I wrapped up my business in the Springs on the Wednesday, the 30th, so now I can continue my travels. The freedom to roam is intoxicating.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
On the Road Again
Palmer Lake Reservoir Trail. Palmer Lake, CO.
I wrapped up my business in the Springs on the Wednesday, the 30th, so now I can continue my travels. The freedom to roam is intoxicating.
I wrapped up my business in the Springs on the Wednesday, the 30th, so now I can continue my travels. The freedom to roam is intoxicating.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Dear Mother,
voicemail: i'm worried because of you. reassure me.
then you reduce my existence to dietary functions, a physical address, and a daily routine. all other functions are excluded. more than that - they are undesirable aversions from correctness.
no, mother, i can't reassure you. i am what you fear.
i cannot say anything to change that, because no - i am not a son you entitle yourself to. and no force on earth will replace me. you do not accept me, you will forever expect me to be something else in order to feel reassured.
I've been telling you for fifteen years, while you fail to care. i cannot because i am not. I've already told you this and everything else you need to know. but once you get what you want, you drop any pretense of listening to me.
so simply live with your fear. you are the source of it. i will not let your emotional pitfall lead to my own.
i will not live as your crutch.
i will not live as your crutch.
when you've understood all this, then I will speak to you.
goodbye -
no, just 'bye'.
silence
Dream Poem about my former cat
I wrote this poem as I woke up this morning while half-asleep,
my mind hop-scotching between dream and consciousness.
Love Anxiety
A shape - the body - moved.
That's how you know it's not something else.
My cat's ghost lounging on my rear
hood squints happily against the sun.
She used to scale
the basement wall with one brave,
gathered leap. I wonder how much it
hurt her claws to dig against the
painted concrete.
She hissed as a last defense, then
broke into a single meow, scared and
pitiful. She was my only victim. I loved her.
I viewed the cliff-side inlet from on high
out a hotel window. The translucent waters
could not conceal its store of green corals.
A pelvic socket carved out of the mountain.
I see the past in dreams and let
familiar emotions steer my visit.
I know where memories belong.
I acquire new memories in
reproduction of those that belong.
Life is not about ignoring your own
objections. We go where our past
teaches. In our memories we all
belong.
I wonder how arthritic and weak her
claws were as she neared her end.
What former refuge she sought, she
could no longer climb.
But safety was in her head... from a
danger that never existed. How she
climbed, digging her claws
desperately for life! Then in the end,
when her legs and paws weakened,
in skittish isolation... she died.
"Where were you to frighten me?"
She
must've wondered in those dark,
hollow nights when the only
alarming sounds echoed from distant
chambers of the house. Not
precursors to a capture and a hug.
A pinning under warm, breathing
blankets. Hot smothers against my
chest. The unresolved fear must have
killed her.
"Why does the blow not fall upon
me? What is it doing... what unknown
dangers are conspiring?"
But none came. I was not there.
The weekends I'd return to terrorize
her became less common. To replace
the unknown fear with a familiar one,
and alleviate her terror.
When I returned, she looked at me
with round wet eyes and released
three months of fear with her long
pitiful wail, so much less could it be
called a meow. All this, after I broke
her frightened hiss.
There she sits now on my car trunk,
curled up napping, stretched out like a mink,
yawning with big teeth, stretching
her arms and legs with extended claws,
shaking her ears and licking her inner
thigh. She knows I cannot hurt her now
she is a ghost. She is no longer afraid.
comments:
The dreamlike quality of the writing process explains why the scenes in the beginning are not really connected by content, but rather by their feel. The first line, although it appears to describe my cat, is totally unrelated. I suspect its actually about a passerby discovering me while I'm sleeping.
That initial sentence was running through my head, over and over again as I was dreaming, and I simply wrote it down so I wouldn't forget it. I wanted to understand what was its meaning to my subconscious - the second line describes somewhat the connotation of that sentence, although such a description was not explicit in my dream.
I didn't know I would write anything beyond the first line. The rest flowed out as I alternately dreamed and sketched my dream in sentences. I could reorganize it into something legit, but I like to keep it the way it is.
I'm not satisfied with the title. What I wanted to do was to play around the idea that my cat's irrational fear complex made her perceive every sound and everyone as a danger and a threat, even the one person - the only person - who really cared for her. The poem gives the impression that there actually was abuse going on - I think I wrote too much from the frightened perspective of the cat - and the title might lead to that false impression.
my mind hop-scotching between dream and consciousness.
Love Anxiety
A shape - the body - moved.
That's how you know it's not something else.
My cat's ghost lounging on my rear
hood squints happily against the sun.
She used to scalethe basement wall with one brave,
gathered leap. I wonder how much it
hurt her claws to dig against the
painted concrete.
She hissed as a last defense, then
broke into a single meow, scared and
pitiful. She was my only victim. I loved her.
I viewed the cliff-side inlet from on high
out a hotel window. The translucent waters
could not conceal its store of green corals.
A pelvic socket carved out of the mountain.
I see the past in dreams and let
familiar emotions steer my visit.
I know where memories belong.
I acquire new memories in
reproduction of those that belong.Life is not about ignoring your own
objections. We go where our past
teaches. In our memories we all
belong.
I wonder how arthritic and weak her
claws were as she neared her end.
What former refuge she sought, she
could no longer climb.
But safety was in her head... from a
danger that never existed. How she
climbed, digging her claws
desperately for life! Then in the end,
when her legs and paws weakened,
in skittish isolation... she died.
"Where were you to frighten me?"She
must've wondered in those dark,
hollow nights when the only
alarming sounds echoed from distant
chambers of the house. Not
precursors to a capture and a hug.
A pinning under warm, breathing
blankets. Hot smothers against my
chest. The unresolved fear must have
killed her.
"Why does the blow not fall upon
me? What is it doing... what unknown
dangers are conspiring?"
But none came. I was not there.
The weekends I'd return to terrorize
her became less common. To replacethe unknown fear with a familiar one,
and alleviate her terror.
When I returned, she looked at me
with round wet eyes and released
three months of fear with her long
pitiful wail, so much less could it be
called a meow. All this, after I broke
her frightened hiss.
There she sits now on my car trunk,
curled up napping, stretched out like a mink,
yawning with big teeth, stretching
her arms and legs with extended claws,
shaking her ears and licking her inner
thigh. She knows I cannot hurt her now
she is a ghost. She is no longer afraid.
comments:
The dreamlike quality of the writing process explains why the scenes in the beginning are not really connected by content, but rather by their feel. The first line, although it appears to describe my cat, is totally unrelated. I suspect its actually about a passerby discovering me while I'm sleeping.
That initial sentence was running through my head, over and over again as I was dreaming, and I simply wrote it down so I wouldn't forget it. I wanted to understand what was its meaning to my subconscious - the second line describes somewhat the connotation of that sentence, although such a description was not explicit in my dream.
I didn't know I would write anything beyond the first line. The rest flowed out as I alternately dreamed and sketched my dream in sentences. I could reorganize it into something legit, but I like to keep it the way it is.
