....i hate exclamation points!!! [this, in fact, is true]
anyways, the most important news items first: Heath Ledger, charming aussie (pronounced ozzie) of 10 things i hate about you fame as well as that oscar winning gay cowboy romp has been confirmed in the role of...
no, not Sir Penilis in "a knights tale two: stick it in the tail"....but... [drunk at five in the morning and this is funny. in the hungover light of day it sounds a little meaner and a lot like a bad joke cut from a Dennis Leary tv special.]
that's right, you've already googled it... [read this line with the intonation of near cleverness barely disguising the expectation that you've already gotten bored and looked elsewhere for the answer i was so expertly building suspense to.]
the friggin Joker, for the second instalment of Chris Nolan's (or is it David Goyer's...?) Batman franchise...damn. how d'yall feel about that. "y'all" as in everyone but Girish, who stil hasn't seen Batman Begins yet. c'mon, Girish...what are you waiting for. [i don't know why i say "friggin" here. it's barely appropriate. i'm not angry about anything or trying to sound tough. i am showing off the fact that i know that David Goyer wrote Batman Begins. i will show off more by telling you he wrote all three blade movies, directed the last one, and wrote a bad bad less than "B" movie adaptation of Nick Fury: Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. which starred Yasmin Bleath and David Hasselhoff. also, i am yelling at Girish here for what you might think is no good reason. but if you thought that, then you'd be wrong. he should see Batman Begins. i don't think he'll love it, but i want to hear his thoughts.]
also, in case anyone is wondering, i am slightly drunk as i am writing this. so i forget what my other two breaking news items are. one of them might be: NEWS FLASH!!! the SUN will be coming up again, SOON!!! and 4 bags of Lay's potato(e) chips for $4.44 at the A-plus on the corner of Elmwood and Hodge. ["in case anyone is wondering" here just reads as "in case it wasn't utterly obvious yet." its that tendency all drunks have to get to a certain stage of drunkenness where they want you to know how drunk they are. i really did forget what my other news items were at this point, and i don't know why i was talking about the sun except that it really was coming up. in which case it makes that sentance only mildly relevant and certainly not at all funny. oh, and about the chips: not such a great deal, as it turns out. travelling the wrong way, $2.22 worth of them ended up in the toilet this morning.]
oh yeah, and also: Castro had intestinal surgery, leaving his brother Raoul in charge of the charming little Isle of Cuba...[what i should have done here was change "Isle of Cuba" to something like "la Isla de Cuba." it would have been more charming]
if i were Raoul Castro i'd stuff Fidel full of a strictly intravenously absorbed mineral: good ol' lead, sprinkled with a dusting of gunpowder. seriously. somebody should send this guy a copy of the Godfather part II. make a deal with the American underworld, blow Fidel's ever-stubborn brains out, and turn your economy upside down with wonderful American profits. you know you want to, Raoul. come on. you're brother doesn't know what he's doing. he wears fatigues to bed. and that beard. i mean, its gotta be really hot in that thing. that HAS to bake your head a little, right? something upstairs is a bit overly cooked...Raoul, we're not asking you to become the next Puerto Rico or anything...be your own sovreign country for all anyone else cares...be exclusive, a resort island. whatthehellever.....just stop being communist so we can stop sanctioning you and then we can come spend money at your beaches and on your cigars. no, wait...become a free economy but can your cigars somehow maintain an illegal status here in the states? it is more fun to smoke them on American soil when you know you could get thrown in jail. [this is true. but get ready for a weird tangent...] i heard that cops around here can smell the difference between Cubanos and Puerto Rican cigars...true? who knows. [what the hell am i talking about? this is making me laugh] i know i just want to try to outrun the police when they do. i've heard that Cuban nicotine can give you special powers...like swimming 90 miles with only the aid of two planks of cherrywood and a piece of string. (i am fairly sure you need a cape to even attempt this). [ok, rambling again. its not so much funny to read because its funny as its funny to read because falls so drastically short of being funny. although, really, who can say that i'm wrong about Cuba?....that's what i thought. still had enough wits for masterful political insight]
i would like to say hooray for me at this point [see? i am proud that i can be drunk and still have masterful political insight. at this point i am dreaming of landing a staff reporter position at some major, well respected, widely distributed print periodical due to my blog-reporting, newsbreaking skills. newsbreaking is probably an accurate word to describe it, no?]
and then open the can of mel gibson worms that everyone is talking about.
can i just address Mel here, for a moment?
you really should have been able to get away with what people miscontstrued as Anti-semitism in the Passion of the Christ... [read the New Testament, people. Jesus pissed off the Sanhedron and the Pharisees, and they gave him up. Jesus was a Jew. so were the Pharisees. everyone in this story is a Jew, plain and simple. its not a judgement on a particular ethnic group. people have used it that way, but that shouldn't make the story change. i am qualifying here because the internet is rife with people who like to start fights.]
but now you've just buried yourself and bought your headstone. everyone knows that when you're drunk you say things you actually DO mean rather than things you don't really mean...come on, what were you thinking? here's what you should have done: you should've walked around talking about how much you hated Jews first of all. just to everyone. like in line at Starbucks -- i'd like a tall, vanilla, non-Jew latte please. or maybe -- i'll take whatever brewed coffee you have on tap, as long as its not a he-brew...
ok, puns really are less funny than ethnic jokes, aren't they? sorry 'bout that...
[this is true. i like ethnic humor. i watched a lot of stand-up as a kid, and racially based humor always made me uncomfortable. it always felt a little...i don't know. inherently offensive; black on black humor, black on white humor. anyone on anyone. but. screw that shit. if its not mean spirited, and its funny, and people understand that its both of those things, then go for it.]
but really. you should've talked about how much you hated the Jews while you were sober -- AND THEN gotten drunk...AND THEN talked about how much you secretly liked them. like, i don't know...do a press-release about your Jew hatred and then have a few Basil Haydens at the hotel bar and accidentally spill the beans to a reporter that you love Jews, and that you are in LOVE with Jews, and that you are in LOVE with LOVING JEWS. [i actually think this is kind of funny. really, its a good plan. if he didn't want anyone to think he was an anti-semite, he should've ditched that Holocaust documentary he was working on, walked around admitting to it...and then gotten drunk and talked about how much he loved the Jews. i think it would've worked. we'd all believe him then, wouldn't we? also: i love that i was drunk while writing this part. there is a sort of formal appropriateness, pontificating on drunken activity while drunk.]
i like the alcoholism. really, i do. its a great humanizing quality. the anti-Jewism? well, i'm not Jewish, so its not personal, but....still...not so much. nobody likes a hater. [i think is true, too. see what kind of secrets of the universe spill out of you after you've had a few?]
anyway, Gibson -- in vinum est verum. alcohol is the ultimate truth serum, and you admitted it under the influence. [it i imagine to mean his anti-semitism] now we all know how you really feel. its not that you were driving drunk (heh) its that you were talking when you got caught. i really do like you. i think you're extremely talented and a respectable guy...couldn't you have just not been dissing Jews while drunkenly speeding? i wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt...but do you realize how hard you are making it on me?
Braveheart...Conspiracy Theory...Lethal Weapon...(s)...and.....other stuff.
[apparently i am listing off these Mel Gibson movies as his redeeming qualities, as the things i want to point to and say "see? he's not all bad." the rest of the thought really never came through. this "sentance" was just dangling here all by it self when i came back to this post this morning]
anyway. you are giving MSNBC all of this fodder, this station which is nothing more than a power-surf, an attempt to gain power over a band...seriousl thogh..is a ocontext befearpu jt v
[and then it just ends here. weird, eh? the decline of that last sentance is perfect though, isn't it? the arc of it is like HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey, when Dave is pulling its circuitry out. i do remember, before i shut down like a de-wired computer, that i was going to launch into a rant about how Tucker Carlson and Keith Oberman are total douchebags. when did sarcasm start passing for newsreporting? not that i'm a newshound by any means but...the whining all starts to sound the same.
at any rate, i wrote this whole post with the fervor of knowing i had several interesting news items in it and that i'd be reporting them in a timely fashion; i was going to post this at six in the morning, but obviously it never got off the ground. six hours later, and this shit's old news. ah well. at least it makes for an interesting read.]
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
"i spent my life with Superman"
i love Superman. i tried to write this once already. it was not the piece i wanted to write. it grew into some kind of academic defense of the character, and it felt too much like work and not enough like the nostalgia and love i wanted to describe.
it sounds funny, doesn't it? i love a comic book character. go ahead. laugh. there are endless aspects to Superman that i could intellectualize and examine endlessly. perhaps that is for the evil twin of this post to explore. this post, the good post, is for meandering my way through my memories and impressions of the character...how Superman has informed my identity from childhood...
what little boy didn't want to be Superman? that is the only defense i can offer for my childhood obsession; i can find no excuses for its following me into adulthood. i don't know if i remember my first Superman comic book. it may or may not be the one i'm thinking of now. i don't remember too much of it: i couldn't read, but i knew that 'damn' was part of the dialogue. and i remember a panel with a half naked Superwoman, mid costume change. and there was Lex Luthor, and Kryptonite, the works.
i would sit on my dad's knee, and he would read it to me. he used to tell me stories about when he was a kid, and he'd get a quarter for an allowance. 15 cents went to ice cream. the other 10? a Superman comic book. there must have been something in that experience he wanted me to share; i can't think of any other reasons why he should have read me that comic book. from what i remember it was barely appropriate reading for a kid of my age. as i'm writing this now i think i've recalled how it found its way into my hands -- at a hotel, some kind of convention perhaps. people littering my small field of view, moderately distant to my eyes, and now, my memory; my father behind me, hand on my shoulder. one figure stood close, a thick, tall man, suited, in his mid thirties. he looked at me. he peeled a book off the stack in his hands and slapped it into mine: Superman. my heart raced.
now that i think about it, that was a course altering moment in my life. who could tell that for the next twenty years i'd be enfatuated...?
standing even more monumental in my mind, of course, is Superman: the Movie. it came out two years before i was born, and because video rental back then was something you did secrety out of the back room at the local pizza parlor, i think what i saw was a theatrical re-release. Dad's fault, again. if it were up to my Mom, i wouldn't have seen it, i'm sure -- Superman, and Star Wars and the Last Starfighter -- traditional great 80's fare were too much for an impressionable little kid like me. turns out she was right. but thank God for Dad.
Christopher Reeve was Superman. he brought the character to life, and he's burned himself into the mythos. when comic book artists drew Superman, up into the late 90's, they were drawing Christopher Reeve. that 'S' is scorched into my brain, those primary colors. i hate yellow. unless its inside Superman's crest. there, up on the scree, you could see him fly, could see his cape flap behind him. though couldn't remember that it was called 'heat vision,' i was thrilled at what i could only describe at four years old as his 'laser eyes'(what four year old knows what lasers are?). you could see it all in the flesh. you believed a man could fly.
Reeve's set jaw and blue eyes crystallized the screen. that movie is spectacular. even its frustratingly corny moments endear themselves to me. yes, i am fully aware of the tricks that nostalgia plays on one's judgement. even so, the Superman of the movies became Superman for not just me, but everyone who saw it.
now i'm older. and what of Superman? the gloss of my childhood obsession hasn't worn off, but i can see behind it now. what was relevent to me then -- the desire to fly, to run, jump and take off, to burn a whole through the front door -- is not what is relevent to me now, appealing as it still might be.
people say Superman is a boyscout; that he is somehow two dimensional because he is good, because he follows the rules, because he does what is right. and some people argue that it is just his nature. he is naturally good, that thoughts of evil and personal gain don't, for a moment, cross his mind. its not a terrible argument -- he is an alien, and perhaps kryptonian nature measures up a lot better when put next to human nature. this, they argue, is what makes Superman boring, two dimensional. i say it is the boring and two dimensional argument that does that.
the only point of reference i have for this statement is myself, but through my experiences i've come to this conclusion at least: doing good is not easy. holding yourself to a higher standard is not easy. i don't think its any easier for Superman because of some inherent virtue he has over anyone else. its just as hard for him, and the burdens are bigger, and the stakes are higher. not to mention that he could get away with doing as he damn well pleased with impunity. wouldn't the temptation always be there for him, to abuse his powers? no, i don't think he is more virtuous by nature...it is simply by choice, by force of will.
doing 'good' isn't easy. give Superman a little credit.
listen to me...
i talk about him like he's real...
of course what i mean is, give me a little credit for the good decisions i've made....
as i write this now, i'm also fascinated by Clark Kent. Clark Kent didn't grow up as Superman. we think of "Superman" as being Clark Kent's job. it is what Clark Kent 'does': he puts on his suit, goes "Supermanning," and comes home after a hard days work; maybe cracks a beer, watches Conan, drunk dials Lois and goes to bed. its not, though. Clark Kent's job is as a staff reporter for the Daily Planet. he receives a weekly paycheck for what he does in front of a computer screen: writing. Clark Kent is a writer. people don't go into that field on a whim, they don't try it out because, well maybe it might be a neat thing to do. they do it because they're passionate. they dive into that work; they love what they do. Clark Kent writes news stories. he's a journalist. perhaps he has a dream of changing the world as much through his articles as he does by being Superman. mayabe being Superman is something he does because, as one comic book titan once put it "with great power comes great responsibility." perhaps writing is really what Clark loves to do. perhaps he's working on a novel, and he's halfway through the third draft. perhaps his goal this week is to land a face to face interview with the former Israeli Prime Minister, so he can edge out Lois for column inches on the front page of the Daily Planet. perhaps his heroes are Kafka and Joyce. perhaps he just loves words, and lives to fit them together beautifully, intricately, artfully.
maybe Clark sees himself as a writer, and his writing as his main contribution to the world.
of course, what i mean is that i like the idea that maybe Superman thinks of himself as a writer before he even thinks of himself as Superman. it kind of elevates the profession, and the choice i've made with my life...
there is a sort of trinity of identities that Superman contains, or a layering of identities. his public persona is the Superman identity, the Man of Tomorrow, saving the day. in civilian life, he is Clark Kent, mild-mannered, midwestern farmboy. the whole point of the idea of keeping a secret identity is so that Clark Kent can lead a relatively normal life, and protect not only his own privacy but the privacy of those he loves. though it is his public persona, Superman is the secret Clark Kent keeps. but even these two identities, as genuinely as they are a part of his identity, are veneers the character hides behind...somewhere inside, privately, to himself he is Kal-El, the Last Son of Krypton....no one can dispute the normal, wholesome childhood that Superman grew from; raised on a farm by Ma and Pa Kent, he must have had a solid work ethic, he must have been polite and learned from them his mild manners. as an aging couple who couldn't have natural children of their own, they must have showered Clark with all the love they had. its as good a childhood as anyone could hope for. even when Clark starts to show the first symptoms of super powers, its still a background relatively without incident, right? and yet how many years did he spend not knowing where he came from? not knowing anything except that he fell out of the sky and into the lap of Ma Kent? he knew nothing of his natural father and mother. he must have wondered where he'd gotten his icy blue eyes, from whom he'd gotten his jet black hair. to whom did he owe his natural curiosity? from whom did he inherit his inclination toward writing? how long did Clark spend knowing nothing about his heritage? eventually he heard the name "Krypton," learned that Lara and Jor-El were his parents, learned that he had a name he was born with, and it was Kal-El. when he finally had learned something about who he was, was he heartbroken to know that Krypton had been destroyed with everyone, every living soul, and everyone who shared his blood on it? i imagine Superman having a soft spot for Kryptonite; deadly as it is, it is all that is left of a home he will never otherwise see.
Clark knew all of his life he was not human; he was different, special. unique. the questions about his heritage that he sought to answer were bred with the hope that he was not alone, not singular in all the universe. all the answers could only be half a satisfaction, then, when he learned the hard truth; his family was gone, and he would never meet them. Superman in his soul holds up a lost planet, bears the weight of its ghosts, his parents, and the heavy, black holes in his identity that he will never recover; he holds it up to the light of his memory, mournfully. what else can he do? what other respect can he pay? what other way can make his heritage a part of who he is?
they talk about the Superman origin as being the "ultimate immigrant" story. Siegel and Schuster were children of Jewish immigrants; it makes sense. yet they owe the story of Superman's journey to Earth to their heritage in an even deeper way; the Last Son of Krypton floated down the Milky Way in a rocket, the same way Moses floated down the river as a baby, hidden in a reed basket. their parents sent them both away so that they might avoid certain doom. yeah, in a way these are "immigration" stories, if you want to appropriate them that way. but something more personal is going on here; Superman being sent to Earth as a child is the ultimate adoption story, which is something more intimate and more personal.
who does Superman talk to about this part of his life? how do you think it makes Ma and Pa Kent feel, when everything they've given still can't fill in the missing pieces? do you know how strange it is to miss someone you don't even know?
i was a little boy once, and how could i have not wanted to be Superman? it is the right of all little boys. i am grown now, and the only right of grown ups is to face that which is difficult; we save the heat vision, the power of flight for children; we take on the struggles of goodness, of profession, of identity...struggles for which those powers are useless. Superman is who he is, and he's still like the rest of us. his powers, his alien nature haven't afforded him a free pass on the human condition. as a kid i would never have believed i would grow up to be this much like Superman...
it sounds funny, doesn't it? i love a comic book character. go ahead. laugh. there are endless aspects to Superman that i could intellectualize and examine endlessly. perhaps that is for the evil twin of this post to explore. this post, the good post, is for meandering my way through my memories and impressions of the character...how Superman has informed my identity from childhood...
what little boy didn't want to be Superman? that is the only defense i can offer for my childhood obsession; i can find no excuses for its following me into adulthood. i don't know if i remember my first Superman comic book. it may or may not be the one i'm thinking of now. i don't remember too much of it: i couldn't read, but i knew that 'damn' was part of the dialogue. and i remember a panel with a half naked Superwoman, mid costume change. and there was Lex Luthor, and Kryptonite, the works.
i would sit on my dad's knee, and he would read it to me. he used to tell me stories about when he was a kid, and he'd get a quarter for an allowance. 15 cents went to ice cream. the other 10? a Superman comic book. there must have been something in that experience he wanted me to share; i can't think of any other reasons why he should have read me that comic book. from what i remember it was barely appropriate reading for a kid of my age. as i'm writing this now i think i've recalled how it found its way into my hands -- at a hotel, some kind of convention perhaps. people littering my small field of view, moderately distant to my eyes, and now, my memory; my father behind me, hand on my shoulder. one figure stood close, a thick, tall man, suited, in his mid thirties. he looked at me. he peeled a book off the stack in his hands and slapped it into mine: Superman. my heart raced.
now that i think about it, that was a course altering moment in my life. who could tell that for the next twenty years i'd be enfatuated...?
standing even more monumental in my mind, of course, is Superman: the Movie. it came out two years before i was born, and because video rental back then was something you did secrety out of the back room at the local pizza parlor, i think what i saw was a theatrical re-release. Dad's fault, again. if it were up to my Mom, i wouldn't have seen it, i'm sure -- Superman, and Star Wars and the Last Starfighter -- traditional great 80's fare were too much for an impressionable little kid like me. turns out she was right. but thank God for Dad.
