Wednesday, April 28, 2010

DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNN! Final Blog

Alright, thanks to everyone that was too cool to read my blog, and thanks to everyone that was too cool to have my blog on their master blog until a week or so before the end...yeah Sam I'm talkin' bout you! Ahh ok i'm not really that mad, nor could I be. People fall though unseen cracks all the time, and I am a small individual and can see how it happened. It's not like I put any effort into any of the work that I did this year. And it's not like I took the time out to actually blog more than 10 times. Oh and it's not like I ever read anyone else's blog to gain some incite into the world of Emergent Literature. sarcasm is almost too fun at times. but really i'm not mad at anyone especially Sam, after all she is the monster of blogs and genuinely a good person.

I am sad to go, and yet totally stoked. A cliche moment for a cliche time. The end! Graduation! Peace Biotches!!! I enjoyed spending my 150 minutes a week with you all and i hope that my dance inspired at least one of you to perhaps let loose and let your inner ribbon fly!

best wishes to all of you in your worldly travels. and for those planning on visiting space, i wish you all the best in your spacey travels. And if anyone sees Mulder and Scully tell them that lisa says "I don't want to believe, I DO BELIEVE!"

~L.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

My Paper

To metamorphose is to transform from one stage of life into the next. For insects and amphibians the process of metamorphosis is physically drastic and takes place from adolescence to adulthood. But this is not the only type of morphing that occurs in life. All creatures change in someway or another--it is the process of time that generates this type of transformation, from birth into adulthood, old age, and finally death.

However metamorphoses is more than just physical changes, it also changes the mental and spiritual self. A journey must happen in order to metamorphose mentally and spiritually. A trip away from home, away from what is known, and out into uncharted territory. Where exploration of the self is part of the larger exploration of places. T.S. Eliot uses the metamorphoses of life in his collection of poems The Four Quartets to take the reader on a journey of thought. Moving from one element to the next and season to season, his interpretation of metamorphoses spans to all walks of life because it itself is a walk through life. Eliot travels through each quartet explaining the excursion that takes place during mortality and the place that we are meant to visit and eventually returning to, “were we started, and know the place for the first time” (Eliot 59).

In life we have our physical home, and our mental home, both places where we revisit to keep us centered in our choices. The mental home is our still point, a place that is reached only by leaving it to explore the world as well as deep in the mind. In the beginning there is only divinity. When a baby is born and brought home, the baby has in fact already left their true home (that humans forget once they are living beings on Earth, and has started their life journey. This home is the home of divinity and immortality, where times is no constraint.

Literature has been a way to morph the mind into thinking in new and more divine ways. Transformation is apparent in stories to help explain reality. Ovid’s The Metamorphoses is devoted to the process of transforming all that is in existence. In the beginning Chaos and in the end the death of Caesar. This tale is the transformation of Rome, “the Eternal City,” and the people of that time.

Reality is hard to comprehend. The concept of time being an ongoing process that never truly ends proves to be a daunting mental hurdle. Human life is centered around time, it is what causes change in life as well as brings us closer to death in every moment. We are always trying to beat the clock or turn back time in order to preserve our youthfulness and our life on Earth. But alas, time continues on once your bodies no longer moves with breath, and your soul has removed itself from his cage. The only way to escape time is to die, transforming from mortal into immortal.

In Cees Nooteboom’s novel The Following Story, Herman Mussert--a classical literary teacher--is in fact stuck himself in the process of morphing into his next stage, death. The book takes but two seconds out of his life, and they are the two most profound seconds of his existence, the last two before death.

In the first second--or rather the first section of the book--his life flashes before his eyes while in Lisbon, Portugal; the place where “Europe says goodbye to itself” and the sea of limbo begins (Nooteboom 45). Portugal is the port that will take him on his last journey, his journey home. Portugal does in fact state its purpose in its name and can be read, port-u-go. It is a Joycean way of reading this countries name, but Mussert makes it a point to define this place as the last of the land and the beginning of the sea. “This entire city is a good-bye. The fringe of Europe, the last shore of the first world” (Nooteboom 44). This is the place where life ends and limbo begins. And Lisbon in fact can also be read in a Joycean fashion; lisbon--libon--limbo. Our entire life time is held in one moment, a second of our life. We carry our story with us wherever we explore.

When figuring out his undying love for another professor, Maria Zeinstra, Mussert remembers back to a time when he attended one of her lectures on the subject of death. During the class the story of the sexton beetle mating ritual and birth is played on a large projection screen: “...a dead rat appeared on the screen. It wasn’t a big rat, but it was extremely dead. The broken body lay somewhat arched, in the pose that bears the irreversible mark of death...Then a sexton beetle appeared...began to push against the stiff, unyielding corpse, shifting it slightly with each nudge...a sculptor working...the corpse grew rounder, the legs became tangled, the rat’s head was pushed deep into its soft belly, the beetle danced its danse macabre around a furry ball...of rat flesh, slowly rolling into the trench. Now she is going to mate with the male in the grave...the female started digging a second trench ‘for the egg chambers’...she gnaws a hole in the carcass...making food...taking a bit of pureed rat, the larvae lick the inside of her mouth...” (Nooteboom 39-41). The lifeless rat metamorphose into a bed and breading ground for the metamorphose of the sexton beetle to regenerate and create new life. Life is haunted by death. “And the time of death is in every moment” (Eliot 42). It is something that life cannot defeat, death is undeniable and overpowering. But out of death comes life creating a cycle of repetition and metamorphoses.

In Mussert’s last second of his life he leaves the port or Portugal and enters into the sea of limbo the last stage, “Darker than Hades and less sure than death” (The Metamorphoses 20). He must travel though the sea of limbo in order to complete his journey. Once he returns home, he starts a new beginning. “I was permitted to remain as small and coincidental as I was, you had shown me my true stature...then I told you the following story” (Nooteboom 115).