I'm not satisfied with the title. What I wanted to do was to play around the idea that my cat's irrational fear complex made her perceive every sound and everyone as a danger and a threat, even the one person - the only person - who really cared for her. The poem gives the impression that there actually was abuse going on - I think I wrote too much from the frightened perspective of the cat - and the title might lead to that false impression.
Reading Notes
OK, so I was curious about how human digestion works. As I was eating an olive in a huge salad, the question came to my mind: 'if vitamins are such a small yet essential portion of our diet, how does the body sort out these tiny dosages and get them to the places they are needed?'
Fats, carbohydrates, and proteins comprise the main bulk of our diet and it seems reasonable the body has a bulk process that moves these sources of energy around. But how do we make sure the needle in haystack vitamins go through special delivery mail, and not the bulk correspondence with utility bills, credit card statements, and the junk mail?
So I found this book that more or less answers my question on physiology.
The Vitamins: Fundamental Aspects in Nutrition and Health by Gerald F. Combs, Jr.
I more or less learned how it works for Vitamin A. In imprecise terms, I think it goes like this. Vitamin A is broken down into a basic form during digestion, re-uptaked by specialized enzymes at the intestine into a compound form suitable for humans, sent swimming along the blood/lymphatic system, deposited in the liver organ for storage, converted into a delivery compound and dispersed uniformly throughout the bloodstream to be taken by whichever cells grab it as it swims by. I assume other vitamins go through different but similar pathways.
Fats, carbohydrates, and proteins comprise the main bulk of our diet and it seems reasonable the body has a bulk process that moves these sources of energy around. But how do we make sure the needle in haystack vitamins go through special delivery mail, and not the bulk correspondence with utility bills, credit card statements, and the junk mail?
So I found this book that more or less answers my question on physiology.
The Vitamins: Fundamental Aspects in Nutrition and Health by Gerald F. Combs, Jr.
 |
| Vitamin A - all trans retinol |
"I have found it to be true that one learns best what one has to teach. And, because I have no formal training either in teaching or in the field of education in general, it was not for several years of my own teaching that I began to realize the good teacher must understand more than the subject matter of his or her course. In my case, that realization developed, over a few years, with the recognition that individuals learn in different ways and that the process of learning itself is as relevant to my teaching as the material I present.
...
"I have come to understand that people think (and, therefore, learn) in terms of concepts - not facts."
Reading Notes
Depression and Cancer 2011. David Kissane, Mario maj, norman sartorious
129
"The demoralization syndrome, which is characterised by hopelessness, loss of meaning, existential distress, a sense of incompetence, feelings of greater dependency or the perception of being a burden. In patients who present with this syndrome, the sense of impotence or helplessness can often progress to a desire to die or to commit suicide."
It just makes sense. Like, how is that not a rational brain doing its job? See The Death of Ivan Ilyich.
"Hopelessness has been empirically linked to suicidal ideation in the general population, with a stronger association with suicidal intent than depression. A study of advanced cancer patients identified hopelessness as a stronger predictor of suicidal ideation than severity of depression.
Breitbart et al. concluded that hopelessness and depression were independent, significant predictors of DHD, and that the presence of both may actually be the strongest clinical marker for DHD."
(Desire for Hastened Death).
160
"Interferons, a family of proteins that are produced by the immune system, have been shown to have antiproliferative and immunomodulatory effects, as well as cytotoxic and anti-angiogenic properties."
Interferons fight cancer, basically.
"For these reasons, they are used for the treatment of several forms of cancer, such as leukaemia, AIDS-related Kaposi's sarcoma, melanoma, with data also indicating their possible therapeutic effects in renal carcinoma, ovarian cancer and brain tumors."
"The psychiatric side effects of interferon, especially depression secondary to interferon-alpha, have been known for a long time."
You'll live longer, but it'll be a depressing life.
Reading Notes
The Science of Orgasm Barry Komisaruk Carlos Beyer-Flores Beverly Whipple
- ISBN 0-8018-8490-x
LOL her name is 'Whipple' it rhymes with 'nipple'. tee hee hee hee!
"The pelvic nerve provides the afferent (sensory) nerve supply of the vagina, cervix, rectum, and urinary bladder. Activation of this nerve can generate orgasm when stimulated vaginally, so it is not surprising that when activated nongenitally (e.g., rectally), the pelvic nerve can also generate orgasm in both women and men."
You can cum from getting fucked in the butt.
"In women, stimulating the rectum in addition to the clitoris, vagina, and cervix could add to the quality - complexity, intensity, and consequently pleasurableness - of orgasm."
Men telling women to take it in the butt.
"Activation of the paraventricular nucleus of the hypothalamus has been observed during orgasm (Komisaruk, Whipple, Crawford, et al., 2004)"
LOL how'd they do these tests!? What a great job.
Reading Notes
Normal does not equal mental health: The Need to Look Elsewhere for Standards of Good Mental Health. By Steven Bartlett. ISBN 978-0-313-39931-2
ebook 978-0-313-39932-9
99
"It is possible to accommodate those who, overcome by the barrenness of a world of total work and material acquisition, become conscious of its depressive nature and feel the sapping effect of its superficial, frivolous, and empty gratifications. This is the "disorder" that the DSM calls "adjustment disorder, with work inhibition." It is the closest that our current classification of psychological disorders comes to acknowledging, albeit very indirectly, the potential contributing role to human suffering of an exclusionary focus on work that is out of control."
Saturday, March 26, 2016
My Own Little World
I haven't done a 'diary in pictures' post in a while. I have all these friends that haven't found a place yet. So let me introduce you... to my little world.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Consumption by the Pound
Welcome to the Goodwill Oulet store aka "By the Pound Store". Here you can buy anything in bulk, and the items are valued by weight. Clothing 89 cents per pound. Shoes 1.99. Miscellaneous products: toys, purses, bags, etc 2.00. Books .49, CDs 1.00.
Once the merchandise is rolled out, it is never goes through the line again. Whatever doesn't sell gets destroyed either through recycling or tossed into a landfill. Every 12 minutes, a new line of six blue carts gets rolled out. This goes on from store opening to closing 9am to 5pm Monday through Saturday. Look at the amount of clothes and products on each cart, and imagine the volume of perfectly usable condition donated consumer products passing through each day on their way to the dump!
Employees clear away a line of blue bins at a time, and roll out a fresh set. Before the bins are out, prospectors stake their territory where they hope the best loot will be placed. The shoppers are instructed to wait behind the yellow line. Once you are in position, you are not allowed to move from your spot or touch the goods until all the bins are in place and the employees announce "Shop!"
Some negotiations happen among the seasoned looters before the seizing starts. One man wanted a bag across the way and asked the lady facing him if he can have it. It's nothing valuable; perhaps it is a personal indulgence. 'Sure', she says. Later the lady asked the man for something she had her eye on. But save for these occasional collaborations, the experience was highly aggressive and competitive!
As soon as the command to "Shop!" is given, people lunge to grab anything that looked like it could sell well. Purses are especially popular. Almost everyone there is trying to resell the goods they salvaged to someone else who could make their investment worthwhile. The store charges by weight, so a purse doesn't weigh much and figures that it can be resold for a good profit. Children's toys in good condition are also sought after. Toy guns and vehicles are highly prized. The waiting time gives people ample preparation, and it's common for a person to snatch several items at once.
