hard to believe that it's been over two weeks since my last posting. i think a lot has to do with my hangups in writing. i've also been pretty busy, what with lynn's sister visiting, and robotics stuff, and school responsibilities. i'm still hanging in there, but the cost has been some of my routines with regards to caring for myself.
i still struggle mightily (???) with writing. there have been times when i have been completely stuck, and i just sit there, trying to push one more disgusting word out after another. and it makes me so loathe myself, and the writing that i produce. i wonder at that little statement i heard from david sedaris that he goes to write every day WILLINGLY (his emphasis). would i do that? for me, it has become something that i dread, because it slams me against the walls of my prison, of my own limitations. i feel boring and ugly after such sessions. i feel as though i have nothing interesting to tell.
*****
then again, there is an abiding. even when things get difficult, there is a way to stick with it, and be patient. i'm hoping to reside in that, no matter what. i don't know, or i don't think, that it would guarantee me any further benefit, in terms of something beautiful that is written, but at least it makes my hand steady, and doesn't have me continually recoiling from myself, as though i had just touched fire or electricity.
*****
dreams, fantasies. sometimes these dry up, and you are left wondering through a desert. the only water that appears is a mirage, a kind of vibration and illusion in the air, with nothing substantial. i think i am wondering through that sort of country right now. it is kind of like that cure song, "prayers for rain." (i recall that song, and its neighbor, and those gray times in my room, or in the lounge, under that sort of light, that half-light, a kind of dreamy feeling).
i am tired of it, but i feel compelled to search for it, no matter what. to chase a feeling. it is impossible to be content with not feeling. it simply doesn't work. a hunger begets action, not quiescence.
*****
i have a flash image of the back corner of the old house. there used to be a bottlebrush tree there? and i buried a mejiro once. i think of that corner for some reason, wondering at its size. was it really that large or was it actually a tiny scrunched up corner that i idealized in memory? i also recall poki and limu, my sister's dogs, wondering in the darkness through the tangle of ferns. i wonder where they are now (dead, of course). i wonder what became of them. i remember liking poki, and how he would put his head in the crook of my armpit. it's something i like musubi to do too. i actually hated (or didn't like) limu, because she was too boisterous. i also recall coco, that chihuahua, that i used to torture by giving him a bath in the furo. why did i do such things to torment the animal? i'm not sure.
*****
oh well, it's about time to get to work on my writing. wish me luck.
Tuesday, January 28, 2020
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
1/15/2020
it is not the task itself, but the way that the task is done. that is perhaps the secret.
i have spoken before about the idealized ways of being that i have on occasion glimpsed. at times, it is good to be like a mountain, solid, heavy, with everything in its right place. at other times, it is better to flow, like a river. in fact, i think it is more appropriate to think of art as the latter, as a kind of flow. there are times when the current gets confused and ragged, as when it encounters the wind or a high fall (... well, actually, a fall unites the flow, so maybe that's not quite appropriate). there are also times when the flow dries up, stops up. in those moments, it is perhaps not appropriate to try to force things (also a reason why this metaphor is apt, because there is no "forcing" a river or stream to flow). when you try to "force" a flow, then you lose the pressure and direction of the flow, and then there is no longer anything pushing you forward, and you become directionless, and a liar, picking up a scattering and a smattering of words and trying to put it together, when the motive force behind everything has disappeared. similarly, or perhaps not so similarly (these are only similar in that they are non-ideal, problematic states), there is the condition of water that encounters perhaps a deep pool, and becomes laconic (perhaps not the right word) and lazy, as well as muddled. now, there is a kind of stillness that is ideal, insofar as that stillness (like the mountain form) conveys a certain clarity. that is a good thing. but what i find problematic is when there is confusion and a lack of direction.
if you think about flow, and you think about what you need for flow to occur... well, first of all, you need pressure of some kind. pressure is perhaps best seen as a relationship between some substrate or medium (water), and its container. the container is important. if you don't have a container to communicate some pressure to the medium, then there is no motive force, and no flow. again, water without pressure simply loses itself. it disperses itself and sinks to the lowest point, and becomes stillness, unusable. but a container without the medium is equally pointless. you have to "gather" the medium within the container, and apply pressure or constraint to it. if you don't "gather" the medium, then you have nothing, and you return to the situation of losing the flow, and "forcing" empty words.
in the previous cycle, i experienced such weariness and despair as i returned to trying to write both kipapa and the kappa story. everything seemed so forced about it, that it seemed pointless and fruitless to continue. and then, that's when i began to write ANYTHING, including porn. i think i was imagining that this would lead me to some kind of communion with my unconscious self, but it just felt dirty and messy. and pointless. again, somehow, i had lost the flow...
i guess what's problematic is that i admire writing that has a kind of symmetry or sense to it, but when i write, especially when i write in a flow state, i don't have a clear sense of where anything is going. and if i DO know, then it just feels like i am "filling in the spaces, " like in a coloring book, and there just seems no point, no creativity, no fun in just writing out a story... i don't know.
