okay, so i apologize for my hateful remarks concerning a rival school. i honestly did like some of the faculty there, i just thought that, as a school, they weren't fulfilling their responsibilities... and i realize that, over the years, the school may have changed to become a much more quality institution. i think my comments were largely in response to this particular acupuncturist, who, via self-serving and impossible arrogant claims, basically wasted an entire two hour meeting which was supposed to be about curricular reform, reverse curriculum, clarification of objectives, etc. (important stuff). so to all you tai hsuan alumni out there, forgive me. i'm not going to rescind my previous comments, because they were based upon my experiences. i actually attended the school, and that actually happened to me... but i will allow that things have changed.
so, for whatever it's worth, i'm sorry...
Saturday, October 25, 2008
why i hate tai hsuan
okay, usually i'm not a hater... i keep negative thoughts to myself (except when it comes to myself). but since one particular faculty member kept tooting his own horn and saying how "radical" his alma mater (tai hsuan) was, i just can't help myself...
i attended tai hsuan for one summer. it was a very difficult summer, because i was working three jobs, including summer school teaching, to afford tuition to that freaking school. i decided, ultimately, that the school was full of s**t, because they weren't teaching me ANYTHING. the classes combined students from all levels (including students on the verge of graduation) and were conducted in a kind of question and answer format. big news for you guys. if i don't know anything to start with, i can't even begin to formulate a question! and what's more, they expected me to learn, ON MY OWN, the names and locations of the 360 or so points. what the f*** was i paying them their exorbitant tuition for!!?? furthermore, there were some classes where the instructor wouldn't even show up... we'd wait 15 minutes, half an hour, and finally decide that he wasn't coming, class was cancelled...
during one of my last classes, i confided in a senior student that i was disappointed with the education i was receiving, and was thinking about transferring. her advice? "do it now, while you still can."
so i did. i went to emperor's in california, because the standards for licensure were much more stringent there. i figured they had to have a more structured curriculum (which they did). i have no regrets.
so to a certain acupuncturist, who claims he can treat stage 4 cancer with one needle, or by making an herbal formula without even seeing a patient, i have serious doubts about your "radical" alma mater... and everything else you may have had to say.
i attended tai hsuan for one summer. it was a very difficult summer, because i was working three jobs, including summer school teaching, to afford tuition to that freaking school. i decided, ultimately, that the school was full of s**t, because they weren't teaching me ANYTHING. the classes combined students from all levels (including students on the verge of graduation) and were conducted in a kind of question and answer format. big news for you guys. if i don't know anything to start with, i can't even begin to formulate a question! and what's more, they expected me to learn, ON MY OWN, the names and locations of the 360 or so points. what the f*** was i paying them their exorbitant tuition for!!?? furthermore, there were some classes where the instructor wouldn't even show up... we'd wait 15 minutes, half an hour, and finally decide that he wasn't coming, class was cancelled...
during one of my last classes, i confided in a senior student that i was disappointed with the education i was receiving, and was thinking about transferring. her advice? "do it now, while you still can."
so i did. i went to emperor's in california, because the standards for licensure were much more stringent there. i figured they had to have a more structured curriculum (which they did). i have no regrets.
so to a certain acupuncturist, who claims he can treat stage 4 cancer with one needle, or by making an herbal formula without even seeing a patient, i have serious doubts about your "radical" alma mater... and everything else you may have had to say.
Friday, October 24, 2008
kahala mall stinks/ random thoughts
just to let you know. i'm at kahala mall right now. it looks like they're pumping s**t out in front of the whole foods store. the whole parking lot and front of the mall reeks of "leavings." i came inside to the starbucks, bought the obligatory "venti mocha frappuccino" (crap, i don't even particularly like the stuff) and sat down... i'm killing a bit of time until my appointment out this way, writing empty nothings, looking at the upbeat kahala crowd while away their day.
there are a lot of what i would call "business people," guys dressed up in aloha shirts, holding what seem like conferences across the little tables. maybe they are financial specialists trying to calm clients over coffee and scones. and then there are a lot of "kahala moms," always dressed sporty in tank tops and shorts, pushing their decked out strollers, occasionally giving lectures to their misbehaving children, lectures that sound like they are more for the ears of everyone around them than the actual child, lectures that show that they are great parents, and their children are somehow behaving "out of mold": "why are you behaving like that? you know that in our family we never behave like that. settle down, young man." and then, resignedly, they kind of give up the act, just let the kids "stir," and talk with their girlfriends about the kids' activities, relationships, whatever.
i suppose i should consider myself part of this crowd. it is the unspoken privilege of observers and narrators to be "above it all," or at least pretend it's so. who knows, someone may be commenting on me, this shabby looking kid with the wandering eyes and the quiet typing fingers. i suppose i'm not above reproach.
things have been hectic this week. hell, for a while. it's funny. when i'm in the midst of the fray, there are so many things i think i'd like to be doing: writing, practicing taiji, making music, whatever... but when there's a moment of free time, i have a hard time recruiting the attention necessary for much of anything. i waste a lot of time sort of glossing over things, visiting facebook like every ten seconds... i hate that feeling. i feel like i have to refocus myself, but a larger majority of myself just doesn't care enough to do that. there's something comforting, i suppose, in just "washing out," just "vegging" (as was hip to say in my generation)... like water rippling out across my borders.
maybe that's what dreams/aspirations are for: not that we actually reach them, but in the midst of our "business," they serve as a fictionalized counterpoint to allow us to go on. sort of like hope. convince yourself that hope exists, or at the very least, have faith in it, and you could lean out across any abyss holding weights isometric and outstretched, like forever... so i suppose, in a way, i shouldn't feel frustrated about not being able to follow my idling projects, maybe i was never really meant to.
***
i was thinking about teaching, penguins and the bodhisattva path. one paradox of the bodhisattva vow is that it speaks heavily about an "other first" prioritization with regards to salvation. it's not that you save yourself first, and then reach a hand out to the world to "pull it up and out." it's more like you are always lowering yourself so that others may "step on you." which makes me wonder...
i think i understand a bit of it now, though. as a teacher, as a TRUE teacher, you can never think you "KNOW" your subject, and just deliver it like a package to be unwrapped... you have to ALWAYS be like a penguin, continually digesting the world so that you can later regurgitate it to your kids... in other words, you have to continually "relearn" your subject and think of the best way to make it assimilable to your particular students. in a sense, a teacher is a perpetual student.
we assume that the curriculum is a constant, and the student is the variable. but it's not true. the curriculum, what is taught, changes depending upon the nature of the student. so in essence, a teacher continually relearns (or perhaps even learns for the first time) his subject as he teaches his student.
with regards to taiji, for example. sure, i thought i "knew" my forms. i had practiced them to the extent that they had become engrained in my body. but as i tried to teach what i "knew" to my students, i discovered that i had to "relearn" the form in a different way, put a new, accessible vocabulary to it. and in doing this, what i had known of my forms expanded. i came to see different angles to everything...
maybe the bodhisattva path is arranged the way it is because of this very insight. it is a fiction to believe that salvation is a destination, a constant. it is a happening. and you only allow it to happen by constantly readjusting yourself to it, such that it "opens" to both you and your student. salvation IS this very process, this salvific process of bridging two uncertainties...
there are a lot of what i would call "business people," guys dressed up in aloha shirts, holding what seem like conferences across the little tables. maybe they are financial specialists trying to calm clients over coffee and scones. and then there are a lot of "kahala moms," always dressed sporty in tank tops and shorts, pushing their decked out strollers, occasionally giving lectures to their misbehaving children, lectures that sound like they are more for the ears of everyone around them than the actual child, lectures that show that they are great parents, and their children are somehow behaving "out of mold": "why are you behaving like that? you know that in our family we never behave like that. settle down, young man." and then, resignedly, they kind of give up the act, just let the kids "stir," and talk with their girlfriends about the kids' activities, relationships, whatever.
i suppose i should consider myself part of this crowd. it is the unspoken privilege of observers and narrators to be "above it all," or at least pretend it's so. who knows, someone may be commenting on me, this shabby looking kid with the wandering eyes and the quiet typing fingers. i suppose i'm not above reproach.
things have been hectic this week. hell, for a while. it's funny. when i'm in the midst of the fray, there are so many things i think i'd like to be doing: writing, practicing taiji, making music, whatever... but when there's a moment of free time, i have a hard time recruiting the attention necessary for much of anything. i waste a lot of time sort of glossing over things, visiting facebook like every ten seconds... i hate that feeling. i feel like i have to refocus myself, but a larger majority of myself just doesn't care enough to do that. there's something comforting, i suppose, in just "washing out," just "vegging" (as was hip to say in my generation)... like water rippling out across my borders.
maybe that's what dreams/aspirations are for: not that we actually reach them, but in the midst of our "business," they serve as a fictionalized counterpoint to allow us to go on. sort of like hope. convince yourself that hope exists, or at the very least, have faith in it, and you could lean out across any abyss holding weights isometric and outstretched, like forever... so i suppose, in a way, i shouldn't feel frustrated about not being able to follow my idling projects, maybe i was never really meant to.