Once the merchandise is rolled out, it is never goes through the line again. Whatever doesn't sell gets destroyed either through recycling or tossed into a landfill. Every 12 minutes, a new line of six blue carts gets rolled out. This goes on from store opening to closing 9am to 5pm Monday through Saturday. Look at the amount of clothes and products on each cart, and imagine the volume of perfectly usable condition donated consumer products passing through each day on their way to the dump!
Employees clear away a line of blue bins at a time, and roll out a fresh set. Before the bins are out, prospectors stake their territory where they hope the best loot will be placed. The shoppers are instructed to wait behind the yellow line. Once you are in position, you are not allowed to move from your spot or touch the goods until all the bins are in place and the employees announce "Shop!"
Some negotiations happen among the seasoned looters before the seizing starts. One man wanted a bag across the way and asked the lady facing him if he can have it. It's nothing valuable; perhaps it is a personal indulgence. 'Sure', she says. Later the lady asked the man for something she had her eye on. But save for these occasional collaborations, the experience was highly aggressive and competitive!
As soon as the command to "Shop!" is given, people lunge to grab anything that looked like it could sell well. Purses are especially popular. Almost everyone there is trying to resell the goods they salvaged to someone else who could make their investment worthwhile. The store charges by weight, so a purse doesn't weigh much and figures that it can be resold for a good profit. Children's toys in good condition are also sought after. Toy guns and vehicles are highly prized. The waiting time gives people ample preparation, and it's common for a person to snatch several items at once.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Upselling
Today I pushed merchandise out onto shelves at Goodwill.
An old lady was looking at some frog garden ornaments that I had arranged on a display. I said to her as I passed by, "Aren't those cute! I just put them out this morning."
She agreed and was delighted to hear a second opinion for encouragement. Thirty minutes later she came back to me full of joy and said, 'I took them because they were just so nice.'
I had completely forgotten about her, but then I was all like: "Yes!" *Fist pump*
I told my manager right away. She called it 'up-selling' and told me to keep it up! I immediately asked for commission.
An old lady was looking at some frog garden ornaments that I had arranged on a display. I said to her as I passed by, "Aren't those cute! I just put them out this morning."
She agreed and was delighted to hear a second opinion for encouragement. Thirty minutes later she came back to me full of joy and said, 'I took them because they were just so nice.'
I had completely forgotten about her, but then I was all like: "Yes!" *Fist pump*
I told my manager right away. She called it 'up-selling' and told me to keep it up! I immediately asked for commission.
Free Labor
Did my forced volunteering today (food stamp requirement). I chose to put in my 8 hours at the swanky Goodwill that first impressed me months ago when I arrived in Colorado Springs.
I like unpaid work. I set my own hours, and show up whenever I like. No need to call in advance with the store or be on time. Like I said, I work whenever want. I can also work as hard as I want, knowing I don't have to show up the next day and do it all over again.
I made e'rthang look nice. One gentleman browsing through my section of merchandise commented how neat and clean e'rthang was. "Knock my socks off," he said. Naturally, I took all the credit. All me.
A friendly employee showed me how the frames were to be arranged, another darling young lady instructed me on the books. 'I got this,' I said to Ulix in my head. What do you think?
Children's books are an assortment of wonders. They are like two pages thick so there's hundreds of oddly shaped leaflets that get tossed out of whack. Little books get jammed into bigger books. Some books are fat and wide, some are tall and skinny. Makes it really hard to get their spines lined up to the edge of the shelves.
Because children's books are the most difficult to straighten, I have concluded that children should not read books. They ought to wait until they can read paperbacks and behave like the rest of us.
I like unpaid work. I set my own hours, and show up whenever I like. No need to call in advance with the store or be on time. Like I said, I work whenever want. I can also work as hard as I want, knowing I don't have to show up the next day and do it all over again.
I made e'rthang look nice. One gentleman browsing through my section of merchandise commented how neat and clean e'rthang was. "Knock my socks off," he said. Naturally, I took all the credit. All me.
A friendly employee showed me how the frames were to be arranged, another darling young lady instructed me on the books. 'I got this,' I said to Ulix in my head. What do you think?
 |
| Frames |
 |
| Literacy Tomes |
Children's books are an assortment of wonders. They are like two pages thick so there's hundreds of oddly shaped leaflets that get tossed out of whack. Little books get jammed into bigger books. Some books are fat and wide, some are tall and skinny. Makes it really hard to get their spines lined up to the edge of the shelves.
 |
| Why children should not read |
Because children's books are the most difficult to straighten, I have concluded that children should not read books. They ought to wait until they can read paperbacks and behave like the rest of us.
 |
| They shouldn't make books for children |
 |
| Let them read books of regulation size and shape! |
Saturday, March 19, 2016
Live Inside my Imagination
Thoughts:
losing your mind isn't so bad, if you've got a strong imagination and can live inside it.
if schizophrenics wrote articulate stories based off their psychotic episodes, i think they'd be really good ones.
Rewriting lonely memories
He had her do all the things with him he once did alone. Mostly they were things he enjoyed, but also some of the difficult parts as well. It was as if he was trying to rewrite his past with happiness into it to fill all the lonely memories. Like, hey Life, you messed up, this is how it was supposed to be from the start and how my past should have played out.
Or at least recompense himself. Prove that it is actually possible to have the love and involvement of one other person through his experiences. That, at least, things may have turned out differently; that his prayers were overlooked by mere chance; that perhaps his hopes and wishes might have come about, and still can; that he was not doomed by fate to go through life alone.
'See? Someone could've shared this happiness with me at the time. Someone is with me right now, doing so. The same could have happened before. It could've. I wasn't hopeless. I'm alright.'
But she wasn't interested. 'I didn't know' would be her self-absolution, 'what it meant to you'. But that made it worse; it wasn't that she didn't know that was the problem - how could she, anyhow? It was that she didn't care enough to want to know. And that made it all the much worse.
Still, he was not defeated by her despondence. He saw it as she was not the right person, not that no such person could exist. In fact, he felt a little bit closer. It wasn't there in her, but he felt he got closer to experiencing it. That not finding it in her, somehow made the thought it was out there more tangible, rather than diminishing it.
He couldn't get mad at her. She was who she was. But he did feel betrayed she tried to hide it from him for as long as she did; she never did give up hiding from him in the end. She would always do so. And he could not continue ceding to her excuses, knowing she did not open to him and build a trust.
'The question from the start is a very simple one. What are we looking for, and do we want the same things? Her fear was always: something different and no. So she kept that secret from me, though I always knew, and stayed me at a distance exhausting all her second and third chances to demonstrate that her answer was what she said.'
It wasn't her answer that killed the relationship. Surely no two people can want all the same things and be so like-minded. Those differences can be worked out, and really - they don't all that matter. It was lack of trust. Not opening up, making one-sided decisions on what the other should know, and not revealing one's thoughts and true self. That killed the relationship.