*****
i am so tired of work, so tired of all the obligations and responsibilities. i want to produce quality, but often it's not in my hands, it is not through my influence that things happen.
oh well.
i have spoken before about the idealized ways of being that i have on occasion glimpsed. at times, it is good to be like a mountain, solid, heavy, with everything in its right place. at other times, it is better to flow, like a river. in fact, i think it is more appropriate to think of art as the latter, as a kind of flow. there are times when the current gets confused and ragged, as when it encounters the wind or a high fall (... well, actually, a fall unites the flow, so maybe that's not quite appropriate). there are also times when the flow dries up, stops up. in those moments, it is perhaps not appropriate to try to force things (also a reason why this metaphor is apt, because there is no "forcing" a river or stream to flow). when you try to "force" a flow, then you lose the pressure and direction of the flow, and then there is no longer anything pushing you forward, and you become directionless, and a liar, picking up a scattering and a smattering of words and trying to put it together, when the motive force behind everything has disappeared. similarly, or perhaps not so similarly (these are only similar in that they are non-ideal, problematic states), there is the condition of water that encounters perhaps a deep pool, and becomes laconic (perhaps not the right word) and lazy, as well as muddled. now, there is a kind of stillness that is ideal, insofar as that stillness (like the mountain form) conveys a certain clarity. that is a good thing. but what i find problematic is when there is confusion and a lack of direction.
if you think about flow, and you think about what you need for flow to occur... well, first of all, you need pressure of some kind. pressure is perhaps best seen as a relationship between some substrate or medium (water), and its container. the container is important. if you don't have a container to communicate some pressure to the medium, then there is no motive force, and no flow. again, water without pressure simply loses itself. it disperses itself and sinks to the lowest point, and becomes stillness, unusable. but a container without the medium is equally pointless. you have to "gather" the medium within the container, and apply pressure or constraint to it. if you don't "gather" the medium, then you have nothing, and you return to the situation of losing the flow, and "forcing" empty words.
in the previous cycle, i experienced such weariness and despair as i returned to trying to write both kipapa and the kappa story. everything seemed so forced about it, that it seemed pointless and fruitless to continue. and then, that's when i began to write ANYTHING, including porn. i think i was imagining that this would lead me to some kind of communion with my unconscious self, but it just felt dirty and messy. and pointless. again, somehow, i had lost the flow...
i guess what's problematic is that i admire writing that has a kind of symmetry or sense to it, but when i write, especially when i write in a flow state, i don't have a clear sense of where anything is going. and if i DO know, then it just feels like i am "filling in the spaces, " like in a coloring book, and there just seems no point, no creativity, no fun in just writing out a story... i don't know.
*****
i am so tired of work, so tired of all the obligations and responsibilities. i want to produce quality, but often it's not in my hands, it is not through my influence that things happen.
oh well.
Saturday, January 11, 2020
1/11/2020
it's almost been a week since last i wrote... well, work began again, and you know how that is. actually, i've been feeling pretty good about work. i spent the last weekend of break trying to re-do my room. i moved furniture around and cleaned out a bunch of junk. i also went through a lot of my resources, including my library, and it sort of inspired me to rework how i do things. one improvement i've made is to incorporate an "independent reading" segment in my rotations, and sort of force students to read different sets of differentiated books for them, one based upon sight words (dolch library), another based upon reading a-z level, and a last "open book" day which still recommends books based upon level. i've also been re-working the aquaponics station. i think i've sort of fixed the problem of the drainage issues by increasing the flow of water exiting the grow bed. i think a successful fill-and-drain cycle requires balancing out the inflow of the water being pumped up from the fish tank to the outflow of the water being drained. if either of these is off, then it eventually leads to a situation where the grow bed is not effectively or efficiently being drained. so what i did was drill several more holes into the bell siphon to increase the out flow. as i was doing so, i noticed a lot of the same brown gunk that had been clogging both the motor and some of the drain pipe components, and had to clean a lot of that out. i've also been trying to adjust the pH of the system, which, for some reason has been tending towards acidity. they say that the water becomes acid due to the conversion of ammonia, but it seems as though the plants are the one visible victim of these water conditions: they are either dying, or have some "poisoned" leaves.
