of course, she's
older now, and with age comes the responsibility of making it to the doctor's
office by herself. Yet her father still accompanies her and tries his best to
comfort her, hiding his own nervousness. His eyes appear a little weary after a
two-hour drive but important news should not be heard alone.

The nurse calls her name as she wipes her sweaty palm on the sides of
her jeans. Her father follows. This day could be one of the most important of her
life, on par only with high school graduation and almost dying of bacterial
meningitis as a very young child. The latter being the reason why she's in the
doctor's office in the first place. Every parent prays for a perfect child. This visit
could be a step closer to perfection.

Though she survived the bacterial meningitis some of her hearing did not.
Her left ear was diagnosed with moderate hearing loss and her right ear, a mild
hearing loss. At four years old she was fitted for over-the-ear hearing aids.
Childhood had its periods of ups and downs as young children can be cruel and
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side effects. She's on such a strong dose that when she stops taking if she has
to be weaned off of if and if she suddenly stopped taking it her heart could stop.
The prednisone suppresses the immune system to the point where it is at about
half strength. It is hoped that the immune system is attacking her hearing and
causing the loss. Stop the immune system and thereby stop the hearing loss.

Over the last three weeks she has suffered from insomnia, bloating,
nausea, muscle weakness, head ache and excessive mood swings (just ask her
boyfriend). She missed several days of school and work after taking the first
dose of medicine but hopes in the end that it will be well worth the pain.

This appointment will show how the prednisone has reacted and whether or
not there is reason to continue treatment. Any signs of her hearing returning will
warrant more treatment and continued hope. Past doctors have warned her that
her good ear could possibly follow the same path as her bad ear rendering her
deaf. A chilling thought for a twenty-year old supposedly in the prime of her life.

Finally, the doctor enters the room. He greets them both and offers a
warm smile which brightens both the father and the daughter's faces. He
proceeds to tell them that he is the bearer of good news. It seems that her bad
ear has gone up 10 decibels since before treatment She is elated. He also says
that a new hearing aid can increase her good ear from 70% hearing to roughly
95% and adds a feature that includes a microphone that her teacher could wear
that would transmit his voice directly into an attachment to her hearing aid.
Technology isn't cheap, though, this hearing aid costs about $3,600.

Doctors say her hearing should improve with time though they predict a
long process. It took years for her hearing to get this far, and the recovery
process is expected to be just as long. There is finally hope....

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outcast what they don't understand. The hearing aids provided some relief in the
classroom but she still suffered additional hearing losses during the coming
years. Second grade is remembered only as an endless series of tests trying to
discover what caused yet another hearing loss. Early memories include this
seven year old girl being placed in a giant tube and also having ice water placed
in her ears.

As a senior in high school more hearing problems occurred, it became
increasingly difficult for her to understand lectures in class, and even participate.
Quite a burden for a mere teenager to bear. She later admits that she was in
complete denial of the fact that her right ear was hearing less and less with each
day. She did nothing.

Eventually, she could deny no more. Three years later she has practically
no hearing in her right ear, as the left ear remains steady, yet below normal. But
an unproven and unapproved treatment has turned countless nights of crying
info guarded hope. Hope, which has been long awaited for and comes by the
name of prednisone.

Prednisone is a highly controversial drug when used in cases involving
hearing loss. It is believed that she suffers from auto-immune inner ear
syndrome, though is not yet recognized by the FDA, it is in the process of being
tested. The treatment is not covered by any insurance and offers a variety of

Curious about what happens because of the Y2K bug? For a glimpse of the future stop by the computer lab in Meier Hall Room 210.

As you walk in, you briefly survey the scene. There are nine or ten students typing away on their keyboards - typing up reports and E-mailing their friends. The wonderful staff in charge of the lab is busy as well. As well as figuring out why your computer won't print or why you can't log into BobDylan.com they are also using their creativity. I believe that the staff of this computer lab makes better signs than anyone I've ever met, and a lot of them too. A pretty red one reads "out of order". Over in the corner is a computer with two nicely crafted works of art "Not working, Sorry" and "Need new power supply". This is just the beginning. I mentioned the staff's creativity but I neglected to mention their resourcefulness. Immediately on your right as you walk in you see two computers set aside for the physically challenged (yes, another computer made sign complete with color). If you look closely you'll see that on one of them the monitor is being held up with two academic computing books. The last time I checked, books were for reading and maybe for holding up the leg of your old broken sofa, not for holding up monitors where someone in a wheelchair might have a hard time getting out of the way if it were to fall. I do admit that it is a resourceful idea, though.