Christopher Reeve was Superman. he brought the character to life, and he's burned himself into the mythos. when comic book artists drew Superman, up into the late 90's, they were drawing Christopher Reeve. that 'S' is scorched into my brain, those primary colors. i hate yellow. unless its inside Superman's crest. there, up on the scree, you could see him fly, could see his cape flap behind him. though couldn't remember that it was called 'heat vision,' i was thrilled at what i could only describe at four years old as his 'laser eyes'(what four year old knows what lasers are?). you could see it all in the flesh. you believed a man could fly.
Reeve's set jaw and blue eyes crystallized the screen. that movie is spectacular. even its frustratingly corny moments endear themselves to me. yes, i am fully aware of the tricks that nostalgia plays on one's judgement. even so, the Superman of the movies became Superman for not just me, but everyone who saw it.
now i'm older. and what of Superman? the gloss of my childhood obsession hasn't worn off, but i can see behind it now. what was relevent to me then -- the desire to fly, to run, jump and take off, to burn a whole through the front door -- is not what is relevent to me now, appealing as it still might be.
people say Superman is a boyscout; that he is somehow two dimensional because he is good, because he follows the rules, because he does what is right. and some people argue that it is just his nature. he is naturally good, that thoughts of evil and personal gain don't, for a moment, cross his mind. its not a terrible argument -- he is an alien, and perhaps kryptonian nature measures up a lot better when put next to human nature. this, they argue, is what makes Superman boring, two dimensional. i say it is the boring and two dimensional argument that does that.
the only point of reference i have for this statement is myself, but through my experiences i've come to this conclusion at least: doing good is not easy. holding yourself to a higher standard is not easy. i don't think its any easier for Superman because of some inherent virtue he has over anyone else. its just as hard for him, and the burdens are bigger, and the stakes are higher. not to mention that he could get away with doing as he damn well pleased with impunity. wouldn't the temptation always be there for him, to abuse his powers? no, i don't think he is more virtuous by nature...it is simply by choice, by force of will.
doing 'good' isn't easy. give Superman a little credit.
listen to me...
i talk about him like he's real...
of course what i mean is, give me a little credit for the good decisions i've made....
as i write this now, i'm also fascinated by Clark Kent. Clark Kent didn't grow up as Superman. we think of "Superman" as being Clark Kent's job. it is what Clark Kent 'does': he puts on his suit, goes "Supermanning," and comes home after a hard days work; maybe cracks a beer, watches Conan, drunk dials Lois and goes to bed. its not, though. Clark Kent's job is as a staff reporter for the Daily Planet. he receives a weekly paycheck for what he does in front of a computer screen: writing. Clark Kent is a writer. people don't go into that field on a whim, they don't try it out because, well maybe it might be a neat thing to do. they do it because they're passionate. they dive into that work; they love what they do. Clark Kent writes news stories. he's a journalist. perhaps he has a dream of changing the world as much through his articles as he does by being Superman. mayabe being Superman is something he does because, as one comic book titan once put it "with great power comes great responsibility." perhaps writing is really what Clark loves to do. perhaps he's working on a novel, and he's halfway through the third draft. perhaps his goal this week is to land a face to face interview with the former Israeli Prime Minister, so he can edge out Lois for column inches on the front page of the Daily Planet. perhaps his heroes are Kafka and Joyce. perhaps he just loves words, and lives to fit them together beautifully, intricately, artfully.
maybe Clark sees himself as a writer, and his writing as his main contribution to the world.
of course, what i mean is that i like the idea that maybe Superman thinks of himself as a writer before he even thinks of himself as Superman. it kind of elevates the profession, and the choice i've made with my life...
there is a sort of trinity of identities that Superman contains, or a layering of identities. his public persona is the Superman identity, the Man of Tomorrow, saving the day. in civilian life, he is Clark Kent, mild-mannered, midwestern farmboy. the whole point of the idea of keeping a secret identity is so that Clark Kent can lead a relatively normal life, and protect not only his own privacy but the privacy of those he loves. though it is his public persona, Superman is the secret Clark Kent keeps. but even these two identities, as genuinely as they are a part of his identity, are veneers the character hides behind...somewhere inside, privately, to himself he is Kal-El, the Last Son of Krypton....no one can dispute the normal, wholesome childhood that Superman grew from; raised on a farm by Ma and Pa Kent, he must have had a solid work ethic, he must have been polite and learned from them his mild manners. as an aging couple who couldn't have natural children of their own, they must have showered Clark with all the love they had. its as good a childhood as anyone could hope for. even when Clark starts to show the first symptoms of super powers, its still a background relatively without incident, right? and yet how many years did he spend not knowing where he came from? not knowing anything except that he fell out of the sky and into the lap of Ma Kent? he knew nothing of his natural father and mother. he must have wondered where he'd gotten his icy blue eyes, from whom he'd gotten his jet black hair. to whom did he owe his natural curiosity? from whom did he inherit his inclination toward writing? how long did Clark spend knowing nothing about his heritage? eventually he heard the name "Krypton," learned that Lara and Jor-El were his parents, learned that he had a name he was born with, and it was Kal-El. when he finally had learned something about who he was, was he heartbroken to know that Krypton had been destroyed with everyone, every living soul, and everyone who shared his blood on it? i imagine Superman having a soft spot for Kryptonite; deadly as it is, it is all that is left of a home he will never otherwise see.
Clark knew all of his life he was not human; he was different, special. unique. the questions about his heritage that he sought to answer were bred with the hope that he was not alone, not singular in all the universe. all the answers could only be half a satisfaction, then, when he learned the hard truth; his family was gone, and he would never meet them. Superman in his soul holds up a lost planet, bears the weight of its ghosts, his parents, and the heavy, black holes in his identity that he will never recover; he holds it up to the light of his memory, mournfully. what else can he do? what other respect can he pay? what other way can make his heritage a part of who he is?
they talk about the Superman origin as being the "ultimate immigrant" story. Siegel and Schuster were children of Jewish immigrants; it makes sense. yet they owe the story of Superman's journey to Earth to their heritage in an even deeper way; the Last Son of Krypton floated down the Milky Way in a rocket, the same way Moses floated down the river as a baby, hidden in a reed basket. their parents sent them both away so that they might avoid certain doom. yeah, in a way these are "immigration" stories, if you want to appropriate them that way. but something more personal is going on here; Superman being sent to Earth as a child is the ultimate adoption story, which is something more intimate and more personal.
who does Superman talk to about this part of his life? how do you think it makes Ma and Pa Kent feel, when everything they've given still can't fill in the missing pieces? do you know how strange it is to miss someone you don't even know?
i was a little boy once, and how could i have not wanted to be Superman? it is the right of all little boys. i am grown now, and the only right of grown ups is to face that which is difficult; we save the heat vision, the power of flight for children; we take on the struggles of goodness, of profession, of identity...struggles for which those powers are useless. Superman is who he is, and he's still like the rest of us. his powers, his alien nature haven't afforded him a free pass on the human condition. as a kid i would never have believed i would grow up to be this much like Superman...
Thursday, July 13, 2006
generations
Ouranos was the first god of the sky. Cronus was his son; he carried the Great Sicle. there must have been no love between them; Cronus took the sicle and cut his father's penis off. no wonder Cronus feared his own children. he never made a meal of Zeus, though. And when Zeus came to collect his brothers and sisters from Cronus' belly, he did not shame him as Cronus did Ouranus. Zeus, third god of the sky, had gotten it right. benevolence, justice, civility was the lesson of the day. Zeus-pater, youngest of the gods, became father to all. having acted honorably, he received honor, and he would have no one, nothing to fear.
you can read the story in the sky; Ouranus, the wheeling heavens, his phallus the axis on which the earth spins. Cronus' Great Sicle carves a circle through the year, the hands of father time cutting up the night in celestial, patricidal harvest. And finally, Zeus, the brightness of day, covers all...
to the greeks, the third generation was a charmed one. fathers, grandfathers, their business was troubled. they may or may not have obeyed the gods; grandsons could set it to rights. grandsons learn the generational lesson. they carry and correct their family name, the adjusted spirits of their sires, as they bleed out blood feuds, calm the Furies, sate the gods themselves.
three has always been a sacred number in most cultures, but i think the significance comes from a more practical observation. in general, there are only about three generations of a family alive at the same time. grandfathers, looking through the scope of their own sons, look hopefully upon grandsons. grandfathers have made mistakes; fathers are making them. grandsons have their whole life ahead of them. the third generation is hope.
whether or not i ever become a father or grandfather, i am a grandson...i have been one, and i always will be. what gifts have i been given? what flaws? what lessons should i learn? what is my contribution to my family, and what paths should i take our name down?
you can read the story in the sky; Ouranus, the wheeling heavens, his phallus the axis on which the earth spins. Cronus' Great Sicle carves a circle through the year, the hands of father time cutting up the night in celestial, patricidal harvest. And finally, Zeus, the brightness of day, covers all...
to the greeks, the third generation was a charmed one. fathers, grandfathers, their business was troubled. they may or may not have obeyed the gods; grandsons could set it to rights. grandsons learn the generational lesson. they carry and correct their family name, the adjusted spirits of their sires, as they bleed out blood feuds, calm the Furies, sate the gods themselves.
three has always been a sacred number in most cultures, but i think the significance comes from a more practical observation. in general, there are only about three generations of a family alive at the same time. grandfathers, looking through the scope of their own sons, look hopefully upon grandsons. grandfathers have made mistakes; fathers are making them. grandsons have their whole life ahead of them. the third generation is hope.
whether or not i ever become a father or grandfather, i am a grandson...i have been one, and i always will be. what gifts have i been given? what flaws? what lessons should i learn? what is my contribution to my family, and what paths should i take our name down?
Thursday, July 06, 2006
hello, from the land of scattered thoughts...
so, i've been making more of an effort to do some writing lately, and that feels good. the problem is the riduculous lack of discipline and laughably small dividends: i am barely working or doing anything, so my whole day is generally geared towards writing. which means i can -- and i DO -- wait as long as i want to get started (no surprise here to anyone who really knows me). and i can't seem to eke out more than a couple pages of overly process-conscious writing.
i am trying to work on what i am calling "Vol. 1" of a two volume novel.
its really not coming together just yet, so i have been grinding out pages of experiments -- excercises, more or less, for my faulty mind. there are so many ideas, and i don't know how to weave them together yet. i don't even know where to start.
i recently broke out this past year's writing to look at, hoping for some inspiration. its true, though, when they tell you that success consists less of inspiration than perspiration, so really the best i can hope for is to keep laboring away until i have something. still, i did find some clarity in those older scribblings, a focus of vision that always accompanies the origin of ideas. there is good stuff there, rules to write by, things to remember. the book i am working on in concept deals with the journey of writing as a pathway through life and the self, so reading the written journey of the past year is helpful.
it also makes me realize: i don't write nearly enough.
perspiration IS inspiration...or will lead to it anyway. if you catch enough on a piece of paper, somewhere on that page you'll find something useful. the point is to catch as much as possible.
i am trying to work on what i am calling "Vol. 1" of a two volume novel.
its really not coming together just yet, so i have been grinding out pages of experiments -- excercises, more or less, for my faulty mind. there are so many ideas, and i don't know how to weave them together yet. i don't even know where to start.
i recently broke out this past year's writing to look at, hoping for some inspiration. its true, though, when they tell you that success consists less of inspiration than perspiration, so really the best i can hope for is to keep laboring away until i have something. still, i did find some clarity in those older scribblings, a focus of vision that always accompanies the origin of ideas. there is good stuff there, rules to write by, things to remember. the book i am working on in concept deals with the journey of writing as a pathway through life and the self, so reading the written journey of the past year is helpful.
it also makes me realize: i don't write nearly enough.
perspiration IS inspiration...or will lead to it anyway. if you catch enough on a piece of paper, somewhere on that page you'll find something useful. the point is to catch as much as possible.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
woodwork
just wrapping up a busy weekend; the little sis is officially married, and a load of family was in town, some of whom i've not seen in a decade (the realization dawning on me that its not just that i'm a terrible son or terrible brother, but that i'm just a terrible relative in general).
all in all it was good fun. its sad to see her grow up, but there's no denying it now: my little sis ain't so little anymore. ce la vie. what is really going to be strange is when Clint and Katie have their first kid...i hope i'm around, i want to be around for that; it will give me the opportunity to start from scratch, and be someone potentially important and hopefully close to some part of his family.
at any rate, i was on the way to my parent's house to get dressed before the wedding, and got a voicemail from my highschool guidance counsellor. it took me a full five minutes to lift my jaw from the floor. apparently she discovered me via this website -- and as i'm writing this i'm only now finding the time to be confused at how she tracked down my cell-phone number.
in my last post i mused? (...complained...) that the only people who read WrittenOff are people i know in real life. its a mixed blessing, really. its nice thing to know that people are interested. on the other hand it makes me want to be less than forthright, and can potentially get me into trouble.
my boss found this site when she searched our work address. now i'm sure more than half the people i work with have at least seen it. good thing i haven't written anything here in the heat of passion about work or....well...its best to stop there.
there is a lot less security to having this site than i originally imagined. its been here for about a year and more people are reading it than i know; people are coming out of the woodwork. for all i know, my parents are reading it. scary.
i didn't think that really more than five people had ever been to or read any part of this site, and now that i know its not true, i've got to be more careful about what i write, and, most of all, who i write about -- it was all well and good when this was a nook of the internet protected by the fact that i never told anyone it existed, but now i've got to be careful. especially with using people's names.
as in Julie Randolph, who was googled by a boyfriend who found her on my "naughty list" (which she isn't actually on, idiot boyfriend of Julie Randolph -- i know i use some complex sentance structuring sometimes, but really...try to follow along here. english is your native language, right?).
as in Heidi (apparently-having-long-dropped-the-Glick-) Kerr, my highschool guidance counsellor who was googled at work by her husband, who, i am embarrassed to know, is now privy to my secret adolescent thoughts on his wife's legs, which, naturally, went no further than highly intellectual and philosophical musings about their aesthetic value, of course. (ahem)
and then there are other people in the silent wings who are dropping notes (hi Cheryl, thanks for reading -- remember when i quasi-stalked you after we broke up? heh, fun times...)...people who i'd thought i'd lost all appeal to, who've moved or moved on...( --not much to say-- ).....all very strange.
i've been struggling for self-sufficience, for self-hood. in a way i've been doing it ever since i was a kid -- disconnecting...pruning away the dried up branches, sealing off the dead ends. it is why i am not as close to my family as i should be. it is why i don't keep in good contact with anyone. my life is full of false starts and missed connections; there are few people who are electric and dear to me, less than a handful.
and where does that leave me? do i know "me" any better now? am i better for dropping all of those lines of missed connections? i don't know.
perhaps there are levels of connecting. perhaps best friends aren't something adults are with each other. perhaps i need to impose less, to expect less, to be happy with the connections i've been offered at their own frequency. it is comforting, and flattering, to know that people desire that from me in some capacity, be it blog-form or some other way...
maybe this blog has opened a door to those connections...maybe it is the door itself.
friends, family...read at your own risk.
i was never satisfied with the "doing lunch" approach to relationships -- relationships walled within a half-hour's time taken out of a day that otherwise had no room. i appreciate politeness, but i abhor formality between those who are supposed to be friends. i want "dinner and drinks" relationships; "crash in the guest room" relationships. "let's take a road trip" relationships.
which do you suppose this blog is?
are we doing lunch here? or is this dinner and drinks?
it was never supposed to be either, honestly. take it where you want it to go, i guess.
i was just trying to write, here.
love, kisses
p
all in all it was good fun. its sad to see her grow up, but there's no denying it now: my little sis ain't so little anymore. ce la vie. what is really going to be strange is when Clint and Katie have their first kid...i hope i'm around, i want to be around for that; it will give me the opportunity to start from scratch, and be someone potentially important and hopefully close to some part of his family.
at any rate, i was on the way to my parent's house to get dressed before the wedding, and got a voicemail from my highschool guidance counsellor. it took me a full five minutes to lift my jaw from the floor. apparently she discovered me via this website -- and as i'm writing this i'm only now finding the time to be confused at how she tracked down my cell-phone number.
in my last post i mused? (...complained...) that the only people who read WrittenOff are people i know in real life. its a mixed blessing, really. its nice thing to know that people are interested. on the other hand it makes me want to be less than forthright, and can potentially get me into trouble.
my boss found this site when she searched our work address. now i'm sure more than half the people i work with have at least seen it. good thing i haven't written anything here in the heat of passion about work or....well...its best to stop there.
there is a lot less security to having this site than i originally imagined. its been here for about a year and more people are reading it than i know; people are coming out of the woodwork. for all i know, my parents are reading it. scary.
i didn't think that really more than five people had ever been to or read any part of this site, and now that i know its not true, i've got to be more careful about what i write, and, most of all, who i write about -- it was all well and good when this was a nook of the internet protected by the fact that i never told anyone it existed, but now i've got to be careful. especially with using people's names.
