Spring break day 1

I read a book for fun today. It was amazing; to be able to read for the sake of reading is a new thing for me. I have a sizable (HUGE) reading list. Under the 'en medias res' thing you can see what I am currently reading. I usually bounce around between books, unless one is really good and I read it exclusively.

Anyway when my dad came home from work and asked what I did today I thought for awhile before answering, "Not a Goddamn thing," which was true.

I always dislike that question though. The question isn't really asking what I did today because it would be difficult to recount everything I did every second I did it. What that question really means when someone asks it is, "What did you do today that I would care about or be interested in?"

So the answer depends on the questioner. This may sound obvious, but when you think about it, it's a surprisingly complicated mental process, like a different language that nobody speaks but a lot of people know what is meant--even when the right words aren't said. I think it's interesting.

Anyway I went outside and read Tommy Frank's Memoir. It was suggested to me by a friend at work named Van. Tommy Franks was the general in charge of operation Iraqi Freedom (I think) that got pinned as the fall guy for the blunders in Iraq. I haven't gotten to that part yet, I am on page 189 and he was just about to fall asleep when the gulf war ended.

It's really interesting. I am surprised by how well it is written, not that Generals can't write well or anything. I was being prejudiced towards grunts is all, which is disappointing to learn about myself.

Anyway, while I was reading that our dog Sasha came up to me and stood next to me so I could pet her. Sasha is an Akita, a big thick Japanese bear dog. She is really old and has hip problems and is incontinent so she spends a lot of her time outside. Hers is a really interesting story. She was without a home for 5 years living on our street and everyone, myself included, thought she belonged to some negligent neighbor who I am sure everyone wanted to reprimand for being so negligent. What had happened was her owner moved away and left their dog behind. And Sasha walked the street up and down--it was her street, her home. She watched us when we played, she watched us when we jogged she walked with us when we walked. She was this chill dog. She rarely barked, except at Mormons and Jehova's Witnesses early weekend mornings.

One day my brother was walking and Sasha joined him, just matched his stride after stepping out behind some bushy trees and he noticed her front paws were all red and inflamed and without fur and there were bugs on them. They were mites and tics and other parasites, they made her tremble when she stopped. She was really a scruffy, mangy, ugly blond dog, but my brother took pity on her. He walked the whole street and asked everyone that lived on it if the dog was theirs. They all said no. He asked them if they knew who the owner was, they all said no. The whole walk Sasha walked with him trembling nearby, and scratching her front paws and face. After the discovery that she had no family and survived by the generosity of people on the street, Kevin asked mom and dad if he could take the dog in and take care of it because it wasn't right. We do this, take animals in, and people know it and leave us their animals: kittens in a box in the flower bed, puppies at the door step. We are pet people, and all we had to do was see Sasha trembling with bugs and infection. We took her to the vet.

She had Mange, tics, fleas, lice and other bugs. She was given lots of antibiotics, bug killers and immune boosters because she in effect had doggy AIDS, possessing no immune system. After that we took her home and cleaned her up. She tolerated that, and left a thick ring of dirt and dead skin in the tub. Then came the difficult process of keeping her off the street. Our home was not her home, the streets were her home and she was exceptionally good at escaping. She demanded regular walks, which were more like guard patrols. People saw her on a leash for the first time and went out of their way to confront and scold us for neglecting Sasha for all these years. We had to explain, may times to irate people, that Sasha hadn't had a home, but now she belonged to us. They changed their tune so quick. It was interesting for me to see them go out of their way to confront us, oftentimes with the same angry words, only to learn we were taking Sasha in because no one else would. And to hear almost identical apologies and thanks.

People told us stories about Sasha, things they had seen first hand or heard. Sasha patrolled the streets before we picked her up and scared away other animals. One night she was attacked by a pack of coyotes--which are the bane to animals around here. Attacking her was a mistake. The coyotes must have thought they could kill her, and obviously didn't know the Akita Inu breed was one of the oldest canine breeds ever and regularly hunted huge game, like bears and elk. The pack of 15 or so small coyotes circled her and took turns yipping and snapping, going for the throat, working together to bring her down, as they do with larger animals, such as cows (there is a pasture nearby where they brought a cow down--there were probably 30 of them). Sasha wasted no time and charged into them ferociously attacking the pack which attacked her. Fur flew, yipes and cries echoed and at the end of a minute struggle she was bleeding out of her lip and shoulder, 3 coyotes were dead 2 more limped away as Sasha pursued. The guy that saw this took her to the vet to get stitches, she came when he called.

