Last blog ever

Confusion- that's where I think am at the end of this semester. Chaos and confusion. It doesn't sound like a happy place to be. In Paradise Lost, it was kind of between hell and earth. . . but I think it's where everyone should be when they want to learn something or achieve something. I'm not implying that ambition and knowledge are on the road to hell, but I think opening yourself to chaos helps banish away fears and inhibitions. It clears the way to truth, because true truth shouldn't be obscured by fear.
Sometimes, when our focuses are so narrow, we miss the bigger picture for the path we are familiar with. I admire Christina's blog and paper on depressing topics. Stories that end in sadness are often dismissed or disliked, I think, because people fear to feel sad or depressed or to put themselves in someone else's shoes. The people who do that miss out on a fundamental aspect of humanity. We can't empathize or sympathize with other's sorrows if we refuse to open ourselves up to the whirling torment they experience. My family used to watch tons of Law and Order SVU- special victims unit. It was full of gorey, horrific, "heinous" crimes. It made you feel kind of icky on the inside when you think about all the child rapists and killers out there in the world. But glancing at those actions and dismissing them in the same breath as sad, without looking at the victims or perpetrators, I feel like we're missing something crucial.
Narrowing down isn't bad though. We wouldn't make any sense of anything, if we didn't try to break things down in a focused, organized strain. I just think that when we do narrow down,we can't forget to open back up again. "Invention does not create out of the void, but out of chaos." Shelley. In another class, I have been focusing on things too specific and in this class, I have had little organization to absorb anything. For awhile, I felt like I was on the brink, looking down in the spaghetti soup of everything with no way to get in without going mad. By midnight on the night I finally finished my paper, I felt like I had a small toilet paper of direction trying to contain a universe of ideas. I felt awful, but how exciting is it to know that there are so many things that can connect and create truth if you could only find a toilet paper tube large enough to get them organized. Or if you could only empty the tube you follow and fill it up with new information and life. Like my brothers once took water samples from this fountain in Boise to study the organisms that live in it. Each water sample was full of life, but not necessarily the exact same speciman of life. But they couldn't take in more water until they emptied the cup they had. So in chaos, we are emptied and filled up. Maybe we're the toilet paper tubes. I don't like that image at all. I'm so little. I'd be a tiny toilet paper tube.
But maybe a class like this, where we can read and discuss online and in class, expands how much we can hold, so we're not bipolarized into low and high brow. We can flow between the two and make connections. Networking at its best.
Thank you all for your reflections. Now I'm done.

Individual Presentations

Reflection on individual presentations:
I thought they were all entertaining and wonderful. They just made me happy. I can't say they've all made me think- some have- but thinking is just too hard at the moment. I don't know what else to really say. I think the one that stood out the most (if I had to choose) is Rio's. Rio- I totally relate to the problem you were having. There were so many elements and so many things that were connected and seemed impossible to analyze as separate units. Trying to split the topic or narrow it down made my head explode a little bit. I sort of managed it in the end, but I'm glad that you left it all together. In some ways, it feels like that that is how it should be.
And someone said today in the presentations- my mind is going- that the paper was going down a confusing path- I bet it was Tom- this whole semester is so huge and contains so much, I think we should all be left to confusion. We should feel unsettled, like we know nothing. Or maybe we shouldn't. . . maybe that's just how I'm feeling and I'm projecting it on everyone else. I will reflect on this more later.

Presentation recap

Alright- in general, I enjoyed all of the presentations- there were all just fun. Kudos go out to Twenty Minute Lifetime- that movie was hilarious and trippy. Even now, I can't get the image of the pregnant man out of my head. I thought the tea thing was really cool, in the symbolism and the filmography. Kudos again Tom!
I liked how Dolce Domum picked a lot of low brow movies to illustrate how the themes have manifested into mainstream culture. Gladiator is one my favorite movies ever. I'm glad Rio picked it, because it does have such beautiful ways to think about death and immortality. It always surprises me how much Disney slipped into its cartoons and movies. I thought Hercules was a little hokey, but Beauty and the Beast was classic. As was Homeward Bound. I think I heard Lisa say that the movie made her cry rather than laugh. I did too. I love dogs.
The final group I saw- Eternal Return- did such a beautiful job with their script- way to be! I was seriously impressed with the dialogue and thought that some of it must have been quoted from somewhere. Sarah and Brianna were hilarious.

Newspaper

This has nothing to do with class, but if there's anyone interested in writing for the Exponent, you should let me know. Lots of the writers, myself included, will be studying abroad next semester, so there are plenty of open editor/writer positions. From what I understand, the editor positions for distractions, opinions and something else. ..I forget. . .are open. Those positions have stipends attached to them for anyone wanting a little more cash. The writing positions offer people a very little bit of money, but the experience is good and the hours/work are extremely flexible.
I can email applications to anyone who is interested. Applications are due relatively soon.
Thank you. . .That is all.

Page 191

Reading this page, I had a great sense of Catholic churchyness. At the beginning, he seems to be talking about a Catholic homily, which he doesn't seem to like very much, because he calls the priest an "unfrillfrocked quackfriar." The tone is mocking and disrespectful- he calls him a monkey- "Afferyank!- "Affe" is Monkey in German. The following passage affirms that sense of disrespect/mockery feel, at least for me, because the passage has the flow and sound of this church song they sing back at home called, "One Faith." "There is one faith, one hope, and one baptism, one God and Father of all" - "one gob, one gap, one gulp and gorger of all!"
The page then moves into childhood, which is connected, I think, because Joyce himself went to a Catholic boarding school. The boy on the page comes from "uncivilized" type of area, or at least a poverty stricken area, maybe, but people can see his potential. The older people seem to think he will turn out well, "incomeshare lotetree(lottery)"- they just have to take the chance. Kids seem to like him, and the speech switches to that of a youth- "tome to Tindertarten, pease." The tone shifts yet again from this optimistic view of this boy to something more negative, paralleled with the passing of a day. "but him you laid low with one hand one fine May morning in the Meddle of your Might, your bosom foe, because he mussed your speller on you." Something competitive perhaps? Maybe the guy encountered a bully or two. He's the nerd getting smacked and crammed into a locker. Or perhaps not?
This is what I got out of my page. That was a fairly anticlimactic way to end.

