Modes of Production

 
1. Tribal hordes
2. Kinship Societies
3. Oriental Despotism
4. Ancient Slaveholding
5. Feudalism
6. Capitalism
7. Communism
 Base socioeconomic sphere

Superstructure cultural sphere

Ideology ideas, beliefs, forms, values of the ruling class that circulate
through all cultural spheres

False Consciousness members of the working class who ascribe to bourgeois

ideals

Hegemony continuous ideological domination of all classes by the

ruling class through non-violent stabilizing and consensus-
building institutions such as church, school, family, the
media, the mainstream arts, trade unions, business
interests, technoscientific establishments.

ISA Ideological State Apparatus – manage social instability and

conflict

Commodification displacement of the use-value of the commodity; its

transformation into cash exchange

Alienation result of commodification

Co-optation Dilution of resistance

Culture plays a significant role in transmitting
ideology and shoring up the hegemonic order

- A mouthpiece of the dominant order

- Resisting the dominant order
- “it’s complicated”
Marxism, Psychoanalysis, Structuralism and Semiotics
 
- Modern antihumanism that decenters the individual
- Self is a construct and a consequence of impersonal
systems
- Individuals neither originate nor control the conventions of
their social existence, mental life, or mother tongue
- Individuals are created by social and cultural systems ,
within which they are subjects
SOLEDAD
by Angela Manalang Gloria

It was a sacrilege, the neighbors cried,

The way she shattered every mullioned pane
To let a firebrand in. They tried in vain
To understand how one so carved from pride
And glassed in dream could have so flung aside
Her graven days, or why she dared profane
The bread and wine of life for some insane
Moment with him. The scandal never died.
But no one guessed that loveliness would claim
Her soul’s cathedral burned by his desires
Or that he left her aureoled in flame…
And seeing nothing but her blackened spires,
The town condemned this girl who loved too well
and found her heaven in the depths of hell.
The Happiest Boy in the World
By: N.V.M. Gonzalez