I remeber a year ago I was walking her and a pair of coyotes were in the creek that runs along side our road and Sasha was going nuts! She wanted to get those coyotes so bad, it was all I could do to hold her back. Luckily I have a lot of exerience with massive dogs...

Which reminds me of a time when I was 14 and walking our dog Slugger (not pictured here), a Newfoundland /chow/sheapard cross. He was a massive black dog that looked super scary, but that's as far as it went. He was a giant puppy, and wanted to play tug of war all day, everyday. He had a deep growl which he always used in play, but scared strangers. Anyway one day I was walking him and he saw a squirrel. The squirrel saw him and the squirrel turned to run away, bushy tail switching side to side. Slugger charged. 112 pounds of 14 year old boy tried to stop 130 pounds of 1 year old dog and failed. I was pulled to the ground and dragged though the pine needles and sticks for what felt like a mile. Eventually, thank God, the squirrel ran up a tree and Slugger couldn't follow and I could unwrap the leash from my hand and pull the pine needles out of my face.

Anyway, Sasha sat next to me outside while I read my book. And I looked at her, not to observe, but to know (conocer). She met me with gentle eyes and an easy pant. Years after we took her in we all kind of lost interest in her because she got old and we got tired of cleaning up her messes, which I maintain she can't help. She is an old dog. I have to say that while everyone else lost interest I gained interest. She reminds me of my own mortality. Age is much more noticeable in dogs, from puppies to strong bodied diligent pets that we take camping and hiking and swimming, and everywhere really, until she can't stand for too long before her rear legs fail on her, or they get osteosarcoma, or renal failure and have to be put down. Sasha is probably not too far from that herself, but while everyone is inside doing homework/work and paying attention to the newer Rottweiler puppy Nina, I am outside with Sasha's head on my lap stroking her face. She just lets me do it. I don't have to tell you what a loyal, trusting dog is like. But this dog is more like a cat than a dog as far as her personality goes. She is quiet, aloof, distant and when she shows any affection we all stop what we are doing and marvel in the rare occurence. Which is why I was content to just pet her outside instead of read or something, her sweet moments are rare I may not experience another.

When I think about her life, I wonder what she thinks about us taking her off the street and keeping her inside on a doggy bed. I can't be sure of what she dislikes, but I can be sure she loves to 'patrol' her street and we take her out every day.

If there is a heaven, and it is run by dogs (or cats, iguanas, snakes or fish) my family will jump to the front of the line.

Finals week reprieve--Pulitzer prize winning journalist attacks atheism.

Chris Hedges is writing a book called, "I don't believe in atheists." Which is going to be similar to his book about the Christian Right, attacking the movement and the ideology of fundamental Christianity.

So, after having debated Christopher Hitchens and Sam Harris, Chris Hedges, a Christian himself, is now afraid of Atheism. As an Atheist myself, this is alarming. As thought there wasn't enough ire for atheists already. Speaking for myself and not all atheists, I desire nothing more than to be left alone to believe whatever I want without fear.

For awhile it was scary to be an atheist, but thanks to the "Four Horsemen" Daniel Dennet, Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens, that has changed and it was tolerable to be an atheist. Chris Hedges book may reverse that. Goody.

Here are some excerpts from a 3 min talking point:

Atheists are incredibly similar to fundamentalists they attack.

They utilize the same methods as the Religious Right: sloganeering, jingoism, characteristic of the hollowness of the Religious Right

They have created a secular religion, like the Religious right, and put people on a moral plane, allowing for an US vs THEM.

They believe in violence as a way to solve problems.

They are as Utopian as Religious Right, and believe in a collective moral human progress.

It doesn't matter what you believe about the apocalypse or that science will create the perfect world, both of those are delusion.

Thus he starts his assault on atheism because...

atheism is dangerous, intolerant, and frightening.
***

I saw the debate he had with Sam Harris, and he didn't do well. He made a lot of strong points, very few of which were positions held by Sam Harris who remained consistent the whole way through. I only know that because I study philosophy. The audience, not so much, and cheered and clapped when Chris Hedges made a random point (indefensible by anyone) and attributed it to Sam Harris. In Logic they call that A straw man Fallacy where you invent your opponents position as something really easy to beat up and then beat it up. A fallacy is a flaw in logic that is simultaneously psychologically suggestive, and the audience bought it. It makes me sad that even though he used all these fallacies against Sam Harris, the crowd, or most of it (the loudest part) bought it, even though Sam had to repeat, "That is not my argument/ that is not my position."