as in Julie Randolph, who was googled by a boyfriend who found her on my "naughty list" (which she isn't actually on, idiot boyfriend of Julie Randolph -- i know i use some complex sentance structuring sometimes, but really...try to follow along here. english is your native language, right?).
as in Heidi (apparently-having-long-dropped-the-Glick-) Kerr, my highschool guidance counsellor who was googled at work by her husband, who, i am embarrassed to know, is now privy to my secret adolescent thoughts on his wife's legs, which, naturally, went no further than highly intellectual and philosophical musings about their aesthetic value, of course. (ahem)
and then there are other people in the silent wings who are dropping notes (hi Cheryl, thanks for reading -- remember when i quasi-stalked you after we broke up? heh, fun times...)...people who i'd thought i'd lost all appeal to, who've moved or moved on...( --not much to say-- ).....all very strange.
i've been struggling for self-sufficience, for self-hood. in a way i've been doing it ever since i was a kid -- disconnecting...pruning away the dried up branches, sealing off the dead ends. it is why i am not as close to my family as i should be. it is why i don't keep in good contact with anyone. my life is full of false starts and missed connections; there are few people who are electric and dear to me, less than a handful.
and where does that leave me? do i know "me" any better now? am i better for dropping all of those lines of missed connections? i don't know.
perhaps there are levels of connecting. perhaps best friends aren't something adults are with each other. perhaps i need to impose less, to expect less, to be happy with the connections i've been offered at their own frequency. it is comforting, and flattering, to know that people desire that from me in some capacity, be it blog-form or some other way...
maybe this blog has opened a door to those connections...maybe it is the door itself.
friends, family...read at your own risk.
i was never satisfied with the "doing lunch" approach to relationships -- relationships walled within a half-hour's time taken out of a day that otherwise had no room. i appreciate politeness, but i abhor formality between those who are supposed to be friends. i want "dinner and drinks" relationships; "crash in the guest room" relationships. "let's take a road trip" relationships.
which do you suppose this blog is?
are we doing lunch here? or is this dinner and drinks?
it was never supposed to be either, honestly. take it where you want it to go, i guess.
i was just trying to write, here.
love, kisses
p
Sunday, June 18, 2006
proof that i could use some more Vitamin D
it occurs to me now that i've got a wider readership than i'd previously thought. evidently, people are keeping tabs on me through this blog, all of whom i know in real life. in fact, that is all that my readership consists of, and while i'm glad people take the time out of their day to consider me without feeling the need to be ostentatious or expressive about it (like, say, dropping me a note in the comments section), that is not why this site is here.
that coupled with a decline in the material i've been posting lately makes me wonder: is there any point to keep doing this at all? it was ok when this site was just for me, just practice to keep writing, but to tell you the truth, trying to do this for any external reasons other than that it is what i want to be doing or that i have something i feel the need to organize into words and sentances is crippling.
so i don't know how much longer i'll be doing this. i don't want people coming here just because they know me; i don't want anyone reading this site just to be nice.
i want to post here because i am compelled to do so, at my soul's urge, and i want people to read because they find what i write compelling.
i don't want to write just because i feel like i have to put something new up or the blogger police will come get me.
sorry if that sounds like a big fuck you to some people, but i have no grace under that kind of pressure.
on a related note, someone whom i know and am not on speaking terms with replied (via personal e-mail) to a recent post he or she apparently felt was compelling, and you might look at me and say well isn't that more or less what you wanted? and i'd say certainly there is a sense of achievement when you've moved someone you haven't spoken with in a year to break her silence...except what am i supposed to do with a missal that was written with the expressed purpose not to "re-establish a relationship?" what am i supposed to say? thank you for sharing your thoughts, now let's not dialogue about it? what's the fucking point? why did she write me in the first place?...i mean, aside from telling me that she doesn't want to have a relationship which might include discussing the important points brought up in my post? really...what was the point? to assert her "rightness" or authority? that is game i am sick of playing with people, and especially with her. i don't need you to come down and tell me you know what's what. most people who think they know are either stupid or will change their minds. thank you for condescending for a moment to reassert that you have the answers to all of life's questions; i'd forgotten for a moment why i didn't want to be friends with you.
but wait, there's more. the irony abounds. yes, apparently morality is contigent upon faith, seeking self in God, and most all community, according to my correspondent. and she feels it is important to share struggles, questions, and the journey with others. which is all fine. except we're not trying to re-establish a relationship here, remember? so.....how big of a good goddamn do you think i give? what's the point of "sharing" with me if we are nothing to each other? its called logic, lady, try and use some. especially when you're writing a so-called "reply" to a post the point of which you completely missed and utterly failed to address. its not so much that i mind the medieval scholasticism of your indignant, impregnable moral philosophy, its that.....no, wait, i do mind it.
let us break not the rules any longer.
that said, she raises a point personally relevant to me about the identity of the self and its fullfilment being contingent upon the Divine...only because i have read Kierkegaard's the Sickness Unto Death, and have understood some of it. now there's a guy who could comprehend the Schism of the Self. while i have to say that i think i believe Kierkegaard and myfriend Sarah are on the right track as far the role the Divine plays in the fulfillment of the self, i feel that Man must come to an end of the rope of worldliness before he can learn to cry out for the Divine so that he might more fully receive what the Divine is crying out to give him. it is not a climb to heaven, it is a climb through the world -- and it is not to earn what is free for all, it is to be able to grasp and comprehend it.
that coupled with a decline in the material i've been posting lately makes me wonder: is there any point to keep doing this at all? it was ok when this site was just for me, just practice to keep writing, but to tell you the truth, trying to do this for any external reasons other than that it is what i want to be doing or that i have something i feel the need to organize into words and sentances is crippling.
so i don't know how much longer i'll be doing this. i don't want people coming here just because they know me; i don't want anyone reading this site just to be nice.
i want to post here because i am compelled to do so, at my soul's urge, and i want people to read because they find what i write compelling.
i don't want to write just because i feel like i have to put something new up or the blogger police will come get me.
sorry if that sounds like a big fuck you to some people, but i have no grace under that kind of pressure.
on a related note, someone whom i know and am not on speaking terms with replied (via personal e-mail) to a recent post he or she apparently felt was compelling, and you might look at me and say well isn't that more or less what you wanted? and i'd say certainly there is a sense of achievement when you've moved someone you haven't spoken with in a year to break her silence...except what am i supposed to do with a missal that was written with the expressed purpose not to "re-establish a relationship?" what am i supposed to say? thank you for sharing your thoughts, now let's not dialogue about it? what's the fucking point? why did she write me in the first place?...i mean, aside from telling me that she doesn't want to have a relationship which might include discussing the important points brought up in my post? really...what was the point? to assert her "rightness" or authority? that is game i am sick of playing with people, and especially with her. i don't need you to come down and tell me you know what's what. most people who think they know are either stupid or will change their minds. thank you for condescending for a moment to reassert that you have the answers to all of life's questions; i'd forgotten for a moment why i didn't want to be friends with you.
but wait, there's more. the irony abounds. yes, apparently morality is contigent upon faith, seeking self in God, and most all community, according to my correspondent. and she feels it is important to share struggles, questions, and the journey with others. which is all fine. except we're not trying to re-establish a relationship here, remember? so.....how big of a good goddamn do you think i give? what's the point of "sharing" with me if we are nothing to each other? its called logic, lady, try and use some. especially when you're writing a so-called "reply" to a post the point of which you completely missed and utterly failed to address. its not so much that i mind the medieval scholasticism of your indignant, impregnable moral philosophy, its that.....no, wait, i do mind it.
let us break not the rules any longer.
that said, she raises a point personally relevant to me about the identity of the self and its fullfilment being contingent upon the Divine...only because i have read Kierkegaard's the Sickness Unto Death, and have understood some of it. now there's a guy who could comprehend the Schism of the Self. while i have to say that i think i believe Kierkegaard and my
Thursday, June 15, 2006
i know you've been working hard...
...mustering all your thoughts and formulating a reply to my last post, so i'm calling a recess and posting a few links that will hopefully make you laugh. in case you haven't noticed, i've put a few new links up in the "links to visit" area -- one of them is an online comic called Gunnerkrigg Court, which is dark high adventure of the kind i would have loved as a kid and find myself loving even now...definately worth checking out. the other link, from which the following links are drawn, is the website for the Perry Bible Fellowship, which is a comic-strip rather than an actual church, as such. they print two or three weekly in buffalo's alt-newspaper the Beast, and the strips always prove to be creative, if not laugh out loud funny.
here are a few of my favorites:
Bacon Egg
Ballerina Slippers
Goodnight, Full Moon
Book World (the first Perry Bible Fellowship i ever read!)
Astronaut Fall (Josh Wilson would appreciate this)
and there you have it.
use the comment option to express your gratitude for enlightening you in the ways of the Perry Bible Fellowship.
all right, coffee break's over....everyone back on your head.
here are a few of my favorites:
Bacon Egg
Ballerina Slippers
Goodnight, Full Moon
Book World (the first Perry Bible Fellowship i ever read!)
Astronaut Fall (Josh Wilson would appreciate this)
and there you have it.
use the comment option to express your gratitude for enlightening you in the ways of the Perry Bible Fellowship.
all right, coffee break's over....everyone back on your head.
Monday, June 12, 2006
a new morality (?)
for awhile now, i've been plagued by the idea of what morality is, why it is and where it comes from. all my life i have been raised within the system of what might be called the Judeo-Christian moral tradition, and i certainly mean it no disrespect by questioning or deconstructing it. i don't mean to pick at it simply to get away from it or pull it apart to justify my immoral actions. the reason is this: i have a hard time doing anything just because somebody tells me to. its incredibly stubborn, i know...and it shows a lack of trust -- in God, perhaps, and the basic goodness of a moral code -- and say what you want about my failures in faith, but i have come to realize this: "because i say so" is an unacceptable reason for anyone to do anything, and biblically, it is rarely the reason God ever gives. oh sure, He punctuates with that a lot, but he never fails to prove Himself.
God, as creator of nature, therefore works through a natural process; as designer of a universe held together by laws of physics He must work through those physical laws as well -- i think of them as the work gloves with which the Hand of God moves. the notion that miracles, that signs and wonders can be explained by natural phenomenon therefore is not a problem for me. to many people of faith, it is considered a blow to what they believe, the work of people who are trying to tear down the supernatural and replace it with a mundane, natural explanation. but if God is the creator, and creation is nature, than there is no such thing as "supernatural" -- or, rather, everything in creation is supernatural...and if you ever study biology or astronomy or geology, it really boggles the mind; nature itself verges on the supernatural, and it is almost incredible -- the perfection of the life cycles of plants and animals, or the immensity of outer space, or the fine calibration of the earth we live on. the scientific explanation never detracts from the power and sovreignty of God, it points out just how powerful and sovreign He is. discovering the physical laws that govern natural events, be they everyday occurances or miraculous wonders, simply give us an explanation of what is happening, and aid our appreciation of how and why it did happen.
when it comes to the question of human nature, things become more controversial, more arguable; few can agree on what is 'natural' for humanity, and discovering the normative properties of the race is either used or seen to be used as a way to oppress the non-normal; certainly there is that danger, and whether or not discovering a norm is undesirable because of that danger is another discussion entirely. at any rate, there is little agreement as far as what human nature is, and there is less agreement about what 'natural laws' govern it. morality is an attempt to the answer that question of the natural laws of humanity.
if our system of morality is God-given, from On High and written in stone, there is still much to be discovered about that system. following the moral code is certainly good enough, but for many understanding why is an important part of that act of obedience as well, to say nothing of the need to explain to those individuals who are disinclined to follow certain of those moral tenents why obedience is necessary. a moral system that does not contain an answer to the question "why?" amounts to brainwashing or mind-control -- to finally use the analogy i've been setting up all of this time, it amounts to observing natural phenomenon without having any concept of the physical laws that govern it -- it is mysterious at best, confusing at worst. therefore, if morality is to be taken from On High, it still requires a why; if God is the source of our moral system in a "down from the mountain" fashion, it still must contain reasons for its own formulation, because we know that God does not allow natural phenomenon to stand alone without physical laws just as we know he does not allow a moral system to stand alone without its own reasons for being -- the explanation of which is not to detract from the authority or sovreignty of God, but to demonstrate its fullness.
and yet by the Divine system mankind is a complete moral failure; so much so that we've managed to fail in several different ways. our inability to live up to the Divine Moral Standard is the reason for Christ (who came not to do away with, but to fulfill 'the Law') and his death on the Cross. as a race we have fallen so far from the finish line we've needed even more Divine assistance than we knew to begin with. in other ways, we have surpassed the Judeo-Christian Divine Moral Standard of the Penteteuch, the laws of which were given to a society that existed on the brink of extermination. laws that seem to govern moral practice (complete with appropriate punishment) are in actuality laws concerned with the health and survival of a people. medical and technological advancements seem to make certain pronouncements of the law obsolete. do clean needles sterilize the immorality of getting tatoos? do health codes and disease control cure the meat of unclean animals? do condoms protect against the depravity of promiscuity or homosexual sex? and what about the medical and technological advancements that the Divine Moral System has absolutely nothing to account for -- what moral code do we take into account when considering the dangers of genetic engineering, or cloning? what happens society has outgrown its moral system? or is it hubris, to think we have come so far? is it pride to allow ourselves loopholes around the Divine Moral Code just because we have the technology to create them? to me, it is clear that we need a New Revelation...
that said, and putting other points to be raised aside for the moment, there are those that argue that the entire cause of morality and the need for a moral code is society itself -- that without society, without a community, without any number of gathered individuals, great or few, there would be no need for any moral system. morality is what governs the social commerce between individuals in a community, and arises alongside and just as naturally as communities do themselves. this sounds entirely reasonable; even if you don't have a moral code from the mountain, you are going to have to end up with a system one way or another. in large, organized, secular societies, you have governments and legislation that order what is proper and improper social commerce between neighbors, and on a subgovernmental level a public, communal sense of courtesy or general morality determines the right- or wrongness of less pressing concerns like manners and personal conduct. in fact, one could say there are several strata of morality, or even several moralities -- a morality of society, a morality of the state, and a morality of religion.
this social origin of morality works its way around the objections that arise with the Divine Moral System -- namely that the Social Origin states that morality is a necessary component of society -- it is inherent to social structure, inseperable from it the way the Divine Moral Code seems to be. an explanation of nature and the laws of physics as an analogy for the DMC and its reasonability is a complication not necessary for the Social Origin theory. the Social Origin theory is simply described as occuring naturally alongside society. the mechanics of its origin of course must involve an awareness of what people are prone to do, an awareness of precedents, and here again we could re-raise the concept of human nature and how the perception of it figures into the structure of the moral system. but because society, no matter how restricted, is inherently pluralistic on some level, its moral system can be nothing but basic, and therefore prove only a basic understanding of human nature.
this is the crux of the question that plagues me. is there a morality that exists apart from society, to govern a solitary man? is there a morality that exists apart from the Divine Moral System? a morality that is not just a "because i said so," or is not a system for survival, or is not just a way for us all to get along? what if there is no one to get along with? are there still moral obligations? what about the man who lives in society and is not a 'part' of it? what about the hermit? where there are many men, moral systems must exist. where there is a God, moral systems must exist; they always do. the question for me isn't the hypothetical "what if God doesn't exist and you are the only man left on earth." its more complicated than that. i guess as concisely as i can put it the question is "what is the moral responsibility of the individual?" is there only a moral responsibility when there are people around? is moral responsibility only a matter of duty owed to the Divine, and if so what is the purpose of that for me?
"what is the purpose of it for me" is the important half of that question. its not that i don't believe in a moral responsbility to society or God...but....what is the purpose of it for me? it helps me live better with other people, and i can follow rules that will make God happy, but to some degree those are outer layers, non-individual layers. i am an individual, and the core of me wants to know what is supposed to govern it and why...
what is the purpose of it for me?.......i'm determined to find the answer to this question, because i believe there is one.