'I can see by your actions what you are. You cannot hide from me what I can learn from you without you saying it. By keeping what is known to you from me, you only make yourself untrustworthy. Difficult. One who refuses to admit and so we play 'pickle' in a protracted expenditure of time and energy to play out an outcome we know what it will be, but one of us doesn't care to think about.'
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Squire, attend me!
I haven't given Ulix much love recently, so here's a long overdue shout-out to my faithful Polar Bar.
During the night, we had snow. (Dramatic setting for heroism.)
My poster-board curtain came loose from its handlebar, (Gasp! O no!)
but Ulix held it in place the whole night with his triangle nose!
What a good guy he is! I scratched him under the chin. He likes that.
When I find my Dulcinea and dispel her enchantment, I will make Ulix governor of his own island.
Found the perfect girl for him too, her name is Gracie and she is a sweetheart.
A local Trader Joe's grocery store has a giraffe on staff. She rewards little kids with stickers and 'suckers' if they can find where she is in the store.
I love the playfulness of her job, so I pay her a visit every time I shop. The above picture is from last week. I tried to get a selfie with Grace yesterday, but unfortunately my phone was out of battery. As you can see, she's a hard gal to get a hold of!
EDIT: Got a selfie with Gracie!
Grace has a lot of important work to do, just like my boy Ulix. But the nature of her job requires that she move around quite a bit more than he does. That's how she keeps her trim figure.
Too bad Gracie doesn't have a Facebook that I can follow... yet. (I asked about it and a purple haired cashier-ess just loved the idea of creating one!) Maybe I could ask her friend to double-date. ^_~
 |
| 'Don't mind me, I'm just a Polar Bar' 'No buddy, you deserve it!' |
During the night, we had snow. (Dramatic setting for heroism.)
 |
| "WTF y u do this? Lousy Smarch weather!" |
My poster-board curtain came loose from its handlebar, (Gasp! O no!)
but Ulix held it in place the whole night with his triangle nose!
 |
| Polar Bar to the rescue! |
What a good guy he is! I scratched him under the chin. He likes that.
 |
| *Drools* |
When I find my Dulcinea and dispel her enchantment, I will make Ulix governor of his own island.
 |
| Image |
"It was a practice very much in vogue with the knights-errant of old to make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they won, and I am determined that there shall be no failure on my part in so liberal a custom." - Miguel de Cervantes (translation by John Ormsby)
Found the perfect girl for him too, her name is Gracie and she is a sweetheart.
A local Trader Joe's grocery store has a giraffe on staff. She rewards little kids with stickers and 'suckers' if they can find where she is in the store.
 |
| "Grace" |
I love the playfulness of her job, so I pay her a visit every time I shop. The above picture is from last week. I tried to get a selfie with Grace yesterday, but unfortunately my phone was out of battery. As you can see, she's a hard gal to get a hold of!
EDIT: Got a selfie with Gracie!
Grace has a lot of important work to do, just like my boy Ulix. But the nature of her job requires that she move around quite a bit more than he does. That's how she keeps her trim figure.
Too bad Gracie doesn't have a Facebook that I can follow... yet. (I asked about it and a purple haired cashier-ess just loved the idea of creating one!) Maybe I could ask her friend to double-date. ^_~
Top Reasons to Get a Job
I attended my first class in 'Employment First', Colorado's Employment and Training program - one of the many federal requirements for receiving SNAP (food stamp) benefits.
In celebration, I have brainstormed several good real reasons to get a job.
In celebration, I have brainstormed several good real reasons to get a job.
 |
| Scumbag Steve |
Jobs are for:
- Lazy people who can't assign work to themselves.
"I'm just going to watch TV and grow my belly"
- Unimaginative people who run other people's scams 'cause they can't figure out their own.
"Thank goodness I don't have to come up with these fakakta schemes.
My pyramid is all upside down."
- Greedy people who can't live without money.
"But how will I spend money if I don't have any? And what will I put in my purse?"
- Careless people who had kids.
"Once yer 18 ure out, y'here? You, and u, and yu too! All of you!"
- Boring people who repeat the same tasks every day.
"Well, it passes the time. Slowly."
- Conceited people who compete for titles and promotions.
"I'm a Level 11 'scientician'! - Uhh?"
- Fussy people who want to sleep indoors.
"I need this! And this! And this!"
- Ugly people who can't marry someone rich.
"Some girls have all the luck."
- Losers who didn't buy enough lottery tickets to win.
"But I've got it all planned out how I'm going to spend my winnings!"
- Nobodies who need an I.D. badge to define who they are.
"See? I do exist! No, wait, no don't lay me off! My job is my only identity!!"
- Real people with normal lives.
"Pff they don't exist."
Friday, March 11, 2016
Riding the Rails with Jack London
The Road by Jack London. 1907.
Jack London takes us on a thrilling account of traveling continental United States by stowing away on train, and we see that it is no free ride!
Keepin' it real
The Train
In between some sections of the train, there is a narrow platform built into the end of the car. A hobo can jump onto some of these platforms as the train leaves a station and not be ousted while the train is in transit.
A few of these platforms are not accessible to crew inside the train while the train is moving, because the adjoining door leads to a room loaded with luggage or freight and so is always locked, or there is no door. Such platforms are called "blinds".
Winning the Blind
Train crewmen, "shacks", search the platforms for hobos while the train is at a station and kick them off. The trick is for the hobo to wait until the crewmen have boarded the train before attempting to stow away on the platform. Crewmen similarly 'ride her out' - wait on the platform as long as possible to stave away hobos. But once the train starts moving, the crewmen must board the train so they cannot guard the platform.
When the crewmen deems the train has gained enough speed to ward any hobos from boarding - yet safe enough for his own leaping abilities, he will jump off the platform and jump back on the train at a car further down the line. At this point, the hobo must run very fast to keep up with the moving train and jump onto the platform that the crewman has just vacated.
It's a contest of wits, guts, and athleticism between the shack and the hobo who will win the blind.
Jack London takes us on a thrilling account of traveling continental United States by stowing away on train, and we see that it is no free ride!
Keepin' it real
"Every once in a while, in newspapers, magazines, and biographical'I wasn't playing at being a hobo,' says Jack London, 'I was one.'
dictionaries, I run upon sketches of my life, wherein, delicately
phrased, I learn that it was in order to study sociology that I became
a tramp.
This is very nice and thoughtful of the biographers, but it
is inaccurate. I became a tramp--well, because of the life that was in
me, of the wanderlust in my blood that would not let me rest.
Sociology was merely incidental"
The Train
In between some sections of the train, there is a narrow platform built into the end of the car. A hobo can jump onto some of these platforms as the train leaves a station and not be ousted while the train is in transit.
 |
| A"blind". |
A few of these platforms are not accessible to crew inside the train while the train is moving, because the adjoining door leads to a room loaded with luggage or freight and so is always locked, or there is no door. Such platforms are called "blinds".
"I may as well explain here what a blind baggage is. Some mail-cars are
built without doors in the ends; hence, such a car is "blind." The
mail-cars that possess end doors, have those doors always locked.