I can only imagine how Christopher Hitchens and Chris Hedges debated, as Hitchens is much more aggressive and analytical, and he has that British delivery.

Anyway, I have a lot to say/think because it is something I care about, it's my life, and I study religion and science both because it's important, I think. Even more so now because religion has power to influence laws and science and bilogy and people and their bodies and sex and all kinds of things it shouldn't have any influence over.

While a part of me is thinking, "Great. All these Christians are going to go out and buy this new book about how Atheism is eViL, and I will have to watch what I say, and what I do."

But another part of me remebers watching "the four horsemen" talking about religion and science and all manner of things and they said that eventually atheism will get attacked by some powerful guy, and not to be afriad of it because it is the natural progression of ideas, that they rattle the cage enough to get a response. And with that new response comes new argument and new areas to shine light upon. So it's a good thing, says them. A sign of progress.

I can't help but feel that this will only divide science and religion/ us and them even more, and Atheism, which is incredibly hated around the world, gets more hate.

To all those theists out there, I don't hate you, and I hope you don't hate me either.
***

It's like everyone is part of a club that I can't be a part of. The fairy tale salvation club. Where the members continue to further their fairy tales and influence medicine and science.

Off the top of my head: Stem Cell Research is a blanket term for the many research methods of stem cells, be they embryonic, or umbilical or placenta.

Here is the issue. Some of the cells in our body do not grow back, namely nerve cells. You are born with one set that grows your whole life, where as skin cells keep growing and dying as long as you live. If you damage a nerve cell, or sever it, it is unrepairable. If you break your neck or back and sever the nerves there you lose function to your body, paralysis. Everything is connected to a nerve cell in some way, any one of which can become damaged and you can lose feeling and function to that one area, be it part of the face, arm or body.

If only there was a way to regrow a damaged nerve cell...

That's where stem cells come in. Stem cells are the cells in a developing human embryo. Remember in 7th grade where the sperm and the egg join, and then divided a bunch of times? Those are stem cells, cells that all other cells stem from: teeth, brain, muscles, skin, all of it.

Now, the issue arises when a human embryo is used/killed to get stem cells that can be grown into any cell needed. That is controversial because one can argue that you are taking one life to save another. One could also argue that life begins at conception, and that is murder.

I could argue with you about those points, and we could get no where. So I have a much simpler solution.

Stem Cells can be gathered from umbilical cords and placenta. Umbilical cords are removed and incinerated after every birth. The placenta is likewise removed and destroyed. I say, if the human embryo is controversial, how about the umbilical cord? Or the placenta? Or the birthing blood? Stem cells are in those things, and we just throw them away after every birth.

***IF***
it is possible to gather stem cells from these things and repair damaged nerves and lost limbs, and eyes and organs and whatever cell you want, wouldn't you want to do SOME (any) research? Wouldn't you want to at least ALLOW scientists to see if it can be used to help us or not?

Also, as a side note, we incinerate embryos all the time. After abortions certainly, but more than that sometimes an embryo adheres to the fallopian tube, rather than the uterus. And it will break the fallopian tube and kill the baby and the mommy. Those have to be removed and incinerated.

And my position is, since it is being killed anyway (by God no less, if you believe that sort of thing, adhering it to the fallopian tube rather than the uterine wall) why not utilize it to cure someone with muscular dystrophy, or paralysis, or 3rd degree burns over most of their body (rather than use a pig's skin, or a motorist who is a donor--we use their parts when they die without much thought.)

It just seems like there is SOME WAY to do SOME research on ANY bit of stem cells, right? Rather than label the whole thing an ABOMINATION, or murder or whatever else, I mean. Surely, there is some way. Be reasonable.

Finals week reprieve--Roomba

This is Roomba. I love Roomba. Roomba is a robotic vacuum cleaner that you set up and walk away from and it cleans a room in about a half hour. Now that may seem like a long time, surely a regular human directed vacuum is faster. And it is, but you have to push it around. Roomba on the other hand, pushes itself around and does a thorough job leaving you to go do whatever you want.

This is how it works: You take "light towers" and place them to set up a perimeter that Roomba stays within. You set Roomba down and push the button that blinks and plays a little happy chime. "Do do de DO" and it starts cleaning.