God, as creator of nature, therefore works through a natural process; as designer of a universe held together by laws of physics He must work through those physical laws as well -- i think of them as the work gloves with which the Hand of God moves. the notion that miracles, that signs and wonders can be explained by natural phenomenon therefore is not a problem for me. to many people of faith, it is considered a blow to what they believe, the work of people who are trying to tear down the supernatural and replace it with a mundane, natural explanation. but if God is the creator, and creation is nature, than there is no such thing as "supernatural" -- or, rather, everything in creation is supernatural...and if you ever study biology or astronomy or geology, it really boggles the mind; nature itself verges on the supernatural, and it is almost incredible -- the perfection of the life cycles of plants and animals, or the immensity of outer space, or the fine calibration of the earth we live on. the scientific explanation never detracts from the power and sovreignty of God, it points out just how powerful and sovreign He is. discovering the physical laws that govern natural events, be they everyday occurances or miraculous wonders, simply give us an explanation of what is happening, and aid our appreciation of how and why it did happen.
when it comes to the question of human nature, things become more controversial, more arguable; few can agree on what is 'natural' for humanity, and discovering the normative properties of the race is either used or seen to be used as a way to oppress the non-normal; certainly there is that danger, and whether or not discovering a norm is undesirable because of that danger is another discussion entirely. at any rate, there is little agreement as far as what human nature is, and there is less agreement about what 'natural laws' govern it. morality is an attempt to the answer that question of the natural laws of humanity.
if our system of morality is God-given, from On High and written in stone, there is still much to be discovered about that system. following the moral code is certainly good enough, but for many understanding why is an important part of that act of obedience as well, to say nothing of the need to explain to those individuals who are disinclined to follow certain of those moral tenents why obedience is necessary. a moral system that does not contain an answer to the question "why?" amounts to brainwashing or mind-control -- to finally use the analogy i've been setting up all of this time, it amounts to observing natural phenomenon without having any concept of the physical laws that govern it -- it is mysterious at best, confusing at worst. therefore, if morality is to be taken from On High, it still requires a why; if God is the source of our moral system in a "down from the mountain" fashion, it still must contain reasons for its own formulation, because we know that God does not allow natural phenomenon to stand alone without physical laws just as we know he does not allow a moral system to stand alone without its own reasons for being -- the explanation of which is not to detract from the authority or sovreignty of God, but to demonstrate its fullness.
and yet by the Divine system mankind is a complete moral failure; so much so that we've managed to fail in several different ways. our inability to live up to the Divine Moral Standard is the reason for Christ (who came not to do away with, but to fulfill 'the Law') and his death on the Cross. as a race we have fallen so far from the finish line we've needed even more Divine assistance than we knew to begin with. in other ways, we have surpassed the Judeo-Christian Divine Moral Standard of the Penteteuch, the laws of which were given to a society that existed on the brink of extermination. laws that seem to govern moral practice (complete with appropriate punishment) are in actuality laws concerned with the health and survival of a people. medical and technological advancements seem to make certain pronouncements of the law obsolete. do clean needles sterilize the immorality of getting tatoos? do health codes and disease control cure the meat of unclean animals? do condoms protect against the depravity of promiscuity or homosexual sex? and what about the medical and technological advancements that the Divine Moral System has absolutely nothing to account for -- what moral code do we take into account when considering the dangers of genetic engineering, or cloning? what happens society has outgrown its moral system? or is it hubris, to think we have come so far? is it pride to allow ourselves loopholes around the Divine Moral Code just because we have the technology to create them? to me, it is clear that we need a New Revelation...
that said, and putting other points to be raised aside for the moment, there are those that argue that the entire cause of morality and the need for a moral code is society itself -- that without society, without a community, without any number of gathered individuals, great or few, there would be no need for any moral system. morality is what governs the social commerce between individuals in a community, and arises alongside and just as naturally as communities do themselves. this sounds entirely reasonable; even if you don't have a moral code from the mountain, you are going to have to end up with a system one way or another. in large, organized, secular societies, you have governments and legislation that order what is proper and improper social commerce between neighbors, and on a subgovernmental level a public, communal sense of courtesy or general morality determines the right- or wrongness of less pressing concerns like manners and personal conduct. in fact, one could say there are several strata of morality, or even several moralities -- a morality of society, a morality of the state, and a morality of religion.
this social origin of morality works its way around the objections that arise with the Divine Moral System -- namely that the Social Origin states that morality is a necessary component of society -- it is inherent to social structure, inseperable from it the way the Divine Moral Code seems to be. an explanation of nature and the laws of physics as an analogy for the DMC and its reasonability is a complication not necessary for the Social Origin theory. the Social Origin theory is simply described as occuring naturally alongside society. the mechanics of its origin of course must involve an awareness of what people are prone to do, an awareness of precedents, and here again we could re-raise the concept of human nature and how the perception of it figures into the structure of the moral system. but because society, no matter how restricted, is inherently pluralistic on some level, its moral system can be nothing but basic, and therefore prove only a basic understanding of human nature.
this is the crux of the question that plagues me. is there a morality that exists apart from society, to govern a solitary man? is there a morality that exists apart from the Divine Moral System? a morality that is not just a "because i said so," or is not a system for survival, or is not just a way for us all to get along? what if there is no one to get along with? are there still moral obligations? what about the man who lives in society and is not a 'part' of it? what about the hermit? where there are many men, moral systems must exist. where there is a God, moral systems must exist; they always do. the question for me isn't the hypothetical "what if God doesn't exist and you are the only man left on earth." its more complicated than that. i guess as concisely as i can put it the question is "what is the moral responsibility of the individual?" is there only a moral responsibility when there are people around? is moral responsibility only a matter of duty owed to the Divine, and if so what is the purpose of that for me?
"what is the purpose of it for me" is the important half of that question. its not that i don't believe in a moral responsbility to society or God...but....what is the purpose of it for me? it helps me live better with other people, and i can follow rules that will make God happy, but to some degree those are outer layers, non-individual layers. i am an individual, and the core of me wants to know what is supposed to govern it and why...
what is the purpose of it for me?.......i'm determined to find the answer to this question, because i believe there is one.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
your writing update
end of month 1
june, july, and august to go.
a quarter of a short story down.
things are not coming along quickly. this is the part of the writing process where i realize i haven't worked on a project in two weeks. this is the part of the writing process where i don't want to go back to writing; where the bottom drops out, and suddenly i'm thinking this isn't something i can do.
a fog has descended onto my head, and i can't follow a single train of thought. i haven't felt this unfocused in a long time. a blog post even this short is tough to make.
so far: i am pretty unsatisfied with my performance.
so far: i suck at writing.
so far: i haven't figured out how to do this.
june, july, and august to go.
a quarter of a short story down.
things are not coming along quickly. this is the part of the writing process where i realize i haven't worked on a project in two weeks. this is the part of the writing process where i don't want to go back to writing; where the bottom drops out, and suddenly i'm thinking this isn't something i can do.
a fog has descended onto my head, and i can't follow a single train of thought. i haven't felt this unfocused in a long time. a blog post even this short is tough to make.
so far: i am pretty unsatisfied with my performance.
so far: i suck at writing.
so far: i haven't figured out how to do this.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Achilles had no friends.
Achilles had no friends; he was the greatest warrior that history -- real or imagined -- has ever known. he killed not only Trojans, with whom he was at war, in the thousands -- but Greeks as well...the guys on his own team, the people of whom he was a leader. the Iliad is a poem about the 'wrath of Achilles;' it was unquenchable, unstoppable...inhuman. Achilles' anger and his sheer lust for glory made him an implacable force on the battlefield. he cut through men like a flaming sword, like a heavenly fire. he was a saint of blood, he was born to kill. by the end of the poem, he has no friends -- he offends his king, alienates his fellow warriors, and his only friend in the story, Patroclus, is slaughtered. he is a brooding, vengeful bastard.
in fact, Achilles is ensconced, encapsulated in the pruned, autumnal garden of his selfish desire -- he has chosen death and glory as the way of his life, and it has isolated him. Bernard Knox, who writes the introduction to the Fagles translation of the Iliad, asserts that it is Achilles' solopsism that grants him godlikeness; his singularity of purpose, his singularity of being, its arrogance, its refusal to join the rest of mankind in a common concession to humanity. Achilles is a man (granted, a demi-god); he is mortal, and lives among mortals, yet throughout the story he makes no connection, cannot join himself in any social bonds with mortal men. he aspires to greatness, to glory and even godhood in some sense, and leaves mankind behind him as something to be stepped over, cut through; until, Knox argues, Priam, king of Troy, comes to supplicate Achilles for the body of his son, Hector. here, Achilles ceases to be a god, ceases to be simply a force of personality, and becomes human........the eloquence and the love of Priam for his son has touched him. Achilles falls into this human reality: he too, has a father; he too, will wound him with his own impending death. he is able to feel something different than his bellicose single-mindedness; Priam anoints him with human compassion.
Achilles is doomed; he does not die at the end of the poem, but we know his life is sealed, bound to the death of Hector (whom he kills, knowing this full well). but he is pulled within the human realm before he dies, joins the race of mortal beings. he too will meet death, like the all the rest; he is as good as human. why not join them in life? according to Knox, the Iliad is the tragedy of Achilles; perhaps he learns too late, but it is never too little to learn how to become a part of this race.
in fact, Achilles is ensconced, encapsulated in the pruned, autumnal garden of his selfish desire -- he has chosen death and glory as the way of his life, and it has isolated him. Bernard Knox, who writes the introduction to the Fagles translation of the Iliad, asserts that it is Achilles' solopsism that grants him godlikeness; his singularity of purpose, his singularity of being, its arrogance, its refusal to join the rest of mankind in a common concession to humanity. Achilles is a man (granted, a demi-god); he is mortal, and lives among mortals, yet throughout the story he makes no connection, cannot join himself in any social bonds with mortal men. he aspires to greatness, to glory and even godhood in some sense, and leaves mankind behind him as something to be stepped over, cut through; until, Knox argues, Priam, king of Troy, comes to supplicate Achilles for the body of his son, Hector. here, Achilles ceases to be a god, ceases to be simply a force of personality, and becomes human........the eloquence and the love of Priam for his son has touched him. Achilles falls into this human reality: he too, has a father; he too, will wound him with his own impending death. he is able to feel something different than his bellicose single-mindedness; Priam anoints him with human compassion.
Achilles is doomed; he does not die at the end of the poem, but we know his life is sealed, bound to the death of Hector (whom he kills, knowing this full well). but he is pulled within the human realm before he dies, joins the race of mortal beings. he too will meet death, like the all the rest; he is as good as human. why not join them in life? according to Knox, the Iliad is the tragedy of Achilles; perhaps he learns too late, but it is never too little to learn how to become a part of this race.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
live, from the sunset strip, its studio 60...
nothing makes me want to blog more than Aaron Sorkin news.
so "Studio 60 from the Sunset Strip" isn't really news...or, rather i'm a very untimely reporter...but suddenly i'm all hot and bothered about it.
it all starts with the West Wing; the show that nobody wants to watch until they get irrevocably hooked. its one of those things that happens gradually, but feels like it happens overnight; just ask my ex-girlfriends, my various roommates, or me. the Bravo reruns caught me around the throat, a couple years ago. its important that i specify the Bravo-run of the West Wing and not its network run at the time; after season 4, Sorkin left the show. i never gave it a chance after that. it might not have been all that bad, but how could it ever be as good again? the point is, i've never watched a whole episode that Sorkin didn't write, with the exception of Sunday's series finale. cute episode, by the way. worth the fuss? no, not really. the show was long overdue for cancelling, without Sorkin's pen. but i couldn't resist watching the very last episode of my very favourite, if devolved, television show. good thing i did. the bright spots? the commercials of course, specifically this one -- a thirty second teaser for Sorkin's shiny new Studio 60. the cast looks phenomenal.
can't wait. :)
so "Studio 60 from the Sunset Strip" isn't really news...or, rather i'm a very untimely reporter...but suddenly i'm all hot and bothered about it.
it all starts with the West Wing; the show that nobody wants to watch until they get irrevocably hooked. its one of those things that happens gradually, but feels like it happens overnight; just ask my ex-girlfriends, my various roommates, or me. the Bravo reruns caught me around the throat, a couple years ago. its important that i specify the Bravo-run of the West Wing and not its network run at the time; after season 4, Sorkin left the show. i never gave it a chance after that. it might not have been all that bad, but how could it ever be as good again? the point is, i've never watched a whole episode that Sorkin didn't write, with the exception of Sunday's series finale. cute episode, by the way. worth the fuss? no, not really. the show was long overdue for cancelling, without Sorkin's pen. but i couldn't resist watching the very last episode of my very favourite, if devolved, television show. good thing i did. the bright spots? the commercials of course, specifically this one -- a thirty second teaser for Sorkin's shiny new Studio 60. the cast looks phenomenal.
can't wait. :)
Monday, May 08, 2006
buttons in funny places
i'm elated; i just found a button on my laptop that turns off the touchpad.
you have to understand; its not that i have meathooks or anything, but on my last laptop, i could barely type because i kept grazing the touchpad....
so if i were typing middle of another line something, randomly
my cursor would jump to the
...and i can't tell you how annoying that is when you think you're writing your opus.
as it turns out, what i was writing then wasn't going to be my great work. but touchpad misshaps are no less annoying now than they were back then, so it is nice, now that i have redefined the role and importance and type of writing in my life, to finally be able to peck at this keyboard without having to wonder where the words will end up.
at any rate, here i am with a new laptop, and a summer off from school -- with new plans for my former opus, new plans for a new opus, and most importantly, germs of ideas for other little pieces along the way. these last i'd like to focus on the most. i've only really written two short stories that i'd ever let anybody read. one needs about a thousand man hours of editing. the other needs less editing and more retouching. they are not bad. if i can fiddle with them a bit, they might even be good. they give me hope that i'll be able to write in the short form successfully. i plan on trying it out; if it works out the way i hope, i may send a few pieces out to run the publishing gauntlet. if the little guys survive, they'll be 'real,' i'll get to say i'm published, and maybe i'll even see some money. it won't be enough to pay rent; i'll be able to buy toothpaste and toilet paper and a nice chicken dinner if i'm lucky. but no Gepetto would ever be so happy.
let's set some goals:
i'm aiming low here, i know, but i'm not going to ask for much more than three short stories this summer. that's really because i only have three ideas, but let's all pretend that its because i'm monumentally gifted and that if i try to write any more than that it will put undue strain on my fragile body, and that because being such a genius is so exhausting i'll have to be bedridden for five months if i manage to pump out more that three literary treasures. let's pretend also that the nap i'm going to have to take after writing this post is for the same reason. everyone got it? good.
so, i have three ideas. one of them is what i like to politely call a reworking of Borges's "the Circular Ruins;" you might impolitely call it a "rip-off," but if we can get together over lunch on this one, i'm sure we'd be able to agree on the backhanded term "inspired by" and walk away satisfied.
one idea is about something called 'the Book of Lost Thoughts,' and it came from me wondering what happens to all of the little lines of poetry and prose i've composed in my head while walking, only to forget them completely upon arrival at whatever my destination.
one idea is about buffalo. the phrase that keeps flickering on the screen of my brain is "buffalo underworld"........its not about organized crime, or gangs, or our lovely, corrupt and useless politicians (ok, i didn't vote, i have no right to complain, yadda yadda).......but because buffalo manages to be a small and incestuous and inbred city; people's secrets get passed around like currency, street gossip is almost always reliable, and everyone's got a reputation for something. the word "sordid" is the best i can think of to describe it. the strange part is people take a certain kind of twisted pride in all that sordid stuff here. i'd venture a guess to say that any city is like that, but i don't live in any city, i live in buffalo. and because i am an absolute retard for mythology, i of course plan to work in some references to the classical (and non-classical) depictions of the Underworld....because....sometimes buffalo feels like...Purgatory or something....Sheol...the abode of the dead...
anyway...a story a month this summer.
i should be able to do that, right?
i'll let you know...
you have to understand; its not that i have meathooks or anything, but on my last laptop, i could barely type because i kept grazing the touchpad....
so if i were typing middle of another line something, randomly
my cursor would jump to the
...and i can't tell you how annoying that is when you think you're writing your opus.
as it turns out, what i was writing then wasn't going to be my great work. but touchpad misshaps are no less annoying now than they were back then, so it is nice, now that i have redefined the role and importance and type of writing in my life, to finally be able to peck at this keyboard without having to wonder where the words will end up.
at any rate, here i am with a new laptop, and a summer off from school -- with new plans for my former opus, new plans for a new opus, and most importantly, germs of ideas for other little pieces along the way. these last i'd like to focus on the most. i've only really written two short stories that i'd ever let anybody read. one needs about a thousand man hours of editing. the other needs less editing and more retouching. they are not bad. if i can fiddle with them a bit, they might even be good. they give me hope that i'll be able to write in the short form successfully. i plan on trying it out; if it works out the way i hope, i may send a few pieces out to run the publishing gauntlet. if the little guys survive, they'll be 'real,' i'll get to say i'm published, and maybe i'll even see some money. it won't be enough to pay rent; i'll be able to buy toothpaste and toilet paper and a nice chicken dinner if i'm lucky. but no Gepetto would ever be so happy.
let's set some goals:
i'm aiming low here, i know, but i'm not going to ask for much more than three short stories this summer. that's really because i only have three ideas, but let's all pretend that its because i'm monumentally gifted and that if i try to write any more than that it will put undue strain on my fragile body, and that because being such a genius is so exhausting i'll have to be bedridden for five months if i manage to pump out more that three literary treasures. let's pretend also that the nap i'm going to have to take after writing this post is for the same reason. everyone got it? good.
so, i have three ideas. one of them is what i like to politely call a reworking of Borges's "the Circular Ruins;" you might impolitely call it a "rip-off," but if we can get together over lunch on this one, i'm sure we'd be able to agree on the backhanded term "inspired by" and walk away satisfied.
one idea is about something called 'the Book of Lost Thoughts,' and it came from me wondering what happens to all of the little lines of poetry and prose i've composed in my head while walking, only to forget them completely upon arrival at whatever my destination.
one idea is about buffalo. the phrase that keeps flickering on the screen of my brain is "buffalo underworld"........its not about organized crime, or gangs, or our lovely, corrupt and useless politicians (ok, i didn't vote, i have no right to complain, yadda yadda).......but because buffalo manages to be a small and incestuous and inbred city; people's secrets get passed around like currency, street gossip is almost always reliable, and everyone's got a reputation for something. the word "sordid" is the best i can think of to describe it. the strange part is people take a certain kind of twisted pride in all that sordid stuff here. i'd venture a guess to say that any city is like that, but i don't live in any city, i live in buffalo. and because i am an absolute retard for mythology, i of course plan to work in some references to the classical (and non-classical) depictions of the Underworld....because....sometimes buffalo feels like...Purgatory or something....Sheol...the abode of the dead...
anyway...a story a month this summer.
i should be able to do that, right?
i'll let you know...
Saturday, May 06, 2006
"May the Christian Lord guide my hand..."