Paper Topic-Brainstorm Ramble

Even though all of the themes are all related, I'm most interested in the themes of Myth and Dream, Life as Fiction and the 20 Minute Lifetime. The recurring element to all of these is time and reality. I'd like to discuss that side of scientific time with philosophic time and how that all ties our themes together. I want to talk about death, reincarnation and life. I think a huge resource for all of this will be this paper Terry L. Fairchild wrote entitled, "Time, Eternity and Immortality." I don't know if Terry's a guy or a girl, so I'm going to call it it. It incorporates the scientific view of time and transcendental meditation with the Four Quartets. If you'd like to take a look, you could check out http://www.mum.edu/msvs/9199terry.html. I think it's a fascinating read on Eliot.
Time is all relative to the individual. I kept trying to think of how to verbalize this, but then I gave up, went to YouTube and found a video from the old version of the Time Machine. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVlr24zD_KQ&playnext_from=TL&videos=2MHb7a0rIkk Time for the person "at rest" will be different than the person "in motion." It depends on perspective and consciousness. Patrick Stewart in the Inner Light fainted and found himself in a world where he was supposedly sick and feverish for four days. When we travel from this time zone to others, it's kind of like time traveling, because when we go east or west, we are either going backward or forward in time. "Time cannot be said to exist until someone witnesses it or feels its effects."- Fairchild.
Sorry this is so jumbled. . .I'm just trying to wrap my head around this. I think myth and dream come into the picture with time and consciousness, because we've created time to give ourselves a solid foundation for reality. At this time, this happened. . or in a few days, this will happen. It gives us a way to chronologically organize our lives. I think that's why we get so panicky and worried when we lose track of it all. Sick in bed, head injury. . .the Hangover. But dreams seem to be a more realistic way to look at life in terms of time. So many things can get accomplished in dreams. I've been wondering lately if dreams are just the other lives we have when we're not in this one. Herman wakes up to another kind of life. "My dreams have always borne a disturbing resemblance to life, as if even in my sleep I could not come up with something new, but now it was the other way around, now at last my life resembled a dream."
Back to Fairchild, it brought up E= mc² as "an image of immortality." And it was like a lightbulb turned on in my head, which is funny because the equation is about the speed of light. Ha ha. Anyway, something I remembered from high school science- energy cannot be destroyed or created. It can only be transferred, or metamorphosed. People have energy, in body and mind. When the body goes out, it returns to the earth, dust and ashes and all that. Does the mind do the same thing? Or does that energy transfer to something or somebody else? The Amber Spyglass talks about that. The spirits of those characters, their energies, returned to the land of the living, becoming the grass, the trees and the sky. When we dream, our conscious mind takes us somewhere, transferring our thoughts to a new world. The many worlds thing, by the by, could be possible if you take up String Theory and Quantum Mechanics as truth. So when we die, which I've often heard as "going to sleep," maybe it's just our mind traveling off to find a new home to occupy. I met a lady at the retirement home in town. She told me that reincarnation was real, because she could remember all of her past lives. She said that they were wonderful lives, but she was so tired. She told me that the next time she goes to sleep, she just wants to wake up in Heaven, and live the rest of her life(lives) up there. In Scrubs season 2, I think, they have an episode about death. A patient sees it as a big Broadway musical coming to an end. "As, in a theatre, The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed/ With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of dark-/ ness on darkness." It doesn't sound too scary to have a scene change, a change in worlds, but I think people fear it anyway. I think it's far worse to be left with "only the growing terror of nothing to think about;/ Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing--"
This is pretty much what I've been thinking. I have a lot of organization to do with it, but I think it's really fascinating.

For Good Friday. . .

I'm a little early. . . but with Easter looming nearer, I couldn't get this passage out of my head.

"The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood--
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good."
It's a passage I want to repeat over and over, until I can gifure out what he means by this.
I'd ponder this more, but my right contact has been funny for awhile and now suddenly I can't really see out of it anymore, making typing ridiculoulsy hard.

Confessions and Thoughts on the Following Story

To start, I just wanted to mention how cold it was today. Walking home from class made me feel like one of the 101 Dalmatians trying to soldier through that wintry storm. So moving onward, my confession- I didn't actually read Nooteboom's book at the beginning of the semester. Don't get me wrong, I did try. I got to the first page, and then I always found something better to do. Now, I finally finished it for the first time, and it was such a challenge. I don't know what the deal is with this book, but it really took it out of me. In reality, it didn't take me that long to get through it. . .maybe a couple of days, but it feels like an eternity. I made myself read it today. . . at the gym, in the SUB, at home and at the library and I just feel so drained. I had to migrate from place to place just to keep my mind going. Even doing that, I actually, legitimately, fell asleep while reading it in the SUB. It was super annoying. I just hated it, but when I turned the last page and looked back, I think I must have liked most of it, because I had dog eared what looked like every other page from section 2. Usually, when I find a passage interesting, I will bend the page and maybe write down or underline the stuff I like. My book was kind of like a lame origami project with flaps.
Something I found really interesting about the book was the continued references to time. It was really Four Quartetesqe. "Can you keep track of my tenses? They are all past tenses, my thoughts were wandering; do excuse me. Here I am, back again, the imperfect reflecting on the past, simple past versus pluperfect. My present tense was a slip; it applied only to now, to you, although you are nameless. After all, we are both present here, still." I think the question of time that Eliot brings up is most fascinating, and I think it's a kind of bridge linking our themes together, dreams, life as fiction, and the eternal recurrence. I think I'll ponder that more. The idea of immortality. I like the way that word tastes on the tip of my tongue. Not immortality in the sense that this body and mind will live on forever, but that my soul or my essence lives on. "The only greatness for man is immortality." That's James Dean. It's a dangerous word, but I think it's a natural belief. Whether you attain it through grace or glory, I think it's something that's just out there.
"And we all go with them, into the silent funeral, Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury. I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you. . .As, in a theatre, The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness." Priests in a Catholic funeral will wear white. When I was little I asked my priest why. He said priests wear white on days of celebration- funerals are meant to celebrate a person's passage into his next life. A mean part of myself thought that it could also be to celebrate a person's absence from this one. I like the passage from Eliot, because it makes me think of a play. When the scene ends, the lights go down and the curtains rustle past your face. You can hear a roaring in the crowd that starts out low and slowly rises. At its peak, the lights come back on, fiercely awakening you to see the shadows turn into people you recognize, standing up and applauding one life's end and your emergence into another. You've shed that character, and you reappear as yourself. Anyone remember Gladiator? "And just as your mother was there at your beginning, I shall be there at your end. And when you die - and die you shall - your transition will be to the sound of...[claps his hands]"
At my beginning, is my end. . . just some thoughts to ponder.

Which child is my favorite?!!!!

So, I agree with Christina about the blog situation. We're like those mothers with dozens of children, who have different personalities, and love all of them the same. I refuse to pick a favorite. To be honest, I don't really follow any one person's blog. Whenever I open up my dashboard, I pick the three at the top of the "recent blog" list and read those. If I have already read those three, I pick the three underneath it. I think this is a great method, because it lets me read a little bit of everything. If I think of some of the top of my head, Erin's recent post made me happy. I liked how she not only found our names, but a part of our identities in FW. Brianna Barber's blog about low brow material-not only for the young. I recently read Zach Smith's blog about learning to fly through memory, just like Plato. I get a lot out of these blogs, and like Christina, I could go on. I think I've spent so much time reading as many different blogs as possible, that specifics don't really stand out. I'll name drop some more. . .Shelby Soule's blogs are generally beautifully written and are fun, Maggie has crazy stories, Jon really makes you think in his blogs, Kyle is a wonderful writer- very engaging and beautifully written. . .and I just like them all.

Anime Alchemy

The first thought that pops in my head when I think of "alchemist" is that anime show, "Full Metal Alchemist." One of my best friends was a huge fan. Anyway, the beginning of each episode had this quote: "Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That is alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange. In those days, we really believed that to be the world's one, and only truth."
I looked up some definitions of alchemy online, and got the basic meanings- it's a philosophy aimed toward transmutation of the base metals into gold, curing disease, prolonging life, or a medieval chemical science, a power/process of transforming something common into something special or an inexplicable or mysterious transmuting.
I enjoyed Zach Smith's take on alchemy, much more than these web definitions. He said, "But now that I think about it maybe the stories are an alchemical experiment. All of them take place in modern settings but seem to have a mystical quality that supersedes everything else. As the author of the quote above says Gonzalez is blending the past and the present into something new and original." This goes along with the anime, because they're both saying the same thing- they're both rules. The first states that you can't create something out of nothing. I guess that's a basic scientific thing (I think). Like energy- you can only convert it or transform it into another form of itself. Maybe. I'm not a scientist. But the literary side says the same thing. You take what's there- the past and present, and try to blend the two to make something "original" or new, but really it's all the same thing with a different name attached. Water is water, regardless of its form. The themes in literature, regardless of what you blend in it, how you present it and whatever, it always feels like the same thing. Not to be negative, but when people express a fondness for our reading materials, because they related to the themes and to each other, I wonder why. How could you expect anything less, when we're looking for those connections and when all of literature relates to one another in some way. I don't know. I'm tired.