I come into this lab several times a week and don't get me wrong, the staff here does a wonderful job at working with what they have (which at the moment isn't much). If you have a problem, and the odds are you will, they always do the best they can. Six out of the twenty-three computers available to the students aren't functioning correctly. I did the math quickly and it's a little over one/fourth. Considering this is the most highly used lab on campus I expect a little more than that and I think you do too. One thing that I do like is that they have one clock on each side of the room, that way if I forget which side it's on and look hastily I'm bound to see one of them. They also have three fans located strategically around the room. It
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seems to this untrained eye that a pattern is developing here - what we don't need, they have
many of, and what we do need they have few of.
The last couple of weeks they cut their weekly hours from 8:00AM - 11:00PM to
9:00AM - 9:00PM because of a budget cut. I think once word got around that I was doing a
story they changed the hours back. That's what I tell people anyway.
Back to the problem; from what I see there are several issues that add to the demise of
MH210. First of all, these are the oldest computers at Salem State, so of course, they're bound
to have the most problems. Jared S., Rick T. and Jimmy B. have the job of
fixing all the lab computers on campus. They definitely have their hands full. For example,
while writing this article here at MH210, I've had a few "problems". Where do I begin? Well, for
the last hour and ten minutes I've had to switch computers four (yes four) times because
Microsoft Word would not work properly. But fortunately for me, there were two consecutive
computers not working. So, while waiting for Jimmy to troubleshoot the problem, I set three of
the comfy chairs in front of the broken computers and took a nap. It got so bad that Jamie
Cowan, a contagiously effervescent computer support specialist, ended up typing my paper
over to save me time. I still use the hunt and peck method so sometimes it takes me awhile
(and that's aside from the hour and ten minutes wasted because of faulty equipment). Jimmy
spent about half an hour searching to find the problem but by the time it was retrieved it
resembled hieroglyphics more than an article. This is just a sample of the problems that the
staff has to handle everyday. Keep in mind this is just one students troubles during a three
hour period.
What is being done about the problem? In an interview with Jared S. I have
heard some encouraging news. There is hope for the students and the staff here in Meier Hall
210. There is a plan in the works to fix what problems the computers have within the next
couple of weeks. Better still, hopefully all the computers will be replaced by the fall. There was
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a plan to get the computers from Harrington Building room 100, seeing that there are four labs there, but things don't always go as planned. Mr. S. has been on the job since December and has already fixed many problems, however he is but one man. He maybe good but it's hard to move ahead when there's always a problem of greater importance. "Sometimes I have to put out fires and when that happens there's less progress than anticipated," says S.. He also stated that he'd rather be challenged than bored, I don't think he has much to worry about.

Rick T., the lab supervisor, spends forty hours a week here and estimates that about thirty of those hours are used troubleshooting the problem(s) of the day. Rick explains that, "The problem also lies with the students. About 20-30 of them are dangerous and they mess things up for us and the other students." There have been stories about certain students sabotaging a computer so that when they come in there is a sign that says broken. They come right in, sit down and type in the missing command and therefore it's always available to them.

There have been many students that have been complaining about signing in. Justin Pagano, E-mail coordinator, expresses the student's thoughts quite eloquently "A pound of flesh, a pint of blood, your first born son and three forms of I.D." What must be remembered is that the lab attendants, like Justin, do not make the rules they only enforce them. The reason for the inconvenience is that this is used as a safeguard against those who do not conform to the rules. If something goes wrong then the attendants are held responsible. It seems that they are always held responsible. Jamie Cowan sees this problem quite frequently, "Recently we have been getting a lot of angry people, particularly night students, who come into the lab and take their frustrations out on the attendants. We simply refuse to let a student use the computers until he/she can show us adequate proof. When they come in with an attitude, swearing at us and kicking doors, we call campus police and ban them from the lab for the rest of the semester."