Suppose, after the train has started, that a tramp gets on to the
platform of one of these blind cars. There is no door, or the door is
locked. No conductor or brakeman can get to him to collect fare or
throw him off. It is clear that the tramp is safe until the next time
the train stops. Then he must get off, run ahead in the darkness, and
when the train pulls by, jump on to the blind again. But there are
ways and ways, as you shall see.
When the train pulled out, those twenty tramps swarmed upon the three
blinds. Some climbed on before the train had run a car-length. They
were awkward dubs, and I saw their speedy finish. Of course, the
train-crew was "on," and at the first stop the trouble began. I jumped
off and ran forward along the track. I noticed that I was accompanied
by a number of the tramps. They evidently knew their business. When
one is beating an overland, he must always keep well ahead of the
train at the stops. I ran ahead, and as I ran, one by one those that
accompanied me dropped out. This dropping out was the measure of their
skill and nerve in boarding a train.
For this is the way it works. When the train starts, the shack rides
out the blind. There is no way for him to get back into the train
proper except by jumping off the blind and catching a platform where
the car-ends are not "blind." When the train is going as fast as the
shack cares to risk, he therefore jumps off the blind, lets several
cars go by, and gets on to the train. So it is up to the tramp to run
so far ahead that before the blind is opposite him the shack will have
already vacated it."
Winning the Blind
Train crewmen, "shacks", search the platforms for hobos while the train is at a station and kick them off. The trick is for the hobo to wait until the crewmen have boarded the train before attempting to stow away on the platform. Crewmen similarly 'ride her out' - wait on the platform as long as possible to stave away hobos. But once the train starts moving, the crewmen must board the train so they cannot guard the platform.
When the crewmen deems the train has gained enough speed to ward any hobos from boarding - yet safe enough for his own leaping abilities, he will jump off the platform and jump back on the train at a car further down the line. At this point, the hobo must run very fast to keep up with the moving train and jump onto the platform that the crewman has just vacated.
It's a contest of wits, guts, and athleticism between the shack and the hobo who will win the blind.
Depression: an unexpected error has occurred
All that I ask for is an explanation
We need to live in a world that makes sense.
It may not be accurate nor precise, but it needs to be self-consistent and reliably hold up to the extent of our personal scrutiny when compared against the external realities we face.
Why do we need the world to make sense? Because we need to know what to do in order to get what we need. We are not invertebrate organisms that recoil upon touch and dance when dropped in a brothy culture. Our brains do not simply shut off - to permit us to biologically persist on the faith of knee-jerk reactions.
The brain must conduct at all times, and therefore it must know something that represents what exists outside it. We must have an conceptualized internal framework of The World exterior to our body in order to conduct our behavior.
Why fix what ain't broken?
Some are satisfied to think little and be happy, not question the tenets of reality for lack of motivation (can't see no point in asking pointless questions) or for fear (God forbids I question his ways. May I not be cast out from the paradise of Eden.) or for lack of comprehension (come again? oh, check out that hot girl sitting by the window. huh? what were you saying?).
But a happy conceptual interpretation of life is not one-size-fits all. Sometimes we are forced to change the way we understand the world by circumstances outside our control. The death of someone close to us. Relocating to a new environment. The world in our head no longer traces the outlines of the world outside our eyelids, lines of stark conflict jar the eye.
For every reason we give to let our life be just the way it is, life provides a counterargument. The former world that we thought was fair and malleable to our actions now seems obtuse - an intolerable guest in Our Domain of Life, and we must reconsider; 'What is our role in the world around us?'
Then there are times we wish to grow our conscious realm for reasons of our own. Perhaps we are naturally curious and wish to understand more of the world than we already know. Perhaps the basic construct for life that suffices most other minds is insufficient to the task that occupies our own. Perhaps the existing world in our head is uninteresting and repetitive, so we seek to invent a more satisfying experience.
An onset of hopelessness
Depression is one behavioral manifestation of an internal world that has stopped making sense. Perhaps we have aged; we changed and so did the world around us. Perhaps we have seen too much, or seen too little of reality and the effect is to invalidate our conceptual model. Life as it was does not agree to facts with life as it is. We are shackled to an unrectifiable flaw in our world.
There is nothing we can do to overcome this barrier, which prevents us from the pattern of acquiring our needs through premeditated action. We stop taking action. No action can fix the flaw in our reality. Reality has broken down. Motivation is meaningless.
There is no point to action, because the dependable principle of cause and effect has flown the coop. We are pedaling with no chain on the bicycle. Why bother? I will just fall down, no matter how fast or strong I pedal.
The legitimacy of the scam has been discredited. What's the use in throwing money in, when I no longer believe I will get 200% return investment when the week is done?
Reason to Madness
And what is wrong with that???? It is absolutely RATIONAL that one loses hope when reality fails. It would be LUNACY to continue worshiping false idols if the big G came public, created another universe from the rib of this one to please us, and then announced his campaign for presidency.
The dysfunction is not in the execution of the brain, but the unsolvable problem you are presenting it. Every computer program should anticipate invalid inputs a bonehead user can provide. But if the software did not foresee a possible potato in the tailpipe, it crashes.
Is the hardware faulty? (OKAY YOUR SOFTWARE CRASHED, THROW OUT YOUR COMPUTER ITS BROKEN AND BUY A NEW ONE - that's basically the advice of the prescription psychiatrist) - No but, you told it to do something that don't make no damn sense!
Your brain throws one catch-all exception just like the computer program! Fuck this, I'm outa here bye. Don't do nothing for the next six months, just stay in bed, why bother?
Life itself is the cure
The real cure for depression is two-fold. Experience and understanding.
Valid inputs - career/life opportunities, promising personal relationships, etc - and (both as a consequence of the former, as well as a distinct effort of its own) a debugging, perhaps a rewriting of the software's instructions and of underlying assumptions about the world.
Depression is not a failing, but a task credited to you by your brain to make of life, something more.
"I just want to know Why!?!"
We need to live in a world that makes sense.
It may not be accurate nor precise, but it needs to be self-consistent and reliably hold up to the extent of our personal scrutiny when compared against the external realities we face.
Why do we need the world to make sense? Because we need to know what to do in order to get what we need. We are not invertebrate organisms that recoil upon touch and dance when dropped in a brothy culture. Our brains do not simply shut off - to permit us to biologically persist on the faith of knee-jerk reactions.
The brain must conduct at all times, and therefore it must know something that represents what exists outside it. We must have an conceptualized internal framework of The World exterior to our body in order to conduct our behavior.
Why fix what ain't broken?
"If it's good enough for me, then it's good enough for you."
Some are satisfied to think little and be happy, not question the tenets of reality for lack of motivation (can't see no point in asking pointless questions) or for fear (God forbids I question his ways. May I not be cast out from the paradise of Eden.) or for lack of comprehension (come again? oh, check out that hot girl sitting by the window. huh? what were you saying?).
But a happy conceptual interpretation of life is not one-size-fits all. Sometimes we are forced to change the way we understand the world by circumstances outside our control. The death of someone close to us. Relocating to a new environment. The world in our head no longer traces the outlines of the world outside our eyelids, lines of stark conflict jar the eye.