Death is the same in the beginning of life as it is in the end. Reverting back to what we started as, immortal souls, divine beings, unattainable moments, moments not in time, but outside of time. Entire lifetimes in simple moments; moments that pass by with little recognition. And in the end when Herman Mussert is passing on from limbo into eternal death he recognizes each illuminated moment in his lifetime. “You had taught me something about infinity, about how an immeasurable space of memories can be stored in the most minute time span” (Nooteboom). He now understands that life is not filled with a few grand epiphanies, but rather petit moments occurring every day. “As long as poetry speaks truth on earth,/ immortality is mine to wear” (The Metamorphoses 437). His immortality rested in those moments, and his acknowledgement of those moments in his last second granted him his divine life and the passing from limbo into the afterlife.

Years ago, a young girl wrote in a paper, “I would wish for the power of morphing into anything I wanted to be.” Little did she know that her dream of physical metamorphoses would one day help her finish her college career as an English major. The revisit to her portfolio was like Herman Mussert’s last visit to Portugal. A farewell to one life, and a journey into the unknown, a place of limbo, where she would wait to find out what is next. The transformation of both individuals are profound, a moment of reflection and a chance to recapture little illuminations of the past that had been missed.

She sat looking at this piece of wide ruled lined notebook paper. Her hand writing hadn’t changed much from when she was 15. And as she studied her adolescent work she began to write, starting her next journey; What it is to be young, to be open, to listen to the unheard music without having to understand how you can hear it. Or to dance to the unheard music and know the rhythm. What it is to transform into the environment around you, and feel the moment, see the moment, hear, taste, smell, and live the moment. Transforming through desire not through forcefulness. We control the metamorphose of our own lives, but we must choose to let the divine shape these transformations into more than our mortal hands can do. Sculpting them into moments of enlightenment: all that is divine, all that is above, and all that is inside. Finding the strength in letting go, de-cluttering and dismembering in order to immortalize my life’s illuminations.


eh...


~L.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Pants off Dance off

All right, so as all you who were in class today know my ribbon dance performance was quite a production. I really just didn't want to talk in front of class, so i figured i'd just make an ass out of myself instead. And the fact of the matter is I'm not returning next semester so all you can just talk about me, and I don't have to know about it. I hope my removal of pants wasn't too much for anyone, I feel a little awkward about it, but I guess that was the whole point of the presentation was to feel awkward but enjoy it.

I chose a black ribbon and a white ribbon to represent opposites, and the rainbow at the end was to represent the metamorphoses of both the white and the black ribbons. The words to the song I so majestically danced to are on the blog post right before this one. Yeah I know how stupid i looked, and you can only imagine how stupid I felt standing up there twirling ribbons around in what seemed like the beginning of chaos, and in fact that was part of it. Ahh to be able to blame my inability to ribbon dance with ease on Chaos, i will miss being an evolving English major.

I am sorry for those offended by my titillating performance, and for those that were inspired i am glad that I could help. Thanks everyone for not laughing and pointing fingers too obviously so that I could walk out of the room with my head still somewhat high, and not my tail tucked between my oh so little legs.

~L.

P.S.--EMO I know you are sick, but wtf? I did this all for you, you were my inspiration, and yet you were nowhere to be seen, or see my epic (yeah i said epic) performance of a lifetime! I still love you though.

just a little taste of my performance for today

Learning to Fly--Pink Floyd

Into the distance, a ribbon of black

Stretched to the point of no turning back

A flight of fancy on a windswept field

Standing alone my senses reeled

A fatal attraction holding me fast, how

Can I escape this irresistible grasp?

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies

Tongue-tied and twisted Just an earth-bound misfit, I

Ice is forming on the tips of my wings

Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything

No navigator to guide my way home

Unladened, empty and turned to stone

A soul in tension that's learning to fly

Condition grounded but determined to try

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies

Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I

Above the planet on a wing and a prayer,

My grubby halo, a vapour trail in the empty air,

Across the clouds I see my shadow fly

Out of the corner of my watering eye

A dream unthreatened by the morning light

Could blow this soul right through the roof of the night

There's no sensation to compare with this

Suspended animation, A state of bliss

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies
Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I


OH boy this might just rock the boat...

~L.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Dear Class, HELP ME!!!

Hey all you smarty pants out there, can anyone help a sister out? I am pushing my way through Book XV of Ovid's The Metamorphoses and am trying to make the connection to The Following Story with the blanket theme of Docle Domum over the whole paper. I know some of you have read and studied this piece of literature in a class or two, and have way more incite into this dense work than my little legs do.

In class I completely wasn't listening when I talked about my paper topic. Someone (and I am so sorry for my rudeness in not remembering who this was) but you made some awesome statement about the book and I really would like to hear that quote again.

PLEASE Anyone I am on my in dyer need of your assistance!!

~L.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Homeward Bound--My Incredible Performance

Today was all about returning to a state of previous being. Whether we are returning home, or discovering a place for the first time, the fact is that we all will return to someplace in our lives whether it be metaphorically, or physically we will return to some place of comfort and know it for the first time or some different version of that place.

I chose Homeward Bound the Incredible Journey as my lowbrow material for our presentation. Judging from your reactions many of you have seen and enjoyed enough to mimic the ending in perfect unison with the movie.

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started"


We all have a homing device that helps us find our direction home. I like to call it a six sense. I know that seeing dead people might sound like a cooler extra sense to have, but in terms of this class a directional sense that leads us home no matter how far our exploration takes us, is pretty cool.

Returning home is triumphant, it provides a sense a closure to the epic journey. No one is ever too old to return home, we all must to complete our journey. Shadow was not complete until he fulfilled his loyalty to Peter and reunited with him.