"...against your ROman POPEry!"
this has got to be the funniest line ever uttered in a movie. the conviction with which it is delivered makes it funny...and the word "popery." as in "the act of pope-ing."
i am sitting here watching a mediocre movie to watch Daniel Day-Lewis be amazing as Bill the Butcher, and he's the one who gets to shout that line and be admirably repulsive in Gangs of New York; what's more, i'm watching it from the comfort of my own apartment as i type this entry -- fingerwork that would admittedly be put to better use writing all the make-up papers i've got to do before monday. but the point is this: i've just gotten a laptop for my very own. handy in the event that i'd ever want to, you know, be a writer.
which is good news for you. because, now, while instead of just rotting my brain in front of the telie, i can rot my brain AND post to this lovely little site.
which i will start doing. right after i get to watch Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York.
cheers.
this has got to be the funniest line ever uttered in a movie. the conviction with which it is delivered makes it funny...and the word "popery." as in "the act of pope-ing."
i am sitting here watching a mediocre movie to watch Daniel Day-Lewis be amazing as Bill the Butcher, and he's the one who gets to shout that line and be admirably repulsive in Gangs of New York; what's more, i'm watching it from the comfort of my own apartment as i type this entry -- fingerwork that would admittedly be put to better use writing all the make-up papers i've got to do before monday. but the point is this: i've just gotten a laptop for my very own. handy in the event that i'd ever want to, you know, be a writer.
which is good news for you. because, now, while instead of just rotting my brain in front of the telie, i can rot my brain AND post to this lovely little site.
which i will start doing. right after i get to watch Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York.
cheers.
reason not to have a girlfriend #6
(today is 1/23/07. this is a retroposted draft i had, lingering around, unpublished. why? it wasn't for any special lack of quality...so, who knows. here it is, restored to my lovely little weblog.)
i am going to make a general statement here, and it won't be pretty:
girls are needy.
ok, before half of you get started, give me a chance to say this: of course not all girls are needy. of course there are exceptions, and no i shouldn't be so enslaved to gender stereotyping, and i don't know what i could possibly be thinking by making such a statement except...
girls are needy.
i'm not saying men aren't needy in equally annoying ways. i'm not saying girls aren't deservedly needy. i'm not saying that anyone wouldn't be needy when you enter into the pact that is a relationship. in fact, that demand on your time and attention is justified when you've made that agreement with someone, when you've taken that step. things in your life change, and necessarily so.
i have always been drawn to women who were strong, independant, even stubborn, i think as a guard against that intense demand upon my time.
and the girls i have been drawn to, they will either have nothing to do with me, or they become every other girl i have ever dated. they become 'girlfriend,' and they lose all their own interests and replace them with me. i turn them to mush, for whatever reason. they lose the distinction of character that drew me to them in the first place.
they begin to latch on to me, to get upset when i spend too long in the computer lab, or want to go out with the boys, or spend time wandering my own thoughts. they get upset when i do things that don't include them, or me thinking about them.
like posting on a weblog.
and there this girl, a girl i am not (yet?) dating for whom i must cut this post short.
and she is not my girlfriend.
she is still just a girl.
and reason not to have a girlfriend #6 is:
girls are needy
i am going to make a general statement here, and it won't be pretty:
girls are needy.
ok, before half of you get started, give me a chance to say this: of course not all girls are needy. of course there are exceptions, and no i shouldn't be so enslaved to gender stereotyping, and i don't know what i could possibly be thinking by making such a statement except...
girls are needy.
i'm not saying men aren't needy in equally annoying ways. i'm not saying girls aren't deservedly needy. i'm not saying that anyone wouldn't be needy when you enter into the pact that is a relationship. in fact, that demand on your time and attention is justified when you've made that agreement with someone, when you've taken that step. things in your life change, and necessarily so.
i have always been drawn to women who were strong, independant, even stubborn, i think as a guard against that intense demand upon my time.
and the girls i have been drawn to, they will either have nothing to do with me, or they become every other girl i have ever dated. they become 'girlfriend,' and they lose all their own interests and replace them with me. i turn them to mush, for whatever reason. they lose the distinction of character that drew me to them in the first place.
they begin to latch on to me, to get upset when i spend too long in the computer lab, or want to go out with the boys, or spend time wandering my own thoughts. they get upset when i do things that don't include them, or me thinking about them.
like posting on a weblog.
and there this girl, a girl i am not (yet?) dating for whom i must cut this post short.
and she is not my girlfriend.
she is still just a girl.
and reason not to have a girlfriend #6 is:
girls are needy
Friday, April 28, 2006
stealing greek
feeling the need to ramble a bit today......
let me tell you about two new words i learned this week. they aren't actually new. they're a few thousand years old really. and they aren't english, they're greek. but they are new to me, and i'm excited about them.
word #1: kalon -- abstract beauty, the recognition of beauty without desire, without the need to possess. something like zen-aestheticism, appreciating beauty in and of itself.
i think this is a fascinating idea...mostly because, for me, it is almost incomprehensible. as an artist, the only thing i want to do is capture beauty, or create it, or somehow leave my mark on it. as an artist, i only appreciate beauty in terms of possessing it, in whatever way i can. inspiration is the attempt to acquire beauty, to consume the beautiful so that one may produce the beautiful; sandwiched between that beauty, perhaps one can become beautiful oneself. i don't know. i am not sure that the concept of the kalon is possible, in reality -- i don't know if one can grasp what beauty is apart from grasping after it. but i like entertaining the idea that it is possible, or that as a term it might be able to describe something so magnificently beautiful that the mere existence of it is possession enough. i like that it might be able to describe something transcendantly beautiful, beyond perfection, boiling over with its own ineffable, blindingly endless existence; like God on the top of a mountain.
i have felt some moments where the world and life and its plan were jarred into beauty -- like a re-set bone -- and that beauty had been enough, to know it was there was sufficient for me, and to know that i had a place in it was a comfort. so perhaps i understand the idea of kalon, to a degree. it is a holy beauty, a beauty so sacred that it consumes you, consumes the self...you become a part of it; it is too big to become a part of you.
i concieve of the word kalon, or beauty that is kalonic, as being opposed to beauty that is 'hellenic.' Hellen's was the face that launched a thousand ships. if her beauty had been transcendant, those armies would have turned back, satisfied with the slightest glance at her, and happy to know that somewhere in the world there existed something so beautiful, and for her to be in the world was enough. hellenic beauty inspires lust, desire, war...inspires men to die; kalonic beauty inspires them to live.
word #2 akrasia -- the breakdown of human reason which results in irrational choice...usually due to the contamination by human will.
i didn't know there was a word to describe why i've made most of the decisions i have in life. what it comes down to is that sometimes the reasons for a decision aren't always reasonable; they aren't predictable, they aren't decipherable or very well explicable. and sometimes you choose something just to enact your will, to know that you are still you and you can decide something even when the world seems to spin out of control........eating disorders, anyone? not to mention any number of less obvious manifestations that derive from a similar kind of neuroses...
if you've ever read any of the "reasons not to have a girlfriend" posts, you'll perhaps be somewhat familiar with my personal conflict with the self -- i do and have done things that just don't make sense, a victim of my own compulsions. i have done dangerous things, committed potentially life altering acts, all the while just looking at myself, thinking "what the hell are you doing? you idiot..." everything i do is a choice, because right alongside the reasonable, the sensable, and the safe there shuffles the impulse to do the opposite, the appetite for the edge of self-destruction. and i won't deny that sometimes you've gotta run up to the edge, and walk that line and find out what you're made of...sometimes, you have to know the answer to the question "what if...?"
and sometimes the floor falls out from under you and the wisdom of your decision is apparent to no-one. on the way down, you think "why did i do that," and if the fall is long enough you remember: akrasia. or "a-crazy-a." because, sometimes, we're all a little nuts.
let me tell you about two new words i learned this week. they aren't actually new. they're a few thousand years old really. and they aren't english, they're greek. but they are new to me, and i'm excited about them.
word #1: kalon -- abstract beauty, the recognition of beauty without desire, without the need to possess. something like zen-aestheticism, appreciating beauty in and of itself.
i think this is a fascinating idea...mostly because, for me, it is almost incomprehensible. as an artist, the only thing i want to do is capture beauty, or create it, or somehow leave my mark on it. as an artist, i only appreciate beauty in terms of possessing it, in whatever way i can. inspiration is the attempt to acquire beauty, to consume the beautiful so that one may produce the beautiful; sandwiched between that beauty, perhaps one can become beautiful oneself. i don't know. i am not sure that the concept of the kalon is possible, in reality -- i don't know if one can grasp what beauty is apart from grasping after it. but i like entertaining the idea that it is possible, or that as a term it might be able to describe something so magnificently beautiful that the mere existence of it is possession enough. i like that it might be able to describe something transcendantly beautiful, beyond perfection, boiling over with its own ineffable, blindingly endless existence; like God on the top of a mountain.
i have felt some moments where the world and life and its plan were jarred into beauty -- like a re-set bone -- and that beauty had been enough, to know it was there was sufficient for me, and to know that i had a place in it was a comfort. so perhaps i understand the idea of kalon, to a degree. it is a holy beauty, a beauty so sacred that it consumes you, consumes the self...you become a part of it; it is too big to become a part of you.
i concieve of the word kalon, or beauty that is kalonic, as being opposed to beauty that is 'hellenic.' Hellen's was the face that launched a thousand ships. if her beauty had been transcendant, those armies would have turned back, satisfied with the slightest glance at her, and happy to know that somewhere in the world there existed something so beautiful, and for her to be in the world was enough. hellenic beauty inspires lust, desire, war...inspires men to die; kalonic beauty inspires them to live.
word #2 akrasia -- the breakdown of human reason which results in irrational choice...usually due to the contamination by human will.
i didn't know there was a word to describe why i've made most of the decisions i have in life. what it comes down to is that sometimes the reasons for a decision aren't always reasonable; they aren't predictable, they aren't decipherable or very well explicable. and sometimes you choose something just to enact your will, to know that you are still you and you can decide something even when the world seems to spin out of control........eating disorders, anyone? not to mention any number of less obvious manifestations that derive from a similar kind of neuroses...
if you've ever read any of the "reasons not to have a girlfriend" posts, you'll perhaps be somewhat familiar with my personal conflict with the self -- i do and have done things that just don't make sense, a victim of my own compulsions. i have done dangerous things, committed potentially life altering acts, all the while just looking at myself, thinking "what the hell are you doing? you idiot..." everything i do is a choice, because right alongside the reasonable, the sensable, and the safe there shuffles the impulse to do the opposite, the appetite for the edge of self-destruction. and i won't deny that sometimes you've gotta run up to the edge, and walk that line and find out what you're made of...sometimes, you have to know the answer to the question "what if...?"
and sometimes the floor falls out from under you and the wisdom of your decision is apparent to no-one. on the way down, you think "why did i do that," and if the fall is long enough you remember: akrasia. or "a-crazy-a." because, sometimes, we're all a little nuts.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
"can't do it max..."
i used to be a good student. i mean, after i was a bad student for awhile, and i barely graduated high school, and flunked out of Canisius College...i took three years off, and then started going to Buff State, and started pulling A's and the occasional B. and then this year happened. last semester i attended so few classes i had an unofficial withdrawal from three of my courses. my grades in the classes i did attend were...not failing, but nowhere near what i'm used to getting.
so this semester i decided that i'm going to bring my grades back up.
and i just can't do it.
granted, i've been sick three times this year with what appears to have been strep, and have had my share of...troubles...with the amherst town courts. and i had move into a new apartment again.
but honestly, if my head had really been in the game, it wouldn't have mattered, and i wouldn't be in the mess that i am now.
as the end of the semester nears, and the missed classes and make-up work pile up, now, more that ever, i am frantically trying to figure out what's missing from my academic focus so i can get it back and at least not throw away another semester.
i used to love school. now i'm afraid i'll be stuck in the same sort of limbo i was using school to avoid -- doing nothing, learning nothing, being nothing.
i can't wait for summer. i've got that itch. i feel guilty. other people can do this. other people take more classes than i am taking, and work full time, and don't sleep, and they can make it happen. why the hell can't i?
i don't understand the lethargy, but i have a few theories:
1. too much fun -- i used to not have friends. now, i have friends. i could not have them, i suppose. but then i wouldn't have any friends. the unrelenting need to have people like me makes me want to hang out instead of do my work. and i have really only ever operated in extremes in this arena. hang out, every chance i get. or hang out with no one, ever.
2. no girlfriend -- usually, when i have a girlfriend, she is my social life. so i don't need or usually have friends of my own when i'm dating someone. i'd like for that to change next time around, but i am just accustomed to the ol' ball and chain. it made being social easy; just find one person you're comfortable with, and hang out with them. and then ignore them when you have to do something. it takes the focus off of being social, and realigns it on the task of the day. that was really easy. i know it sounds horrible. but sometimes i wish i had a girlfriend again, just so i could get some work done.
3. writing -- since i've decided to own the creative factor of my life as its defining feature, i have little patience for anything else. granted, at this stage, i'd probably be bad at writing for 8 hours a day like a real live writer does; i think that's something you've got to work up to. and so i'm not wishing that i had nothing else in my life to do. but it seems that the times i've felt the most creative are always the times when things like school are my biggest obstacle to creativity. and that is a pain in the ass. don't they have programs for people like me? (anyone says "12 step", and i'll kill you...)
4. lack of wellbutrin -- i was on this drug for awhile, when i first started back to school. i don't really remember it making me feel any different. it was supposed to make me feel motivated and, well, less bi-polar, i guess. but the only reason i took it was to keep the people who bugged me about it off of my back. it made other people happy, but i don't remember it making me happy. i was against the idea of taking a drug to fix something i felt like went deeper than a medical issue. i still am. but at this point, i'm willing to try anything. i had stopped taking it, and things kept moving pretty smoothly. i attributed that to fact that my life actually had purpose and direction, i was paving a path of A's and B's towards a certain goal, and that was good for my spirits. my focus is a little hazy, now. maybe its time to give the ol' doc a call...
5. bad health -- they say that health of body affects health of mind. they also say that strep can stay in your system (which it has in mine, evidently) and swirl around your body and go to your HEART. no wonder i felt like i was going to die when i was sick. i don't think it got as bad as infecting other parts of my body...but who knows? maybe it went to my head, and ate away my brain. i do feel like i have a headful of scrambled eggs. at any rate, i have some health issues i need to take care of; strep was one, so i've got one down. i still need to get my wisdom teeth out. and i still need new contacts. i am so gross. i just want to feel better.
there we go, Buff State. top five reasons why i've sucked at school all semester. can't you just...let me float by....for old times sake?
so this semester i decided that i'm going to bring my grades back up.
and i just can't do it.
granted, i've been sick three times this year with what appears to have been strep, and have had my share of...troubles...with the amherst town courts. and i had move into a new apartment again.
but honestly, if my head had really been in the game, it wouldn't have mattered, and i wouldn't be in the mess that i am now.
as the end of the semester nears, and the missed classes and make-up work pile up, now, more that ever, i am frantically trying to figure out what's missing from my academic focus so i can get it back and at least not throw away another semester.
i used to love school. now i'm afraid i'll be stuck in the same sort of limbo i was using school to avoid -- doing nothing, learning nothing, being nothing.
i can't wait for summer. i've got that itch. i feel guilty. other people can do this. other people take more classes than i am taking, and work full time, and don't sleep, and they can make it happen. why the hell can't i?
i don't understand the lethargy, but i have a few theories:
1. too much fun -- i used to not have friends. now, i have friends. i could not have them, i suppose. but then i wouldn't have any friends. the unrelenting need to have people like me makes me want to hang out instead of do my work. and i have really only ever operated in extremes in this arena. hang out, every chance i get. or hang out with no one, ever.
2. no girlfriend -- usually, when i have a girlfriend, she is my social life. so i don't need or usually have friends of my own when i'm dating someone. i'd like for that to change next time around, but i am just accustomed to the ol' ball and chain. it made being social easy; just find one person you're comfortable with, and hang out with them. and then ignore them when you have to do something. it takes the focus off of being social, and realigns it on the task of the day. that was really easy. i know it sounds horrible. but sometimes i wish i had a girlfriend again, just so i could get some work done.
3. writing -- since i've decided to own the creative factor of my life as its defining feature, i have little patience for anything else. granted, at this stage, i'd probably be bad at writing for 8 hours a day like a real live writer does; i think that's something you've got to work up to. and so i'm not wishing that i had nothing else in my life to do. but it seems that the times i've felt the most creative are always the times when things like school are my biggest obstacle to creativity. and that is a pain in the ass. don't they have programs for people like me? (anyone says "12 step", and i'll kill you...)
4. lack of wellbutrin -- i was on this drug for awhile, when i first started back to school. i don't really remember it making me feel any different. it was supposed to make me feel motivated and, well, less bi-polar, i guess. but the only reason i took it was to keep the people who bugged me about it off of my back. it made other people happy, but i don't remember it making me happy. i was against the idea of taking a drug to fix something i felt like went deeper than a medical issue. i still am. but at this point, i'm willing to try anything. i had stopped taking it, and things kept moving pretty smoothly. i attributed that to fact that my life actually had purpose and direction, i was paving a path of A's and B's towards a certain goal, and that was good for my spirits. my focus is a little hazy, now. maybe its time to give the ol' doc a call...
5. bad health -- they say that health of body affects health of mind. they also say that strep can stay in your system (which it has in mine, evidently) and swirl around your body and go to your HEART. no wonder i felt like i was going to die when i was sick. i don't think it got as bad as infecting other parts of my body...but who knows? maybe it went to my head, and ate away my brain. i do feel like i have a headful of scrambled eggs. at any rate, i have some health issues i need to take care of; strep was one, so i've got one down. i still need to get my wisdom teeth out. and i still need new contacts. i am so gross. i just want to feel better.
there we go, Buff State. top five reasons why i've sucked at school all semester. can't you just...let me float by....for old times sake?