For every reason we give to let our life be just the way it is, life provides a counterargument. The former world that we thought was fair and malleable to our actions now seems obtuse - an intolerable guest in Our Domain of Life, and we must reconsider; 'What is our role in the world around us?'
Then there are times we wish to grow our conscious realm for reasons of our own. Perhaps we are naturally curious and wish to understand more of the world than we already know. Perhaps the basic construct for life that suffices most other minds is insufficient to the task that occupies our own. Perhaps the existing world in our head is uninteresting and repetitive, so we seek to invent a more satisfying experience.
An onset of hopelessness
"I might go on, naught else remained to do." - Childe Roland
Depression is one behavioral manifestation of an internal world that has stopped making sense. Perhaps we have aged; we changed and so did the world around us. Perhaps we have seen too much, or seen too little of reality and the effect is to invalidate our conceptual model. Life as it was does not agree to facts with life as it is. We are shackled to an unrectifiable flaw in our world.
There is nothing we can do to overcome this barrier, which prevents us from the pattern of acquiring our needs through premeditated action. We stop taking action. No action can fix the flaw in our reality. Reality has broken down. Motivation is meaningless.
There is no point to action, because the dependable principle of cause and effect has flown the coop. We are pedaling with no chain on the bicycle. Why bother? I will just fall down, no matter how fast or strong I pedal.
The legitimacy of the scam has been discredited. What's the use in throwing money in, when I no longer believe I will get 200% return investment when the week is done?
Reason to Madness
"Computers always do what you tell them to, but what they do is not always what you want.
And what is wrong with that???? It is absolutely RATIONAL that one loses hope when reality fails. It would be LUNACY to continue worshiping false idols if the big G came public, created another universe from the rib of this one to please us, and then announced his campaign for presidency.
The dysfunction is not in the execution of the brain, but the unsolvable problem you are presenting it. Every computer program should anticipate invalid inputs a bonehead user can provide. But if the software did not foresee a possible potato in the tailpipe, it crashes.
Is the hardware faulty? (OKAY YOUR SOFTWARE CRASHED, THROW OUT YOUR COMPUTER ITS BROKEN AND BUY A NEW ONE - that's basically the advice of the prescription psychiatrist) - No but, you told it to do something that don't make no damn sense!
Your brain throws one catch-all exception just like the computer program! Fuck this, I'm outa here bye. Don't do nothing for the next six months, just stay in bed, why bother?
Life itself is the cure
"Life giveth and life taketh"
The real cure for depression is two-fold. Experience and understanding.
Valid inputs - career/life opportunities, promising personal relationships, etc - and (both as a consequence of the former, as well as a distinct effort of its own) a debugging, perhaps a rewriting of the software's instructions and of underlying assumptions about the world.
Depression is not a failing, but a task credited to you by your brain to make of life, something more.
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Socioeconomic Depression
This afternoon I looked at a book of research publications into biological causes of depression. There's some indications of what goes on in the brain is different physically, but I didn't chance to see any conclusive evidence that the cause is a physiological impairment disorder and not a natural conditioning to socioeconomic stress.
Ok this is a shambly mash-up of notes, but its a touchy and extolling subject; I don't have the stomach to clean this up, so wear a hat.
In other words, I think it's criminal to discredit the legitimacy of a depressed person's feelings to his/her environment, saying its an abnormal response - that your brain is wrong because it was born physically impaired. When there are relevant socioeconomic factors that give rise to an understandable (and we ought to do something about fixing that social environment!) feeling of hopelessness.
Ok this is a shambly mash-up of notes, but its a touchy and extolling subject; I don't have the stomach to clean this up, so wear a hat.
 |
| "Show me where it hurts" *points to coconut* |
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
As Long As I Get Paid...
... I don't care what silly nonsense you have me do.
Money is the only truth
I love how when studying history, because one has no personal stake in believing in the lies of the time period, we can cut through the bullshit and talk about things for what they are.
Here's an example of 'at the end of the day, it all boils down to money.'
The system of merit-based education in 1700s China leading to cushy government jobs was flawed on several accounts. The prescribed texts were not authentic to the original work of Confucius. Its effectiveness in selecting the best government officials was unproven. But most importantly, it failed to deliver the money.
Money is the only truth
I love how when studying history, because one has no personal stake in believing in the lies of the time period, we can cut through the bullshit and talk about things for what they are.
Here's an example of 'at the end of the day, it all boils down to money.'
The system of merit-based education in 1700s China leading to cushy government jobs was flawed on several accounts. The prescribed texts were not authentic to the original work of Confucius. Its effectiveness in selecting the best government officials was unproven. But most importantly, it failed to deliver the money.
The Search for Modern China by Jonathan D. Spence.
103[1] "Yan proved, with carefully marshaled evidence, that several sections of this major work [Confucian texts] (on which generations of state examination questions had been based) were a later forgery and thus did not deserve the reverence that scholars ascribed to it.
[2] By the 1740s the examinations as a whole were coming under attack as sterile exercises that failed to select the finest scholars for office, and Yan's work heightened this sense of state Confucianism's weakness.
[3] Social tensions further undermined confidence in this system, for by the mid-eighteenth century the state had not increased quotas of examination candidates proportionately to the rise in China's population. The consequent pressures on students and the difficulties of finding employment even if one passed the exams brought frustration and disillusionment to many members of the educated elite."
Remarks:
1) LOL. At some point the rulers subversively changed/added to the Confucian doctrines to suit their political agenda.
2) The whole studying Confucianism to become great leaders was a long standing sham. It was a disguised way of keeping the progeny of wealthy elites (who could afford the education to pass the exams) perpetually in office, under pretext of upholding moral teachings.
Government officials, despite their exacting Confucian education, grafted wherever they had the opportunity!!
Government officials, despite their exacting Confucian education, grafted wherever they had the opportunity!!
A commonly known Chinese idiom:Has hole just enter!(Deliberately squeeze into every opening.)
Meaning: act as an opportunist, make a grab at every chance one gets!
Same to this very day in China. Need a permit? Not without a bribe. Want your child to attend the best school? Pay me to get in. Want your child to actually get passing grades while in school? Send the teachers gifts. Need to see a doctor? Hope you have cartons of cigarettes - not to smoke, yourself, silly! - to hand out to the staff!
And then on top of that you better have the right connections, or all the bribes you can afford won't do you any good!
And then on top of that you better have the right connections, or all the bribes you can afford won't do you any good!
3) It's all fun and games until we get to the bottom line. Let's suppose you spend your whole life competing for this examination, actually succeed in passing it, and then find out it does you no good in getting a paid position.
'You can lie to me, you can force me to jump through hoops, but at the end of the day if I'm not getting paid then you and I have got a problem!!'That's what it boils down to.
Giving Credit Where Ego is Due
Ever get annoyed that people take credit for work you've done, because they are so think so highly of themselves that they feel they deserve all the credit?
Here's a story from Chinese history about stealing an author's work that puts others to shame!