"And know the place for the first time"

~L.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

My Storytelling Paper

Storytelling is a major part of every culture. We should all be aware that Language and Culture go together hand in hand and that without one, the other is lost...language is usually the first to die off, which in our cases should be a tragedy due to the fact language is what we have spend thousands of dollars on in order to get a piece of paper with language of our culture on it.

In many Native cultures, storytelling is a teaching.  Lessons, histories, family, and the self all reside in stories. They guide us to enlightenment and sometimes beyond. For my paper I want to look at the transformation we make when telling and hearing stories; how stories can make us immortal but the storyteller is the most important part of the story, because without him/her the story cannot be told. 

The idea is not that well put together at the moment but I want to focus on The Following Story, Haroun and the Sea of Stories, The 4 Quartets, and The Bhagavad-Gita (these might change a little as my thoughts sit and stir in my mind)

I want to explore the idea that dreaming is a form of storytelling and that many times the dreams are the echos of epiphanies that we have missed in everyday life, such as in Burnt Norton. 

I know this is really rough, but I have been surrounded by the art of storytelling my entire life, and even more since I've moved to Montana and become involved in the NAS program here, that it seems fitting to end on something that has surrounded me from my beginning.  

~L.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Home Sweet Home Our Six Sense

At first I had no idea what the theme "home sweet home" would have to do with an English class. But now, now I get it...we made the comment in the capstone class on Monday, and possibly in Emergent Lit, (everything is running together at this point in time) but the comment was.."all roads lead to Rome." Well that's all nice and whatnot, but Rome is not my center, Home is my center and all roads can and do eventually lead to Home-Sweet-Sweet-Home. I threw an extra sweet in there because my home is real sweet.

We all have homes, some are closer than others, and the journey back is never the same. When we are lost, home is that saving grace that keeps us moving on. In sailing cultures home was mapped out in the skies. Often times 'true home' is associated in the sky, where we came from. Home is where our heart is, along with belongings from the past times at Ridgemont High, or in my case Crescenta Valley High. Home smells of warm grilled cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread, with a side of green grapes, and a glass of black cherry kool-aid. Home, the word is comforting when feeling lonely making it feel just a stones throw away when in fact it's 18oo miles, way to far for me to throw a stone.

But can home change? I believe it can't. Eventually everyone moves on, and the house that was made a home for one family turns into a home for another family. But home remains the same, it has to, if it didn't how would we know where to go? Home is inside of us, it can literally be a building with home decour throughout it, or it can be the place inside where we as individuals go to feel comfort. I head home down Lincoln after school Monday-Friday, but am I truly headed home? I'm convinced that home here now, at computer 217 on the second floor of the library. I'm convinced that when I get up, home will be on the stairs headed down to the lobby of the library, and so on an so forth. Home is where I make it. Sometimes life does get messy and home is not a concern during these times, well at least not a conscious concern. In order to reach home we must reach within and find it there.

My group has been blessed with the theme "Dulce Domum." Our search to find home and bring it to class seemed daunting at the beginng of the sememster. But now, how I can't wait to return home. We all have a six sense, and it's not the ability to see dead people. (that's a 7th sense for all that can). But our six sense is direction, some might also call this faith. In the movie Homeward Bound a trio of house pets: Chance, Sassy, and Shadow find themselves on an epic journey leading them over the Sierra Nevada Mountain and eventually into the arms of their young owners at their home. Shadow's "six sense" drives the old golden retreiver to head up and over the 10,000+ high peaks on his journey home. His desire to return to where he started lies within his duty as a dog to be loyal to his master--Peter a young boy.


Chance, a younger pitbull, doesn't have the loyalty based drive because of his time spend in lockup aka the pound. His master Jamie, the youngest of the pet owners, and him have yet to make the enternal bond between man and dog. It takes hundreds of miles, and weeks of separation to bring these two young souls together.


Sassy is owned and loved by Hope, a fitting name for a character in a story about the hope to return home. Her despise for Chance and pride in being a feline eventually catches up with her sending her over a waterfall and what seems like her untimely death, only to be rescued by a nice mountain man, eventually reconnecting with her two canine counterparts.


On this journey all the animals learn something about themselves and their relationship with one another. They learn that the journey is not just time spend searching for home, but that it is part of home.


You're never to old to find the way Home.

~L.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Suffocated by The Alchemist's Motivation

The Alchemist makes me think of cheesy one liners that are said to inspire and create a drive in a person who is set on giving up. Yeah it's a great story, who doesn't like treasures and far of exotic lands? This is what makes it so popular.  While reading it I found myself involved and yet very critical of how upbeat and mushy this book is. I mean if there is any book that a parent should give to their child that is about to graduate from high school this one is up on the list. Follow your dreams, never give up, don't settle for average, push yourself! It makes me think back to my days of soccer when my coach would yell motivational phrases at us trying to get us to win. "If you have nothing, remember you have your heart! Your heart will succeed if you let it!" shit like that always pissed me off, and it obviously still does. This book is just too motivational for me, but none the less a great story. And it has been in the hands of so many people that I too feel inspired to search for my 'Personal Legend.' 

And then I got to thinking of the Personal Legend thing, and it made me feel like a failure, because all my life I was going to be a soccer super star, that was my dream, and I let it go. I simply said no more, I don't wanna be injured 365 days of the year and be pissed off if I lose. It didn't seem like a goal I needed to reach, and yet now I think, hummm did I give up on my Personal Legend? Have I fallen into the masses of failed attempts and given up dreams? I mean soccer is fun and all, but how much money could I truly have made playing soccer? Maybe it wasn't supposed to be my life after all! 

So now I'm excited, maybe.  I'm graduating and my Personal Legend might actually is still there and I haven't opened my eyes wide enough since that day I quit soccer to see that my dream is still alive and waiting for me to discover it again. Maybe all along my Personal Legend has been over shadowed by my ability to play soccer at higher levels and my focus was on something that, though I was exceptional good at, wasn't my (pardon the repetition) Personal Legend. 