***
i was thinking about teaching, penguins and the bodhisattva path. one paradox of the bodhisattva vow is that it speaks heavily about an "other first" prioritization with regards to salvation. it's not that you save yourself first, and then reach a hand out to the world to "pull it up and out." it's more like you are always lowering yourself so that others may "step on you." which makes me wonder...
i think i understand a bit of it now, though. as a teacher, as a TRUE teacher, you can never think you "KNOW" your subject, and just deliver it like a package to be unwrapped... you have to ALWAYS be like a penguin, continually digesting the world so that you can later regurgitate it to your kids... in other words, you have to continually "relearn" your subject and think of the best way to make it assimilable to your particular students. in a sense, a teacher is a perpetual student.
we assume that the curriculum is a constant, and the student is the variable. but it's not true. the curriculum, what is taught, changes depending upon the nature of the student. so in essence, a teacher continually relearns (or perhaps even learns for the first time) his subject as he teaches his student.
with regards to taiji, for example. sure, i thought i "knew" my forms. i had practiced them to the extent that they had become engrained in my body. but as i tried to teach what i "knew" to my students, i discovered that i had to "relearn" the form in a different way, put a new, accessible vocabulary to it. and in doing this, what i had known of my forms expanded. i came to see different angles to everything...
maybe the bodhisattva path is arranged the way it is because of this very insight. it is a fiction to believe that salvation is a destination, a constant. it is a happening. and you only allow it to happen by constantly readjusting yourself to it, such that it "opens" to both you and your student. salvation IS this very process, this salvific process of bridging two uncertainties...
the copper thief
honest abe
is turning blue-green
for the copper thief
in him he distills
all cheap and empty
well wishes, and the
worthless escapees
from pockets
too weary to hold.
he pulls veins from
the world they built
their tangled and connected
world, a wealth so
under-appreciated
it goes unnoticed
and secret running
juice, empty and insipid,
from hollow ear to hollow,
from bored intention to
the taken consequence.
like weeds he gingerly
plucks them, careful for
the roots, and paints them
the color of the sea
and envy, which they long
(servicable) forgot.
they say blood smells like
copper.
but in sterile
wound-holding
bandages
the world has forgotten.
so the copper thief
sets about and collects
and hoards the treasure
they've left behind
and unknowing.
is turning blue-green
for the copper thief
in him he distills
all cheap and empty
well wishes, and the
worthless escapees
from pockets
too weary to hold.
he pulls veins from
the world they built
their tangled and connected
world, a wealth so
under-appreciated
it goes unnoticed
and secret running
juice, empty and insipid,
from hollow ear to hollow,
from bored intention to
the taken consequence.
like weeds he gingerly
plucks them, careful for
the roots, and paints them
the color of the sea
and envy, which they long
(servicable) forgot.
they say blood smells like
copper.
but in sterile
wound-holding
bandages
the world has forgotten.
so the copper thief
sets about and collects
and hoards the treasure
they've left behind
and unknowing.
romantique
it was a nice summer
one to remember
to remember
and now and then
i take it out
to polish it and
search for cracks
there was a moment
when you crested a hill
and the hot asphalt
around you shimmered heat
(or was that you,
was that you?)
and the scent of you
or that moment
was clean and sweet
as orange blossoms.
the world, even the sun,
captured in that single
drop of sweat on your cheek.
you brushed it away.
of all that we did
that is what i remember most
that feeling of hope and openings
like it would last forever
it would last forever
like it would.
but even with all my care
a bit of tarnish is
inevitable.
i'll still give it a last rub
like a genie lamp
and then, like the rest,
pack it up in
recycled newspaper
for another rainy day.
one to remember
to remember
and now and then
i take it out
to polish it and
search for cracks
there was a moment
when you crested a hill
and the hot asphalt
around you shimmered heat
(or was that you,
was that you?)
and the scent of you
or that moment
was clean and sweet
as orange blossoms.
the world, even the sun,
captured in that single
drop of sweat on your cheek.
you brushed it away.
of all that we did
that is what i remember most
that feeling of hope and openings
like it would last forever
it would last forever
like it would.
but even with all my care
a bit of tarnish is
inevitable.
i'll still give it a last rub
like a genie lamp
and then, like the rest,
pack it up in
recycled newspaper
for another rainy day.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
the od-noxious
[okay, so this is REALLY stupid...]
fins, i say.
finitude,
finito...
the extent of my wit,
i mock you in stupid ways:
how you surround yourself
with the FINery
the FINest things the world never laid eyes on.
sharply dressed in a good month's salary
eating food better clothed than ever i was.
i was always too wide
to be fine.
my world is thick with
compromises and contradictions.
"it's a fine line," you always
said, of life or truth or something:
"walk the fine line."
but my feet broke the edges
of shoes
and couldn't find your tightrope-
your fine silken spider web tightrope-
and i walked where i walked
leaving dirty wide footprints
all over the place.
you're much too polite to
say where i belong
and where i don't;
it's a distinction and discernment
to know such things
and to know when to say them
observations kept in check
behind a fine lined smirk.
and me, i'm much too rude
to know how to say goodbye.
fins, i say.
finitude,
finito...
the extent of my wit,
i mock you in stupid ways:
how you surround yourself
with the FINery
the FINest things the world never laid eyes on.
sharply dressed in a good month's salary
eating food better clothed than ever i was.
i was always too wide
to be fine.
my world is thick with
compromises and contradictions.
"it's a fine line," you always
said, of life or truth or something:
"walk the fine line."
but my feet broke the edges
of shoes
and couldn't find your tightrope-
your fine silken spider web tightrope-
and i walked where i walked
leaving dirty wide footprints
all over the place.
you're much too polite to
say where i belong
and where i don't;
it's a distinction and discernment
to know such things
and to know when to say them
observations kept in check
behind a fine lined smirk.
and me, i'm much too rude
to know how to say goodbye.
insomniac state
yet again, i cannot sleep...
it's been a somewhat hectic week, relatively speaking (i know with the financial crisis, it's probably been a hectic week for a lot of people). for myself, it's been a week of juggling work on patients with student teaching at aiea intermediate with doing assignments last minute for my sped classes with running wednesday clinic with doing homework and violin with willow and aiden... i am so looking forward to halloween. it's the one night when i can get dressed up as some weirdo and just be someone else for a time. actually, this year, since i run wednesday clinic, and since i've got a willing bunch of interns, we're going to dress up (even though technically it won't be halloween). the interns are supposed to be somewhat low key... i think the consensus costume is going to be "killer bees." something to do with bi syndrome and all that (a chinese medicine joke, sort of, haha). myself, i'm going to do my crappy cosplay thing. for halloween, i'm going as tobi/madara uchiha, but for wednesday's clinic, i might go as kakashi. all naruto characters by the way... or, maybe i should go as "the crow" (kinda old school, but what the hey).
i wish i had something more profound to say. of course, i don't think anyone really reads this blog. i do like to make it seem that somewhere amidst all this "stuff," this "domestic life," there is something of interest... unfortunately, no. nothing. i'm just tired, but wired, if that makes any sense... too exhausted to put any effort into anything, too awake and "wanting-to-do-something" to allow myself to drift off...
i guess i need someone to kill me. someone beautiful. with a wicked knife. someone to slip into the shadows silently, with eyes that love me, eyes that calmly seek to destroy me... wouldn't that be nice? after that blinding hitched-breath strike, connected by the tunneled blade, eyes locked for one brief moment, like a mirrored image so desirous of union with its maker that it shatters itself to pieces...
yeah. or something like that.
well, i'd best be going before i embarrass myself.
whoops, too late for that. too late for anything, except sleep.
it's been a somewhat hectic week, relatively speaking (i know with the financial crisis, it's probably been a hectic week for a lot of people). for myself, it's been a week of juggling work on patients with student teaching at aiea intermediate with doing assignments last minute for my sped classes with running wednesday clinic with doing homework and violin with willow and aiden... i am so looking forward to halloween. it's the one night when i can get dressed up as some weirdo and just be someone else for a time. actually, this year, since i run wednesday clinic, and since i've got a willing bunch of interns, we're going to dress up (even though technically it won't be halloween). the interns are supposed to be somewhat low key... i think the consensus costume is going to be "killer bees." something to do with bi syndrome and all that (a chinese medicine joke, sort of, haha). myself, i'm going to do my crappy cosplay thing. for halloween, i'm going as tobi/madara uchiha, but for wednesday's clinic, i might go as kakashi. all naruto characters by the way... or, maybe i should go as "the crow" (kinda old school, but what the hey).