LOL over twenty years of your life's work devoted to creating the biggest encyclopedia the world has ever known and right before it is finished, you get all the credit stolen and you get banished from the country? What a royal screw job!
Seriously think about it. An 80,000 page book that you put together (well not all by yourself of course - but still!) and some guy slaps his name on it, goes through and removes all traces of your authorship and claims it as his own. How could you top that?
If you ever feel bad about getting the short-changed by office politics, please just think of Chen Menglei!
The Oriental Woman's Burden
I'm reminded of a personal story. One year my mom purchased a book on gardening written in Chinese, which she appraised was a valuable resource. Her Chinese pride and the fact that the book was in Chinese led her to believe that Westerners did not know the information contained in the book and that she would enlighten them with her discovery!
I tired of her pestering and unfounded pride. She would point out passages to me and remark, 'See how knowledgeable the Chinese are! You can't find this sort of information in English books!' She resolved to spend time slowly translating the book into English for a Western audience. She even fancied publishing her translation in the distant future when it might be completed!
Well, I looked at the book and the style of its cover did not strike me as particularly Chinese. I noticed an ISBN printed inside the flap and looked it up. Turns out the book was originally written in English, and she was reading a Chinese translation! She gave up on her project before long, as I made fun of her to no end. She might as well have done what Yongzheng did, just slap her name on as the author - and saved the four years of pointless work to "revise" what was already completed!
I very much wanted to see what her book would've turned out like. Imagine that! A blind re-translation of translation, back into its original language! A game of 'Telephone' played between two languages with a dictionary. It would have been even funnier to wait patiently while she proudly showed off her shoddy English translation to me, then watch her clam up in red-cheeked embarrassment as I said, 'Yes. Very nice, but let's see how it compares against my English copy, the original!!'
The reason I didn't wait to reveal her mistake was not for lack of sadism on my part. I just knew she would never get around to translating much of the book at all, so I didn't want the juicy moment to escape. Were I to bring up her folly at a later time, she would've been completely forgetful and unrepentant about her ridiculous claims as well as her Trump-level ego! Only if you catch her right in the act does she not dodge her blame!
"All me."
Here's a story from Chinese history about stealing an author's work that puts others to shame!
The Search for Modern China by Jonathan D. Spence. p 92.Kicked Out
"
The gujin tushu jicheng ("Complete Collection of Illustrations and Writings from the Earliest to Current Times") was an enormous encyclopedia, the fruit of decades of scholarship by the scholar Chen Menglei.
Chen, helped by scores of other scholars, by Emperor Kangxi's third son- who became his patron - and finally by the patronage of Kangxi himself, sought to assemble all the finest past writings on natural phenomena, geography, history, literature, and government. The result, surely one of the largest books in the history of the world, filled 80,000 pages and contained over 100,000,000 Chinese characters. The copper type for printing this vast work was already set when Kangxi died.
Yongzheng, determined to ensure that credit for this great undertaking should not go to this particular brother, whom he hated, used the fact that Chen had once served with one of the Three Feudatories to declare him a traitor and have him banished to Manchuria. Yongzheng then erased all signs of Chen's editorship and all mention of his elder brother's involvement with the project. After a lapse of four years, which allegedly was used to "correct" the encyclopedia, it was issued as the work of Kangxi himself; one of Yongzheng's most trusted inner grand secretaries was listed as editor-in-chief of the "revision."
"
LOL over twenty years of your life's work devoted to creating the biggest encyclopedia the world has ever known and right before it is finished, you get all the credit stolen and you get banished from the country? What a royal screw job!
Seriously think about it. An 80,000 page book that you put together (well not all by yourself of course - but still!) and some guy slaps his name on it, goes through and removes all traces of your authorship and claims it as his own. How could you top that?
If you ever feel bad about getting the short-changed by office politics, please just think of Chen Menglei!
The Oriental Woman's Burden
I'm reminded of a personal story. One year my mom purchased a book on gardening written in Chinese, which she appraised was a valuable resource. Her Chinese pride and the fact that the book was in Chinese led her to believe that Westerners did not know the information contained in the book and that she would enlighten them with her discovery!
I tired of her pestering and unfounded pride. She would point out passages to me and remark, 'See how knowledgeable the Chinese are! You can't find this sort of information in English books!' She resolved to spend time slowly translating the book into English for a Western audience. She even fancied publishing her translation in the distant future when it might be completed!
Well, I looked at the book and the style of its cover did not strike me as particularly Chinese. I noticed an ISBN printed inside the flap and looked it up. Turns out the book was originally written in English, and she was reading a Chinese translation! She gave up on her project before long, as I made fun of her to no end. She might as well have done what Yongzheng did, just slap her name on as the author - and saved the four years of pointless work to "revise" what was already completed!
I very much wanted to see what her book would've turned out like. Imagine that! A blind re-translation of translation, back into its original language! A game of 'Telephone' played between two languages with a dictionary. It would have been even funnier to wait patiently while she proudly showed off her shoddy English translation to me, then watch her clam up in red-cheeked embarrassment as I said, 'Yes. Very nice, but let's see how it compares against my English copy, the original!!'
The reason I didn't wait to reveal her mistake was not for lack of sadism on my part. I just knew she would never get around to translating much of the book at all, so I didn't want the juicy moment to escape. Were I to bring up her folly at a later time, she would've been completely forgetful and unrepentant about her ridiculous claims as well as her Trump-level ego! Only if you catch her right in the act does she not dodge her blame!
Monday, March 7, 2016
Practical Wizardry
A Guide to Wizardry
Experiments in Physical Chemistry. 1967. 2E. David P. Shoemaker. Carl W. Garland. (MIT professors.)
I notice this book every time I pass by it in the university library. With that title and retro cover, it looks so bad-ass and wizarding. Today, I resolved to explore its contents.
The authors present examples of chemistry theory that an undergraduate scientist can quantify by experiment. Formulas are manipulated into a form that can be replicated in a physical setup. Suitable apparatuses are illustrated and described. Then the experimental procedures are explained.
Now Look Here, Son ...
The great thing about this book is how it detailed it is with first-hand knowledge on how to conduct the experiments in practical terms. The directions are not skimpy overviews, like 'set the pressure to X and record the temperature'. They're navigation charts through deceptive and treacherous waters. 'Listen carefully to what you need to do, if you don't want to end up a sorry sod!'
"For the initial equilibration of the system, close the needle valve and adjust the main gas supply valve until the regulator gauge reads about 40 psi.
Then very slowly open the needle valve until the pressure in the system (as indicated by the manometer) is increasing at about the rate of 5 cm Hg min-1. Continue to adjust the needle valve until delta_p is about 75 cm (this should take at least 15 min).
If the gas pressure is increased rapidly at the beginning, the coil will not be able to bring the initial surge of gas to bath temperature, and the porous frit will be cooled to below its steady-state value; this will cause a very slow (2 to 3 hr) attainment of the steady-state value of delta_T. With care in making all pressure changes, a steady state should be achieved in about 40 min."
Joule-Thomson Effect. 59.