Ahhh so maybe there is hope for me after all, and maybe there is hope for this book to actually not make me want to vomit from the over exaggerated motivational speeches in every paragraph.  I guess this book does have a lot of failed attempts to reach a dream, and this is somewhat pleasing to me. (How demented.)

~L.

tell your mother to read

My mother is an English teacher at a high school in California and is retiring at the end of this year--I feel bad for all the incoming freshmen for missing out. Anywho, so my mom  being a lover of books, asks me every semester to send her my list of readings that I acquire from all the different English and other classes I am taking that semester. And so when we were talking in class about what books to tell our mothers to read, I giggled to myself because my mom literally reads them all, and has or is going to. The great thing about this is that my mom has her masters in History and Education, not English and she really doesn't know much about the Theorists and background of the authors, but my father has a double masters in Math and English and he knows all the Theorists and backgrounds and all that jazz that we talk about, but would rather not read any of the books on the list I send. He picks around sometimes and if I demand him to read a book he usually does, but you know it's an interesting thought to think that one day more than likely I'll be my father and not my mother. Because I have never enjoyed reading that much, and I have never really been completely obsessed with the subject of Literature. I love it and I think that I have learned a great amount of knowledge from the classes that I have taken. But honestly I can see myself in fifty years from now, getting a list from my kids telling me of books to read, and me staring off into space remembering all the books I had read and thinking, 'na I'd rather watch a hummingbird war.' Yeah a terrifying thought for a soon to be English graduate, but hey I still enjoy what I do in class and the interactions that are made through literature, I just don't think I can be as devoted to the subject as my mother, who never tried nor wanted to be an English guru.

In fact she told me to read The Alchemist a few years back, as well as To the Lighthouse and it's funny my dad told me to read, I'm not joking, Three Novels by Samuel Beckett. What a great couple of parents I got, I love the dark and the light because of them. And how would they know they were preparing me for my final semester of undergraduate work in a state over 1000 miles away from them and a place they will never visit unless it is in the warm season or for my graduation?! Gotta love to power of parenting. 

~L.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The Game of Chess

The game of Chess is classic. Though I do not know all of the rules and stratgies used to win, I still win--sometimes. The object of the game is to trap the other player's King piece--the most important piece of the game. The use of the other chess pieces are to either protect your King or take the other players pieces. The most powerful piece on the board is the Queen. Ladies this is a good thing, we are sot after and despised all at the same time. The King though is "more important" than any other piece, he has many restrictions to his movement and can only "castle" once. This leaves the King subjected to all other players and quite frankly weak and a burden upon the other pieces of the game.

Now the fact that the Queen is the most powerful player on the board could account for the fact that behind every great man there is an even greater, more humble, subdue, gracious, beautiful and quite charming woman. In order for the King to survive and you to win the game the Queen must make hasty decisions that could intern take her from the game. Now the next most important player in the game is the pon. Yeah you might ask why not the Knight! but oh no, the knight though gallant and oh so awesome because of his "L" shaped movement cannot bring back players to the game. The pons on the other hand if noble and sly enough to make it across the board to the other teams last row can choose which previously taken piece will come back to the game. So if your beautiful and deadly Queen is abruptly taken a tiny pon may bring her back!

Now what's the point of all this, I don't know, except Chess is a very classy game, and a very ancient game. It is a game of strategy, a game of intuition, and a game for the quick minded. Now I might not have any of these qualities, but I can play Chess, and in fact many of my opponients will not play against me because I am merciless, I take no chances in risking my Queen, unless I know a pon is there to help her back on her feet.
http://www.chessvariants.com/d.chess/chess.html

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

The Matrix, I want to Believe.

It's been a while for Emergent blogging, but hey sometime the inspired can't always be inspired.
I've never seen The Matrix and you know, I'm not upset with that, I'm actually very ok with that. And watching a few clips here and there of it was ok, but I don't need to go add it to my netflix list in order to be enlightened or have my epiphanic moment.

What is the Matrix? In order for me to answer this question do I need to see the entire movie? I hope not, because the only time I ever want to see Keanu acting like an idiot is in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and be reminded of why San Demis High School Rules. But what I got from "the matrix" and what everyone was saying in class is that it's the real world. And if it is the real world, how do we know we are in the real world and not a dream? And if we are in a dream we cannot control what is going on around us. But if we are in reality can we then control our surroundings? Well I would say to an extent of course we can control that which surrounds us, but that goes for dreaming too. In Lucid Dreams there is the ability to control what happens. In fact there are actually eye pads that go over the sleepers eye and help you to control what is actually going on in your state of unconscious. To control lucid dreams is to control your own personal reality. For dreams are just an extension of our lives outside of "dreams."

If it is true that we are all asleep and in order for us to understand "the matrix" we must wake up, then why sleep in the first place? Why am I tired? Why do I feel the need to take naps, if I already am sleeping? I understand that yeah I'm asleep to the truth of the world, and that I cannot comprehend all that is happening because I am only using 1-10% of my brain, but it all sounds like a joke to me. Maybe it's Keanu's make surfer boys cool accent that gets me so angry and uninspired by the whole idea of "the Matrix" or maybe it's the fact that I really am asleep and Krishna is trying to pinch me to wake me up. But it seems as though if we are able to hold a conversation such as the ones we are having in class and on these real, yet not real blogs then we are actually in reality and we are aware of the what the matrix actually is.

