Wednesday, April 28, 2010
DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNN! Final Blog
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
My Paper
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
just a little taste of my performance for today
Stretched to the point of no turning back
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Dear Class, HELP ME!!!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Homeward Bound--My Incredible Performance
Saturday, April 3, 2010
My Storytelling Paper
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Home Sweet Home Our Six Sense
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.
You're never to old to find the way Home.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Suffocated by The Alchemist's Motivation
tell your mother to read
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Game of Chess
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.
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.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
my interesting inventory
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
20 minute lifetime in Tide Pools
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
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Finnegans Dialect on the Burg Skern
Friday, January 22, 2010
Page 199
Iffy Talk
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.
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
Friday, January 15, 2010
Musically Inside Haroun
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
English Majors, the Odd Stepchild
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.