i wish i had something more profound to say. of course, i don't think anyone really reads this blog. i do like to make it seem that somewhere amidst all this "stuff," this "domestic life," there is something of interest... unfortunately, no. nothing. i'm just tired, but wired, if that makes any sense... too exhausted to put any effort into anything, too awake and "wanting-to-do-something" to allow myself to drift off...
i guess i need someone to kill me. someone beautiful. with a wicked knife. someone to slip into the shadows silently, with eyes that love me, eyes that calmly seek to destroy me... wouldn't that be nice? after that blinding hitched-breath strike, connected by the tunneled blade, eyes locked for one brief moment, like a mirrored image so desirous of union with its maker that it shatters itself to pieces...
yeah. or something like that.
well, i'd best be going before i embarrass myself.
whoops, too late for that. too late for anything, except sleep.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
"nice"
nice
c.1290, "foolish, stupid, senseless," from O.Fr. nice "silly, foolish," from L. nescius "ignorant," lit. "not-knowing," from ne- "not" (see un-) + stem of scire "to know." "The sense development has been extraordinary, even for an adj." [Weekley] -- from "timid" (pre-1300); to "fussy, fastidious" (c.1380); to "dainty, delicate" (c.1405); to "precise, careful" (1500s, preserved in such terms as a nice distinction and nice and early); to "agreeable, delightful" (1769); to "kind, thoughtful" (1830). In 16c.-17c. it is often difficult to determine exactly what is meant when a writer uses this word. By 1926, it was pronounced "too great a favorite with the ladies, who have charmed out of it all its individuality and converted it into a mere diffuser of vague and mild agreeableness." [Fowler]
"I am sure," cried Catherine, "I did not mean to say anything wrong; but it is a nice book, and why should I not call it so?" "Very true," said Henry, "and this is a very nice day, and we are taking a very nice walk; and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! It is a very nice word indeed! It does for everything." [Jane Austen, "Northanger Abbey"]
c.1290, "foolish, stupid, senseless," from O.Fr. nice "silly, foolish," from L. nescius "ignorant," lit. "not-knowing," from ne- "not" (see un-) + stem of scire "to know." "The sense development has been extraordinary, even for an adj." [Weekley] -- from "timid" (pre-1300); to "fussy, fastidious" (c.1380); to "dainty, delicate" (c.1405); to "precise, careful" (1500s, preserved in such terms as a nice distinction and nice and early); to "agreeable, delightful" (1769); to "kind, thoughtful" (1830). In 16c.-17c. it is often difficult to determine exactly what is meant when a writer uses this word. By 1926, it was pronounced "too great a favorite with the ladies, who have charmed out of it all its individuality and converted it into a mere diffuser of vague and mild agreeableness." [Fowler]
"I am sure," cried Catherine, "I did not mean to say anything wrong; but it is a nice book, and why should I not call it so?" "Very true," said Henry, "and this is a very nice day, and we are taking a very nice walk; and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! It is a very nice word indeed! It does for everything." [Jane Austen, "Northanger Abbey"]
you can't change the world
you can't change the world
so don't even try
don't even try
don't
you can't stay the same
and there isn't a why
isn't a why
isn't
a dung beetle rolls
sisyphean, droll
with far more significance
than i
than i
pushing myself through
the day till i die.
so don't even try
don't even try
don't
you can't stay the same
and there isn't a why
isn't a why
isn't
a dung beetle rolls
sisyphean, droll
with far more significance
than i
than i
pushing myself through
the day till i die.
ambidextrous
aiden is ambidextrous.
they say that the TRUE test for ambidexterity is a TIME LAG when an individual is confronted with a task involving hands... contrary to popular opinion, which holds that ambidexterity is an asset in which both hands "know" how to cooperate and efficiently accomplish a task, in truth, real ambidexterity is the embodiment of a CONFLICT between the left and right hemispheres of the brain, each attempting to assert control. for individuals with "false" ambidexterity, there is always a bias towards one hand or the other, such that a reflex response will always summon up the resources of the "dominant" hand...
today, in my daily struggle to work through the violin bow grip with aiden, he actually accomplished a fair rendition, with his LEFT HAND. i was about to correct the finer points of his bow grip when i realized that he was doing it with his LEFT HAND, not his right, as we had trained him thus far...
the day before, aiden took up a pen in both hands, and proceeded to draw an awkward but recognizable picture with both... we have issues with his pencil grip; he tends to grab the pencil too high, and with more of a fist grip than a "bird's beak," so we have been really paying attention to this... but that day was the first time i realized that he was equally skilled (or clumsy, depending on your perspective) with both hands...
this is something lynn and i will have to take into consideration as he develops... how to best accommodate his ambidexterity, and whether it is in his best interest, as has been "traditionally practiced" throughout time, to "beat it out of him," and make him a right-hander... no, seriously, we're just concerned about how best to take advantage of his hemispheric confusion...
they say that the TRUE test for ambidexterity is a TIME LAG when an individual is confronted with a task involving hands... contrary to popular opinion, which holds that ambidexterity is an asset in which both hands "know" how to cooperate and efficiently accomplish a task, in truth, real ambidexterity is the embodiment of a CONFLICT between the left and right hemispheres of the brain, each attempting to assert control. for individuals with "false" ambidexterity, there is always a bias towards one hand or the other, such that a reflex response will always summon up the resources of the "dominant" hand...
today, in my daily struggle to work through the violin bow grip with aiden, he actually accomplished a fair rendition, with his LEFT HAND. i was about to correct the finer points of his bow grip when i realized that he was doing it with his LEFT HAND, not his right, as we had trained him thus far...
the day before, aiden took up a pen in both hands, and proceeded to draw an awkward but recognizable picture with both... we have issues with his pencil grip; he tends to grab the pencil too high, and with more of a fist grip than a "bird's beak," so we have been really paying attention to this... but that day was the first time i realized that he was equally skilled (or clumsy, depending on your perspective) with both hands...
this is something lynn and i will have to take into consideration as he develops... how to best accommodate his ambidexterity, and whether it is in his best interest, as has been "traditionally practiced" throughout time, to "beat it out of him," and make him a right-hander... no, seriously, we're just concerned about how best to take advantage of his hemispheric confusion...
Friday, October 17, 2008
...
the buzz of so many voices inside my head... at times, when i close my eyes and try to rest easy, faces flash under my eyelids, faces of people i've never seen before, somehow transforming in bursts to a thousand other anonymous others... afterimages leaving me breathless...
...
today's lesson went well, by the way. last night, on a whim, i decided to change the lesson plan to make the lesson more "visual." since we have an elmo (an overhead), i decided to draw scenes, characters, and items from the "little red riding hood" story. so after we would read a section of text, i would break out my little drawings and cut outs, and give students a visual reference to what they'd just read... it seemed to work. students seemed really into the lesson. and comprehension seemed to jump through the roof. hell, students were remembering details from the passage that i hadn't really picked up on...
one of the main setbacks of my lesson was the time. i do tend to have an issue with time management, especially when i am trying to cram a lot of stuff into the lesson... i fell short of what i had wanted to accomplish in the lesson plan... i also have to work on incorporating or eliciting responses from ALL the students. i have a few really enthusiastic students who are ALWAYS ready and willing to respond to any questions i may have. because of this, i at times don't get to the quieter kids, to hear what they have to say... but i'm learning.
i LOVE teaching, by the way. i love the excitement that students feel when they are engaged... i feed off of it... i love helping people feel excited about life, i love helping people to feel that their world is, and THEY are, interesting and worthy of respect...
i want to do this forever.
the buzz of so many voices inside my head... at times, when i close my eyes and try to rest easy, faces flash under my eyelids, faces of people i've never seen before, somehow transforming in bursts to a thousand other anonymous others... afterimages leaving me breathless...