You know when I think of topics like "the matrix," dreams, reality, being asleep, waking up, etc. I always remember the poster hanging in Fox Mulder's office in the show X-Files:
I want to believe that I'm asleep and that if I can just wake myself up, I will be enlightened and yet wish I had never woken up in the first place. But it is hard, am I resiting truth? Because like another great X-Files reference:
And yeah the truth is out there, we just need to find it. And if the truth is the Matrix well then I guess I have to believe, not want to believe. But what is truth? Isn't truth just everything that isn't false? And what is false?--is it the fact that we are talking about intangible things, and merely thoughts and theories that makes up the concept of false and truth? If the truth is out there, where is there? and what is out if we don't have an in? And if I want to believe don't I have to be a disbeliever is something as well? But what would that something be? Oh Mulder and Scully save me from the the non-believers, and the believers, the true and the false of life.

~L.

Monday, February 22, 2010

The Desire to be Obsessed.

Today has just been a jumble of misunderstandings, understandings, hits, and misses, close calls, and connections. My life has been turned upside down, not because I've found something so entrancing that I must devote my time to it, but in fact it seems as though I cannot find anything at all to settle my mind. I want to be obsessed, I have to have anxiety, I want to experience the OCD that Shelby continuously blogs about. But no, Lisa has to focus her mind on everything, leaving it unfocused and cluttered with stuff. Stuff, stuff, and some more stuff.  I went to Dr. Sexson's office today looking for the answer, I figured if anyone was going to have the answer it would be him. And what did I find out...nothing. Yeah nothing, because in order to understand we must forget what we know. We have to detach ourselves to become attached. It is so complicated that my mind is in a knot. A very tight knot, one where you pull and all it does is make it tighter and tighter until there's no way of getting the knot out unless you cut it out entirely and throw it away. I really hope I don't have to cut that knot out and throw it away because I think there's a lot of stuff and unstuff that I want to know to help me unknot my knot. 

"And the way up is the way down, and the way forward is the way back." Eliot--Dry Salvages.

Then we were talking today in class about de-cluttering our lives. About getting ride of things in order to gain life knowledge.  And this got me to think more about the stuff that Survivor Man "needs" to survive. A few things and he can last a week in the wilds of the world. But what he always has no matter where he is, and what he "needs" to survive, he has his harmonica. A simple musical instrument that has lived in the pockets of many musical, homeless, stranded, wondering souls. And then i  begin to think, "Is this all I need in order to create order out of the chaos in my mind, a harmonica?" My dad has one on him at all times, in fact he gives me a harmonica once a year, sometimes even twice. I thought it was just a nice gesture a present to remind me he loves me. But really it was a present to simplify my life. The harmonica symbolizes everything I need in order to understand. He gives me these machines so that I can give life to my thoughts. Often times my dad tells me "Think in music Lisa, think music." My dad is extremely musical, and I am not. Well I'm not the same kind of musical as him. Music brings people together, it lightens the soul, it eases the hurt of life. I think my dad gives me harmonicas in order to gain happiness from sharing his love, music. 

But what does this have to do with Beckett, and Eliot and the decomposing of our lives, I have no idea, it just sounded like it fit, well in my puzzle it fits, now I just need to find the other pieces to make the puzzle whole. But can the puzzle ever be whole?--or are we doomed to keep searching for the missing puzzle piece? Connecting the dots has never been so complicated and time consuming. Eliot has created a festering wound in my mind of non-experienced experiences.  He has given me a reason to become obsessed, but I am hesitant to let go, to dive deeper into the no experience necessary. As Eliot sees it we do not learn from experience for life is always new, and therefore experience is unnecessary because nothing from the past can prepare us for the future. Every moment is a new beginning, and every moment past is an experience that we will never need to use, because each experience is so different from the other that there is no learning from it! AHHH yet again I am lost, confused, de-cluttering to clutter. Unstuffing to stuff my brain full of useless information regarding the now, which is the past, which is not the beginning anymore but the end, when the end is actually the beginning and the beginning though is new is actually old news because it is in the past now. 

And perhaps now, after writing through my confusion and my want to be obsessed I am obsessed! I am consumed by the filling and the pour out, the kenosis and the plerosis.  I am becoming...

~L.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

my interesting inventory

the color of my room, a depressing blue, so dark that black would make me more happy.
My bed facing west to east, I would have it north to south because my dad say's the polar magnetics pull you from the north and south, "so if you sleep north and south you'll be taller each morning." This is what he used to say to me, thanks Dad! my epithet is Little Legs, polar magnetics is a joke! and there's a giant window facing north which is cold to sleep under in Montana winters. Next to my bed, on the south side a wicker basket with all my crocheted hats and hooks. Next to that my great grandmothers chair, a puke yellow only a great grandma, grandma, and great and grand daughter could love. On top of the chair is the crocheted blanket my grandmother made years before I was even a thought. On the ground next to the chair is a box full of clothing I wore-out in high school that I am trying to detach myself from so I can get rid of them. From there a dusty TV on the east wall, with my father's Christmas present, The Koran, resting on top of the dust box. My closet, a mess of colors and shoes, weights so I can pump my iron, and my other grandma's Singer Sowing Machine. From there under that north facing window, my dresser I got from a elderly lady I worked with after she died, on top of that a plant I adopted next to the plant are my jewelry boxes filled with Grandma Juanita and Grandma Shirley's jewelry, not the good stuff, my mom has that. From there Slinky's bed is tucked in the corner, with tiny pruning holes all over it. Next to her a bedside stand with a 45 caliber handgun resting on top. Above the gun, a plaque with a cartoon girl picking pedals off a daisy, with the phrase "I love you, I love you not, I love you...Because of you a Daisy died today." This concludes the tour of my bedroom and the inventory of my life. Looking back now, my stuff is kind of interesting.