Second glance

I think I definitely did and didn't enjoy the Alchemist. I was reading other blogs, and almost everyone talked about how delighted they were with it. They loved how easily the book fit into to themes and how it related to their lives. But then I read some others that said that the book did include all those themes, but they still didn't like it for whatever reason. I really like Sarah B's blog. She said that story was engaging and she was sure it was meaningful and profound, but the message was lost to her. I think I relate.
I liked the way the book was written and how it flowed- it had a kind of magic to it, like the Little Prince. There are gems of wisdom embedded in it- little sayings that apply to almost any age. In a way, I guess it's like FW, because of how it appeals or applies to any person who can read. Unlike the Little Prince, though, I don't think I would let my children read this book for awhile. I think they would be confused.
People have to go on adventures to appreciate the home and life they left behind, like Wendy. She didn't want to grow up, until she got what she wanted. She left home, had adventures and realized that heroism in real life is different than heroism in stories. I think what frustrated me most about the Alchemist was how it ended. This is what puts me in limbo. When the robber told him about the dream of the churchyard, and the light bulb in his head goes on, I felt that one of the most important lessons he learned in his epiphany was to not listen to anything but himself and his heart. He allowed himself to be persuaded and pushed, maybe to make that link between his mind and heart stronger. I don't know. I know it's just a story, but our lives are just stories too, strung up in patterns and rearranged as we move onward.
I wonder about oracles- in the Matrix and back in the Greek day. If we ever listen to them, we will always live life wondering if all of our actions will fall in line with the pattern they said (which is always the case) or if we can rearrange the story as we go. I'd like to think the second. I think everyone would. Maybe the guy in the story was meant to lose everything three times- three is a magic number.

Am I missing something? Initial Thoughts

When I read the last page of the Alchemist, I felt like I should laugh, but I wasn't exactly sure why. It's like when someone makes a joke in a foreign language, and you know they've said a punchline, because they look at you expectantly, so you laugh, but you don't quite know what they meant, because you only a know a few words of their language. I mean, I guess it's kind of funny that this guy traveled this long distance, got rich and lost it three times- got the crap beaten out of him, and then has the huge epiphany that he should have stayed home. It's a bit of sick joke, when all of these wise people tell him to keep going onward to find his treasure.

I am not sure what I think about this. . . I think I need some more time. Meanwhile, I guess I'll just chuckle and maybe slap my knee and pretend I get it. Perhaps I need to go on a journey of my own to get in on the joke. . .

I think therefore I am . . . right?

I was reading Sarah Knox's blog last night, and I felt a little overwhelmed. Maybe it was because it was really late and I was tired, but her contemplations of everything happening in the mind made me wonder if I was actually there reading, or if I was dreaming I was reading, because I had seen it earlier that day- I had skimmed it, and maybe I was just filling in the blanks that I couldn't remember. She mentioned how powerful dreams can be- how you can dream about someone or something and the emotions attached to that dream splash into "real" life. But are we truly real? Derrida had those same issues back in the day, pondering God, the world and his own existence. He came up with the famous, "I think, therefore I am" and a bunch of other math/philosophy stuff. It's kind of subjective though. I think, sometimes, but that reality- the stuff I see is different from what others think and see. Is there an all encompassing "reality?" I think it's easier to share a dream than the "truth," whatever that is. Maybe the world itself is the dream that we share. Reality lies only in the mind of the individual, so those things we do to express that reality is our attempt to communicate it to others, but it doesn't always stick. Of course, this is only speculative. It may not be true. Or it might. Does that really matter?
I read an interesting essay about the red and blue pill that Neo has to choose between. http://www.arrod.co.uk/essays/matrix.php In a few classes I've had with the same professor, he's asked us which one we would take, the red or the blue. The red tells us that secret- "What is the Matrix?" and the other lets us stay in the dream world, asleep. Do we really wake up though? I think we may just find ourselves in another layer of another man's dreams. It could be that the reality, I though existed in each person, is really just my own dream. Or maybe all of those realities, if they do exist, are just dreams that globbed together to make one huge dream that we all live in. We are deceived, delusional, dreaming. Or maybe those dreams are the only reality that exist, but we are too scared to explore that realm. Does your head hurt yet? Mind does.

We just want to be fooled

All of the discussion about magic and illusion in class today reminded me of the Prestige. The whole movie challenges you to figure out what the trick is as you watch these two guys try to come up with the ultimate illusion. At the end of the movie, Michael Caine says, "Now you're looking for the secret. But you won’t find it because of course, you're not really looking. You don't really want to work it out. You want to be fooled." I think this is a well-placed line, because by the end of the movie, I really don't care to know about what really happens behind the scenes- all of the sneaking around and sabotaging. I don't want to know about the sacrifices the two main characters went through, or the heartache, but I do anyway, because I watched the movie. I saw how their characters transformed with success and obsession, and I didn't like them or their world. I like this quote that Hugh Jackman, one of the magicians says near the end. "You never understood, why we did this. The audience knows the truth: the world is simple. It's miserable, solid all the way through. But if you could fool them, even for a second, then you can make them wonder, and then you... then you got to see something really special... you really don't know?... it was... it was the look on their faces..." What does illusion do for us? What is the point of stories that aren't true? They let us escape for a few seconds? Or do they trap us? I really don't know. Some days, I'd like to live in a dream, because it feels like I have more control over what happens. But then again, I wonder if I really do have as much power as I feel. I didn't play a lot of video games when I was little, but when I was about 11 years old, my best friend got the play station Harvest Moon. Harvest Moon is a game where you become this farmer guy, who has just inherited his grandfather's farm. In order to win the game, you have to re-establish the farm, cultivate so many acres of land, become a part of the town community and get enough money to expand your house and get married. In game time, you have three or four years to accomplish all of this. In real time, Mary and I devoted two years to playing this game. We worked hard to work the land, go mining and date girls. Mary and I had different tastes in women. She thought this one girl was the prettiest of them all, so we had to woo her; and although we did end up marrying her, I still think the inn maid or the librarian would have been fun. We would pull all-nighters at her house, worrying about getting enough produce to the market or saving money to buy hot girl, Karen, a present. I was really good at raising our chickens for chicken fighting contests. Mary was awesome at training our dog for racing. By the time we "won" the game, we had a family- although I don't know when that happened/ we had a 50's two bed system with our wife- good standing in the community and a flourishing farm. But the game didn't really end. There was an anti-climactic celebration and then the game kept going. It was so depressing, we started doing crazy things- totally mid-life crisis. We divorced our wife- didn't know that could happen- accidentally ate our dog, also didn't know that could happen, and just started dating a bunch of women. We wanted to stop, but we invested so much time in that life, that we just couldn't believe it was over or wasn't going anywhere. We spent two more years in it, and in that time, our baby boy didn't grow at all, we were on okay terms with our wife- we had married someone else, got divorced again and remarried our first wife- and life was just the same thing over and over again. It wasn't real, it was like an illusion, and when it was over, it kind of felt like a huge waste of time. Instead of really living, we chose to live a video game. But now that I look back on my life, I seem to always be living some other kind of life in books and movies and daydreams and playing pretend- yeah, I still do that sometimes- I'm my own magician, putting myself in illusions, pulling the wool over my own eyes, because I see and know of the world, but I'd rather live elsewhere every now and then. I guess I'd just rather be fooled.

Did that really happen?

Memory is a funny thing. It doesn't have a beginning or an end and it doesn't seem fulfilling for an individual. Memory is meant for lots of people, I think. We rely on others to fill in details or remind us about events. But does that make memory true? Prosper tells Miranda about her past- asks her if she knows any details or remembers anything, then builds on it. The rest of the play verifies his story, but the way he says it, reminds me of how you would tell a child about his past. When a kid broke a bone or something, and you add all these details, the kid gets excited and fabricates more details. Lyra in the Golden Compass does that. Ana in the animated movie, Anastasia, does that too when she "remembers" her life as a princess. Do implanted memories ring a bell? Put a story in someone's head, and they apply it to their life. The heroine in Northanger Abbey applies the stories she reads to her own life. I guess that's not quite the same as remembering another story for her own life, but you could fill in the gaps of your memory with stories that you read or hear. My sisters, my mom and I all have different versions for the same story when we used to play together. My doll is bald in back with flecks of nail polish in what remains of her hair. I claim that my sister did that and cut up her hair. My sister thinks she did the nail polish, and I did the cutting. My mom says I did all of it. Maybe we'll never know.

Little did he know. . .