i appreciated that the kids seemed to fall into the routines i had established pretty quickly. my goal is to wipe out the phonics deficits that all of these kids seem to have. that's my first big goal, anyway. once there is sufficient evidence that the students are phonetically proficient, then it's my next big goal to address vocabulary and comprehension deficits, as i'm doing with one particular student.
with regards to math, i think i'm making pretty good progress, all evidence notwithstanding. the few students that i address directly have made gains in terms of computation. i've decided to start a rotation. we address straightforward computation on one day (addition, subtraction, multiplication, division) as well as word problems; then on the next day, we address fractions, and a lot of the things we do with them, including comparison and conversion between mixed and improper forms; and finally we address decimals. my hope is that once we address a lot of the "mechanics" of math, then we can tackle some of the conceptual understandings or the missing parts.
i am also tackling a lot of science project stuff. i'm feeling relatively confident about our robotics pH reader. the kids yesterday had the idea of "sprucing up" our stem video, and incorporating more drama and a theme to it. we'll see if it pans out, but at the very least, the kids were really excited about it. the other big thing i'm worried about is the history day project. i don't think "ella fitzgerald" was particularly an evocative topic, but that's the one that was chosen, so i just have to make sure that it's the best project we can make it.
*****
since i've taken a big break from a lot of my routines, it's hard (and somewhat daunting) to jump back into things. i often despair that i don't have a lot of stories in me. or i don't pay attention to details (or am impatient of them) to incorporate into a story to make it come to life. i've been reading hamlet because at one point in time, i wanted it to be a resonant element to the kipapa story. but hamlet in itself is a very complex play. there are issues that seem to echo what i wanted to say. for example, ophelia's madness (she is a very father-centric figure). or hamlet's meditations on death. if we did turn this into a kipapa-play, then horatio would be me (the one true friend). other things that are interesting: the play's the thing to capture the conscience of the king. there are a lot of legacies in the play. things passed on from fathers. there are two fathers essentially: polonius, and king hamlet. how would erica's relationship with her own father mirror that of ophelia's with her own controlling, scheming father? the madness of hamlet...
i recall trying to write the kappa story from the point of view of the kappa. but it really hasn't been fleshed out. it has been more of an episodic thing. it's almost as though the kappa only "awakens" in the presence or in the mind of the boy (me). i really struggle with finding the flow of that story. maybe i do need to get into the mentality of just regurgitating or flowing out the fucking story. like really truly blind outflow, not concentrating on editing so much. just saying what happens, or what i would like to happen, not being so fucking careful. it should be left for the other to meditate and pick up the pieces.
also, i will try to write using my hand. my right hand. as in handwritten pieces.
*****
i appreciated that the kids seemed to fall into the routines i had established pretty quickly. my goal is to wipe out the phonics deficits that all of these kids seem to have. that's my first big goal, anyway. once there is sufficient evidence that the students are phonetically proficient, then it's my next big goal to address vocabulary and comprehension deficits, as i'm doing with one particular student.
with regards to math, i think i'm making pretty good progress, all evidence notwithstanding. the few students that i address directly have made gains in terms of computation. i've decided to start a rotation. we address straightforward computation on one day (addition, subtraction, multiplication, division) as well as word problems; then on the next day, we address fractions, and a lot of the things we do with them, including comparison and conversion between mixed and improper forms; and finally we address decimals. my hope is that once we address a lot of the "mechanics" of math, then we can tackle some of the conceptual understandings or the missing parts.
i am also tackling a lot of science project stuff. i'm feeling relatively confident about our robotics pH reader. the kids yesterday had the idea of "sprucing up" our stem video, and incorporating more drama and a theme to it. we'll see if it pans out, but at the very least, the kids were really excited about it. the other big thing i'm worried about is the history day project. i don't think "ella fitzgerald" was particularly an evocative topic, but that's the one that was chosen, so i just have to make sure that it's the best project we can make it.