~L.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

20 minute lifetime in Tide Pools

Eliot's Dry Salvages dives into the depths of the sea, past creatures we know nothing about, it washes us up onto the shores of a distant beach, a tropical isle, an iceberg. But in one moment and one pool, it shows us a glimpse into itself:

"The sea is the land's edge also, the granite
Into which it reaches, the beaches where it tosses
Its hints of earlier and other creation:
The starfish, the horseshoe crab, the whale's backbone;
The pools where it offers to our curiosity
the more delicate algae and the sea anemone." (lines 16-21)

This look into the tide pool, and area that is washed over continuously, always changing is a time trap. Low and high tide happen everyday. It is what surfers use to plan their waves, it is attached to the moon, and helps wash away abandoned sandcastles, as well as destroy ones in progress. The tide is a life in itself.  

Laguna Beach Tide Pools

Growing up around the ocean, I learned about the tide pools and the life that lives in these pockets of oceanic evolution.  When the tide would go out, the kiddies would rush in, peering into the crystal clear portals, involving themselves in the life that survived the rushing waves. And then, POOF, the kiddies must rush away from the deadly tide. Then, back out! The kiddies rush back in and find the pool they were exploring to look completely different. In a matter of moments the tide pool is changed, a lifetime of 20 minutes, waking up to find something completely different. 

I love tide pools and find myself getting lost in them even hear in Montana, dreaming of what life would be like to live by the mercy to the tide. I get lost in my dreams blocking out the now, and entering into my mind, my memories, my imagination, my 20 minute lifetime.

~L.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

My Day of Hogs and Grounds


So it's funny how life works, and your internal clock is more on than the one placed by your bedside. For the past few weeks, I kept waking up exactly at 5:55 am. No matter how many vodka soda's I had had the night before, no matter how late the episode of Californication ran. 5:55...5:55...5:55...Then yesterday, nothing, no 5:55, no 6:00, there was no 6:30, and there was no 7:00. my day was slipping away while I rested my eyes. At 8:00am panic! Rush downstairs, throw food in the dog bowls, grab my backpack and head out over the icy tundra that Lincoln runs along side of.

Wait, class starts at 9:30, always has and always will, at least until May. How could a day devoted to repetition, be so screwed up that my repetition was lost in my slumber? I knew then that it was going to be a good day. And in the end, after a pitcher of Guinness with Tai in honor of Joyce's 128th birthday, and Bill Murray's survival of the repetition, and a bite with Bri at Stacy's bar. I recapped my day by listening to none other than I-Cube's song "It Was a Good Day"

Please go home and enjoy the recap of your day while being serenaded by a great player of the game--I Cube.

I can only hope that today will be better than the last.

~L.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Finnegans Wake found in The Skin of Our Teeth

So far I've only found one part, but both it comes directly from Finnegans Wake:

On page !6 in the beginning Mrs. Antrobus is being attacked verbally by Sabine, and Mrs. Antrobus says, " When Mr. Antrobus raped you home from your Sabine hills, he did it to insult me." Then in Finnegans Wake on page 197 a little over half way down the page it clearly says "...when he raped her home, Sabrine...." this is pretty much the same line exactly. I have no idea how this page found me...well I do know, it's right before my page I selected and so I started reading from the beginning of the chapter on page 196 and luckily I had just been rereading The Skin of our Teeth directly before.  Kind of cool in my opinion.

Alright I'll find more but until then, adieu! 

~L. 

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Finnegans Dialect on the Burg Skern

I was jerst watching Snatched with Brad Pitt and the Pikey's. Erf we could only get Brad ter come
inter class and read Finnegans Wake for us, I think everything would be clear as crystal and no
questions would have to be arsked about the dialect or meaning of each individual word. I'm sure 
a good lot of ye have seen this movie and know the scene veerrry well. If ye havernt just sit back 
and enjoy the marny talents es well es good lurks of Mr. Pitt in arction.

Ye lek degs?
why yes I do!

~L.

Friday, January 22, 2010

Page 199

So instead of choosing the page number by randomly opening the novel, I asked an important person from my past to pick a number between 3 and 628 for me. I gave him no more details and just had him give me a number. "199, because I was just thinking about how dope Travis Pastrama's number is!" Not so epiphanic, but still he got the assignment done for me. I figured I would let someone who was so influential in my life pick the page that I am supposed to find myself, as well as probably him and the rest of the influential people, on. I've read the page over 3 times, and so far I am confused on life.

Iffy Talk

it's like this, and it's like that. in fact it's just how you like it. I type there for i am? or is the fact that i type no part of who i am? capital letters are breezed over in my motion, it's just how i learned. What is Iff supposed to write like? I'm not Iff i do not know what to say, how to say it, or when to say it. I guess it's one of those stream of conscious deals right? OR am i wrong? I look down at my phone to check a text, there's a dog hair inside my screen! Inside my screen? How on earth did it get there? It's for sure a Slinky hair, black and skinny, with a little wave to it. Slinky, how she has grown from the time I picked her up in Mammoth May 12th, 2005, my brothers 25th birthday. I'll be twenty-five this year too! what are the chances? 1 in 3, that's right! The text message says nothing, literally is just a blank message. Who sends blank messages...oh wait it's from my father. A fat finger slip I'm guessing. Yes, here's the next text..."Fat fingers. Sorry. Rain here, big mud slide, houses are evacuated. Snow there? Brrrrr stay warm!" sent from Papa.
The evacuation station...the station fire...




My house, my childhood home, threatened by fires no more than 6 months ago, on my 24th birthday actually. Weird, and now, now there are mud slids threatening to take my home down in the rain. What more could happen. La Crescenta, the only one in the world, the balcony to Southern California. My......... home, sweet home.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

A Lifetime in One Moment




January 8th 2007, the day after my accident. The day the Earth stood still for me at least. I guess to tell you my lifetime moment I should give a short and sweet background. I was living in Reno at the time. Working at a Retirement Home and had a handful of season passes to the different mountains surrounding Lake Tahoe.