Julio, who had come from Tablas to settle in Barok, was writing a letter to, of
all people, ka Ponso, his landlord, one warm June night. It was about his son,
Jose, who wanted to go to school in Mansalay that year. Jose was in the fifth
grade when Julio and his family had left Tablas the year before and migrated
to Mindoro. Because the father had to stop schooling for a year. As it was,
Julio though himself lucky enough to have ka Ponso to take him as tenant.
Later when Julio’s wife, Fidela, gave birth to a baby. Ka Ponso, who
happened to be visiting his property then, offered to became its godfather.
After that they began to call each other compadre.
"Dear Compadre," Julio started to write in Tagalog bending earnestly over a
piece of paper which he had torn out of Jose's notebook. It was many months
ago when, just as now, he had sat down with a writing implement in his hand.
That was when he had gone to the municipio in Mansalay to file a homestead
application, and he had used a pen, and to his great surprise filled in the blank
forms neatly. Nothing came of the application [although Ka Ponso promised to
talk with] and talked with the officials concerned. Now, with a pencil instead of a
pen to write with, Julio was sure that he could make his letter legible enough for
ka Ponso.
"It's about my boy Jose," he wrote on. "I want him to study this June in
Mansalay. He's in the sixth grade now, and since he's quite a poor hand at
looking after your carabaos, I thought it would be best that he goes to school in
the town."
He sat back and learned against the wall. He had been writing on a low
wooden bench, the sole piece of furniture in the one-room house. There he
sat in one corner. A little way across stood the stove; to his right Fidela and
the baby girl, Felipa lay under the hempen mosquito net. Jose, who had
been out all afternoon looking for one of Ka Ponso's carabaos that he had
strayed away to the newly-planted rice clearings along the other side of the
Barok river, was here too, sprawling beside a sack of palay by the doorway.
He snored lightly, like a tired youth; but he was only twelve.
The kerosene lamp's yellow flame flickered ceaselessly. The dank smell of
food, of fish broth particularly, that had been spilled from many a bowl and
had dried on the floor seemed to rise from the very texture of the wood itself.
The stark truth about their poverty, if Julio's nature had been sensitive to it,
might have struck him with a hard and sudden blow then; but as it was, he
just looked about the room, even as the smell assailed his nostrils, and
stared now at the mosquito net, now at Jose as he lay there by the door.
Then he continued with his letter.
"This boy, Jose, compadre," he went on," is quite an industrious lad. If you
can only let him stay in your big house. Compadre, you can make him do
anything you wish-any work. He can cook rice, and I'm sure he'll do well
washing dishes."
Julio recalled his last visit to Ka Ponso's about three months ago, during the
fiesta. He had seen that it was a big house with many servants; the floor
were so polished you could almost see your own image under your feet as
you walked; and always there was a servant who followed you about with a
piece of rag to wipe away the smudges of dirt which your feet had left on the
floor.
"I hope you will not think of his as great bother." Julio continued, trying his
best to phrase this thoughts. He had a vague far that Ka Ponso might not
favorably regard his letter. But he wrote on, slowly and steadily, stopping
only to read what he had put down. "We shall repay you for whatever you
can do for us, compadre. It's true we already owe you for many things, but
your compadre and I will do all we can indeed to repay you."
Reading the last sentence and realizing that he had mentioned his
wife, Julio recalled that during the very first month after their arrival
from Tablas they had received five cavanes of rice from Ka Ponso.
And that later he had been told that at harvest time he should pay
back twice the number of cavanes. This was usurious but was strictly
after the custom in those parts, and Julio was not the sort who would
complain. Besides, he had never thought of Ka Ponso as anything
else than his compadre espiritual, as they called it, a true friend.
Suddenly he began wondering how Jose would move about in Ka Ponso's
household, being unaccustomed to so many things there. The boy might even
stumble over a chair and break some dishes…he feared for the boy.
"And I wish you would treat Jose as to would your own son, compadre. You
may beat him if he should commit some wrong and indeed I want him to look
up to you as a second father."
Julio felt he had nothing more to say and that he had written the longest letter
in his life. For a moment the fingers of his hand felt numb. And this was a funny
thing. he thought, because he had scarcely filled the page. He sat back again
and smiled to himself.
About six o'clock the following morning, a boy of twelve was riding a carabao
along the riverbed road to own to town. He was a very puny lad on the
carabao's broad back.
Walking close behind the carabao, the father accompanied him up to the bend
of the river. When the beast hesitated in crossing the small rivulet that cut the
road as it passed a clump of bamboo, the man picked up a stick and prodded
the animal. Then he handed the stick to the boy, as one might give a precious
gift.
The father did not cross the stream but only stood there by the bank. "Mind to
look after the letter,” he called out from where he was, "Do you have it there, in
your shirt pocket?"
The boy fumbled for it, When he had found it, he said, "No Tatay, I won't lose it".
"And take good care of the carabao," Julio added. " I'll come to town myself in a
day or two to get that carabao back. I just want to get through first the planting.
Then Julio started to get back to his house, thinking of the work that awaited
him in his clearing that day. But he thought more to tell his son, and so he
stopped and call him out again.
"And the letter," he shouted. " give it to Ka Ponso as soon as you get back to
the town. Then be good , and do everything he asks you to do.
Remember…….everything".
From atop the carabao, Jose yelled, "Yes, Tatay, yes," and rode away. A stand
of abaca plants, their green leaves glimmering in the morning sun, soon
concealed him from the view.
Fastened to his saddle was his bundle of clothes and the little package of rice,
food for his week in town. It was customary for the school boys from the barrio
or farm to provide themselves in this simple manner; in Jose's case, although
he was going to live at Ka Ponso's, it could not be said that his father had
forgotten about this little manner concerning food.
Thinking of his father, Jose grew curious about the letter he carried in his
shirt pocket. He stopped his carabao under a shady tree by the roadside.
A bird sang in a bush nearby. Jose could hear it even as he read the
letter, jumping from down from word to word; for him the vernacular was
quite difficult. But the meaning of each sentence became clear to him, he
experienced a curious exaltation. It was though he were the happiest boy
in the world was singing for him. He heard the rumbling of the stream far
away. There he and his father parted. The world seemed full of bird song
and music from the stream.
A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning 
By John Donne
 
As virtuous men pass mildly away, 
   And whisper to their souls to go, 
Whilst some of their sad friends do say 
   The breath goes now, and some say, No: 
 
So let us melt, and make no noise, 
   No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 
'Twere profanation of our joys 
   To tell the laity our love. 
Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears, 
   Men reckon what it did, and meant; 
But trepidation of the spheres, 
   Though greater far, is innocent. 
 
Dull sublunary lovers' love 
   (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit 
Absence, because it doth remove 
   Those things which elemented it. 
 
But we by a love so much refined, 
   That our selves know not what it is, 
Inter-assured of the mind, 
   Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. 
Our two souls therefore, which are one, 
   Though I must go, endure not yet 
A breach, but an expansion, 
   Like gold to airy thinness beat. 
 
If they be two, they are two so 
   As stiff twin compasses are two; 
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show 
   To move, but doth, if the other do. 
And though it in the center sit, 
   Yet when the other far doth roam, 
It leans and hearkens after it, 
   And grows erect, as that comes home. 
 
Such wilt thou be to me, who must, 
   Like th' other foot, obliquely run; 
Thy firmness makes my circle just, 
   And makes me end where I begun.