*****
since i've taken a big break from a lot of my routines, it's hard (and somewhat daunting) to jump back into things. i often despair that i don't have a lot of stories in me. or i don't pay attention to details (or am impatient of them) to incorporate into a story to make it come to life. i've been reading hamlet because at one point in time, i wanted it to be a resonant element to the kipapa story. but hamlet in itself is a very complex play. there are issues that seem to echo what i wanted to say. for example, ophelia's madness (she is a very father-centric figure). or hamlet's meditations on death. if we did turn this into a kipapa-play, then horatio would be me (the one true friend). other things that are interesting: the play's the thing to capture the conscience of the king. there are a lot of legacies in the play. things passed on from fathers. there are two fathers essentially: polonius, and king hamlet. how would erica's relationship with her own father mirror that of ophelia's with her own controlling, scheming father? the madness of hamlet...
i recall trying to write the kappa story from the point of view of the kappa. but it really hasn't been fleshed out. it has been more of an episodic thing. it's almost as though the kappa only "awakens" in the presence or in the mind of the boy (me). i really struggle with finding the flow of that story. maybe i do need to get into the mentality of just regurgitating or flowing out the fucking story. like really truly blind outflow, not concentrating on editing so much. just saying what happens, or what i would like to happen, not being so fucking careful. it should be left for the other to meditate and pick up the pieces.
also, i will try to write using my hand. my right hand. as in handwritten pieces.
*****
Monday, January 6, 2020
1/5/2019
there is the faint smell of musubi's urine...
anyway, i've been listening to margaret atwood's masterclass, and i really think she has some good advice. she talks about the underlying plot as being relatively easy to put down, but the structure of the story is anything but. the structure of the story is how it is told. she goes over several variants, like changing the narrator, or changing the time. she even has multiple narratives embedded inside of narratives... i was thinking of the kappa story. maybe it would be better to tell the story from the point of view of the kappa itself. this would lend a kind of exteriority to the main character. it could also be helpful in conveying the idea that the boy is actually subhuman. karrappo. empty headed.
i am feeling mild panic over a few things, like college for willow, or the car maintenance stuff. simple stuff (the latter, anyway), but they have a way of creeping in to my consciousness. i'm also not ready for school tomorrow, despite the fact that i've probably been on campus more than anyone else this winter break. always, there are worries.
we could be at war with iran soon, and that's it's own whole can of worms. i'm so upset about that. i'm so upset that americans can be so incredibly stupid.
*****
my wife, i have to do something special for her. that's the other thing i'm worrying about.
so many things to concern me.
well, i actually don't have anything else to talk about right now.
(i keep hoping i can dream about something.)
anyway, i've been listening to margaret atwood's masterclass, and i really think she has some good advice. she talks about the underlying plot as being relatively easy to put down, but the structure of the story is anything but. the structure of the story is how it is told. she goes over several variants, like changing the narrator, or changing the time. she even has multiple narratives embedded inside of narratives... i was thinking of the kappa story. maybe it would be better to tell the story from the point of view of the kappa itself. this would lend a kind of exteriority to the main character. it could also be helpful in conveying the idea that the boy is actually subhuman. karrappo. empty headed.
i am feeling mild panic over a few things, like college for willow, or the car maintenance stuff. simple stuff (the latter, anyway), but they have a way of creeping in to my consciousness. i'm also not ready for school tomorrow, despite the fact that i've probably been on campus more than anyone else this winter break. always, there are worries.
we could be at war with iran soon, and that's it's own whole can of worms. i'm so upset about that. i'm so upset that americans can be so incredibly stupid.
*****
my wife, i have to do something special for her. that's the other thing i'm worrying about.
so many things to concern me.
well, i actually don't have anything else to talk about right now.
(i keep hoping i can dream about something.)
Thursday, January 2, 2020
1/2/2020
wow, it is already the second day of the year!?
i was thinking of people in my life, of opportunities, and imagining if those opportunities had been fulfilled. it is so difficult to conceive of such things. my mind goes all soft and vague, and there is no clarity of feeling. it seems all "made up." which, i suppose, is the death knell of all my stories. this feeling like they are all solipsistic. they are the shape of waves, instead of the shape of authentic feelings. this is why i question myself. maybe i am not authentically human. maybe i cannot bring my feelings into focus, and therefore, it is impossible for me to convey them to the world authentically. i am always an approximation. even my art is such. i need a living model, a photograph, and i copy it by means of the shape of the details. the irony i have found in art is that it is only through fidelity to these inanimate and particulate details that you reach an approximation of life. if you have no fidelity to the actual details, then you have something that looks hideous, especially when it is almost right. maybe it's the same with life, but i don't think so. i think to write an authentic story, you have to have strong feelings, and those, in me, are noticeably absent.