It snowed a few inches the day of January 6th, I got work off for January 7th to go ride at Northstar. I rode the day away. Then on the last run of my day, but not the last run I wanted my day to end on, I was hit. I was hit and flipped and broken, by some crazy Raiders fan from Oakland, CA. But i didn't know it. I had no idea what had happen to me.

Flash forward.
January 8th, 2007. I walk into work. But I was not scheduled for work. The nurse at the retirement home sees me walking around and asks me about my day snowboarding. "I haven't been yet, I'm supposed to go tomorrow." I was convinced that I hadn't been to Northstar, and that the day was Thursday not Saturday. I lost an entire day of my life without even knowing it!

So the moment of a lifetime came when I was strapped to a hospital gurney with my body completely immobilized, and a shot of morphine running through my veins. I had just gotten out of the CAT scan room where they had taken pictures of my brain. I over hear Mr. MD say,
"Her brain seems to be swelling, we might need to open her up and give the brain some room."
At that moment, I had the most surreal feeling flood my body. Words cannot explain. Tears began to stream down my face, no sound came with the tears, simply tears, tears, and more tears.

"What's wrong dear?" The nurse asked ever so politely. Silence, I had no words, I had only thoughts. Tears kept pouring out of my eyes. I couldn't stop them.

Finally, with my head stationary, and my mind focused on the one sentence I never thought I would truly ask another person, I asked the nurse, "Am I gonna die?" Her eyes widened and her mouth fell slightly open. I would hope that her training, she would have come across a book of questions like mine, and how to address the person behind the question.

"Don't you worry, you need to rest."

THAT'S IT! That's all that lady has to say to me! You need to rest! Well obviously I need to, and my body can't do much but rest when it's strapped to a wood-plank and a halo is placed around my head, with a shot of morphine forcing me to relax! The tears kept flowing. I was all alone, there was no one, no one to experience the inner thoughts, no one to pull those thoughts out of me. I was trapped, in the hospital and in my mind.

After what seemed like a lifetime and more, Mr. MD came in to talk about what was happening with me. My brain though it was swollen from the impact of hitting the front and back of my skull a number of times, had stopped, and there was just enough room to not have to saw my head open, exposing all my thoughts to the toxic air floating around that wretched hospital. I was held for a while longer, then sent home to enjoy my life.

Turns out they were so concerned with my brain, they forgot to check the point of contact, my back had been fractured. Needless to say I have not been back to that same hospital since. One lifetime moment was good enough for me. I was treated for my back, and now I have nightmares of Swollen Brains in Raiders Jackets flying down the mountain straight for me.

~L.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

The Looking-Glass of Haroun


A link to the poem Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll

A few semesters ago I took Oral Traditions with Dr. Sexson.  In that class we travelled through portals into new worlds with Lewis Carroll as our tour guide.  We went from one place in our memory theaters to another.  Our minds were open to the Doors of Perception and our thoughts blossomed with each portal we came across.  

And today I have found yet another portal while sitting on my couch reading Haroun and the Sea of Stories.  It would only make sense that in the Sea of Stories there would be some connection to the creator of portals in the literally world, Lewis Carroll.  His classic tale of Alice finding herself in the world of Wonderland, and venturing off into another de-mention has somehow found herself on the pages of this entertaining novel.  

As well, I know there is that connection to the Beatles song "I am the Walrus" and yes it is one of those lines that can open more than one door into your mind.  By one simple line I have now found myself in two worlds created by two separate units, and still have a thread that runs through both worlds as well as Haroun's world that eventually leads me right back to where I started from, thus completing the story of the Walrus and Haroun.



When pieces of literature come together, and create a spider web of imagination there seems to be no higher feeling in me.  I connect the low to the high and high to the low, and here is another connection for me to show.  haha well I can only imagine the other connections and portals that will be opened as this book unfolds.  

~L.


Friday, January 15, 2010

Musically Inside Haroun

Aaite all you music lovers out there. Haroun and the Sea of Stories has so many great lines in it that takes me back to times past, and takes me to places I will see in the future.  But one of my favorite songs ever has been quoted in this book, and though the line is a popular line and this low or highbrow story is no exception to the cliche one liners I hope some of you might have picked up on the line on page 70.  If not then venture to the end of this blog and you'll see the line, but first watch the video and see if you hear poetics, it not only is throughout this entire song but it's the last line of the song. (p.s. the lyrics are there too, so for all you readers :-) get your read on and jam out to the classic stylings of one of the greatest trio groups every to grace the Earth, The Fugees: Vocab.



Vocab

Yo, this is the Fugees
Refugees
About to take you on a journey
Into the dimensions of The Booga Basement
The Basement, word
Uhh

Hey yo, one two three! The crew is called Re-Fu-Ge-ee-es
An if yu come fa tes the rap stylee
Stop the violence and just bring it on, wiiild

Hey yo I, feel kind of melancholy people think they really know me
I keep a wrap about me while I'm driving daddy's Audi
I pay the toll fighting for my own soul
Cause the bourgeoise type of mental sucks like a flat comb
But I be baitin the rebel base to bass distort the EQ
The devil's wishin they could send me back to Mogadishu
Cause I've been wild since I was a juvenile
Afro-centric profile, back when righteous rap was your style
Now kids are whylin so I ask the bad black
Boogie bandit, what's the damage, gimme the estimate then
pray tell me when's the revolution will begin?
I turn on my TV I check out Farrakhan on CNN see
I'm like the phantom that's flying like the bird do
And things you never heard plus I come from the suburbs
Word to God, I heard you're acting kind of hard
And you got your skin scarred when they was shootin on the boulevard

(You got the vocab) I got the vocab
(Underground got the vocab) You know we got the vocab
(All my peeps got the vocab) Yeah, we got the vocab
[Lauryn] Aiyyo Praz, grab the mic and show you got the gift of gab