I think Sarah Burke's blog about free will was thoughtful and very relevant to everything. I'm taking a class right now, where we often discuss who has the control, individual humans or a supreme being/force, like God or the laws of physics. Puppets and puppet master. . .I think therefore I am and all that jazz. . .it's nice to talk about things like this with others, but personally, I prefer to just think about it. I remember a few times in high school when some friends and I would lie back on the hood of cars or on someone's roof and just think. We wouldn't really talk, just think. It's too cold here to do that all too often. But sometimes I contemplate such thoughts when I'm someplace totally private and secluded- a bathroom stall. The best thing about bathroom stalls is that nobody can really see you and you can't really see anybody else. I thought it was funny that Sarah mentioned the Truman show, because that movie and all the cameras in the bathrooms scared me so much, I didn't ever want to go the bathroom in my house. We have a huge mirror in there. . .I thought someone could be watching. In fact, I had a terrible fear of mirrors for a few months before it petered out into a slight worry. I still think about it. Anyway, a stall is just a quiet place to contemplate one's own existence. No one is loud if they can help it in a public bathroom. And generally, no one will disturb you there. Even if you think so hard, the words accidently come out of your face, people still won't know it was you. It's a safe place for a confusing topic.
Are we the writers of our own destiny? Did someone lay out the framework, and we're filling in the blanks, like mad libs? Did God create us or did we create God? I really like that Stranger Than Fiction movie, because it makes you wonder if it's just a chain. In my head, I created someone, but that person's real, and I feel like I have responsibility or power, but really, someone else just created me to create someone else so when that person wants the person I created to die, he will use me, the creation to kill the creation's creation. I can understand Beckett's confusion and anxiety. His "I think this, but then again, maybe not" mentality. It makes my head hurt. It's so trippy to think that everything I touch isn't real. Or that I'm not real, but I think I must be real in some sense. I mean, if I'm not, I guess I don't have anything to lose. I could go eat pancakes, if I wanted. Course I would get sick, because of my stupid food allergies, but then I would wind up back in the bathroom and I would be thinking again. Not that I never stop thinking. Though now that I think about it, I probably do stop every now and then.
I think I'll stop now.

Tempest reflections

Initial thoughts: why is forbidden love so alluring? Because Prosper wants his daughter to fall in love with Ferdinand, he basically forbids it. "Silence! One word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What an advocate for an impostor?" It reminded me of Scrubs, season 2, when Turk helps Dr. Cox get a date with Turk's med student by forbidding any romance between the two. At first, Dr. Cox had a "What??!!!" kind of look on his face, but then Turk asks him, "Dude, do you know like any girls at all?" or something like that. Next scene, the girl shows up at Dr. Cox's apartment and she totally wants him. What a great show.
Similarities between it and FW. . .I guess the word play is interesting. Pg. 157 in FW when they go at each other
-- Unuchorn!
-- Ungulant!
-- Uvuloid!
-- Uskybeak!
And Act II
"The old cock"
"The cockeral"
Done. The wager?
A laughter.
A match!
They're both about plerosis, filling up. And I think the action is twisty and turny like a river. There's so much going on. It's like a soap opera, with all the intrigue. I think that could be why it's so appealing with audiences today. Drama in any form is always relevant and interesting. We just can't help ourselves; it's so delicious.

Another Wake

I was internet surfing and came across this song by, Flogging Molly called, "May the living be dead (In our wake)." It made me happy, because the band is Irishy, and I understood the reference.
: )

Real Love Abides- thoughts on a review

Sept. 1956, William Barrett wrote a review of the Three Novels by Beckett, called "Real Love Abides." I like how this guy describes reading Beckett as having "to take him in short gulps, coming back again and again." This guy wasn't impressed by Beckett's writing at first, but it sounds like he read it twice. The first time, he read as if it were a "normal" novel, and the second, in gulps, in gasps, it would seem to me. Barrett describes him as a wounded bird, who tries to give it all out before he dies. He calls him an artist, who takes the paint from the canvas, but keeps the increasingly white surface exciting. It makes me think of those last moments, we talked about. Like the woman in the Inner Light or Socrates. You know in movies, when dying characters noisily grasp for breath, all raspy and rattling? I'm starting to think that they might not be trying to rake in more moments or more life, but instead, they're trying to get rid of something while they still can. I could be wrong, but there's kind of a beauty in it. It's like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, when they guy chooses to release all his emotions, instead of retreating to his mind and holding everything in. I guess, by that time, you'd have everything to lose and nothing to gain, or everything to gain by losing everything. I don't know.

Child's Play

In high school, my class read portions of "Waiting for Godot" and I can't say I remember much about it, except we all knew the characters were waiting for God and we all knew God wasn't going to show up. My dad was really excited when he heard my class read bits of it, especially the clown/servant speech. He thought the whole thing was fascinating. When a movie version came out (I have no idea what the year was), my dad took my mom to see it or rented it or something, I think for a date night. He told me it was so fantastic, and my mom told me she wanted to die. She said it felt like four hours watching two guys by a dead tree. I looked at the Beckett site and found this guinea pig production of the play. http://www.musearts.com/cartoons/pigs/godot.html I liked it; I just totally got what was supposed to be said and when the guy and the servant walks across, I laughed, because I remembered that part. The whole thing was about three minutes. My roommate walked out after about ten, maybe fifteen seconds. I kind of prefer the guinea pig version to the actual play, but I'm glad I know enough about the play to understand why three minutes of silent blinking guinea pigs are funny.
Anyway, I was thinking about the five moments where you can tell Beckett is creating fiction, and while reading Molloy, I finally realized that the whole thing was creating fiction. I know we talked about it, but I kept reading, "I think, I don't think. . ." It was this or that.. . the way he talked about the setting and the people reminded me of children playing with doll houses or playing pretend. "A little dog followed him, a pomeraian I think, but I don't think so." When little kids tell you stories, don't they say this? I was at a preschool over winter break, and I was having a conversation with a little girl with pretend telephones. At some point, she was having a conversation with the phone (I'd say she was pretending, but she was really having a conversation, listening and responding). When she was done, I asked her who she talked to. "Oh, my mom." She sighed. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah, she wants to . . . (sometimes three year olds are hard to understand, but I think she said something to the effect of her mom wanting a new carpet or traveling??) "Really?" I asked. "No."
These kids made up all sorts of stories, and when I asked them to clarify or if I said, "Really?" they would either say, "No-" With that look on their face that told me I was stupid or they would say, "Oh yeah!" And they would make a bunch of elaborate details before getting sidetracked and coming up with a new story. I was just struck by Beckett in Molloy, and how much he reminded me of those kids. He comes up with little side stories or characters, and he seems to get close to them, but then he dismisses them so easily. He seems to explore the imagination and the art of writing, in a cynical little kid kind of way, and I think it's intriguing. I think everyone does it at some point. It makes life interesting. And that brings me to Haroun too, (and I was really excited when I found this spot) because he says, "I've disbelieved only too much in my long life, now I swallow everything, greedily. What I need now is stories, it took me a long time to know that, and I'm not sure of it." "What is the use of stories?" Also in Pullman's Amber Spyglass. "Tell them stories. . . " I'll end with the story. My best friend and I liked to make up stuff, I guess you might call them lies, but they were so ridiculous, I didn't see why people should believe them (and I actually now prefer stories that are true, but don't seem like it, i.e. my friend Mark, who is a story). Anyway, my best friend and I usually got a ride from my other friend and her dad. My little sister got a ride with us too. One day, she got a ride from my mom, because she had some project due and had poster boards and whatnot. Later on in the afternoon, my friend asked me where my sister was that morning- she just noticed or remembered that she wasn't there. I told her she had an Anne Frank project. Christy- my friend- asked why that should matter. I said, because my sister really wanted to get to know the character of Anne. She was going to walk to school, because that's what they did back in the day, but then a family friend said, why let her walk when she can ride in a horse and carriage like everyone did in the early 1900s. ("Really?" Christy said- that's so cool. . they still rode in carriages?) Well, it was more like an open wagon, but she still got the feeling for it. The bumpy seat and the fresh smell of horse poo. She totally felt like Anne. And my other friend, who was listening said, "Wait a minute- wasn't that like WWII era?" I would think they'd have bikes or automobiles or something." I said probably. I didn't know that Anne Frank ever rode around in a horse drawn wagon. She probably didn't. Christy was mad for a second, because she believed me, but then she said she was just too gullible. I agreed, but I had a good time. The end.