...
today's lesson went well, by the way. last night, on a whim, i decided to change the lesson plan to make the lesson more "visual." since we have an elmo (an overhead), i decided to draw scenes, characters, and items from the "little red riding hood" story. so after we would read a section of text, i would break out my little drawings and cut outs, and give students a visual reference to what they'd just read... it seemed to work. students seemed really into the lesson. and comprehension seemed to jump through the roof. hell, students were remembering details from the passage that i hadn't really picked up on...
one of the main setbacks of my lesson was the time. i do tend to have an issue with time management, especially when i am trying to cram a lot of stuff into the lesson... i fell short of what i had wanted to accomplish in the lesson plan... i also have to work on incorporating or eliciting responses from ALL the students. i have a few really enthusiastic students who are ALWAYS ready and willing to respond to any questions i may have. because of this, i at times don't get to the quieter kids, to hear what they have to say... but i'm learning.
i LOVE teaching, by the way. i love the excitement that students feel when they are engaged... i feed off of it... i love helping people feel excited about life, i love helping people to feel that their world is, and THEY are, interesting and worthy of respect...
i want to do this forever.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
wish me luck and buy me caffeine AGAIN
so this morning will be my second (midterm) observed lesson... am panicking slightly because it is a long lesson with many parts (and little cut out pieces), and am more than slightly worried that i will run out of time... but what the hey. i've passed larger things when i felt constipated... today should be no different (although "there will be blood..." yuck sorry).
so press your palms together, rub them like you're a freaking cricket trying to set itself on fire, and say: "get through the lesson you moron! just get through it!!!" my prayer request channel will be tuned to "moron" just to get it straightaway... and oh yeah leave a venti mocha frappuccino on the offering altar- the melted fumes will eventually evaporate into my blood and keep my eyes open to catch that "off task" 7th grader... hahaha
(i clearly need sleep).
so press your palms together, rub them like you're a freaking cricket trying to set itself on fire, and say: "get through the lesson you moron! just get through it!!!" my prayer request channel will be tuned to "moron" just to get it straightaway... and oh yeah leave a venti mocha frappuccino on the offering altar- the melted fumes will eventually evaporate into my blood and keep my eyes open to catch that "off task" 7th grader... hahaha
(i clearly need sleep).
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
psa: Sharit on HPR!!! LISTEN UP y'all!
passing on an important announcement to all you local folks (and anyone else interested). my friend shari tamashiro is going to be on the radio tomorrow!!! here's the info (from her email message...):
***
Hey!
I'm going to do an interview on Hawaii Public Radio tomorrow (Wednesday, October 14th), KIPO 89.3 FM at 5 pm.
The show is Bytemarks Cafe, hosted by Burt Lum.
http://www.hawaiipublicradio.org/hpr/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=75
I'm going be talking about digital storytelling and some of my other projects. :) Hope you can tune in and listen to
my interview!!! Man. I've never been on the radio before - am a wee bit nervous about it.
If you can't catch the show tomorrow, then you can check it out online via podcast or MP3.
Podcast: http://feeds.feedburner.com/HawaiiPublicRadioBytemarksCafe
Audio Archive (MP3): http://www.hawaiipublicradio.org/hpr/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=116&Itemid=82
HPR is also having their annual fund drive.
https://www.hawaiipublicradio.org/pledge_form.htm
st
***
listen to it! shari is a passionate self-described cybrarian, interested in preserving information for posterity through digital media/storytelling. cool stuff. the future of the past. <-- Hey, maybe i should get a royalty or something for coming up with that phrase. but it describes her, and her work, to a tee.
***
Hey!
I'm going to do an interview on Hawaii Public Radio tomorrow (Wednesday, October 14th), KIPO 89.3 FM at 5 pm.
The show is Bytemarks Cafe, hosted by Burt Lum.
http://www.hawaiipublicradio.org/hpr/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=75
I'm going be talking about digital storytelling and some of my other projects. :) Hope you can tune in and listen to
my interview!!! Man. I've never been on the radio before - am a wee bit nervous about it.
If you can't catch the show tomorrow, then you can check it out online via podcast or MP3.
Podcast: http://feeds.feedburner.com/HawaiiPublicRadioBytemarksCafe
Audio Archive (MP3): http://www.hawaiipublicradio.org/hpr/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=116&Itemid=82
HPR is also having their annual fund drive.
https://www.hawaiipublicradio.org/pledge_form.htm
st
***
listen to it! shari is a passionate self-described cybrarian, interested in preserving information for posterity through digital media/storytelling. cool stuff. the future of the past. <-- Hey, maybe i should get a royalty or something for coming up with that phrase. but it describes her, and her work, to a tee.
Monday, October 13, 2008
dreams in mililani town
the undersides of your eyelids
are like planetarium skies
and you superimpose the street named
constellations all across the
curved surface
it gives an impression of depth
in the depth of your dreams
reach for the stars
search for the face
and your place amongst the
pagan gods-
and in the morning
bleary eyed, make sure to read
your latest daily horoscope...
are like planetarium skies
and you superimpose the street named
constellations all across the
curved surface
it gives an impression of depth
in the depth of your dreams
reach for the stars
search for the face
and your place amongst the
pagan gods-
and in the morning
bleary eyed, make sure to read
your latest daily horoscope...
the (stereotypical) experience of sex for a man
promises, promises
you give me i give you
the dilation of time and space
and the unfolding of a catharsis
that never ends
that always repeats
(but somehow never grows boring?)
i'll promise you the world
and i'll keep it
if you keep yours.,
,
and afterwards
falling so very short
you might want to talk
to make up for what's missing
but i'll already be
looking for it
in dead asleep dreams.
you give me i give you
the dilation of time and space
and the unfolding of a catharsis
that never ends
that always repeats
(but somehow never grows boring?)
i'll promise you the world
and i'll keep it
if you keep yours.,
,
and afterwards
falling so very short
you might want to talk
to make up for what's missing
but i'll already be
looking for it
in dead asleep dreams.
there seems little to say nowadays. time drifts by, there is a sleepiness and apathy, coupled with an impatience and frustration for something unknown and unidentifiable. we are, i am, floating in a surge, bare feet above the sharp and shifting surface of coral, white and polished and unthinking teeth. no footing is possible, there is no steadiness as the sea breathes...
i think about some of the old zen masters, living in abject poverty, during periods of unceasing warfare. how did they do it? i think about the bodhisattva vow. it always struck me as paradoxical. "there are innumerable beings in the universe. i vow to save them all." impossible, and yet a vow is not made lightly. what does it mean to swallow an impossibility? (a quote from some poet: "we are realists, we dream the impossible.") it means that, knowing there is no way to find completion, satisfaction, we work anyway, we live anyway...
there is something about completion that is so "ego" gratifying. it is an "i've got that under my belt" sort of feeling. when we try at tasks that are inherently fruitless/hopeless (which, ultimately, realistically, is everything that we do in this world), then there is no "end gain" for the ego, and it quickly "gives up." it is precisely at this moment that the bodhisattva vow seeks to hold us: even knowing you will never succeed, would you still? would you still devote everything you have, everything you are?
interestingly enough, it is not to be a "passionate" vow, one with dispersive acts, like the last hundred or so meters of a marathon, when you can "see the ending," and there is a sudden last burst of speed. again, there is no "completion," so there is no satisfaction ("rest on your laurels") for the ego; thus, nothing is to be gained from "pushing forth impatiently." everything must be measured against the sheer wall of impossibility. which means, ultimately, that everything must be ledgered into the "balance sheet" of this present moment...
there is so much talk about the present moment. when i allow myself, i realize that nothing exists outside of it. and yet, it is ungraspable, it has no edges to contain me... it is precisely the undescribable this which is always "present" and yet always slipping away... it is the one true comfort i have. no matter what impossibilities i may face, the foundation for all possibilities is that this moment is. i take comfort in the skin and the blindness of this moment (both skin and blindness are my fictionalized compartmentalized interaction with the moment: only the ego lays claim to omniscience and no boundaries, after all... hegelian totalitizing ego bs... [also republican-esque, btw whoops])
right now, there could be a series of crises... what to do, what to do? i am, like any stupid hawaiian, riding the tides. i sit and watch and wait, for that moment when i will be ready (for what!?), wait for the other shoe to fall...
... love those around you. love them well. love changes things, although it can only change things if it is given without expectation of change. funny, isn't it? it again hearkens back to the whole ego thing. if you swallow love as an impossibility, as something you can't "get a handle on," then it, like all things "impossible" (including death, absence, the "true things"), divides you into eternity... love is not a momentary thing, but it is something which you must sip at slowly every day, every moment, for as long as you live. love is so-o-o sweet, too sweet to appreciate in a flash and a gulp, it will only coat your tongue and leave you unable to truly "taste" it; take it in only a moment at a time, and you will know it... i believe in love...
... there is also a way. there is always a way. but it is never the way that we are taught/conditioned to expect (particularly in moments of crisis). there is an artful way that doesn't "know" where it is going, but negotiates abysses nevertheless. trust in that, trust in yourself... don't be so quick to "edit out" the messiness of who you are, and what your world is... "cleanliness is next to godliness," yes, but it ISN'T god, because god is ALL... again, think about loving yourself, and again, you can't swallow yourself in an instant, but can only appreciate yourself "divided across an impossible eternity..."