when was i angry? when was i sad? when was i happy? when was i scared?
i write stories as though there is an emptiness. it is almost as though i need to report what i felt to someone else to gain some authenticity. without someone appreciating the feeling, maybe i am nothing. there is no "in itself." maybe that's why the art conundrum arises within me, because that is the self-same conundrum related to my own identity. always trying to snag someone's eye so you can attain authenticity. i think, in a sense, this is the trap of the modern era of social media shit too. but i ALWAYS felt this way.
a danger for me has been this feeling of drowning in myself. that i am only repeating false copies or approximations of reality, over and over, and not actually confronting or dealing with the world... and yet, ironically, the world is really scary and damaging to me, it wears me out. so i oscillate back and forth between wanting to confront the world to find authenticity within it, and wanted to conceal myself and be "self-sufficient." i've often imagined an oasis of sorts, maybe i fashion my home on this model, to be a place where i can access the world at my leisure. to not be pushed around. but then again, maybe it is hiding from the world? the feeling that you are bound by your play list. that the play list after a while simply represents you, and does not represent the world that you want to, that you imagine you could be, open to...
how can i discover me? how can i "have fun being myself?" that is the essential question.
*****
here are some ideas for short stories, not in the plot-heavy sense, but more like vignettes or snapshots:
- two teeth, how i made my brother hit some kid so that he knocked out two of his teeth, and traumatized him forever.
- rectangle of sky. about my sister.
- about the time when my sister nearly drowned me. and about swinging on the swings, and reciting that thing from thundarr the barbarian, in the hopes that some girl would pay attention to me.
- bloody nose. dishonor.
- the cinders from the sky.
- the lightning blast on the gravel.
- the floating plane across the mountains.
- bird watching.
*****
i was thinking of people in my life, of opportunities, and imagining if those opportunities had been fulfilled. it is so difficult to conceive of such things. my mind goes all soft and vague, and there is no clarity of feeling. it seems all "made up." which, i suppose, is the death knell of all my stories. this feeling like they are all solipsistic. they are the shape of waves, instead of the shape of authentic feelings. this is why i question myself. maybe i am not authentically human. maybe i cannot bring my feelings into focus, and therefore, it is impossible for me to convey them to the world authentically. i am always an approximation. even my art is such. i need a living model, a photograph, and i copy it by means of the shape of the details. the irony i have found in art is that it is only through fidelity to these inanimate and particulate details that you reach an approximation of life. if you have no fidelity to the actual details, then you have something that looks hideous, especially when it is almost right. maybe it's the same with life, but i don't think so. i think to write an authentic story, you have to have strong feelings, and those, in me, are noticeably absent.
when was i angry? when was i sad? when was i happy? when was i scared?
i write stories as though there is an emptiness. it is almost as though i need to report what i felt to someone else to gain some authenticity. without someone appreciating the feeling, maybe i am nothing. there is no "in itself." maybe that's why the art conundrum arises within me, because that is the self-same conundrum related to my own identity. always trying to snag someone's eye so you can attain authenticity. i think, in a sense, this is the trap of the modern era of social media shit too. but i ALWAYS felt this way.
a danger for me has been this feeling of drowning in myself. that i am only repeating false copies or approximations of reality, over and over, and not actually confronting or dealing with the world... and yet, ironically, the world is really scary and damaging to me, it wears me out. so i oscillate back and forth between wanting to confront the world to find authenticity within it, and wanted to conceal myself and be "self-sufficient." i've often imagined an oasis of sorts, maybe i fashion my home on this model, to be a place where i can access the world at my leisure. to not be pushed around. but then again, maybe it is hiding from the world? the feeling that you are bound by your play list. that the play list after a while simply represents you, and does not represent the world that you want to, that you imagine you could be, open to...
how can i discover me? how can i "have fun being myself?" that is the essential question.
*****
here are some ideas for short stories, not in the plot-heavy sense, but more like vignettes or snapshots:
- two teeth, how i made my brother hit some kid so that he knocked out two of his teeth, and traumatized him forever.
- rectangle of sky. about my sister.
- about the time when my sister nearly drowned me. and about swinging on the swings, and reciting that thing from thundarr the barbarian, in the hopes that some girl would pay attention to me.
- bloody nose. dishonor.
- the cinders from the sky.
- the lightning blast on the gravel.
- the floating plane across the mountains.
- bird watching.
*****
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