A Call for Child Protective Services

First Impressions on Beckett: Does anyone else feel like the main character in Molloy shouldn't be allowed to have custody of that kid? Take this passage- I think it says it all. "And then I forgot that my son would be at my side, restless, plaintive, whining for food, whining for sleep, dirtying his drawers. I opened the drawer of my night-table and took out a full tube of morphine tablets, my favorite sedative." What??? I can't tell if the pills are meant to keep the kid silent, or keep the guy less annoyed or both. Regardless of the purpose, this isn't very good. From what I've read so far, this guy belongs in a mental institution. He projects feelings onto the people around him, mainly his son, and it makes me think the guy is really insecure, has control issues and is paranoid. The way he talks about what others must be thinking, reminds me of something I've heard or seen or something, where a person projects his thoughts, fears and suspicions onto people, animals or inanimate objects. A "that goldfish is judging me" kind of a feeling. I guess we all have those moments, but I like to think we don't let them overwhelm us to the point where we have to totally dominate that thing, until it snaps- if it's alive, I mean. I think at some point in the story, the little boy looks at his father with animosity, because the dad takes his prized knife. The guy says the little boy is probably wishing he could slash the guy's throat out with the knife he was surrendering, but he's not big enough. The guy says, "patience, child, patience." This is a serial killer in the making. I'm not quite far enough to tell if the guy himself is a hired killer, but I'm getting the vibe.
I've laughed quite a few times- i.e the morphine passage and the rope one: "I toyed briefly with the idea of attaching him to me by means of a long rope, its two ends tied about our waists. There are various ways of attracting attention and I was not sure that this was one of the good ones."- and then some passages are really deep and thoughtful, but even though I laugh and feel awed by the profound nature of some of the words, my mind is stuck on the little boy and how bad I feel for him. I guess "I laugh to keep from weeping." Maybe.

The things I see

I haven't done a list, an inventory, yet, and I thought now would be a good time. I just read Shelby's blog about her list, and I get her point and agree with her. Although the reason I haven't done a list yet isn't because I don't think anyone will read it. . . I just don't have the patience to get it done. I'm kind of a Haroun with an 11 minute attention span. Except with the list, I only get to item number one before I lose interest. Reading and memorizing lists aren't bad at all; I just can't stand to write one. So, I'll sit here and quickly tell you what's in front of me, quick like a bandaid.

Monkey pen- it jumps when I write, perfume, elephant from Africa- it's really from Africa, Naproxen, glasses, nail clippers, Scrabble calender, lint roller, book, movie- 27 Dresses, CD's- it says Disc 2, Phantom of the Opera 2004 movie Gerard Butler, glue stick, combs, bracelet, peanuts, stapler, school schedule, cartoon strips- funnies? the pearls before swine strips, two of them, pictures of my dad, kelleen, eva, clare and her dog, Adrianna, Me, Joe, Gabby, Phil, Grandma, Cody, Sam, Mom, Dad again, Gabby again, Sean, her husband, German phrases book, my brothers address, battery recharger, picture of something, my sister gave it to me, a dance poster, post its all around me, on my door, wall, next to my head full of German words from last semester that I was trying to learn and are now all over the walls in my room and also the bathroom, box top envelope- I collect, and that's all I can think of or stand, neosporin, right now. The end.

The Inner Light- Put your shoes away

I heard about Socrates last words tonight, and it reminded me of the Star Trek episode, when Patrick Stewart's wife died. I don't exactly remember the final words, she, (I think her name was Eline?) made, but I think it was something to the effect of putting shoes away. I thought it was cheesy and funny, but now I wonder why. I know it was kind of an inside joke, but it must have had (and it did have) meaning for them. But if it had so much meaning,- she picked these as her dying words- I wonder why I laughed. If I had a chance to give my last dying words, I think it would be cool to say something profound. Knowing me, though, I'm sure it'll just be something silly.
I opened with dying thoughts to begin talking about T.S. Eliot and the Inner Light. "In my beginning is my end." It has taken me awhile to get through the Four Quartets, because I get stuck in Burnt Norton and go nowhere. I can tell I've read it a lot, because I recognize it, but I'm constantly forgetting it. Maybe it's Phil's way of telling me to relive the poem each day for thousands of days until it becomes second nature. East Coker, which I just read, reminded me strongly of the Inner Light, reincarnation/ Eternal Return, Dolce Domum, everything. This passage, though, is very Inner Light, I think.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not
The Trek guy- Stewart's character, Kamin? He was living two lives. He became a different man living in that doomed planet, because he was living a stranger's life; but really, the stranger was actually him, just a different version. This passage:
Dawn points, and another day
Prepares for heat and silence. Out at sea the dawn wind
Wrinkles and slides. I am here
Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.
If you are familiar with a Jet Li movie called, "The One," you'll remember that every person has multiple sets of themselves living simultaneously in different dimensions. They're all the same person, but they're not aware of the others' existence (except for one of Jet Li's characters, because he tries to kill all the others). I was starting to think reincarnation could just be dying or fading from one consciousness to another. Like Kamin, who faded mentally from the Enterprise and lived a lifetime elsewhere, so he could return to his ship and his other life. I know that's not really right, but it made me wonder if we do slip into a different reality sometimes, and that reality seems like a strange life, but it's one we actually know and would learn to love if we stayed long enough. But we're only meant to get a glimpse every now and then. Like dreams.

For Low Brow readers. . . .

I found this at a site called, "Book-a-Minute." Sometimes, just for fun, I look up books that I'm reading to see what they would be like ultra condensed. Some of my favorites include the entire Nancy Drew collection, the collected works of e.e. Cummings, Othello and the Lord of the Rings. Anyway, this is what they have to say about FW.

Finnegans Wake
By James Joyce
Ultra-Condensed by Edward Ledebur and Samuel Stoddard


James Joyce

I have created my own language to tell the cyclical history of humanity.

Reader #1

Brilliance!

Reader #2

(dies)



THE END

Memory Palace- lists

In class, we've talked about how we can memorize words by pairing it with a place we know really well. I read Brianna's blog about memorizing her passage from FW and I remembered a book I read last year called "The Madonnas of Leningrad." It goes back and forth through time, but the idea is that she is losing her short-term memory while living (or re-living) her experiences during WWII. She worked in a museum in Russia, but she and the other workers took the paintings down and sent them somewhere for safekeeping. To help herself cope with the hardships of the war, she remembers where all the paintings were in the museum (she was a tour guide for the paintings). She not only remembers where they all were in the museum, but she also remembers the stories behind them. She has a whole building of paintings in her head that she takes with her forever.
I think the idea is neat; and I like to attribute memories to things I have in my room- like I keep silly things, because they remind me of some point in my lifetime, but when it comes to remembering passages or lists, I rely on either drilling repetition or I make it into a song or it actually doesn't have to be a song, it just has to have a rhythm. I could tell you the phone numbers of my friends in elementary school, because we made them into songs. I know all the counties in Idaho, all 44, because we had to sing them in 4th grade to the tune, 1 little, 2 little Indians or whatever. The United States song- Fifty-Nifty, names all the states in alphabetical order. I know the verbs of being. These are the lists I remember from elementary school, and they really don't mean anything to me (except the Idaho counties. . . I know where every license plate is from), but I know them anyway. I think my words have a kind of rhythm, but I still don't quite have it down yet. It's just a work in progress.

