My Wednesdays. My my, Wednesdays.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
That profound secret and mystery to
every [O]ther.
Everything is amazing right now, and nobody's happy.
--
A search for wonder is needless when it is so constantly crashing into you.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Out through your mouth in a sigh.
Come on and see these ones on Feb. 28th at The Drake Hotel in Toronto.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Not to be found in the world of objects.
Several nights ago, I stepped into my bedroom and flipped up the switch. When the light spilled out on top of the room's darkness, all of these objects lining my walls and my floor leapt up to greet me. And it seemed so odd that they, these sudden things, existed anew only now that I was present. A couple mugs, keyboard, clothing, computer, guitars, records, rows of books, all things that seemed only just now relaxed from an anxious, wire-framed tensity. Crouched in potentiality. Endlessly decomposing lest I interfere. I felt the guilt of their dependence, and I felt them curdling beneath a skin of vigor, standing just so, for me to impress upon them. What if I stepped back again, flipping that switch for blooming darkness. Now, what if I could let them be on their own.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A grade for learning how to play.
This is merely a faulty reproduction of some sentences I heard from a professor this past week, but here they might still hold form enough to lift up those feeling a disenchantment with the post-secondary:
There might be some people, or many people, really, who will smirk and ask you what good your university education is for, what sort of practicality does it provide for you--how is it even slightly applicable to you in reality? What is its point?
That is an entirely ridiculous question to be asking. To you, philosophy [or, insert your specific discipline here] students, what you are learning in university ought not to be looked at as an impracticality--that is the biggest mistake you could ever make. It is providing you with the most practical skills you need. What you are studying is providing you the skills and temperament for how to conduct the most proper method of thought, which is far more important than material techniques. How to think critically and with an open mind must come prior to what you think and do.
--
And now that I consider it, this mode of thought which is ideally learned in all post-secondary disciplines, can be similarly learned off campus and outside a library--your school of learning is just wholly focused on it. Though such an unfolding that takes place away from your books should not then devalue those books; coming upon it can occur through a synthesis of school, perhaps, as well as interactions with others, art, nature, all places.
All places may thrive in, and concede to, the mind once you learn of their freedoms.
There might be some people, or many people, really, who will smirk and ask you what good your university education is for, what sort of practicality does it provide for you--how is it even slightly applicable to you in reality? What is its point?
That is an entirely ridiculous question to be asking. To you, philosophy [or, insert your specific discipline here] students, what you are learning in university ought not to be looked at as an impracticality--that is the biggest mistake you could ever make. It is providing you with the most practical skills you need. What you are studying is providing you the skills and temperament for how to conduct the most proper method of thought, which is far more important than material techniques. How to think critically and with an open mind must come prior to what you think and do.
--
And now that I consider it, this mode of thought which is ideally learned in all post-secondary disciplines, can be similarly learned off campus and outside a library--your school of learning is just wholly focused on it. Though such an unfolding that takes place away from your books should not then devalue those books; coming upon it can occur through a synthesis of school, perhaps, as well as interactions with others, art, nature, all places.
All places may thrive in, and concede to, the mind once you learn of their freedoms.
Friday, February 13, 2009
All driven inwards.
This morning I slept through my 8:30 class.
But today I watched snowflakes prance against an evergreen backdrop.
I watched friends skip across puddles in the night.
I watched friends exchange a secret handshake.
I watched a man's eyes tear while listening to another man's song.
I watched the results of an unfolded happiness.
I watched some ones I know make art.
But this morning I slept through my 8:30 class.
But today I watched snowflakes prance against an evergreen backdrop.
I watched friends skip across puddles in the night.
I watched friends exchange a secret handshake.
I watched a man's eyes tear while listening to another man's song.
I watched the results of an unfolded happiness.
I watched some ones I know make art.
But this morning I slept through my 8:30 class.
Monday, February 9, 2009
On In the Skin of a Lion.
The great triumph we might wish to have, to burst apart foundations laid and send through time our legacy, is so often missed because we sleep right past it.
Patrick Lewis watches others skate, himself weaving within light and dark, foreground and background. This novel has within it some thematics that are threaded so cleanly into its characters that one should simply feel them, rather than betraying them by naming them into clarity. So Carravaggio is painted a blue like the sky to slip outside his prison, to float up beyond its walls.
Patrick leaves history to seek out the lives of others--or, familiarly, he dims his own light to make others' shine. In their lives he finds his own, he keeps a shape though muzzled in shadow, holding up the others' happenings.
Every now and again in my mind I see flames in the distant dark, skating upon the whole world, an image that casts away plot. And I might lay and let their glinting spark keep winking at me just so they will stay. Lights.
In the Skin of a Lion is the best novel I read in 2008. So maybe read it and tell me what you think.
Patrick Lewis watches others skate, himself weaving within light and dark, foreground and background. This novel has within it some thematics that are threaded so cleanly into its characters that one should simply feel them, rather than betraying them by naming them into clarity. So Carravaggio is painted a blue like the sky to slip outside his prison, to float up beyond its walls.
Patrick leaves history to seek out the lives of others--or, familiarly, he dims his own light to make others' shine. In their lives he finds his own, he keeps a shape though muzzled in shadow, holding up the others' happenings.
Every now and again in my mind I see flames in the distant dark, skating upon the whole world, an image that casts away plot. And I might lay and let their glinting spark keep winking at me just so they will stay. Lights.
In the Skin of a Lion is the best novel I read in 2008. So maybe read it and tell me what you think.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The despairing refusal to be oneself.
Know your roots.
Where you've come from.
What you stand on.
How you grow.
To where you move.
Where you've come from.
What you stand on.
How you grow.
To where you move.
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