... i think of these things, and write them down, only because i need to. i feel afloat over jagged teeth, at times, drowning, i feel a desperation and a surge to panic and "lose it," but by writing these things, i "see" my truths (whether they are legitimate or not) and i hold to them. all things pass. ha, another platitude... but something, some words, have the effect desired, quelling dreams and nightmares for just long enough to fall back asleep...
i think about some of the old zen masters, living in abject poverty, during periods of unceasing warfare. how did they do it? i think about the bodhisattva vow. it always struck me as paradoxical. "there are innumerable beings in the universe. i vow to save them all." impossible, and yet a vow is not made lightly. what does it mean to swallow an impossibility? (a quote from some poet: "we are realists, we dream the impossible.") it means that, knowing there is no way to find completion, satisfaction, we work anyway, we live anyway...
there is something about completion that is so "ego" gratifying. it is an "i've got that under my belt" sort of feeling. when we try at tasks that are inherently fruitless/hopeless (which, ultimately, realistically, is everything that we do in this world), then there is no "end gain" for the ego, and it quickly "gives up." it is precisely at this moment that the bodhisattva vow seeks to hold us: even knowing you will never succeed, would you still? would you still devote everything you have, everything you are?
interestingly enough, it is not to be a "passionate" vow, one with dispersive acts, like the last hundred or so meters of a marathon, when you can "see the ending," and there is a sudden last burst of speed. again, there is no "completion," so there is no satisfaction ("rest on your laurels") for the ego; thus, nothing is to be gained from "pushing forth impatiently." everything must be measured against the sheer wall of impossibility. which means, ultimately, that everything must be ledgered into the "balance sheet" of this present moment...
there is so much talk about the present moment. when i allow myself, i realize that nothing exists outside of it. and yet, it is ungraspable, it has no edges to contain me... it is precisely the undescribable this which is always "present" and yet always slipping away... it is the one true comfort i have. no matter what impossibilities i may face, the foundation for all possibilities is that this moment is. i take comfort in the skin and the blindness of this moment (both skin and blindness are my fictionalized compartmentalized interaction with the moment: only the ego lays claim to omniscience and no boundaries, after all... hegelian totalitizing ego bs... [also republican-esque, btw whoops])
right now, there could be a series of crises... what to do, what to do? i am, like any stupid hawaiian, riding the tides. i sit and watch and wait, for that moment when i will be ready (for what!?), wait for the other shoe to fall...
... love those around you. love them well. love changes things, although it can only change things if it is given without expectation of change. funny, isn't it? it again hearkens back to the whole ego thing. if you swallow love as an impossibility, as something you can't "get a handle on," then it, like all things "impossible" (including death, absence, the "true things"), divides you into eternity... love is not a momentary thing, but it is something which you must sip at slowly every day, every moment, for as long as you live. love is so-o-o sweet, too sweet to appreciate in a flash and a gulp, it will only coat your tongue and leave you unable to truly "taste" it; take it in only a moment at a time, and you will know it... i believe in love...
... there is also a way. there is always a way. but it is never the way that we are taught/conditioned to expect (particularly in moments of crisis). there is an artful way that doesn't "know" where it is going, but negotiates abysses nevertheless. trust in that, trust in yourself... don't be so quick to "edit out" the messiness of who you are, and what your world is... "cleanliness is next to godliness," yes, but it ISN'T god, because god is ALL... again, think about loving yourself, and again, you can't swallow yourself in an instant, but can only appreciate yourself "divided across an impossible eternity..."
... i think of these things, and write them down, only because i need to. i feel afloat over jagged teeth, at times, drowning, i feel a desperation and a surge to panic and "lose it," but by writing these things, i "see" my truths (whether they are legitimate or not) and i hold to them. all things pass. ha, another platitude... but something, some words, have the effect desired, quelling dreams and nightmares for just long enough to fall back asleep...
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
a broken marionette.
he saw it.
the delicate bent of its wrist
conveyed more to him, even in
its stillness, than all the motion
of the universe.
it seemed to hold its fingers taut
at delicate dissonance with each other they were
extending.
but the wrist, again, was broken
and in contrast with the fingers
revealed a certain despair, or
apathy, or sadness.
and this was truth.
he felt it
felt its resonance in him
it was a frozen and dead gesture
a sign from god, when he
didn't believe in god.
the contrast he felt
in common with it: a reach
believing most profoundly
that it would not
would never
arrive.
he saw it.
the delicate bent of its wrist
conveyed more to him, even in
its stillness, than all the motion
of the universe.
it seemed to hold its fingers taut
at delicate dissonance with each other they were
extending.
but the wrist, again, was broken
and in contrast with the fingers
revealed a certain despair, or
apathy, or sadness.
and this was truth.
he felt it
felt its resonance in him
it was a frozen and dead gesture
a sign from god, when he
didn't believe in god.
the contrast he felt
in common with it: a reach
believing most profoundly
that it would not
would never
arrive.
there was a scent of chocolate in the air.
it hovered, untraceable, a mist, a fog. he closed his eyes, drank in the smell, turning this way and that, blind, searching the winds. but it never revealed itself.
he opened his eyes again, and it was as though he were seeing it for the first time. curtains withdrawing. the play spread out in all its majestic color and pageantry...
there were many moments like this in his life, when he would distract himself and return, and it would be as though he were in it, but not. it was a habit. no, it was more than this. it was his true position. in dreams, he was an observer, no matter how relevant he seemed to the goings-on. and sometimes he felt that dreams reflected the truth, and that his waking life, with its seeming solidity, and its apparent laws of causality and intent, THAT was the dream. so even as he knelt to participate and partake of it all, it was as though he were watching everything from a seat in the darkness, drinking it all in so as to guess the significance, but not too efficiently- for he also wanted to be surprised...
it hovered, untraceable, a mist, a fog. he closed his eyes, drank in the smell, turning this way and that, blind, searching the winds. but it never revealed itself.
he opened his eyes again, and it was as though he were seeing it for the first time. curtains withdrawing. the play spread out in all its majestic color and pageantry...
there were many moments like this in his life, when he would distract himself and return, and it would be as though he were in it, but not. it was a habit. no, it was more than this. it was his true position. in dreams, he was an observer, no matter how relevant he seemed to the goings-on. and sometimes he felt that dreams reflected the truth, and that his waking life, with its seeming solidity, and its apparent laws of causality and intent, THAT was the dream. so even as he knelt to participate and partake of it all, it was as though he were watching everything from a seat in the darkness, drinking it all in so as to guess the significance, but not too efficiently- for he also wanted to be surprised...
fragment...
and deftly she moved the piece. it was a knight, perfectly played, the leap bypassing walls of pawns.
he was slackjawed, dumbfounded. "but- but i thought you said you didn't know how to play."
she smiled, wide-eyed, mysterious. "i don't," she said curtly. and rising up to go, her face already turned away: "i only know how to win."
he was slackjawed, dumbfounded. "but- but i thought you said you didn't know how to play."
she smiled, wide-eyed, mysterious. "i don't," she said curtly. and rising up to go, her face already turned away: "i only know how to win."
Monday, October 6, 2008
can't sleep AGAIN
can't sleep. miss my wife. she grounds me (in all senses)... when i am untethered by my thoughts and dreams, one of my comforts is seeing her beside me, breathing. and to hear her mutter, "go to sleep," it's the command that i can't resist.
but alone, there's no counterpoint. and this bed is so vast and empty, i feel consumed by the blank and negative space. and my thoughts wash out without resistance. no one hems me in. no one draws my outlines...
i don't understand why i am dissolving nowadays. my words are uncontrolled, insipid, diluted of intent or meaning. somehow, they lay claim to another significance, but it is not the significance i would have intended, but is another voice. there was a concept i recall, from religion classes, that beneath the landscape, the familiar landscape of our language, it is not that there is a blank slate, but that there is another "truer" landscape, the swell of nameless hills and valleys, or the draws and repulsions of gravity wells and springs. it is naive to think that one could "get beneath" language, and yoke it to one's service, as one would an ox. language writes and speaks me, the more so when i see its absurdity...
i am empty, but i cannot stop writing. there is a flow of something, and regrettably, it comes whether it is beautiful or sewage...
i rely on others, on my wife, the rationality and sense and responsibility of life, to keep things inside... to serve as my second skin.
somehow, exhausted, this night will end. but until then, i try fruitlessly to end this interminable.
but alone, there's no counterpoint. and this bed is so vast and empty, i feel consumed by the blank and negative space. and my thoughts wash out without resistance. no one hems me in. no one draws my outlines...