Emma on the brain- a long day

Falling asleep on the first of February, I dreamed about Jane Austen and her time period. I have been watching the new Masterpiece production of "Emma" with Romola Garai and Johnny Lee Miller. It's a mini series and I've been able to see bits and pieces on YouTube. Every time I see a version of any Jane Austen book, I wish I were there for that time period, just for a day, and watch everyone act so proper, dancing and socializing. And I love the way they talked. It's soft, but there's an intensity in it that I love. I should have been brought up in England. Anyway, I woke up around 6 with merry thoughts and then went back to sleep to dream about it some more. It was like a taste in my mouth, present when I finally did get out of bed, and it lingered with me all day. I only had one class that day, so I read a book for a little while and ate some cereal, Koala Crisp- it's my favorite, and watched some more Emma- my internet can only take so much, it's so slow. I walked down to the bus and listened to some Modest Mouse and some Safe & Easy (my boyfriend's ska band from back home). It reminds me of home and the people we know from our hometown. My sole class was Origins, and it was basically a two hour debate over a theory of everything, if science had limits and where God was. I walked back with my friend, Derek, and we actually talked about Groundhog's Day, and whether or not we thought we might have already lived every day and just didn't remember or if we might have died at the end of each day. It made me think of Jane Austen again, because we were walking and talking. I walk so much more in Bozeman than anywhere else I've been, and it is so pleasant and refreshing sometimes, walking under the Big Sky with lots of fresh air. It's much better than where I am right now, anyway. Someone must have been wearing Axe or something. It smells so bad, it makes my stomach churn.
I bussed home, me and my ipod. I was in a cooking mood, so I baked some french fries- I love potatoes- must be my Idaho upbringing or my family's Irish background- George Foremaned some fish and baked some flourless peanut butter cookies, which were delicious. I just had to make sure I didn't eat too many. It's a fairly dense dessert. Last time I made them, I ate seven and was sick for a day. It was totally worth it though. If I could do it over again, I would've done the same thing, they were so good. It's just because I'm a really good cookie maker. So long as it's peanut butter or chocolate chips. I make the best chocolate chip cookies, because I make them the way my mom does. I don't actually eat those cookies anymore, because I developed a gluten intolerance a few years back, but they make the house smell so good and baking is really soothing, especially when you're frustrated with your to-do list for the day.
I worked on an article for the Exponent, a cultural autobiography, lit readings, journal stuff and felt terrible, because none of them seemed to get finished. My head was going to die by the end of the afternoon, when I abandoned everything to go to the gym. On my way there I bumped into a friend, who is getting married later this spring. I hadn't seen her in awhile, so I was pretty stoked. We talked about classes and her wedding, and the best part of the conversation was her reception plans, because the settings are literary themed. Each table would be a different literary couple from Shakespeare and other classics, with quotes on the table and sticky notes with literary figures. And she mentioned Edward Ferrars and Elinor, and I could have danced, I was so excited. I cannot wait to go to her wedding; it will be awesome.
So Jane Austen and stories were fresh on my mind while I went running. Usually, I try to blank out and think of nothing when I work out, but I couldn't help it, I was so darn excited about my friend's wedding.
I had a meeting for ALD after my workout, so I walked down to the SUB, was supremely tempted by the candy stand in the shop by the bookstore- I picked something up, and thought in my head that eating sweets after running, would probably make me ill and put it back down- and made it to my meeting. We went through applications and financial info, planned for future meetings, and then something kind of cool happened. The president of our club had to write down something he needed to do and pulled out three tiny notebooks. Two notebooks are lists of things he needs to do for different clubs he's in and the third notebook was a list of things he had done, so he could remember them all for resumes or applications. And he keeps them all in his pocket. I wondered if he actually managed to do everything on those lists, or if he made them so the objects wouldn't be on his mind. With our talking about lists and inventories, I just thought it was neat. I talked with him after the meeting (walking and talking) about his lists and the things he did during the day, and I thought that he must do everything on his list, because there isn't a time during the day when he's not doing something. But it sounded so exhausting, to do everything. I'm glad I take breaks and zone out, watching movies or BBC mini-series.
My head was hurting again, I figured food would be good, but after a bowl of cereal- it was a Koala Krispies kind of a day- and some cookies, my headache didn't go away and I was turning into blind grumpiness. Luckily, I figured out I was fighting a migraine and took some drugs, which made me feel super good. My boyfriend and I worked on some homework for awhile, and then we watched some of the Masterpiece Emma, and then he went home. I had some valuable girl talk with my roommate, about Jane Austen books, my friend's wedding, boys and school and then I went to bed with merry, tired thoughts in my head.

Reflections on Skin of Our Teeth

I'm not too clear on some of the FW parts, but I think SOOT has the same element of rambling on and on to create a mood. They talk things out and often times, it doesn't make much sense or it's out of character (Sabine), which fits in, because it also doesn't make sense in a play, but then if you think about it, it kind of does have meaning, because we're human too. At the end of the first scene, they're talking about saving the human race, even though it seems hopeless or a losing battle. They save it with fire, the multiplication table and the Bible. It's not just the physical part they have to save. They want to preserve knowledge and thinking, but they only want to do it when Antrobus feels like it's worth preserving. I guess it isn't that unclear at the end, but how they got there was interesting.
Something else I feel this play does well, is how it waves up and down. Starts low and ends rising, starts high and declines. I don't feel like this book is constantly cycling, I think it's like a flower, up and down the petals, but ultimately coming back to the same place. Hopelessness starts with Sabine, rises with the goal of preserving the human race, High as president to low questioning the sanctity of family, high in starting over, war is over whooshing low family feud, rising again with knowledge, back to the beginning.
Another thing I noticed is Henry. Henry's name might have changed, but his nature doesn't. His reasoning evolves, but he's hot tempered and rebellious. I think he represents the frustration of having to play the same rules over and over again. At some point, one kind of wants to say, "Enough!" Which is what I wanted to say by the end of the play. The inevitability of the waves is hope sucking. It reminds me of that cartoon, Invader Zim and the doom song. It never ends- it's all doom.
So with that, I'll say, "Enough!"

LeFou, I'm afraid I've been thinking . . .

I've been thinking about the world as myths and dreams this weekend along with a bunch of other stuff. I'm really glad this is my group's theme, because I think dreams can be powerful and sometimes, often times true to some degree. I was thinking about Joseph, the dream interpreter, and how dreams can be bridges to God or enlightenment or a life beyond the one we're living. My mom has pretty powerful dreams- they have a strong emotional impact for her. Mine are pretty much just trips; I can't usually derive much meaning out of them- like the one I had last weekend was like a Beatles song. It was crazy. Sometimes though, I'll have a dream and a few days later I have it again, or I'll live it. A very déjà vu kind of thing. I was in 6th grade, and I had mutated chicken pox (not as bad the real deal, but still lame) and I had a weird dream about this woman with short hair and blond highlights. That week, I saw the same woman at the doctor's office, and she knew my name. Being a cool-minded, rational person, I remember hiding behind my mom; and the lady turned out to be my first grade teacher who had moved to a different school when I was 7. She wasn't offended or anything- I had always been a shy kid in elementary school- but my mom thought I was being stupid and made fun of me.
Moving onwards, looking at the world of myth and dreams also made me think of religion. I read this semester that religion of any sort is kind of a myth, because it explains how the world came into being. My mom hates this definition, but I see the point, and I kind of like it. I think myths have a connotation of being unreliable or fairy tale-like, but I think myths have more power than that. They are stories, but they stir more in the soul than just happiness or moral satisfaction. They make you wonder and dream; and dreams take you where they please. The subconsciousness stuff.
Which brings me to FW among other things. I have really enjoyed listening to Prof. Leubner read out loud. It really makes it come alive. So, my boyfriend and I started reading bits of it aloud. Sometimes we read the page I plan to pick apart, and sometimes we just pick random pages, because it's more fun that way. The other day, we opened a page, and it sounded dirty. I realize that the other day we just talked about how dirty this book truly is, but it was just funny. It kind of reminded me of that game, "Dirty Minds." I've never really played it before, but the gist seems to be riddles and puns that sound dirty but have innocent solutions. For example: "The more you play with me the harder I get" is "Rubik's Cube." Funny, yes?
That reminds me about the pun thing we were supposed to do- Prof. Sexson is right about saying them in your head rather than out loud. I came out with some the other night while hanging out with friends. After five or ten minutes, I got a sarcastic, "Wow Bizz, really?" and a half sincere smile. I don't recommend it.
Anyway, back to subconscious desires, I thought about tons of things from my childhood actually. Disney's emphasis on dreams, for example. "A Dream is a wish your heart makes." It's all unconscious desires and lives you wished you had. "Once Upon a Dream" is about a life or a day this girl's lived in a dream, and it actually comes true, or happens again. There is a book called, "Awake and Dreaming." It's about a little girl who has a terrible home life but dreams herself into a family she sees riding the bus. It becomes real for her, and from what I remember of the book, sense of "real" time gets lost, because we're in this life she's created until one day, she wakes up and she's back the way she was. I think she tries to go back, but it's lost. I'd have to read it again; I might have butchered it. "Fight Club" reminds me of this in a way. He created an alter ego of who he wanted to be, but lost where reality was. It's interesting how our desires can twist perceptions around. I once heard of a pregnant man, who wasn't pregnant, but was so torn up by the death of his partner, his mind caused his body to make a false pregnancy. His belly swelled out and his breasts lactated, which baffled doctors since the guy wasn't wired to do that.
Anyway, I think I poured out most of the thoughts I was thinking for this class. Even the title- I was in the mood for some "Beauty and the Beast," if you couldn't guess. I just wanted to get it all out before I forgot.