Monday, April 17, 2006
Journal Entry, 4/17/06, 12:30 am
i get panicky when i haven't written.
i am panicky.
because i feel like i can see meaning and purpose and greatness receding out of my life, and i will become an empty vessel, useless; a dried up potsherd.
when i decided what to do with my life, all the fear left me. i became fearless. my worst fears, my dreamt fears were no threat to me any longer. i was no longer paranoid. i did not even fear the yellow-eyed monster man in the bushes that i made up. i could face him, bear his attack, run out to meet it, collide with him, and, win or lose, i could know that i would be ok. i had no fear...guns, knives, fists, nails, teeth held no real danger. i had a better weapon. i had words by the hilt, that were carving up and creating my life. i had a sword that could kill and give life, that could make and unmake. a sword of spirit.
and i knew, also, that the yellow-eyed monster man was me, and that meant i could take him. i had the power to look him in his terrible face and scowl back. i had a weapon that could tame and kill him, a weapon whose handle, when within reach, is salvation. it is a sword i can live by.
it is all of and the only power i have.
the longer i keep away from it, the weaker i become. the life i lead becomes less clear to me, the path obscured, overgrown with bushes, where my fear awaits me, with yellow eyes, poised to steal my life, and able to do so.
i am panicky.
because i feel like i can see meaning and purpose and greatness receding out of my life, and i will become an empty vessel, useless; a dried up potsherd.
when i decided what to do with my life, all the fear left me. i became fearless. my worst fears, my dreamt fears were no threat to me any longer. i was no longer paranoid. i did not even fear the yellow-eyed monster man in the bushes that i made up. i could face him, bear his attack, run out to meet it, collide with him, and, win or lose, i could know that i would be ok. i had no fear...guns, knives, fists, nails, teeth held no real danger. i had a better weapon. i had words by the hilt, that were carving up and creating my life. i had a sword that could kill and give life, that could make and unmake. a sword of spirit.
and i knew, also, that the yellow-eyed monster man was me, and that meant i could take him. i had the power to look him in his terrible face and scowl back. i had a weapon that could tame and kill him, a weapon whose handle, when within reach, is salvation. it is a sword i can live by.
it is all of and the only power i have.
the longer i keep away from it, the weaker i become. the life i lead becomes less clear to me, the path obscured, overgrown with bushes, where my fear awaits me, with yellow eyes, poised to steal my life, and able to do so.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
sorry for hiatus
sorry folks.
i've been sick again.
last time, i promise.
and i'll return soon with some new material too.
i know you've all been worried.
i've been sick again.
last time, i promise.
and i'll return soon with some new material too.
i know you've all been worried.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
its not April yet, but you can smell it from here...
it. is. bea. utiful. outside
i would love to be posting something clever for you to read, but the sun is shining, and its warm out at the same time. and all in buffalo, too.
it is clothes-shedding warm out, the kind that sneaks up on you when you're wearing a few layers. i love it.
now that its here, i'm going to go sniff spring.
catch you on the flipside.
i would love to be posting something clever for you to read, but the sun is shining, and its warm out at the same time. and all in buffalo, too.
it is clothes-shedding warm out, the kind that sneaks up on you when you're wearing a few layers. i love it.
now that its here, i'm going to go sniff spring.
catch you on the flipside.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Sir Gawain
yesterday was the first day of spring.
usually its today, but this year it was yesterday. something about the mathematical imperfections of the earth's revolution around the sun, i don't really know, but voila -- spring comes a day early.
i was born the day after spring, so i suppose its appropriate that my Gram called me today to wish me a happy birthday. by the numbers, it doesn't come until tomorrow.
but then, i've always looked at the 21st as my honorary birthday anyway. it is the equinox, you know; the day the sun starts to his journey out of the ditches of the underworld to reclaim the sky. it is also the beginning of the Attic rites in ancient Greece, where they 'sacrifice' victims who are then brought back to life, symbols of the sun, of returned vitality. i was born on this day.
it is fitting that i just got over another throat infection; that the worst of winter should be bookended with my illnesses (and recoveries) as if to say "you made it, but don't forget how close you came..." winter, illness, death; white throat, white snow, white skin. all the while i have been wearing green, like a banner, to remind myself of spring and that yes, indeed, it is eventually coming; green for st. patrick's day, green for the equinox, green for my birthday.
i wear green; a green p-coat, a green bandana, a green fleece. it makes my eyes bloom, changes them from brown to hazel in the sun. i won green out of the hollow parts of the year, the parts that challenged me, that brought me down to die, i thought. i go out of the barrow of that year with my life, and a kink in my neck, wearing green like a garter.
out of the hollow, on a horse, and into the sun; it has come back to greet me, and i go to meet it.
a day early, the day before and the day after spring, my first day of the year, the first day of my life, of the rest of my life, and of every year; a day early, but the day after spring, thank you Gram;
happy birthday to me.
usually its today, but this year it was yesterday. something about the mathematical imperfections of the earth's revolution around the sun, i don't really know, but voila -- spring comes a day early.
i was born the day after spring, so i suppose its appropriate that my Gram called me today to wish me a happy birthday. by the numbers, it doesn't come until tomorrow.
but then, i've always looked at the 21st as my honorary birthday anyway. it is the equinox, you know; the day the sun starts to his journey out of the ditches of the underworld to reclaim the sky. it is also the beginning of the Attic rites in ancient Greece, where they 'sacrifice' victims who are then brought back to life, symbols of the sun, of returned vitality. i was born on this day.
it is fitting that i just got over another throat infection; that the worst of winter should be bookended with my illnesses (and recoveries) as if to say "you made it, but don't forget how close you came..." winter, illness, death; white throat, white snow, white skin. all the while i have been wearing green, like a banner, to remind myself of spring and that yes, indeed, it is eventually coming; green for st. patrick's day, green for the equinox, green for my birthday.
i wear green; a green p-coat, a green bandana, a green fleece. it makes my eyes bloom, changes them from brown to hazel in the sun. i won green out of the hollow parts of the year, the parts that challenged me, that brought me down to die, i thought. i go out of the barrow of that year with my life, and a kink in my neck, wearing green like a garter.
out of the hollow, on a horse, and into the sun; it has come back to greet me, and i go to meet it.
a day early, the day before and the day after spring, my first day of the year, the first day of my life, of the rest of my life, and of every year; a day early, but the day after spring, thank you Gram;
happy birthday to me.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
i fought the law...
i don't really feel like making too big a post about it right now, but for those of you who are curious:
i got off incredibly light with nothing but a $380 fine, a 90 day suspension, and a special class.
and that is unheard of.
i can finally breathe half a sigh of relief.
off to do midterm work.
i got off incredibly light with nothing but a $380 fine, a 90 day suspension, and a special class.
and that is unheard of.
i can finally breathe half a sigh of relief.
off to do midterm work.
Friday, March 03, 2006
blogging about blogging...part II...
...mostly as a way to avoid doing real work or solving problems in my life...
so, anyhoo....thanks to girish, for checking out TokyoBlog and coming back and letting me know about it...glad to see someone taking a chance...
well, i promised to address the rest of the sidebar, and as a man of my word (mostly), so i shall:
Dead Blogs with Good Writing:
OnceInoticedIwasonfireIdecidedtorelaxandenjoythefall --
not only is it a dead blog, it no longer exists on the web. which is a shame. the gentlemen to whom that blog belonged to was a gifted thinker, who writes essays now for some kind of online journal or magazine. i forget his name, and i forget what the journal was, and i am too lazy to look it up right now. i will find out for you and make an update, even though i'm pretty sure you won't care by then anyway.
Belle du Jour --
the online diary of a call-girl in the UK. her blog is still up, though barely running, as she is writing now for some newspaper in the UK and is also working on her second book. she is a charming, witty writer...rather frank, as you would expect someone in the sex-trade would be...but she can take the most shocking scenes, words, and situations and make them into poetry. there is one post that is gross on a bodily fluids level that she makes seem almost...sweet......weird. but worth checking out.
BellaNovel --
oh my god, just read this lady's writing. just pick anywhere in the novel and read a few paragraphs. words that lock and unlock and dance and stand up on end, and balance and shatter and crush like an incoming tide. its beautiful. who is this woman? where did she learn to write like this? its not human.
Guys Whose Blogs I visit Whom I Haven't Seen in Person for Quite Some Time:
Brian Emerson's "Mystablogy" --
bri was my best friend in highschool. he was Catholic, and i was Evangelical...so i brought him to REAL church and cleansed him of his evil Catholic ways. he went MIA for awhile, and turned up married and an adult, and living in Cleveland with his own house and his own wife. and he's reconverted to Catholocism in the meantime. which i am proud of him for. and he writes about that on Mystablogy; and about So. Euclid, his new hometown, and how he wants it to be a better place. and about his house. and other things of a religious/philosophical nature. he is the kind of person who are my favorite kinds of people, both high-minded and salt-of-the-earth. think of him as your blue-collar priest.
FredSchrock --
easily one of the driest witted fellows i have ever met. he is a guy from my Canisius days...for those of you who don't know, that was my first and failed attempt at college...at which i was more interested in hanging out with a fun-ass crew than getting schoolwork done. and could you blame me? check out some of the funny on Fred's blog, and see what the hype is all about. Fred isn't just funny, he's got a special cortex in his brain devoted to humour, which is wired like a mental reflex. also: check out his newly revived radio show, now in podcast format, with this next blogger...
(yes, the) Joe Ferguson --
Joe Ferguson. long lost joey. i can't even count how many times this kid moved away and came back to buffalo...mostly because i count it as severe childhood trauma and it pains me to relive those memories. eventually joe came back, and he and Fred and Bri and i went to make up part of what was affectionately called the "Nerd Herd"...and he has grown up to become a virtuouso science guy/musician, and a presence more valuable than diamonds, apparently. i believe it. go check out his blog...and the link to his album "Take It from Me"...independant music at its finest...
Ed Snyder, the BMOC --
"B-, B-M-O-C, is driving me/quite carefully (consciencsiously!)"
Ed Snyder is the BMOC...to you knaves, that's Big Man On Campus. but you'll address him as BMOC, because he will whip out German on your ass, and you will bleed and cry, and run home to your mother and she'll tell you that you should've known better.
and that's where the blog links end, and thus, so doth mine rant.
i'll check in again this week with some news.
so, anyhoo....thanks to girish, for checking out TokyoBlog and coming back and letting me know about it...glad to see someone taking a chance...
well, i promised to address the rest of the sidebar, and as a man of my word (mostly), so i shall:
Dead Blogs with Good Writing:
OnceInoticedIwasonfireIdecidedtorelaxandenjoythefall --
not only is it a dead blog, it no longer exists on the web. which is a shame. the gentlemen to whom that blog belonged to was a gifted thinker, who writes essays now for some kind of online journal or magazine. i forget his name, and i forget what the journal was, and i am too lazy to look it up right now. i will find out for you and make an update, even though i'm pretty sure you won't care by then anyway.
Belle du Jour --
the online diary of a call-girl in the UK. her blog is still up, though barely running, as she is writing now for some newspaper in the UK and is also working on her second book. she is a charming, witty writer...rather frank, as you would expect someone in the sex-trade would be...but she can take the most shocking scenes, words, and situations and make them into poetry. there is one post that is gross on a bodily fluids level that she makes seem almost...sweet......weird. but worth checking out.
BellaNovel --
oh my god, just read this lady's writing. just pick anywhere in the novel and read a few paragraphs. words that lock and unlock and dance and stand up on end, and balance and shatter and crush like an incoming tide. its beautiful. who is this woman? where did she learn to write like this? its not human.
Guys Whose Blogs I visit Whom I Haven't Seen in Person for Quite Some Time:
Brian Emerson's "Mystablogy" --
bri was my best friend in highschool. he was Catholic, and i was Evangelical...so i brought him to REAL church and cleansed him of his evil Catholic ways. he went MIA for awhile, and turned up married and an adult, and living in Cleveland with his own house and his own wife. and he's reconverted to Catholocism in the meantime. which i am proud of him for. and he writes about that on Mystablogy; and about So. Euclid, his new hometown, and how he wants it to be a better place. and about his house. and other things of a religious/philosophical nature. he is the kind of person who are my favorite kinds of people, both high-minded and salt-of-the-earth. think of him as your blue-collar priest.
FredSchrock --
easily one of the driest witted fellows i have ever met. he is a guy from my Canisius days...for those of you who don't know, that was my first and failed attempt at college...at which i was more interested in hanging out with a fun-ass crew than getting schoolwork done. and could you blame me? check out some of the funny on Fred's blog, and see what the hype is all about. Fred isn't just funny, he's got a special cortex in his brain devoted to humour, which is wired like a mental reflex. also: check out his newly revived radio show, now in podcast format, with this next blogger...
(yes, the) Joe Ferguson --
Joe Ferguson. long lost joey. i can't even count how many times this kid moved away and came back to buffalo...mostly because i count it as severe childhood trauma and it pains me to relive those memories.
Ed Snyder, the BMOC --
"B-, B-M-O-C, is driving me/quite carefully (consciencsiously!)"
Ed Snyder is the BMOC...to you knaves, that's Big Man On Campus. but you'll address him as BMOC, because he will whip out German on your ass, and you will bleed and cry, and run home to your mother and she'll tell you that you should've known better.
and that's where the blog links end, and thus, so doth mine rant.
i'll check in again this week with some news.
Monday, February 27, 2006
blogging about blogging
somehow, between my excessive whining about girls, writing an e-mail, and trying to work on philosophy paper that is due tomorrow, i've found time to make a bit of a blog post; either that or i'm just an idiot.
yeah, i'm an idiot.
anyways, i was just looking at my sidebar there, the one with the links to blogs that have readers and whatnot, and was thinking that i should highlight why they're there. if there's one thing i like more than enjoying something all by my lonesome self, its showing it to other people, so they can get excited about it too.
here goes:
blog heroes?
should be self explanatory. heroes. who blog. or bloggers who've become my heroes. you get the idea.
Neil Gaiman -- haven't yet read Anansi Boys, but i'm sure i will one day, when orchards bloom, and the air is soft, like a baby's blanket, and time for pleasure-reading is abundant like wild berries in summer. as for now, i take Gaiman's writing in pill-form; not quite the luxuriant breakfast that they show on the side of cerial boxes, but still a good way to get your eight essential vitamins, when that's all you have time for...
girish -- excellent, excellent writer. friend from real life, too. mostly a movie blog these days, with some MP3 audioblogging thrown in for good measure: always a good read, and always an educational experience. but, more than anything, and excellent, inspiring, solid writer. girish fits words together like chain links, and his sentances are jointed, angular and strong. check out his dialogues (my personal favorites: conversations with my mom). girish, as far as i know, is one of the first people on the net to institute synchroblogging. it all started with the ten year anniversary of the release of Showgirls. go figure. :)
Overheard Lines -- "Things actual people actually said, captured by an eavesdropping playwright in San Francisco named Tim (or his spying friends)." this description modestly leaves out one other thing: pure genius. Tim's are usually the best, and what makes them so funny is the one-two punch of quote, coupled with it's title. some say the best way to read them is to read the quote first, and the title second; i think you should go there and find out for yourself.
A Softer World -- a three panel photopoem, really, and not so much a blog. i didn't figure that out exactly until after i'd linked to it, and i'm too lazy to change it now. sometimes hysterically funny, sometimes strikingly something else. they've really got a range of things going on here. it is like watching someone sneak up and tear off the bedsheets of a lovemaking couple, mid-coitus.
Progressive Ruin -- a comic book blog, from Mike Sterling. yeah, i don't know who Mike Sterling is either; but he works at a comic-shop, runs a blog, and is funny as hell.
dooce.com -- cliche, you say? the widest read blog on the web, you say? yes, cliche. like Shakespeare is cliche. and if you think Shakespeare is cliche, you're a dolt. that is how i feel about Heather. she's got it all: moving, funny, gross, crude, beautiful, naked. she's a great writer. she's often at her best when she's writing either about her daughter, Leta, or poop. my hand to God. imagine how great it is when the two topics come together for a cosmically amazing post? it does not get any better.
Paul Dini, the King of Breakfast -- i'm not sure why he's the King of Breakfast, but seriously, this guy could be the King of whatever-the-hell-he-wants in my book. things he has worked on, for which he gets mad props: He-Man, and the Masters of the Universe. Batman: the Animated Series (anyone ever seen the episode "Almost Got 'em"?......the best 22 minutes of cartoon you may ever watch), the oversized Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and Justice League comic books, painted by Alex Ross. just to name a few things. oh, yeah -- he was also a co-writer for "Lost".......
Broken Glass Makes Me Laugh -- yes, it makes me laugh too. sometimes a comic blog, sometimes pop-culture reflection, sometimes just musings on life chocolate coated with good ol' fashioned north-of-the-border wit that us folks in the states just eat up. Davinder always brings it.
the first rule of blogging... -- if you're curious about what that rule is, go visit Keest's blog. i will give you a hint though: i am breaking that rule right now. what can i say about keest? her phrasecraft is top-shelf scotch; i can't get enough. like the dearly departed John Spencer, as Leo McGarry, once said about alcholism: how can you not want to feel like this all the time? which is why i get the shakes when keest neglects her blog...still....her writing is fragrant with wit and talent, and its got teeth. go check her out. as a favor to me. you won't be disappointed.
Hellboy Animated -- how often do you get an inside look at something this cool? i know i may be the only cartoon guy in the vicinity, but this promises to good stuff; sci-fi, animation, and suspense all at its best. and you get to watch it all come together, before your very eyes. it is a gift from Tetragrammaton Jehovah, as far as i'm concerned.
TokyoBlog -- oh my GOD. such a great idea, so wonderfully executed. just take a look, it is outrageously charming and good. a new favourite of mine. read it. so neat.
ok, you go read those, and lemme know what you think. i'll write about the next set while you're gone.
yeah, i'm an idiot.
anyways, i was just looking at my sidebar there, the one with the links to blogs that have readers and whatnot, and was thinking that i should highlight why they're there. if there's one thing i like more than enjoying something all by my lonesome self, its showing it to other people, so they can get excited about it too.
here goes:
blog heroes?
should be self explanatory. heroes. who blog. or bloggers who've become my heroes. you get the idea.
Neil Gaiman -- haven't yet read Anansi Boys, but i'm sure i will one day, when orchards bloom, and the air is soft, like a baby's blanket, and time for pleasure-reading is abundant like wild berries in summer. as for now, i take Gaiman's writing in pill-form; not quite the luxuriant breakfast that they show on the side of cerial boxes, but still a good way to get your eight essential vitamins, when that's all you have time for...
girish -- excellent, excellent writer. friend from real life, too. mostly a movie blog these days, with some MP3 audioblogging thrown in for good measure: always a good read, and always an educational experience. but, more than anything, and excellent, inspiring, solid writer. girish fits words together like chain links, and his sentances are jointed, angular and strong. check out his dialogues (my personal favorites: conversations with my mom). girish, as far as i know, is one of the first people on the net to institute synchroblogging. it all started with the ten year anniversary of the release of Showgirls. go figure. :)
Overheard Lines -- "Things actual people actually said, captured by an eavesdropping playwright in San Francisco named Tim (or his spying friends)." this description modestly leaves out one other thing: pure genius. Tim's are usually the best, and what makes them so funny is the one-two punch of quote, coupled with it's title. some say the best way to read them is to read the quote first, and the title second; i think you should go there and find out for yourself.
A Softer World -- a three panel photopoem, really, and not so much a blog. i didn't figure that out exactly until after i'd linked to it, and i'm too lazy to change it now. sometimes hysterically funny, sometimes strikingly something else. they've really got a range of things going on here. it is like watching someone sneak up and tear off the bedsheets of a lovemaking couple, mid-coitus.