i don't understand why i am dissolving nowadays. my words are uncontrolled, insipid, diluted of intent or meaning. somehow, they lay claim to another significance, but it is not the significance i would have intended, but is another voice. there was a concept i recall, from religion classes, that beneath the landscape, the familiar landscape of our language, it is not that there is a blank slate, but that there is another "truer" landscape, the swell of nameless hills and valleys, or the draws and repulsions of gravity wells and springs. it is naive to think that one could "get beneath" language, and yoke it to one's service, as one would an ox. language writes and speaks me, the more so when i see its absurdity...
i am empty, but i cannot stop writing. there is a flow of something, and regrettably, it comes whether it is beautiful or sewage...
i rely on others, on my wife, the rationality and sense and responsibility of life, to keep things inside... to serve as my second skin.
somehow, exhausted, this night will end. but until then, i try fruitlessly to end this interminable.
myoclonic twitch
if
by means of words
a heart is moved
and if a heart,
then blood
if blood
then limbs and fingers
if fingers then buttons
and buttons then worlds
why is it
so hard to believe
that words
could open eyes
and cease
or start
dreams?
by means of words
a heart is moved
and if a heart,
then blood
if blood
then limbs and fingers
if fingers then buttons
and buttons then worlds
why is it
so hard to believe
that words
could open eyes
and cease
or start
dreams?
skyfall
please tell me that beneath it all
there is something
something
a meaning superimposed over
guiding it all subtly
like the curve of the earth
or the sleight of hand
pull of magnets
i would like to believe
that we are not running
the whole show.
sometimes when i sleep
when i fall
and the words give up trying
and lie their laid claims aside
sometimes
everything settles back into
its skin-
the stars madly drifting
out of their sockets
and the flat of the bed
tilts wildly upending
-but everything settles back
into its skin
and even if the sky should fall
there's a place for it to
settle in
there's a place even for skies
to settle in
you can't tell me
that it all will come through
i can hear it
in your voice
but still
the whole show unrun
or run wild
will still have its curtains
falling down to the
stage.
there is something
something
a meaning superimposed over
guiding it all subtly
like the curve of the earth
or the sleight of hand
pull of magnets
i would like to believe
that we are not running
the whole show.
sometimes when i sleep
when i fall
and the words give up trying
and lie their laid claims aside
sometimes
everything settles back into
its skin-
the stars madly drifting
out of their sockets
and the flat of the bed
tilts wildly upending
-but everything settles back
into its skin
and even if the sky should fall
there's a place for it to
settle in
there's a place even for skies
to settle in
you can't tell me
that it all will come through
i can hear it
in your voice
but still
the whole show unrun
or run wild
will still have its curtains
falling down to the
stage.
the too literal
sugarless blues
and the woes and the woos
how the sway of the stillness
keeps 'way the muse
and the too literal
way the words i choose
why no one writes poetry
the way you tell the news.
varicose are these verbose cues
the blood won't rise with them heavy shoes
and without blood words lack the living hues
and so the words cant out in cyanotic blues.
and the woes and the woos
how the sway of the stillness
keeps 'way the muse
and the too literal
way the words i choose
why no one writes poetry
the way you tell the news.
varicose are these verbose cues
the blood won't rise with them heavy shoes
and without blood words lack the living hues
and so the words cant out in cyanotic blues.
cent-er
what cannot amount to much,
even amassed as a mountain of blue-green
what you disregard as not
worth the effort of a stoop
and a scoop
therein lies the mistake.
aside from superstitious blessings
a single penny could save your life.
ground yourself in what is
infinitesimally worthless
the asymptotically diminishing
be humble as that which
could buy any thought at all.
if you bend to pick one up
the one and all may bend to you.
after all, in order to rise
you need to stand on the
humble blessings of the ground
underlying.
even amassed as a mountain of blue-green
what you disregard as not
worth the effort of a stoop
and a scoop
therein lies the mistake.
aside from superstitious blessings
a single penny could save your life.
ground yourself in what is
infinitesimally worthless
the asymptotically diminishing
be humble as that which
could buy any thought at all.
if you bend to pick one up
the one and all may bend to you.
after all, in order to rise
you need to stand on the
humble blessings of the ground
underlying.
shoot
there are some actions which schools nowadays consider "bad behavior." one of them is "shooting." i understand the reasoning behind this, particularly after all the school shootings... but let's examine the notion of shooting. to a child, it must be the preferential and less messy way to "interact violently" (or otherwise) with another. after all, a child usually feels powerless in "hand-to-hand" combat, particularly with an adult, or even a kid slightly bigger than him/herself. shooting is that magical thing, by means of which one's will is transferred across the distance to affect another. i mean, if i were a kid (which i pretend i still am), WHY WOULDn't i want to shoot?
it's kinda funny... shooting is easier to depict in tv shows, because it is "clean." in hand-to-hand combat, hitting and such, the blows are so much "messier" and violent. and yet, ironically, it is shooting that is the problem, PRECISELY because it makes violence (true destructive violence) so much easier. it keeps violence (or the results of violence) at a distance...
imagine a world in which the principle of shooting (long distance warfare) were an impossibility. i think war would be much less likely and appealing. we grow up in an age where violence (the consequences of it, the REAL injuries, etc.) is kept more or less at a distance from us. to most of us civilians, a war is just a plane flying over somewhere and dropping bombs. it is "held at bay." but if it were "in our face," if it always had to be, then maybe we would be less likely to commit it; and maybe our kids would be less likely to commit acts of real murder (via weapons that make killing far too easy).
...
here's another absurdity. you watch cartoons, and in them, for some reason, when a ROBOT gets destroyed, it is okay, it is supposedly much more palatable, than when a "living creature" gets shot... honestly, what's the difference? sometimes, robots are depicted with personalities (like in the latest star wars clone wars cartoons); do they have "less right to exist"? do they "feel nothing" when they are blasted into pieces? and can children distinguish the difference?
the effect on kids is the same. they will shoot, and shoot, and shoot. robot or no.
...
my son is in a shooting phase now. i honestly have ambiguous feelings about this. on the one hand, i realize that it is ultimately an expression of violence. but on the other hand, i suspect it is a natural part of development, particularly for boys, to bifurcate society into good and bad, and play roles that are, ultimately, about violence and subjugation, and do involve "shooting." i'd much rather have him do this than start randomly punching people...
i teach my kids about gentleness, about its importance. and compassion. about feeling empathy for others, particularly those who are weaker, younger, etc. i hope that this serves as a prophylactic against what i term "blind violence" or (synonymous, in my mind) "clean violence." violence ultimately "hurts," and to identify the pain in others as analogous to your own makes you far more reluctant to commit it wantonly...
it's kinda funny... shooting is easier to depict in tv shows, because it is "clean." in hand-to-hand combat, hitting and such, the blows are so much "messier" and violent. and yet, ironically, it is shooting that is the problem, PRECISELY because it makes violence (true destructive violence) so much easier. it keeps violence (or the results of violence) at a distance...
imagine a world in which the principle of shooting (long distance warfare) were an impossibility. i think war would be much less likely and appealing. we grow up in an age where violence (the consequences of it, the REAL injuries, etc.) is kept more or less at a distance from us. to most of us civilians, a war is just a plane flying over somewhere and dropping bombs. it is "held at bay." but if it were "in our face," if it always had to be, then maybe we would be less likely to commit it; and maybe our kids would be less likely to commit acts of real murder (via weapons that make killing far too easy).
...
here's another absurdity. you watch cartoons, and in them, for some reason, when a ROBOT gets destroyed, it is okay, it is supposedly much more palatable, than when a "living creature" gets shot... honestly, what's the difference? sometimes, robots are depicted with personalities (like in the latest star wars clone wars cartoons); do they have "less right to exist"? do they "feel nothing" when they are blasted into pieces? and can children distinguish the difference?
the effect on kids is the same. they will shoot, and shoot, and shoot. robot or no.
...
my son is in a shooting phase now. i honestly have ambiguous feelings about this. on the one hand, i realize that it is ultimately an expression of violence. but on the other hand, i suspect it is a natural part of development, particularly for boys, to bifurcate society into good and bad, and play roles that are, ultimately, about violence and subjugation, and do involve "shooting." i'd much rather have him do this than start randomly punching people...
i teach my kids about gentleness, about its importance. and compassion. about feeling empathy for others, particularly those who are weaker, younger, etc. i hope that this serves as a prophylactic against what i term "blind violence" or (synonymous, in my mind) "clean violence." violence ultimately "hurts," and to identify the pain in others as analogous to your own makes you far more reluctant to commit it wantonly...