First venture into FW

I started reading FW a couple of days ago and got to page 5. Since then, I've been skipping around a bit and trying to push from 5 onward. I'm determined to finish this book someday, eventually, but the passages that make the most sense are the ones we've talked about. However, I do love his usage of German in the book. I'm not fluent in German at all, but I like that I can pick out some words that have a connection. For example: "wielderfight" on the first page is "wiederfight" to fight again, "sosie"="so she" or "himals" could be "Himmel" which is heaven or I guess it could be the Himalayas, if it wasn't the German translation.
Something else I noticed and really liked was this line: "Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish." I thought it was interesting, because Prof. Leubner talked about the cycle of death and rebirth and the impression or the sense I felt was the phase between dying and rising was the hardest part. Knowing you are fading and going through who knows what to rise again. But falling in that passage makes me feel like it's just a fancy. It's an "if," a fancy. There is a sense of inevitable though in that second half. Everything has to end. Perhaps the "if" is just choosing when to fall. We might be able to choose that, but we can't decide if we want to rise, because we are compelled to do so. It's in our nature. Ich weiβ nicht.

Happy Ends, Sad Ends, To do list

So a 20 minute lifetime. I wanted to come up with an example of something that I did or experienced that would fit this, but I can't quite figure out what constitutes a lifetime. Some people fade out so early and some so late. I have a list of things I have to do before I float on, and I wondered if that list was something that would really complete my life or if I could do without it. You know how people say, "I can't die without doing. . . something. ." or "If only this would happen, I could die happy." As if we only have to complete one purpose and life could be over. Take a big moment in someone's life. The Heisman Trophy winner this year from Alabama. I feel like he might have lived a lifetime in that presentation where they summed up his life and he gave his speech. I think he could have died right there, being wholly satisfied or climaxing in victory over the struggles and work that he relived in video clips and interviews. If that's a lifetime, I think I've got one.
So the night my boyfriend and I started dating, I remember we were sitting in a playground set cubby thing sometime in the evening about to address our "friendship" and the complicated high school drama circling us and two other people. Good times. I don't really talk to people when I have a crush, and I had had a crush on this guy for a long time, so I basically let three years of repressed feelings and soul pour out in molten crazy lava all over the guy. I had no real sense of time at the time, but after this interview, I think I found out we had been at the park for a total of one hour, and before talking, we had walked around for awhile, so it might have been a 45 minute lifetime. Anyway, I think reliving a lot of emotion and experience while simultaneously enduring a sense of risk and danger qualifies for a lifetime. And it did end really happily. I could have died right then. And perhaps I did and woke up the next day a new person with a new boyfriend. Eh?
I guess some lifetime's don't end so happy, but I like to think the lifetimes we discuss end happy. Do you have those moments where you just feel older than you are? You're just wearied and worried by something going on? Those moments can feel like a lifetime. I went to a funeral once for a 3 or 4 year old little girl, my friend's sister, but I had never met the little girl before. She was dressed in a pink princess dress, but I couldn't look her in the face. I got there early because my dad and my sister did the music, so I sat with my friend in the pew; and I don't think we said anything. There really wasn't anything to say, just to think and ponder about life and death. Awareness of one's own mortality and age. I remember feeling really old.
These things I've done, lots of things I've done, aren't necessarily on my bucket list, but I think, when looking back, they really make me think about my current life. My dad told me once, when I had a terrible, not embarrassing so much but a soul crushing kind of experience, that those kind of things weren't things we should dwell on, but things we should carry with us, so when we experience the same thing or a similar thing, we'll know what to do. So when we have sad and happy 20 minute lifetimes, I feel like we might carry those around on a chain and pull them out to relive again or use for future reference. Memories are good.

The page I will master

My page is 191; and I picked the following words from that page to memorize:

"sitting on your crooked sixpenny stile, an unfrillfrocked quackfriar, you (will you for the laugh of Sheekspair just help mine with the epithet?) semisemitic serendipitist, you (thanks, I think that describes you) Europasianised Afferyank!"

I thought it was funny, the sound and the words. It's very "you." Whatever it means. I'm curious about the phrase "Europasianised Afferyank" I remember once in high school, someone told me to make a baby with a Finland man to make a "Finasian" baby; so my first thought was that "Europasianised" means someone who is of European and Asian descent, but the ised makes me think it means someone who has experienced a blended upbringing of European and Asian customs, or maybe was encultured or switched. I have no idea about the Afferyank. . .maybe it's an afterthought? I like the sound though. "You Afferyank!" I'd like to hear a kid say that on a playground. That would make me smile.

Bedroom Inventory: A blur

These days, going to bed and waking up basically provide the same views of misshapen shadows. I am really, really blind without my contacts or glasses. Usually, I sleep with my cellphone so the vibrate alarm won't wake up my roommate. I woke up for some reason at 3:00 in the morning, and I swear my cell phone said 6:00, so I got out of bed and took a shower, before realizing my mistake and heading back to bed. It was really lame.

Anyway, so I went to bed last night and looking around the room, I saw dark shapes, which I knew to be my desk and computer, Heidi's desk and the closet which is a big hole of empty darkness. I can see the silhouettes of books in my windowsill and dark blobs on the window and on some of the walls where the light hits, which I know to be sticky notes. In my bed, it's basically the same story of fuzzy blobs getting a little clearer as I stick my head closer, which I normally don't do, but last night and other nights before, I lost my bear. Knightley is a bear I received for my 16th birthday. He has been my nighttime companion ever since- his name, by the way, made me think of FW, because it has two meanings: "nightly" and "Knightley" - hero in Emma- ha ha. I'm so used to having him around, I really can't sleep without him; so instead of finding my glasses (which is sometimes a bigger adventure by itself) and turning on a light, I just sifted through all the junk on my bed, pushing some stuff on the floor and most of it the side of the bed I don't really use. I've got clothes, towels, blankets, books, hairbrush, pillows, camera/camera case, cell phone charger, a rosary, wallet, keys, paper, contact solution and 6 months worth of contacts (which my mom just mailed to me from Idaho). I eventually found him on the floor, so all was well.

Now. . Waking up- that's always an adventure, because half the time I dream I'm awake and have gotten breakfast and gotten my stuff ready to go, and then I wake up in my bed thoroughly disappointed, because in my dream, I'm always warm. I hate getting out of bed when I'm cold. Generally when I wake up, Knightley is never around, almost everything on my bed has been pushed to the left side leaving me about 2 feet of empty space to lay in and with one blanket. Sometimes, I think I go places at night- though last night I did get up and go somewhere, not really exciting but- there's not much to see in the area around me, just familiar and unfamiliar shadows and shapes. And sometimes my roommate's cat, who jumped on me this morning.