Progressive Ruin -- a comic book blog, from Mike Sterling. yeah, i don't know who Mike Sterling is either; but he works at a comic-shop, runs a blog, and is funny as hell.
dooce.com -- cliche, you say? the widest read blog on the web, you say? yes, cliche. like Shakespeare is cliche. and if you think Shakespeare is cliche, you're a dolt. that is how i feel about Heather. she's got it all: moving, funny, gross, crude, beautiful, naked. she's a great writer. she's often at her best when she's writing either about her daughter, Leta, or poop. my hand to God. imagine how great it is when the two topics come together for a cosmically amazing post? it does not get any better.
Paul Dini, the King of Breakfast -- i'm not sure why he's the King of Breakfast, but seriously, this guy could be the King of whatever-the-hell-he-wants in my book. things he has worked on, for which he gets mad props: He-Man, and the Masters of the Universe. Batman: the Animated Series (anyone ever seen the episode "Almost Got 'em"?......the best 22 minutes of cartoon you may ever watch), the oversized Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and Justice League comic books, painted by Alex Ross. just to name a few things. oh, yeah -- he was also a co-writer for "Lost".......
Broken Glass Makes Me Laugh -- yes, it makes me laugh too. sometimes a comic blog, sometimes pop-culture reflection, sometimes just musings on life chocolate coated with good ol' fashioned north-of-the-border wit that us folks in the states just eat up. Davinder always brings it.
the first rule of blogging... -- if you're curious about what that rule is, go visit Keest's blog. i will give you a hint though: i am breaking that rule right now. what can i say about keest? her phrasecraft is top-shelf scotch; i can't get enough. like the dearly departed John Spencer, as Leo McGarry, once said about alcholism: how can you not want to feel like this all the time? which is why i get the shakes when keest neglects her blog...still....her writing is fragrant with wit and talent, and its got teeth. go check her out. as a favor to me. you won't be disappointed.
Hellboy Animated -- how often do you get an inside look at something this cool? i know i may be the only cartoon guy in the vicinity, but this promises to good stuff; sci-fi, animation, and suspense all at its best. and you get to watch it all come together, before your very eyes. it is a gift from Tetragrammaton Jehovah, as far as i'm concerned.
TokyoBlog -- oh my GOD. such a great idea, so wonderfully executed. just take a look, it is outrageously charming and good. a new favourite of mine. read it. so neat.
ok, you go read those, and lemme know what you think. i'll write about the next set while you're gone.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
white barracuda
in case you hadn't noticed, there was a flurry of flaming blow-out postings attached to my last blog entry. if you're looking for action, i'll furnish the spot; even when the heat is on, its never too hot. its good for a laugh, its a good time, and vicious writing is fun to read. so read it; its me at my meanest, in case you're interested in what that looks like.
my gutless, faceless, nameless friend raises this point: i should either be proud of my self-absorbed singleness, or do something about it [instead of whining].
ok. yes, agreed, the one or the other is an ultimate end. but do i really need to qualify the difficulty of achieving that ultimate end? it mystifies me, that i should have to.
i'm not going to actually; for people who've never felt a tug of indecision, there is no explanation that will make sense. for those who have never felt divided over anything, there is no sufficient reasoning that they can follow. how do you explain the desire for what you know you should not have? how do you explain the conflict with one's own self?
you can't, really.
you get it or you don't.
so i'm not going to try.
but here is a story:
i had a dream last night, about my highschool crush, and i don't know why. and with dreams, there is always and only the "why." at its edges, the dream is scrubbed out and faded. i remember running into her, meeting her again -- my presently charming self fending off the darkness of awkward conversation like a road flare -- all the brightness of smiles were between us, and there was none of the discomfort of the last time i had seen her in person: a group of Amherst grads collected themselves at the Cozumel, and though it would have never happened in school, the way things change after time, i found myself insinuated into a shared social circle. i felt my face go white when i saw her there; it took a half hour and a few bourbons before i could work up the courage to face my fear of her. i managed to wrangle her attention for an awkward ten minutes of clunky conversation. i didn't handle it well, but i made it out the other side. i tried to look normal, to be normal. i felt bad that she had to talk to me, that i had used her awakwardly to face my own demons, that i had attached demons to her in the first place. she'd never done anything to me except look beautiful. i should not have really spoken to her, but it was one of those things you just had to do. medicine, you know. tastes like shit; you have to drink it. afterwards, drunkenly, i was proud of myself. if nothing else, i got to make her a little more human.
last night i met her again, in a hallway, and there was no dark cloud of pubescent clumsiness. it was a school hallway, and i saw her and she saw me and did not dread my approach. there was only smiling, and lightheartedness, and she was wearing an iPod and a backpack. i talked to her about music, and she told me about fake obscure bands with dream names that played music i didn't think a jazz saxophonist would be interested in, in real life. she asked me if i had heard of any of them and i smiled, as we crouched at the seam of the wall and the floor, between two doorways, and i told her that i would check them out. she asked me if i had ever heard of White Barracuda, and i shook my head no. and later, our conversation was done and we parted happily and the only sadness was the wish that real life could be something like this.
she is engaged, now. and would be horrified to know that i still (or ever have) thought, dreamt, or wrote about her; i wouldn't blame her, really.
you can't make an Idol of someone; it isn't fair. but i have made one of her, and the ultimate proof is that i still dream about her. she is a symbol, and not a person -- a symbol of unrequited affection, of unfulfilled desire -- a symbol, ultimately, of my own shortcomings. i was not socially adept in highschool; i was not cool, i was not athletic, i was not attractive. i was a loner. part of that was my own fear of entering the bizarre social world of highschool -- i did not try to make friends or attempt to join in. i excluded myself. but i also never felt good enough -- i did not merit the attention of my crush; thus, i never had the attention of my crush.
i never had a girlfriend, or a first kiss, until i was eighteen. i never really had anything mutual with any girl until then. unless you count the girl down the street when i was three.
this is how women become notches in a man's bedpost -- to be able to "have" with ease something that you were never before considered worthy of having -- it is a rush of power, of pride. there is a world of women at my feet; marriagable, datable. fuckable. a complete spectrum, ultra-violet to infra-red, whose interest in me only goes to illumine my ego, to feed it; to prop the crumbling edifice of my self-esteem.
it is natural, to want to be with somebody, to want a someone to belong to. it is a beautiful thing to see someone find it.
it is also natural to use people to feel better about yourself...but it is also wrong. and its a terrible basis for a relationship. you can't build your self esteem on a relationship, however deep or shallow, and you can't build a relationship on your own self esteem. you can't use people to massage your ego. you can't get anyone else to untie the knots of your own heart. its a disservice to their love. its a disservice to yourself. and i want to stop ruining the people who love me, and try to figure out how to be better.
i am better when i'm single. i can handle being single. but i am not proud of being single, i am not proud of my self-absorption.
there is a girl that i want to be mine, but i know i should not be allowed to have her. not until something in me changes -- changes for good, for me and no one else. i can do something about it then.
until then, i'm going to keep denying myself, trying to convince myself. i am going to keep finding reasons not to have a girlfriend.
i am going to keep whining.
deal with it.
my gutless, faceless, nameless friend raises this point: i should either be proud of my self-absorbed singleness, or do something about it [instead of whining].
ok. yes, agreed, the one or the other is an ultimate end. but do i really need to qualify the difficulty of achieving that ultimate end? it mystifies me, that i should have to.
i'm not going to actually; for people who've never felt a tug of indecision, there is no explanation that will make sense. for those who have never felt divided over anything, there is no sufficient reasoning that they can follow. how do you explain the desire for what you know you should not have? how do you explain the conflict with one's own self?
you can't, really.
you get it or you don't.
so i'm not going to try.
but here is a story:
i had a dream last night, about my highschool crush, and i don't know why. and with dreams, there is always and only the "why." at its edges, the dream is scrubbed out and faded. i remember running into her, meeting her again -- my presently charming self fending off the darkness of awkward conversation like a road flare -- all the brightness of smiles were between us, and there was none of the discomfort of the last time i had seen her in person: a group of Amherst grads collected themselves at the Cozumel, and though it would have never happened in school, the way things change after time, i found myself insinuated into a shared social circle. i felt my face go white when i saw her there; it took a half hour and a few bourbons before i could work up the courage to face my fear of her. i managed to wrangle her attention for an awkward ten minutes of clunky conversation. i didn't handle it well, but i made it out the other side. i tried to look normal, to be normal. i felt bad that she had to talk to me, that i had used her awakwardly to face my own demons, that i had attached demons to her in the first place. she'd never done anything to me except look beautiful. i should not have really spoken to her, but it was one of those things you just had to do. medicine, you know. tastes like shit; you have to drink it. afterwards, drunkenly, i was proud of myself. if nothing else, i got to make her a little more human.
last night i met her again, in a hallway, and there was no dark cloud of pubescent clumsiness. it was a school hallway, and i saw her and she saw me and did not dread my approach. there was only smiling, and lightheartedness, and she was wearing an iPod and a backpack. i talked to her about music, and she told me about fake obscure bands with dream names that played music i didn't think a jazz saxophonist would be interested in, in real life. she asked me if i had heard of any of them and i smiled, as we crouched at the seam of the wall and the floor, between two doorways, and i told her that i would check them out. she asked me if i had ever heard of White Barracuda, and i shook my head no. and later, our conversation was done and we parted happily and the only sadness was the wish that real life could be something like this.
she is engaged, now. and would be horrified to know that i still (or ever have) thought, dreamt, or wrote about her; i wouldn't blame her, really.
you can't make an Idol of someone; it isn't fair. but i have made one of her, and the ultimate proof is that i still dream about her. she is a symbol, and not a person -- a symbol of unrequited affection, of unfulfilled desire -- a symbol, ultimately, of my own shortcomings. i was not socially adept in highschool; i was not cool, i was not athletic, i was not attractive. i was a loner. part of that was my own fear of entering the bizarre social world of highschool -- i did not try to make friends or attempt to join in. i excluded myself. but i also never felt good enough -- i did not merit the attention of my crush; thus, i never had the attention of my crush.
i never had a girlfriend, or a first kiss, until i was eighteen. i never really had anything mutual with any girl until then. unless you count the girl down the street when i was three.
this is how women become notches in a man's bedpost -- to be able to "have" with ease something that you were never before considered worthy of having -- it is a rush of power, of pride. there is a world of women at my feet; marriagable, datable. fuckable. a complete spectrum, ultra-violet to infra-red, whose interest in me only goes to illumine my ego, to feed it; to prop the crumbling edifice of my self-esteem.
it is natural, to want to be with somebody, to want a someone to belong to. it is a beautiful thing to see someone find it.
it is also natural to use people to feel better about yourself...but it is also wrong. and its a terrible basis for a relationship. you can't build your self esteem on a relationship, however deep or shallow, and you can't build a relationship on your own self esteem. you can't use people to massage your ego. you can't get anyone else to untie the knots of your own heart. its a disservice to their love. its a disservice to yourself. and i want to stop ruining the people who love me, and try to figure out how to be better.
i am better when i'm single. i can handle being single. but i am not proud of being single, i am not proud of my self-absorption.
there is a girl that i want to be mine, but i know i should not be allowed to have her. not until something in me changes -- changes for good, for me and no one else. i can do something about it then.
until then, i'm going to keep denying myself, trying to convince myself. i am going to keep finding reasons not to have a girlfriend.
i am going to keep whining.
deal with it.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
reasons not to have a girlfriend: reason #5
its (st.) valentine's day...what better way to celebrate than with yet another reason why i should not have a girlfriend?
was it last night? was it this morning? i don't remember...it may have been while i was shaving...you know, those innocuous moments when barbed thoughts come creeping on their elbows, commando style...and the thought is sometimes overpowering enough to be all that you remember of the moment...time and place disappear....
anyway, it was one of those moments, and again, this thought came sneaking in: if i had money, i would probably be married by now. and yes, i know i've hashed out money as a reason not to have a girlfriend in a previous post, but money isn't always as simple a subject as we'd like to make it sometimes.
i'd be in a relationship at least, if i had money, and this is why: it would be easier. money greases wheels. money gives you the option of being generous. money does all of those things i think i've already put more eloquently before and won't bore you with repeating now. at any rate, its no secret: i wish i had money, because of all of the things i would be able to give.
nice thought.
and what load of bullshit. even as it rings just a little bit true -- financial stability is obviously a nice thing -- it is the biggest cop-out-crock of shit.
the real problem is that i love me too much; i am selfish with me. i am my number one. and having money would make it easier to care for someone else, because i wouldn't have to put as much time or thought into it.
the real problem is reason #5 why i can't have a girlfriend:
i want to give what i don't have because i am incapable of giving what i do have.
was it last night? was it this morning? i don't remember...it may have been while i was shaving...you know, those innocuous moments when barbed thoughts come creeping on their elbows, commando style...and the thought is sometimes overpowering enough to be all that you remember of the moment...time and place disappear....
anyway, it was one of those moments, and again, this thought came sneaking in: if i had money, i would probably be married by now. and yes, i know i've hashed out money as a reason not to have a girlfriend in a previous post, but money isn't always as simple a subject as we'd like to make it sometimes.
i'd be in a relationship at least, if i had money, and this is why: it would be easier. money greases wheels. money gives you the option of being generous. money does all of those things i think i've already put more eloquently before and won't bore you with repeating now. at any rate, its no secret: i wish i had money, because of all of the things i would be able to give.
nice thought.
and what load of bullshit. even as it rings just a little bit true -- financial stability is obviously a nice thing -- it is the biggest cop-out-crock of shit.
the real problem is that i love me too much; i am selfish with me. i am my number one. and having money would make it easier to care for someone else, because i wouldn't have to put as much time or thought into it.
the real problem is reason #5 why i can't have a girlfriend:
i want to give what i don't have because i am incapable of giving what i do have.
Monday, February 06, 2006
i'm not here, this isn't happening
sorry, folks, if you don't hear from me for awhile. if you know why, you know why. if you don't: e-mail me.
til next time.
til next time.
Friday, January 27, 2006
reasons not to have a girlfriend: reason #4
If you could see the lover in me
And we could join our hands together
If you could see how good it could be
We'll sing these stupid songs forever
Can you feel it?
Love is here
It has never been so clear
You can't love what you have not
So hold on to what you've got
Is Judy really smiling for me?
I'd change my name in case she found me
Trembling I can't believe
I've got to leave the girl behind me
Can you feel it?
Love is here
It has never been so clear
You can't love what you have not
So hold on to what you've got
If you could see the aching in me
I'd change my name in case you lost me
Trembling down to my knees
I've got to leave the world behind me
Can you feel it?
Love is here
It has never been so clear
You can't love what you have not
So hold on to what you've got
whoa--oo--whoooa--o
-- Starsailor, Love Is Here (emphases mine)
reason #4:
i've got to leave the girl behind me...
i've got to leave the world behind me...
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
forgive me, blogger, for i have sinned...
...its been four days since my last confession.
i have a pretty heavy reading load this semester. it could be because i am taking four english courses, a philosophy course, with a chocolate covered fourth semester latin course for dessert.
i would like to get back to some posting, as being in school always has my head bursting with new ideas, but i've got some work to do -- its the second week of school and my grip is about to slip already. so that means head in the game, feet on the ground, and fingers out of the blogosphere for the next few (units of time measurement).
no, no....not a hiatus. this is just a warning that posts will be sporadic, and unpredictable in length....as well as depth.
i will say this much:
Lolita is a fucked-up, fantastic book...and Nabokov is a fascinating writer.
did you know he met Joyce?
i have a pretty heavy reading load this semester. it could be because i am taking four english courses, a philosophy course, with a chocolate covered fourth semester latin course for dessert.
i would like to get back to some posting, as being in school always has my head bursting with new ideas, but i've got some work to do -- its the second week of school and my grip is about to slip already. so that means head in the game, feet on the ground, and fingers out of the blogosphere for the next few (units of time measurement).
no, no....not a hiatus. this is just a warning that posts will be sporadic, and unpredictable in length....as well as depth.
i will say this much:
Lolita is a fucked-up, fantastic book...and Nabokov is a fascinating writer.
did you know he met Joyce?
Friday, January 20, 2006
confessions
i feel compelled, in the interest of full disclosure, to admit that my previous book-count for both African American Literature until 1940 and 20th Century Drama were mistaken. they are only about eight books each. which isn't as bad as 15. i think i must have added them together. well, about nine for AfrAm -- one of them still hasn't come into the bookstore yet. still. that's twice the bookload of AfrAm after 1940.
when you're carrying them, they feel like 15...
when you're carrying them, they feel like 15...