Sunday, October 5, 2008
unsettled
my mind has been racing, and the world has been a blur. lynn went away on a business trip on, let's see, thursday... so i've been managing things, taking care of the kids and such, pretty much on my own. today, we went to a birthday party at build-a-bear, then to the "beautiful park." yesterday, the kids went to expression sessions over at the contemporary museum of art in makiki, and built sock puppets (of, ideally, arctic animals, since that was what the story theme was). all in all, the kids have been really good, but i HAVEN'T... i've been a somewhat unfocused parent, just transporting the kids and summarily issuing orders. i hate being like this, but somehow, i am very temperamental; as willow says, "do you have a temperature today?"
ideas circulate through me like wine. restless, pointless ideas. i am reminiscent of the writer in sandman's "calliope," granted "ideas in abundance" from the sandman, so many ideas that he eventually goes made and scrawls them on walls with his own bloody fingertips...
i need to settle down, focus, integrate. i actually returned to an old practice of counting my breaths this morning, and it seemed to calm me down somewhat... as soon as i strayed off on a tangent long enough to break my count, i just "returned to the breath" and started back at 1.
there's a good deal of panic, and a good deal of reason for it, in a lot of things. a lot of signs, etc. even myself, pretty oblivious (perhaps on purpose) to everything, even i get worried now and then. but i still operate, function, even if i am a bit jangled. there are always things to do to keep you from really worrying...
... regarding "centralized life..." there really is a resistance to being centered. a centrifugal force. the only way to get to the center (the operational axle, the eye of the storm, where everything is "easy") is to BE the center. trying to get to it is as ridiculous as an ant trying to crawl his way to the center hole of an LP spinning at 78 rpms... BE a center.
if being a center becomes habitual, something, there is some accretion, something adheres... or that is the hope. perhaps you build up inertia or something. and if you have enough of it, YOU are a center of power, and the universe, with all of its myriad influences and forces, starts to turn around YOU. that's the ideal, that's the plan, anyway... but first, it's a matter of resisting all externalizing tendencies, and just centering, feeling, being.
i need to settle, integrate.
1-2-3...
ideas circulate through me like wine. restless, pointless ideas. i am reminiscent of the writer in sandman's "calliope," granted "ideas in abundance" from the sandman, so many ideas that he eventually goes made and scrawls them on walls with his own bloody fingertips...
i need to settle down, focus, integrate. i actually returned to an old practice of counting my breaths this morning, and it seemed to calm me down somewhat... as soon as i strayed off on a tangent long enough to break my count, i just "returned to the breath" and started back at 1.
there's a good deal of panic, and a good deal of reason for it, in a lot of things. a lot of signs, etc. even myself, pretty oblivious (perhaps on purpose) to everything, even i get worried now and then. but i still operate, function, even if i am a bit jangled. there are always things to do to keep you from really worrying...
... regarding "centralized life..." there really is a resistance to being centered. a centrifugal force. the only way to get to the center (the operational axle, the eye of the storm, where everything is "easy") is to BE the center. trying to get to it is as ridiculous as an ant trying to crawl his way to the center hole of an LP spinning at 78 rpms... BE a center.
if being a center becomes habitual, something, there is some accretion, something adheres... or that is the hope. perhaps you build up inertia or something. and if you have enough of it, YOU are a center of power, and the universe, with all of its myriad influences and forces, starts to turn around YOU. that's the ideal, that's the plan, anyway... but first, it's a matter of resisting all externalizing tendencies, and just centering, feeling, being.
i need to settle, integrate.
1-2-3...
Thursday, October 2, 2008
i like the sound of rain, and the cool feeling of it as it seeps in through the open screen windows... especially late, late at night when people should be sleeping... it makes me feel like the world is protected by the encircling swath of clouds, the regulators of temperature, and that i am protected from that by my man-made house: a box in a box in a box... embrace in an embrace in an embrace.
...
once, i reflected that life was either moving in or moving out. it was an oscillation between those two tendencies... when you "move in," you try to get comfortable in the moment you occupy. you're more or less optimistic, or at least tolerant, either of the place you're in, or of your capacity to adjust/change that place. and you accumulate furniture and other knick-knacks to ground you, to stain you... when you "move out," you're leaving, perhaps you're sick of the present moment, but even if you're not, there is a part of you that pushes away from it, in favor of the next "nest." and you hold garage sales and "cleanse" yourself of attachments to the world. you travel light, or at least, put stuff in storage: "you can't take it with you."
in between, in between, who are you? and what is place?
i recall, in some of my old religion/philosophy courses, that in the post-modern world, the questions become less substantive, and more contextual... "who are you" becomes less a question of substantives, or at least the substantives keep "breaking down" and "breaking apart," and you rely more upon reframing such questions as, well, "reframings": "who are you" is better answered as "where are you." identity is framed and reframed continually by context...
...
have you ever repeated a word so many times that it starts to sound strange? like it is a weird and awkward shape in your mouth? not only unused words, but every day words, words like "the" and "and" that undergird and support our whole linguistic structure?
i used to do this every now and then (don't ask me why). a weird experience. it makes you wonder at language, and its whole claim to reality...
similarly, have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror, and wondered what precisely you are? what is it that endures in you, that connects that strange dream you had, or that moment of blind passion you had, or the everyday mundane boredom you feel while driving to work, or... etc.?
WHO ARE YOU?
the thing that stares out at the mask in the mirror, the thing that receives the picture through the mask... somehow it seems that it wasn't meant to see itself, wasn't meant to look too closely... the wonder of who we are sometimes breaks down the movie; like strobe-lighting a film...
YET: once you become aware of the arbitrariness and absurdity of your own "selfhood," somehow... well, i won't speak for others, but it made me understand others better. it made me more gentle. i can't quite articulate how. maybe it is in the fashion of how being aware of your own death, and being aware that all things die (that we are connected by our endings, or more specifically, by the fact that we all end), you are able to draw analogies to the behaviors/experiences of others... we are all "reactions" and avoidances of the fact of death, after all... so maybe we are also reactions and avoidances of our own arbitrariness, irrationality, absurdity... our pretend social construct self that appears to have a day-to-day enduring reality, that appears responsible, thinks rationally, is only the (necessary) avoidance of who we really are...
some people think that the above sort of thinking leads to anarchy and irresponsibility, but i'm more of the view that it's completely the other way around: that true society demands an understanding/experience of what it risks and what it avoids. inauthentic "moral" society is precisely the overcharged avoidance of ignorance, with all of its excessive reactions and abreactions to "bury" what it cannot stomach: most eloquently captured in the recent phenomenon, the "securitization of bad debts..."
...
have you ever wondered why it is that our capitalist system demands GROWTH at all costs? that growth is the final criterion for the "health" of a company? i think now we are facing the consequences (in ALL realms) of that flawed notion. our edifices of selfhood that we built to govern over reality (like a false and overbearing cloud) is now raining down upon us in mocking fragments. our incessant appetite for "security" has destabilized (made "insecure") our foundations...
...
i wonder when this phase of mine, this root apathy, will ever end. i tried to go to my sister's court date on monday, only to discover that it had been changed to later in october... i wanted to go, as a representative of my family (no one else is going). i wanted to go, to see her again. i wanted to go, so i wouldn't feel so guilty at living my life, living my shell of a life...
all the crises going on around me, well, they disturb me mildly, but i only care about me and mine, and of course, it is only the "lost sheep," that single stray, that preoccupies the shepherd. sometimes i FEEL her despair. i feel her turning inwards, collapsing in on herself, as she realizes they are no scaffolds or supports protecting her now... and i know that there isn't a ground within yourself, unless you catch yourself. you could damn near fall forever if you aren't careful...
i remember things about my sister and i... or i don't... she was always my accompaniment... maybe because i developed out of the "hands off no care" policy of my older brother towards me, that i was kinda the same way towards my sister... maybe she needed more interventions, more caring... i thought i did a good job taking care of her, riding with her to school and to japanese school, playing with her in my odd isolationist ways... but maybe i was just using her to appear like a good brother. maybe i didn't "see" her...
i wish i could go back to those days of innocence. riding to rec. center 3 in the saturday afternoons, going swimming together... taking her to mcdonald's and cashing in our gift certificates for ice cream cones... lying on warm chalk rock boulders at mililani high school, before japanese school started... i never thought anything was wrong. i never suspected anything could happen to us, to that...
...but maybe that ground that i continually return to, the ground of the past, it's long since ceased being HER ground, she has fallen through it, beyond my reach.
... she is sinking, and sometime soon, she may be floating.