The Right Advice Makes All the Difference
I can just imagine the poor soul who tried this experiment without such experienced guidance, thinking he is a complete failure as a scientist. It has happened to me countless times in physics labs!
He sees his data is completely off, since he didn't know he needed to wait the full THREE HOURS for his experiment to reach steady-state! Never mind he couldn't afford that luxury of time even if he knew. Until you try the experiment for yourself, you can't foresee the importance of these details!
What a difference experience makes: three hours vs 40 minutes! To scientific theory, the two experiments are carried out the same, but to the conductor of the experiments one is a baffling dismal failure and the other is an enviable success!
Buzzword University
 |
| Learn to be Innovative! Be an Entrepeneur! |
Bachelor of Innovation
LOL. I came across this bachelor's degree while reading the campus newspaper. What a bullshit major! An illegitimate child of trendy buzzwords and 'synergized' corporate mysticism. 'Innovation' is even trademarked. LULLERZ.
"UCCS is the first school to offer a bachelor’s degree with a core on innovation. Innovation, the transformation of ideas into impact, is a process that can be taught. It is a process that involves not just creativity (that is invention), but also the skills to work with others to move that idea forward and implement it for business and/or social impact."
- http://innovation.uccs.edu/
There's a reason no such study or school of learning existed. Because it's not any real specific thing. It's just a blanket description for the outcome of any number of possible distinct, varied, and non-communal work derived from other real branches of humanities or science, etc.
You might as well open up a school for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence.
"Webster's Dictionary defines 'excellence' as the quality or condition of being excellent."
- Smokin' Joe Frazier
Frazier's explanation is just as meaningful as the degree is.
Other Ideas
Why stop at Innovation? There are plenty of valuable corporate values that our promising young generation needs to educate themselves about! We could open a revolutionary new system of higher education!
Let's offer these best in class degrees of study!
Bachelor of Arts:
- Thinking Outside the Box
- Bringing Ideas to the Table
- Moving the Organization Forward
- Using Integrated Approach
- Fast Track Growth
Reading
Sunday, March 6th, 2016.
Being a kid
Having the time and freedom to curl up and read feels so nice. I used to sit upside down on the sofa with the Boxcar Children series when I was eight years old, and read all day on Sundays like this.
Nemesis
Because it rhymes
(with DOOK! DOOK! DOOK!) ...
Charm
You can find a lot of interesting bookmarks inside the books people donate to Goodwill.
I commonly find the receipt for the book tucked inside the back cover. I've also seen plane tickets, itineraries, and other documents which reveal the name of the person who donated the book.
After I examine these curios I put them back in the book and leave their discovery for the next reader to chance upon. I think it adds charm to the secondhand experience!
 |
| Ute Valley Park. Colorado Springs, CO. |
Being a kid
Having the time and freedom to curl up and read feels so nice. I used to sit upside down on the sofa with the Boxcar Children series when I was eight years old, and read all day on Sundays like this.
 |
| Whether it's on a park bench... |
 |
| or in a nook |
... I can't put down a good good book!
Nemesis
Because it rhymes
(with DOOK! DOOK! DOOK!) ...
 |
| The BAD BAD BOOK! |
 |
| The Babadook (2014 Movie) |
Charm
You can find a lot of interesting bookmarks inside the books people donate to Goodwill.
 |
| Ultrasound photo. Aristotle's Ethics |
I commonly find the receipt for the book tucked inside the back cover. I've also seen plane tickets, itineraries, and other documents which reveal the name of the person who donated the book.
After I examine these curios I put them back in the book and leave their discovery for the next reader to chance upon. I think it adds charm to the secondhand experience!
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Pale Fire on Index Cards
Done!
Here's the photo album of all eighty note cards: Pale Fire.
Update: Google photos organizes the pictures out of order, so I manually sorted them onto this page
Some remarks about my edition of the poem:
Unnumbered. I feel like Nabokov would have numbered the cards 1 to 80, just to the right of the canto number... but because it wasn't explicitly stated in the description found in the Forward, I didn't number the cards.
Partially dated. I did not date every card, because the date of writing is not available for each card. So where a date was available, I put a date on the card and did not speculate about the dates between. I used Jerry Friedman's timeline on good faith, without checking his references. Notes relevant to the writing of the poem I've highlighted from an excerpt of Friedman's timeline.
Line shift. From Canto Two to the end of the poem, the verses are written on the proper line of each card, and the structure is accurate. But the first canto I've reproduced with a mistake with the structure of the lines starting from card one. Line 3: "Retake the falling snow..." should be written on the fourteenth line of card one, not at the first line of card two. This mistake does not carry over to subsequent cantos; only the lines in Canto One are out of place by one line.
Italics. I chose to write words in italics ... in italics. I know you're supposed to underline instead of using slanty font when it's handwritten and stuff, but I hate how that looks and disliked doing it from the time they taught us in fifth grade. Granted, it may be harder to discern whether the word is italicized or not, when hand-written, but I think you can figure it out without too much uncertainty.
Any last words, John Shade?
A popular theory is that the 999 lines of Pale Fire are incomplete and that the final line the author John Shade would have written is a refrain of the first line: "I was the shadow of the waxwing slain". Note that the unwritten line 1000 would fall exactly on the last line of the final card! Coincidence? I think not!
Writing out Pale Fire onto note cards payed off. See, there is structure within the poem according to the fourteen line organization of the cards! You can find it in each card, in some way shape or form.
Update: Google photos organizes the pictures out of order, so I manually sorted them onto this page
Some remarks about my edition of the poem:
Unnumbered. I feel like Nabokov would have numbered the cards 1 to 80, just to the right of the canto number... but because it wasn't explicitly stated in the description found in the Forward, I didn't number the cards.
Partially dated. I did not date every card, because the date of writing is not available for each card. So where a date was available, I put a date on the card and did not speculate about the dates between. I used Jerry Friedman's timeline on good faith, without checking his references. Notes relevant to the writing of the poem I've highlighted from an excerpt of Friedman's timeline.
Line shift. From Canto Two to the end of the poem, the verses are written on the proper line of each card, and the structure is accurate. But the first canto I've reproduced with a mistake with the structure of the lines starting from card one. Line 3: "Retake the falling snow..." should be written on the fourteenth line of card one, not at the first line of card two. This mistake does not carry over to subsequent cantos; only the lines in Canto One are out of place by one line.
Italics. I chose to write words in italics ... in italics. I know you're supposed to underline instead of using slanty font when it's handwritten and stuff, but I hate how that looks and disliked doing it from the time they taught us in fifth grade. Granted, it may be harder to discern whether the word is italicized or not, when hand-written, but I think you can figure it out without too much uncertainty.
Any last words, John Shade?
A popular theory is that the 999 lines of Pale Fire are incomplete and that the final line the author John Shade would have written is a refrain of the first line: "I was the shadow of the waxwing slain". Note that the unwritten line 1000 would fall exactly on the last line of the final card! Coincidence? I think not!
Writing out Pale Fire onto note cards payed off. See, there is structure within the poem according to the fourteen line organization of the cards! You can find it in each card, in some way shape or form.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)