Longcomp1Genre1

I chose to write a diary entry from Marilyn Manson himself. My project is going to be events in his life in chronological order. Examples of Diary Entries [|http://www.annhandley.com/2008/11/17/four-diary-entries/] ** April 23, 2008 ** Strapped into a seat, tended to by uniformed attendants, I can’t help but compare airline travel to a stay in a nursing home. In coach travel, that’s a vaguely depressing thing: It’s like quarantine in a cramped institution with inadequate funding. But here, in First Class, it makes me look forward to growing old more than I already do. The Serbian flight attendant assigned to the handful of us here looks blocky and sturdy, like she is carved with a chainsaw out of a tree trunk. She seems formidable, yet kind. When she bends to whisper to me, her voice is soft as butter on warm toast. “Would you like a blanket?” she coos in my ear, in a tone that suggests she is used to cajoling folks to finish what’s on their plates. I nod, and she lifts a burly forearm to drape the blanket gently over my lap. A little while later, she wheels the food cart down the wide aisle as easily as a doll carriage. When I ask for tea, she offers me a china cup and saucer, and a real metal spoon. This might be just a morning flight to LA. But sitting upright and fixed, surrounded by the softly muted clinks of china and attended to by someone with strong and capable forearms, I think that First Class comes pretty close to the dining hall at a better-funded facility. I fill my lungs with the stale, too-warm air, lean back, and drift off. [] August 1, 1944 Dearest Kitty, No one knows Anne’s better side, and that’s why most people can’t stand me. Oh, I can be an amusing clown for an afternoon, but after that everyone’s had enough of me to last a month. Actually, I’m what a romantic film is to a profound thinker – a mere diversion, a comic interlude, something that is soon forgotten: not bad, but not particulary good either. I hate having to tell you this, but why shouldn’t I admit it when I know it’s true? My lighter, more superficial side will always steal a march on the deeper side and therefore always win. You can’t imagine how often I’ve tried to push away this Anne, **which is only half of what is known as Anne** - to beat her down, hide her. But it doesn’t work, and I know why. I’m afraid that people who know me as I usually am will discover I have another side, a better and finer side. I’m afraid they’ll mock me, think I’m ridiculous and sentimental and not take me seriously. I’m used to not being taken seriously, but only the “lighthearted” Anne is used to it and can put up with it; the “deeper” Anne is too weak. If I force the good Anne into the spotlight for even fifteen minutes, she shuts up like a clam the moment she’s called upon to speak, and lets Anne number one do the talking. Before I realize it, she’s disappeared. So the nice Anne is never seen in company. She’s never made a single appearance, though she almost always takes the stage whem I’m alone. I know exactly how I’d like to be, how I am. . . on the inside. But unfortunately I’m only like that with myself. And perhaps that’s why – no, I’m sure that’s the reason why – I think of myself as happy on the inside and other people think I’m happy on the outside. I’m guided by the pure Anne within, but on the outside I’m nothing but a frolicsome little goat tugging at its tether. As I’ve told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being a boy-chaser, a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. **The happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she couldn’t care less.** The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I’m being completely honest, I’ll have to admit that it does matter to me, that I’m trying very hard to change myself, but that I’m always up against a more powerful enemy. A voice within me is sobbing, “You see, that’s what’s become of you. You’re surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people who dislike you, and all because you don’t listen to the advice of your own better half.” Believe me, I’d like to listen, but it doesn’t work, because if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks I’m putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I’m not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be ill, stuff me with asprins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can’t keep it up any more, beause when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I’d like to be and what I could be if. . . if only there were no other people in the world. Yours, Anne M. Frank
 * “A bundle of contradictions”** was the end of my previous letter and is the beginning of this one. Can you please tell me exactly what “a bundle of contradictions” is? **What does “contradiction” mean?** **Like so many words, it can be interpreted in two ways:** a contradiction imposed from without and one imposed from within. The former means not accepting other people’s opinions, always knowing best, having the last word; in short, all those unpleasant traits for which I’m known. The latter, for which I’m not known, is my own secret.
 * As I’ve told you many times, I’m split in two.** One side contains my exuberant cheerfulness, my flippancy, my joy in life and, above all, my ability to appreciate the lighter side of things. By that I mean not finding anything wrong with flirtations, a kiss, an embrace, a saucy joke. This side of me is usually lying in wait to ambush the other one, which is much purer, deeper, and finer.

Major GEORGE WASHINGTON's Journal to the River OHIO, etc Wednesday, October 31, 1753 [] A diary is a record, originally in handwritten format, with discrete entries arranged by date reporting on what has happened over the course of a day or other period. A diary is not a book, only a sequence of entries or journals of a person's thoughts or feelings.Generally the term is today employed for personal diaries, in which the writer may detail more personal information and normally intended to remain private or to have a limited circulation amongst friends or relatives. The writer may also describe recent events in his/her personal diary. The word "journal" may be sometimes used for "diary," but generally one writes daily in a diary, whereas journal-writing can be less frequent.
 * Characteritics and Criteria of a Diary Entry **

Wednesday April 21, 1999 Yesterday was a horrible day; it was Columbine High School Shooting. I was not there nor did I know anyone that was there, but now today I am to blame for the horrific incident. The tragedy was a product of ignorance, hatred, and an access to guns. I feel the media looks down on me for the way I dress and look. Therefore I hope the medias irresponsible finger pointing does not create more discrimination against kids who look different. I feel if someone would have just listened to what the kids had to say, none of this would have occurred.