...
once, i reflected that life was either moving in or moving out. it was an oscillation between those two tendencies... when you "move in," you try to get comfortable in the moment you occupy. you're more or less optimistic, or at least tolerant, either of the place you're in, or of your capacity to adjust/change that place. and you accumulate furniture and other knick-knacks to ground you, to stain you... when you "move out," you're leaving, perhaps you're sick of the present moment, but even if you're not, there is a part of you that pushes away from it, in favor of the next "nest." and you hold garage sales and "cleanse" yourself of attachments to the world. you travel light, or at least, put stuff in storage: "you can't take it with you."
in between, in between, who are you? and what is place?
i recall, in some of my old religion/philosophy courses, that in the post-modern world, the questions become less substantive, and more contextual... "who are you" becomes less a question of substantives, or at least the substantives keep "breaking down" and "breaking apart," and you rely more upon reframing such questions as, well, "reframings": "who are you" is better answered as "where are you." identity is framed and reframed continually by context...
...
have you ever repeated a word so many times that it starts to sound strange? like it is a weird and awkward shape in your mouth? not only unused words, but every day words, words like "the" and "and" that undergird and support our whole linguistic structure?
i used to do this every now and then (don't ask me why). a weird experience. it makes you wonder at language, and its whole claim to reality...
similarly, have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror, and wondered what precisely you are? what is it that endures in you, that connects that strange dream you had, or that moment of blind passion you had, or the everyday mundane boredom you feel while driving to work, or... etc.?
WHO ARE YOU?
the thing that stares out at the mask in the mirror, the thing that receives the picture through the mask... somehow it seems that it wasn't meant to see itself, wasn't meant to look too closely... the wonder of who we are sometimes breaks down the movie; like strobe-lighting a film...
YET: once you become aware of the arbitrariness and absurdity of your own "selfhood," somehow... well, i won't speak for others, but it made me understand others better. it made me more gentle. i can't quite articulate how. maybe it is in the fashion of how being aware of your own death, and being aware that all things die (that we are connected by our endings, or more specifically, by the fact that we all end), you are able to draw analogies to the behaviors/experiences of others... we are all "reactions" and avoidances of the fact of death, after all... so maybe we are also reactions and avoidances of our own arbitrariness, irrationality, absurdity... our pretend social construct self that appears to have a day-to-day enduring reality, that appears responsible, thinks rationally, is only the (necessary) avoidance of who we really are...
some people think that the above sort of thinking leads to anarchy and irresponsibility, but i'm more of the view that it's completely the other way around: that true society demands an understanding/experience of what it risks and what it avoids. inauthentic "moral" society is precisely the overcharged avoidance of ignorance, with all of its excessive reactions and abreactions to "bury" what it cannot stomach: most eloquently captured in the recent phenomenon, the "securitization of bad debts..."
...
have you ever wondered why it is that our capitalist system demands GROWTH at all costs? that growth is the final criterion for the "health" of a company? i think now we are facing the consequences (in ALL realms) of that flawed notion. our edifices of selfhood that we built to govern over reality (like a false and overbearing cloud) is now raining down upon us in mocking fragments. our incessant appetite for "security" has destabilized (made "insecure") our foundations...
...
i wonder when this phase of mine, this root apathy, will ever end. i tried to go to my sister's court date on monday, only to discover that it had been changed to later in october... i wanted to go, as a representative of my family (no one else is going). i wanted to go, to see her again. i wanted to go, so i wouldn't feel so guilty at living my life, living my shell of a life...
all the crises going on around me, well, they disturb me mildly, but i only care about me and mine, and of course, it is only the "lost sheep," that single stray, that preoccupies the shepherd. sometimes i FEEL her despair. i feel her turning inwards, collapsing in on herself, as she realizes they are no scaffolds or supports protecting her now... and i know that there isn't a ground within yourself, unless you catch yourself. you could damn near fall forever if you aren't careful...
i remember things about my sister and i... or i don't... she was always my accompaniment... maybe because i developed out of the "hands off no care" policy of my older brother towards me, that i was kinda the same way towards my sister... maybe she needed more interventions, more caring... i thought i did a good job taking care of her, riding with her to school and to japanese school, playing with her in my odd isolationist ways... but maybe i was just using her to appear like a good brother. maybe i didn't "see" her...
i wish i could go back to those days of innocence. riding to rec. center 3 in the saturday afternoons, going swimming together... taking her to mcdonald's and cashing in our gift certificates for ice cream cones... lying on warm chalk rock boulders at mililani high school, before japanese school started... i never thought anything was wrong. i never suspected anything could happen to us, to that...
...but maybe that ground that i continually return to, the ground of the past, it's long since ceased being HER ground, she has fallen through it, beyond my reach.
... she is sinking, and sometime soon, she may be floating.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
everything repeats
i'm STILL a pretty quiet and nonsocial person... i have no real "colleagues," either in acupuncture, or at school... it's funny. you think you outgrow your old patterns. and maybe you do, in a sense, like that old story about the nautilus... but you still retain the same shape, only in a bigger shell...
here's my "explanation" for why i don't believe in camaraderie (in most situations), and have a hard time being "intimate" with people. i grew up with the expectation that the only thing i could do was offend or embarrass if i revealed myself... i learned that to be taken seriously, you must "sink then float." i learned that self-effacement was the way to respect... and that "if you hate yourself enough, then not only will people not have to do it for you, they may even feel bad enough to feel sorry for you." i know, bad philosophy, but when i attempt to look at things objectively, i realize that that has been my modus operandi like forever...
i don't hate people at all. i like them, i like to give people what they want, what they need... but fundamentally, i guess i don't trust people, or at least don't trust the "bonds" they seem to build. familiarity is impossible to me... it is only earned after this sense of parallelness, like another has walked in solitude, like me... it is only in owning up to the solitude and solitariness of each individual death... or something buddhist like that.
...just excuses i suppose.
maybe people (I) never change. we just learn to grow comfortable in our skins. in our fates.
here's my "explanation" for why i don't believe in camaraderie (in most situations), and have a hard time being "intimate" with people. i grew up with the expectation that the only thing i could do was offend or embarrass if i revealed myself... i learned that to be taken seriously, you must "sink then float." i learned that self-effacement was the way to respect... and that "if you hate yourself enough, then not only will people not have to do it for you, they may even feel bad enough to feel sorry for you." i know, bad philosophy, but when i attempt to look at things objectively, i realize that that has been my modus operandi like forever...
i don't hate people at all. i like them, i like to give people what they want, what they need... but fundamentally, i guess i don't trust people, or at least don't trust the "bonds" they seem to build. familiarity is impossible to me... it is only earned after this sense of parallelness, like another has walked in solitude, like me... it is only in owning up to the solitude and solitariness of each individual death... or something buddhist like that.
...just excuses i suppose.
maybe people (I) never change. we just learn to grow comfortable in our skins. in our fates.
more interesting etymologies: "vicarious"
vicarious
1637, from L. vicarius "substitute, deputy" (adj. and n.), from vicis "turn, change, exchange, substitution," from PIE base *weik-, *weig- "to bend, wind" (cf. Skt. visti "changing, changeable;" O.E. wician "to give way, yield," wice "wych elm;" O.N. vikja "to bend, turn;" Swed. viker "willow twig, wand;" Ger. wechsel "change").
this is interesting to me because i intended to use the loose rhyme "icarus vicar(i)ous" in the story "moth-eaten." i wasn't sure it was appropriate because we usually use the word vicarious in the context of someone who "experiences" things from a distance, through the filter of another, i.e. "vicarious pleasure." icarus, on the other hand, is precisely NOT the observer; he is the anti-hesitant youth who flew to the sun and plummeted to the sea...
yet in the story "moth-eaten," the subject is divided into two, and one of them can be seen as a "substitute" or "deputy" (old original definition) of the subject, "vicariously" experiencing what the other half cannot. so in this sense, "icarus vicarious" is appropriate...
1637, from L. vicarius "substitute, deputy" (adj. and n.), from vicis "turn, change, exchange, substitution," from PIE base *weik-, *weig- "to bend, wind" (cf. Skt. visti "changing, changeable;" O.E. wician "to give way, yield," wice "wych elm;" O.N. vikja "to bend, turn;" Swed. viker "willow twig, wand;" Ger. wechsel "change").
this is interesting to me because i intended to use the loose rhyme "icarus vicar(i)ous" in the story "moth-eaten." i wasn't sure it was appropriate because we usually use the word vicarious in the context of someone who "experiences" things from a distance, through the filter of another, i.e. "vicarious pleasure." icarus, on the other hand, is precisely NOT the observer; he is the anti-hesitant youth who flew to the sun and plummeted to the sea...
yet in the story "moth-eaten," the subject is divided into two, and one of them can be seen as a "substitute" or "deputy" (old original definition) of the subject, "vicariously" experiencing what the other half cannot. so in this sense, "icarus vicarious" is appropriate...
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