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
day one
today was the first day of school.
this semester i will be wrestling with Descartes, and Kant (among others) in my philosophy class, and i am more than a little bit scared. i've taken all sorts of philosophy before, but those classes are flakey, buttered breakfast pastries compared to this stuff.
also i will be taking on Dante, Boccaccio, Rabelais, Villon, Voltaire and three authors so monumentally bad-ass that they all go by the mysterious nom-de-plume Anonymous, i.e., the authors of the Mabinogion, Tristan and Yseult, and the Carmina Burana.
i will also be making a full frontal assault (notice how i'm into the phrase "full-frontal" coupled with a word you expect to be nudity but ends up being something else? its so delicious) on Latin 202. i haven't taken latin in...almost two years. luckily we are using the same book i used back then, and i don't think i've forgotten as much as i was afraid i had. still, it is latin, and as for being the great grandad of all western languages, it is nothing to be trifled with. seriously. latin don't take no for an answer, and it don't take shit from nobody. it don't mess around, and pussyfooting will not be tolerated.
not to be outdone, though, today, certainly unattended, is African American Literature Until 1940. there are what feel like a hundred books for this class, though in reality there are only about 15. yes. that's right. ONLY 15 books. i took this class because i knew and liked the professor from AfrAm Lit Since 1940. i got an "A" in the class. there were only five books. which is about what you'd expect for an English class...even a bit light. apparently one of two things happened: the number of African American writers since 1940 either a) decreased exponentially, leaving us with only five African American authors in the last 50 years, or b) exploded since 1940, thus limiting the number of books and authors we were able to consider. my guess is it is most likely the latter explanation at work here, which makes me wonder: are we reading every book written by a black author before 1940?
seriously though. not every book, but damn well near every author at least.
i guess over the span of 200 years, that's not a lot of books to consider...but over the span of 10 weeks it is.
and that's just on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Monday/Wednesday/Friday classes are as follows, though still yet to be experienced:
20th Century Drama (also damn near 15 books)
and
Lit theory and criticism
anticipate many future detailed posts about reading related headaches.
this semester i will be wrestling with Descartes, and Kant (among others) in my philosophy class, and i am more than a little bit scared. i've taken all sorts of philosophy before, but those classes are flakey, buttered breakfast pastries compared to this stuff.
also i will be taking on Dante, Boccaccio, Rabelais, Villon, Voltaire and three authors so monumentally bad-ass that they all go by the mysterious nom-de-plume Anonymous, i.e., the authors of the Mabinogion, Tristan and Yseult, and the Carmina Burana.
i will also be making a full frontal assault (notice how i'm into the phrase "full-frontal" coupled with a word you expect to be nudity but ends up being something else? its so delicious) on Latin 202. i haven't taken latin in...almost two years. luckily we are using the same book i used back then, and i don't think i've forgotten as much as i was afraid i had. still, it is latin, and as for being the great grandad of all western languages, it is nothing to be trifled with. seriously. latin don't take no for an answer, and it don't take shit from nobody. it don't mess around, and pussyfooting will not be tolerated.
not to be outdone, though, today, certainly unattended, is African American Literature Until 1940. there are what feel like a hundred books for this class, though in reality there are only about 15. yes. that's right. ONLY 15 books. i took this class because i knew and liked the professor from AfrAm Lit Since 1940. i got an "A" in the class. there were only five books. which is about what you'd expect for an English class...even a bit light. apparently one of two things happened: the number of African American writers since 1940 either a) decreased exponentially, leaving us with only five African American authors in the last 50 years, or b) exploded since 1940, thus limiting the number of books and authors we were able to consider. my guess is it is most likely the latter explanation at work here, which makes me wonder: are we reading every book written by a black author before 1940?
seriously though. not every book, but damn well near every author at least.
i guess over the span of 200 years, that's not a lot of books to consider...but over the span of 10 weeks it is.
and that's just on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Monday/Wednesday/Friday classes are as follows, though still yet to be experienced:
20th Century Drama (also damn near 15 books)
and
Lit theory and criticism
anticipate many future detailed posts about reading related headaches.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
reasons not to have a girlfriend: reason #3
"i feel this need
to be self
deprecating, to
lower your
expectations on
impact...becaus
e if you are
going to be a
person who
knows me it
means full
frontal
honesty...not
just what i think
you can handle,
not just
everything but
my dark and
treasured
secrets...i want
to get
disappoinment
out of the way. i
want my own
deconstruction,
and i want you to
be there when
the smoke
clears, and how
else will i know
unless i destroy
pleasant
falsehood now,
before your very eyes?"
reason not to have a girlfriend, number three:
i am a pleasant falsehood that i can't bear to destroy
to be self
deprecating, to
lower your
expectations on
impact...becaus
e if you are
going to be a
person who
knows me it
means full
frontal
honesty...not
just what i think
you can handle,
not just
everything but
my dark and
treasured
secrets...i want
to get
disappoinment
out of the way. i
want my own
deconstruction,
and i want you to
be there when
the smoke
clears, and how
else will i know
unless i destroy
pleasant
falsehood now,
before your very eyes?"
reason not to have a girlfriend, number three:
i am a pleasant falsehood that i can't bear to destroy
Friday, January 13, 2006
shower, shave, and shake it off
with all this nice weather, and all these nice anti-biotics in my bloodstream, i think i can pull my self out of this year end grave. its about time. turns out i will have enough money to pay for both my car, and my rent, and still have some left over so that i might be able to pay rent again very very soon.
now all i have to do is knock my sleep cycle back into place, get some teeth pulled, and get some new contact lenses. and i'll be in perfect shape.
school starts on tuesday. i can't wait. my books are going to cost almost $400...thank God for deferrments. i am going to have loads of reading this semester...but that's the reason i became an english major: to become well-read.
sometimes life sucks, and sometimes life works out too.
i'll be back to actual posting soon. at any rate, here are three haiku...s...es that i wrote last night after a couple beers,a couple shots, and a late walk up on my roof.
the stars do flicker;
the waning moon a lozenge
in the mouth of night
this haiku: a lie
i wrote it about a truth
when it was not true
this haiku: a truth
it is more true than truth is
because it transcends
and those are my haikuses.
i've been working on a perseus/pygmalion and gorgon/galatea poem for awhile now...i don't know if i'll ever finish it or if it will ever be good when i do....the ideas have been swarming my head for a few months, but i can't seem to get them out right. perhaps i should apply more alcohol to the affected area, and see what comes out.
here are two stanzas that i may or may not keep (they go near the end of the poem):
you have looked into my heart
see now, what a peach pit
you leave behind
an ore of a fallen star
its fiery pulp
eaten
i have flown away on the horses
of your blood;
i have wrapped your
writhing memory in a bag of
forgetfulness
and dropped it into
the sea
-------------------
i wrote these to go write next to eachother, but now that i read (and type) them, i'm not sure if they fit together that way. i suppose i should try writing the rest of the poem to figure out where they would fit better, huh? it would be a start.
------------------
i was thinking today, that if i had enough poetry that i could scrape together and not completely hate, i'd like to publish a small chapbook...at first, when this was a project for my poetry class at school, i thought of entitling it something pretensious like @delphi. but now that i unofficially withdrew from that course and am thinking of doing my own chapbook for fun and profit (ha!) rather than an actual grade, i'm thinking of dropping the pretense and entitling it something like VALIDATE. i think as a title it explains a lot -- about the reason i would even think of self-publishing at all, about my insecurities as a thinker and writer and person in general...and about the reasons i find myself writing sometimes. but that's all contingent on whether or not i can scrape together enough decent poetry, like i said......which, in my case, may take some time.
now all i have to do is knock my sleep cycle back into place, get some teeth pulled, and get some new contact lenses. and i'll be in perfect shape.
school starts on tuesday. i can't wait. my books are going to cost almost $400...thank God for deferrments. i am going to have loads of reading this semester...but that's the reason i became an english major: to become well-read.
sometimes life sucks, and sometimes life works out too.
i'll be back to actual posting soon. at any rate, here are three haiku...s...es that i wrote last night after a couple beers,a couple shots, and a late walk up on my roof.
the stars do flicker;
the waning moon a lozenge
in the mouth of night
this haiku: a lie
i wrote it about a truth
when it was not true
this haiku: a truth
it is more true than truth is
because it transcends
and those are my haikuses.
i've been working on a perseus/pygmalion and gorgon/galatea poem for awhile now...i don't know if i'll ever finish it or if it will ever be good when i do....the ideas have been swarming my head for a few months, but i can't seem to get them out right. perhaps i should apply more alcohol to the affected area, and see what comes out.
here are two stanzas that i may or may not keep (they go near the end of the poem):
you have looked into my heart
see now, what a peach pit
you leave behind
an ore of a fallen star
its fiery pulp
eaten
i have flown away on the horses
of your blood;
i have wrapped your
writhing memory in a bag of
forgetfulness
and dropped it into
the sea
-------------------
i wrote these to go write next to eachother, but now that i read (and type) them, i'm not sure if they fit together that way. i suppose i should try writing the rest of the poem to figure out where they would fit better, huh? it would be a start.
------------------
i was thinking today, that if i had enough poetry that i could scrape together and not completely hate, i'd like to publish a small chapbook...at first, when this was a project for my poetry class at school, i thought of entitling it something pretensious like @delphi. but now that i unofficially withdrew from that course and am thinking of doing my own chapbook for fun and profit (ha!) rather than an actual grade, i'm thinking of dropping the pretense and entitling it something like VALIDATE. i think as a title it explains a lot -- about the reason i would even think of self-publishing at all, about my insecurities as a thinker and writer and person in general...and about the reasons i find myself writing sometimes. but that's all contingent on whether or not i can scrape together enough decent poetry, like i said......which, in my case, may take some time.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
what i feel has come and gone before...
for the last approximately ten days i've had a sore throat which has only increased in soreness each day i've had it. most of the rest of me feels fine, except for this damned throat.
and also my eyes. my eyes bother me constantly, because i have been working off the same pair of contacts for longer than i care to publicly admit.
and my teeth. my wisdom teeth actually; they need to be pulled. i have two of them. they've both come all the way in. i've had them for years. one has a cavity. the other one bleeds...i think because i tried to pull it out myself a couple times. but i just didn't have the nerve.
and worst of all: my glands are swollen.
lately i've been on a 12 hour sleep cycle that starts at around 4 am, and -- you guessed it -- ends at around 4 pm. i'm highly unmotivated. i feel like crap. i need a reason to get up earlier. i need to feel productive.
also, my vocabulary is too small for a writer. i need to learn some new words.
and my car is going to cost me $600 to get it out of the shop...not to mention it needs plates and, oh yeah, insurance.
and i've been living at my parents house. i've stayed a total of...two nights? at my own apartment since before christmas. its driving me crazy.
at least i finally finished "The Sorrows of Young Werther." it was fantastic.
it is older than the United States of America, by like nine years, and i somehow managed to feel connected to it. but then again, i shouldn't be surprised.......Beowulf is a thousand years old, the Metamorphases is two thousand years old.....and i read them and i feel like they could have been written yesterday.
i'm off to mope, shower, drive with my sister somewhere, maybe go to starbucks, write some meandering and senseless words, and try to get to sleep at a reasonable hour so i can get up and go to work tomorrow.
wish me luck.
and also my eyes. my eyes bother me constantly, because i have been working off the same pair of contacts for longer than i care to publicly admit.
and my teeth. my wisdom teeth actually; they need to be pulled. i have two of them. they've both come all the way in. i've had them for years. one has a cavity. the other one bleeds...i think because i tried to pull it out myself a couple times. but i just didn't have the nerve.
and worst of all: my glands are swollen.
lately i've been on a 12 hour sleep cycle that starts at around 4 am, and -- you guessed it -- ends at around 4 pm. i'm highly unmotivated. i feel like crap. i need a reason to get up earlier. i need to feel productive.
also, my vocabulary is too small for a writer. i need to learn some new words.
and my car is going to cost me $600 to get it out of the shop...not to mention it needs plates and, oh yeah, insurance.
and i've been living at my parents house. i've stayed a total of...two nights? at my own apartment since before christmas. its driving me crazy.
at least i finally finished "The Sorrows of Young Werther." it was fantastic.
it is older than the United States of America, by like nine years, and i somehow managed to feel connected to it. but then again, i shouldn't be surprised.......Beowulf is a thousand years old, the Metamorphases is two thousand years old.....and i read them and i feel like they could have been written yesterday.
i'm off to mope, shower, drive with my sister somewhere, maybe go to starbucks, write some meandering and senseless words, and try to get to sleep at a reasonable hour so i can get up and go to work tomorrow.
wish me luck.
Monday, January 02, 2006
new years, cruel months
"last year at this time we were crushed by a snowstorm; the streets were swollen with snow for days, but it was ok, no one was really going anywhere anyway.
right now we're having a bit of a thaw..."
its january. its january, 2006, in buffalo -- and it looks like spring. the forty-degree air has eaten away at the wayward curbside mounds of lingering snow, now dirty and scorched by the hot breath of wet street traffic. all around, matted grass seems to be struggling for life, reaching for the promise of the cottony grey skies overhead. it is like the opening of the Canterbury Tales, and of The Wasteland...
it is a tease, of course. we still have the rest of winter to ride out. which is why the comparison to The Wasteland is appropriate. yet i can't help but think: the sun is returning now, and while winter has only officially been with us for twelve days, why couldn't this thaw just continue into official spring, and why can it not officially introduce us to summer? for meterological reasons that i officially don't understand for one. that's ok. i know better than to hold the fickle weather to a promise it never kept, and i don't need doppler radar to tell me we've still got at least one or two big snows left before winter truly breaks. but an early start for spring would be nice, not just for the fact that we could all avoid a wind chill factor that is so excruciating that it is 99% effective as a birth control and 100% effective as a means of suicide.
it would be nice, simply because it would be appropriate: this is the new year. i want spring now. i want to grab the new year by green and growing things, to wrap them around me, to bath in such liquour as the rain, to mix the dried tubers with my bare hands: i want the blessing of green and growing life for my pilgrimage through this next year. an early start to spring would be nice because i just cannot wait out the length of four months without it and everything it represents. i need that life. i need it now. what better time to have it?
i can't help but thinking of this new year's as tidying several seasonal and calendrical milestones together: it is, of course, the new year, the time for new beginings. it is also the uncanny spring, a time for growth and renewal, a time for anticipating regeneration, resurrection. and, as i think about the death of the old year, and looking forward, clutching to the hope that the symbols of spring and the new year offer us, it is a Groundhog Day, a Candlemas of sorts...and while all my life i have abhored any acknowledgement that the rodent in punxatawney was my namesake, i can't help but see significance in the tradition of Groundhog Day and how it is appropriate here...
as a kid i was confounded by the tradition: the groundhog seeing his shadow in the sun just never added up to six more weeks of winter for me (and yes, i know that there is always six weeks of winter left by the time we get to february 2nd, but still...) -- shouldn't the sun be an indication that spring was hurrying on its way? what was always more significant to me about Groundhog Day was that when the world is enshrouded with darkness and winter, everything is in shadow.
Candlemas lore holds that the groundhog, being afraid of his shadow, scurries back into his hole to wait out the next six weeks. i am waiting for the groundhog who can confront his shadow, who can grab the untimely sun by its rays and pull us into spring. to go back in the hole is to go back to winter, back to the dead year, back to the tomb of old Kronos. somewhere there's got to be a hero groundhog who isn't afraid of the new year, of spring, of neither sun nor shadow, who can march headlong into it and bring it back for the rest of us. maybe then i wouldn't mind sharing my name with such creature.
the cruelty of april is the cowardice of february, is the fear and trepidation of the new year. and right now is the new year -- and right now i am looking ahead to a time of greener pastures -- and right now i am grabbing spring by its teasing vernal shoots. i have too much to lose to let winter linger.
as much as i hate that much of my writing on this blog seems to be getting more and more inspirational, i just as equally can't help it. i want big things to happen with my life; i need to have them happen in my life...and writing is the only way i can get there. still, the dry and sterile thunderclouds only lasted for so long...and in the end the thunder spoke, so i suppose i shouldn't feel so bad.
right now we're having a bit of a thaw..."
its january. its january, 2006, in buffalo -- and it looks like spring. the forty-degree air has eaten away at the wayward curbside mounds of lingering snow, now dirty and scorched by the hot breath of wet street traffic. all around, matted grass seems to be struggling for life, reaching for the promise of the cottony grey skies overhead. it is like the opening of the Canterbury Tales, and of The Wasteland...
it is a tease, of course. we still have the rest of winter to ride out. which is why the comparison to The Wasteland is appropriate. yet i can't help but think: the sun is returning now, and while winter has only officially been with us for twelve days, why couldn't this thaw just continue into official spring, and why can it not officially introduce us to summer? for meterological reasons that i officially don't understand for one. that's ok. i know better than to hold the fickle weather to a promise it never kept, and i don't need doppler radar to tell me we've still got at least one or two big snows left before winter truly breaks. but an early start for spring would be nice, not just for the fact that we could all avoid a wind chill factor that is so excruciating that it is 99% effective as a birth control and 100% effective as a means of suicide.
it would be nice, simply because it would be appropriate: this is the new year. i want spring now. i want to grab the new year by green and growing things, to wrap them around me, to bath in such liquour as the rain, to mix the dried tubers with my bare hands: i want the blessing of green and growing life for my pilgrimage through this next year. an early start to spring would be nice because i just cannot wait out the length of four months without it and everything it represents. i need that life. i need it now. what better time to have it?
i can't help but thinking of this new year's as tidying several seasonal and calendrical milestones together: it is, of course, the new year, the time for new beginings. it is also the uncanny spring, a time for growth and renewal, a time for anticipating regeneration, resurrection. and, as i think about the death of the old year, and looking forward, clutching to the hope that the symbols of spring and the new year offer us, it is a Groundhog Day, a Candlemas of sorts...and while all my life i have abhored any acknowledgement that the rodent in punxatawney was my namesake, i can't help but see significance in the tradition of Groundhog Day and how it is appropriate here...
as a kid i was confounded by the tradition: the groundhog seeing his shadow in the sun just never added up to six more weeks of winter for me (and yes, i know that there is always six weeks of winter left by the time we get to february 2nd, but still...) -- shouldn't the sun be an indication that spring was hurrying on its way? what was always more significant to me about Groundhog Day was that when the world is enshrouded with darkness and winter, everything is in shadow.
Candlemas lore holds that the groundhog, being afraid of his shadow, scurries back into his hole to wait out the next six weeks. i am waiting for the groundhog who can confront his shadow, who can grab the untimely sun by its rays and pull us into spring. to go back in the hole is to go back to winter, back to the dead year, back to the tomb of old Kronos. somewhere there's got to be a hero groundhog who isn't afraid of the new year, of spring, of neither sun nor shadow, who can march headlong into it and bring it back for the rest of us. maybe then i wouldn't mind sharing my name with such creature.
the cruelty of april is the cowardice of february, is the fear and trepidation of the new year. and right now is the new year -- and right now i am looking ahead to a time of greener pastures -- and right now i am grabbing spring by its teasing vernal shoots. i have too much to lose to let winter linger.
as much as i hate that much of my writing on this blog seems to be getting more and more inspirational, i just as equally can't help it. i want big things to happen with my life; i need to have them happen in my life...and writing is the only way i can get there. still, the dry and sterile thunderclouds only lasted for so long...and in the end the thunder spoke, so i suppose i shouldn't feel so bad.
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