Then cast off from here to Mexico
You see my four-five-six a-be my Celo
And when I rest my head is on a pillow
Be-ba-dee-be, be-dee-be, be-dee-be-bo
You see the skills I manifest is very tho-rough
And if you don't believe me ask Freres Ja-cques
Mmmm, Freres Jacques, Freres Jacques
A dorme vous? A dorme vous?
WATCH OUT NOW! When I choose to speak
I'm forming the cipher fly East to the Five Percenter
Knowledge is born, to all beginners
Cast the first stone, if you feel you ain't a sinner, ahh
Say o-ur father, who art in heaven
Forgive the foolish rapper for he not know how Fugee be steppin
Correct and, stopped and kept in, nuff respect to the
DJ, that be selectin, the type of record ahhh

(You got the vocab) I got the vocab
(The click's got the vocab) You know they got vocab
(Brooklyn got the vocab) We got the vocab
[Lauryn] Aiyyo Clef grab the mic and show you got the gift of gab

Check it out, here we go
Back in Eighty-TREE, no one wanted to be NAPPY
I turn on my TV, it's a dreadlock for FREE
Kill the gimmick
It's nonsense, it's no sense or value
a rapper, disaster, nobody ever told me that
"Roxanne, you don't got to work for money no more!!"... and...
Back in the days I used to listen to Kool G Rap
Way back when before guns became gats and
Run-D.M.C. used to ask Mary was she buggin?
I loved P.E., they kept me concious of what I was saying
Afrika Bambaata, Poor Righteous Teacher
Got within myself so it made me a Five Percenter
Say La-Di-Da-Di, UHH! we like to party but
my jam was BDP, with My Philosophy
Say Grandmaster Flash, MC Melle Mel
Then LL Cool J came with Rock the Bells!
See I'm the one for the crew, like a Jew is a Jew
Like Apollo got the moon, like the men who got the blue
Like the Fu got the Manchu, Chaka got the Zulu
Hawaii got the Honolulu
I got the rap lieu, so skippedy-de-bop-bop you don't stop
You do the rock-rock from hip-hop through be-bop
from be-bop to bee-bee

(You got the vocab) I got the vocab
(Boogie Down got the vocab) You know they got the vocab
(Black people got the vocab) Word, we got the vocab
[Lauryn] Aiyyo peeps, grab the mic and show you got the gift of gab

(You got the vocab) Yeahh, we got the vocab
(Queens got the vocab) You know y'all got the vocab
(Uptown got the vocab) Yeahh, they got the vocab
[Lauryn] Aiyyo, bros grab the mic and show you got the gift of gab

(DC got the vocab) Word, y'all got the vocab
(Virginia got the vocab) Aiyy, I know y'all got the vocab
(Oakland got the vocab) Word, they got the vocab
[Lauryn] Aiyyo, sisters grab the mic and show you got the gift of gab


"Haroun sat astride Butt the Hoopoe and started at the bottle in his hand.  Just one sip, and he could regain for his father the lost Gift of the Gab!" --Rushdie (pg. 70).

Everyone has it, we have to look for that gab that is a gift to all of us.  I don't know what it is but every time I hear the line "gift of gab" I have to think of the deepest, darkest, inner workings of our minds and the lines that come out with effortless ease.  We pass over lines in books that we think means nothing to us, but another reads the same line and finds an endless wealth of knowledge and connections.  There is nothing more than a book that can connect to your soul, and reference the things most near and dear to your soul.  Though writers are not aware of the connections to the millions of readers they have, they know that connections lye much deeper than the individual.  It is a blend of spirit and soul, and I for sure have connected with this book not only for the line that reminds me of heartfelt meaningful music, but for the multiple connections that I have skipped over but others have connected with. Connect not only with your relationship to this book, but connect to the relationship that others are having with this book. 

ooo la la la, music is all we need to connect us to another de-mention and another high or lowbrow genera that we have yet to discover and experience.  

~L.

English Majors, the Odd Stepchild

Lowbrow is to Highbrow as Popular is to obscure.
Lowbrow : Highbrow :: Popular : Obscure.



Lowbrow is everything we all want to see, and have seen, as well as the trashy/cheesy stuff we have seen, and wish we hadn't seen, but have seen it because everyone else has seen it, and we want to be somewhat in that loop of lowbrowness.

Whereas highbrow could be all that stuff we desire to know about, but can't seem to find it on our radar because it is so obscure and so underplayed that no one not even Professor Sexson knows about. Now who am I kidding when I say that Professor Sexson doesn't know something. He is the low and the highbrow of MSU.

As English majors we look for the highbrow because it makes us well versed in literature. We look for the odd stepchild book because we too feel as though we are that stepchild in a sea of Business, Psychology, Engineering, and Agriculture majors. We need the obscure and the less known to define our individuality. But we also look for the lowbrow, because if we want to succeed we must be up to date with what is new and exciting, as well as classic and a must read. English majors, we have the most diverse major of all! We have the whole world in our hands! Now all we need is to harness our low and highbrows and use them for the good of our fellow literature lovers, bring the obscure into the population and bring the population to the obscure.

~L.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

The Beginning


"A whole is that which has a beginning, a middle, and a conclusion" Aristotle wrote in his work Poetics. Does this mean that Finnegans Wake is not a whole? Or does it make the story the ultimate whole to all other stories written? How can a complete book begin in the middle of a sentence and end the same way? I get that it's a complete continuous circle but it is still confusing! Why Joyce. WHY? If Aristotle is right in saying that every whole has a beginning, middle, and end, then this book seems to not be a whole. Perhaps in the next 15 weeks I will discover the whole in which the wake of Finnegan is, and will then have my eyes opened to a structured chaotic world that James Joyce has so kindly put together for us and our reading pleasures.

I had a feeling that before my college career ended I would have to read this chunk of literature for a class, how exciting.

~L.