Haroun and stuff

Haroun and FW- how they are related. . .well, I think they both bring up an interesting question- "What are the use of stories that aren't even true?" Which I feel translates into, "What is the point of a story that doesn't make sense?" For Finnigans Wake. They both imply that stories for stories' sake are meaningless or are just simplistic entertainment for children. I remember Prof. Sexson saying something to the effect that Finnigans Wake sometimes sounded more like language of babies or small kids trying to talk, which is often nonsense; but we love to listen to it anyway. I am not sure why. But maybe stories like that, for children or sounds like children or like nothing human are likable because they're bigger than we are in a way. They're unlimited by reality and fun. I like pg 161 when Khattam-Shud says that "The world is not for Fun. The world is for Controlling." Stories and imagination and dreams can't really be controlled by anything, in the sense of stopping up sources of inspiration or forcing someone to change an idea- well, I guess unless you're trying to sell it- I mean that organically, ideas just flow and build upon themselves to do whatever. The imagination does what it wills. Joyce put a lot of thought into what he did, but the context of the book is a dream, and imagination and creativity are embodied as an endless cycle. I think Haroun does this well too, because the story doesn't "end" with a happy ending; it's like a midway point. The ending isn't in sight, because the story keeps going. Anyway to wrap up everything I was trying to say: I think Rushdie is a super small scale version of FW that asks us to examine why we are here and why we read stories- If the point has to be useful or have purpose, or if the point is to enjoy the ride.

Genie's Response to Maple Sausage

I walked in the door, and opened my mouth wide as a tantalizing smell breezed by. "Wonderful," I said. "Delicious. Food of the gods! Sizzling, I can hear it, smell it, breathe it in. This is divine, mouthwatering, amazing- blows my mind, the tastes! Nothing could top it, nothing could be better, except maybe dark chocolate oranges on one of those days, but right now nothing could hit the spot better. It is savory, sweet, it is "the shit," not literally, but basically a perfect example of what breakfast foods should be."

*Jimmy Dean's Maple Sausage is so good. Yum :)

Peter Pan Mentality

Little boys can have the worst ego problems! They think they are so smart and so clever. The Indra had a wife and a kingdom, but he was still just a little boy who thought to himself, "What a great boy am I!" Sounds very similar to other little boys, such as Little Jack Horner, who sat in the corner, and the little boy who never grew up. "Oh, the cleverness of me!" Granted, I like the last one, because it's kind of cute, but when I think of the little Indra with his smug face, I can see those words radiating off of him in an egotistical bubble. I am really glad when Vishnu and Hairy knock his self-importance down a notch, because everyone needs a dose of humility now and again to stay grounded and realistic. This boy was reaching too high for things that ultimately didn't matter. On the other hand, he did have responsibilities, whatever a king does, I guess, and I'm glad his people didn't let him give up his position, because it seemed insensible. I like the balance he gains. If only all smug, smart-mouthed boys had the same balance. But I guess if they did, we wouldn't have as much writing material for kid's rhymes and stories.

Thoughts on FW Intro. . .Dreaming Optimistically

The biggest thing that drew me into the introduction was the talk on night and dreaming. "Dreams are nothing other than a particular form of thinking, made possible by the conditions of the state of sleep." It sounds really dry, but I was thinking how limitless dreams can be and how sometimes, most times, they're really beyond our control. My mom used to tell me that dreams were like videos we watched on t.v.s in our heads. If you didn't like something, you could pop out that dream and put in another, like we can master them and our subconscious. I always believed this to be true to a certain extent, because I like to choose what I dream about from time to time. But we lose our senses and can't really do much in a place with blended reality and imagination. Or we think we can do stuff, since it's limitless, but it's all in our heads. "When the sense is sleep, the words go to sleep." I'm not sure what that means, but it makes me feel helpless. Maybe our dreams are movies, in that it's a story already planned and acted out, leaving us to be the audience. We can find alternative scenes and endings in special features, but it kind of just is what it is.
I took a psychology class once in high school, and we tried to interpret dreams, but there are so many interpretations out there. This site, http://www.dreamforth.com/ for example has a lot of general definitions and interpretations. I once dreamed that my junior high cafeteria was hell, and we were condemned to baking cookies for all eternity, until my friend Krista and I managed to tunnel our way out through the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. From what I gather from the definitions, at that time I was going through some kind of problems (cafeteria) that made me feel uneasy/guilty (hell). But, because I was baking cookies, I was in an ambitious state of mind, full of energy. And I was hoping to become popular. I don't understand the filing drawer, but tunneling out meant I was going through a process of enlightenment. Crazy stuff, eh?
Anyway, I didn't realize this book was a book of dreams, which makes me feel a lot better about reading it. I'm in a better state of mind to accept the weirdness, because my dreams can be so crazy weird. And to end with a side note, I think the sound of it is almost Dr. Seuss-like. I don't know what he was saying, but it was fun. So, maybe if I dream up a positive attitude, this book won't frustrate me as much. We shall see.

A Story within a Story

I started reading the "Ocean of Stories" tonight, and it is a crazy pace of story within a story within a story. Each tale informs the previous and the following story, which makes me feel like the narrative is circling something or alluding to something that it won't say until the end like a moral or won't say at all. It's kind of like this economics teacher I had in high school. He's Skyline's "Ocean of Notions." Almost everyday, he'd tell us a story about his life or life in general; but none of his stories were really a singular tale. Take, for example, his legendary "Cindy story," a tale of love confused, lost and regained before being lost again. Officially, this story lasts 2 days (he will take two days out of every semester to tell his tale), but he spent weeks building up to it with other stories which touched on the Cindy story or related to it or was even part of it. Whenever he got close to that story with another story he'd say, "A story for another time, kids." Because he has so many stories, he says that line on average 3 times per story, linking the one he's telling with three others. It's crazy how stories connect like that. They are so delicious in that way, because they never end or get old. I know some stories told over and over again can seem tiring or people say they are tired of them, but I think everyone really delights in old favorites, because they inspire memories and experiences, more stories really. I think that's why I liked Rushdie's book so much. His story, with all its stories and pop culture references (Got to love the Walrus), brings up memories of other stories I've heard and lived. Which brings me back to the "Ocean of Stories" which is a good place to end, because I now have to leave the library; it's closing.

Acquiring a gift of tongues

So, I've been reading some blogs on the high brow/low brow discussion, and I think I agree with the general consensus that high brow tends to be more difficult and tedious, and low brow, though it is not lesser, presents the same material in an easier light; but I don't think high brow necessarily contains more depth in terms of thoughtful themes and meaning. It's just that high brow uses a language that we don't always see, so it's more difficult to comprehend. So I guess it would use more thinking, because we don't understand the medium or the text, but the meaning isn't more complex than something written in more presentable terms.

For example: I have to read this really dense book about cosmology for Origins. I know very little about physics and about math and science in general, so reading this book has been tedious and aggravating, because I don't speak that language very well. I don't see the beauty in it very often, but this book kind of makes you see it, because the scientist men who wrote it are deeply in love with how their language describes the universe. Every now and then, I see it, and it translates into the kind of poetry I can relate to. . .it's still work, but I kind of like looking at the world through that lens. Maybe this is a poor example for others, but for me, it's like this book is high brow and a movie like "Star Dust" or something that explains the beauty above in English terms is low brow.

Anyway. . .I guess high brow and low brow for this class is determined by how an author or playwright or director creates his message. I don't know that Joyce meant to make his book so difficult to read (if he did, he's kind of a jerk), but he just wrote it in a different type of "language" or something, that's difficult for most people because we don't think or see the world in that way. In that respect, even low brow texts that carry so much meaning could be hard to grasp if we don't have that deciphering or filter thing/mindset in our heads.

If that sense is kind of right, I think this class will look at the high and low, and see that in quantity of meaning, the two can be the same, but how we dig that meaning out or how we find it will be the challenge we focus on. But, I guess we will find out tomorrow. I can't wait to get in the classroom see everyone again. I like that Rio calls this a reunion; it should be an amazing atmosphere with great minds and great ideas.