It is such a cool thing. And its totally mental, we had a vacuum already that worked pretty well--a fancy one. Roomba was about the same price and Kevin pushed for it, "Think about it, you set it and forget it, no more pushing a vacuum around. You can read while it cleans your house." That is what sold Mom I think, she likes reading.

We have a lot of animals, half of them have fur. Our house is always furry, so we vacuum at least once a week, usually on the weekend.

But Roomba does it for us. We are free to do something else, anything else. Its really great and I recommend it to you because vacuuming is lame.

Don't watch Roomba! You will go mental. Roomba doesn't clean like a human, it goes all over, seemingly at random but it moves in the most energy efficient manner.

We liked Roomba so much we got Scooba. Scooba mops the floors, by itself, without human interaction. We cook a lot and make messes a lot and our dog Nina can't seem to keep her mouth closed after drinking and slops water everywhere. The kitchen gets dirty fast and Roomba gets all the dry stuff like hair and rice and whatever else, and Scooba gets the sticky, caked on stuff.

Together they keep the house clean, so we don't have to.

The coolest thing about Robot house cleaners is how sophisticated we feel about it.

"Oh you still push a vacuum around do you? People still do that?"

If Roomba gets stuck or sucks up a sock or something it stops and emits a sad, tragic chime: Bee DOO.

It is the sadest two tone noise I have ever heard and fit easily into our regular conversation.

"Has anyone seen the left over Steak from last night?" asks Dad.

"Oh, I ate it for breakfast," says Kevin.

"Oh, Bee DOO," says Dad

And Bee DOO has popped up in other owners vocabulary as well. Its the epitome of sadness and helplessness and all things tragic.

When Roomba hits a wall it stops, turns and trys another direction and can fit under cupboards and navigate obstructions.

Do your family a favor and get a Roomba, it's worth it.

And finally, Jazzy cat doesn't like Roomba and runs and hides from it, which makes this video of "Roomba Driver" that much more funny.

Enjoy! : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQ-jv8g1YVI

Finals week reprieve--Music

I normally write with music. I have a play list for creative work, and another for editing, and another for critiquing, and another for reading and another for boring homework requiring little brain power.

When I write poetry I listen to classical music, the more dynamic the better. I like the music to go fast and slow and rise high and sink low. It makes pictures in my head. There is a Mussorgsky thing called pictures in an exhibit, and each one is distinct and I see what the song is titled. There is one called catacombs, and its all dark and underground sounding. When I listen to it I see the catacombs, like I am moving through it in a movie and the soundtrack moves with me.

When I edit my work I like to listen to wordy songs, like Bad Religion (my bro's fav, its growing on me slowly) Sublime, and Pepper.

Since I was a little kid I listened to Metallica. I was really drawn to the guitar solos and the words. Now I listen to it as comfort music, even the fast, loud, hard ones. Metallica is my favorite band. And I tried listening to other metal bands, but its been slow going. I don't like screaming, or stupid words or unskilled thrashing, which is most of it.

I can write with Metallica blaring without any adverse effects on my writing, because Metallica has become familiar. New music I can't write with because its too distracting, I listen to the music rather than write words. I think I use it to drown out other sounds, because I am always like, "What was that noise," as though I have to investigate everything. So the music keeps me focused.

Also, in psychology I learned if you do something for 6 months it becomes a habit. I listen to certain songs when I write, so now when the music comes on I get in a writing mood and just HAVE to write. It works pretty well, but there were a few times when I couldn't have music and it was a little more difficult , but not enough to make me realize I was a weirdo.

Looking at my play list now I see my top song is Metallica's "My Friend Of Misery" at 319 times. That song isn't considered their best, (that would be "One") but the beginning bass riff draws you in. Here it is, just the bass part, 1 min: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDyT0LIYr6c

"One" is like an experience and I got to be ready for it, or in some kind of mood to appreciate it fully. The first guitar solo is CrAzY and makes me want to air guitar it, which is good cause I don't know how to play a real guitar, yet.

Once I was driving with Loo, Mike, and Kev and Loo was selecting tracks and she came to One which starts out with machine gun fire and explosions, and she skipped it. We were all like, "What are you doing!? You can't skip One!" and we had to hear it for her sake so she would know when One was coming on for next time. Here is One: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSNJ00iAZ7I

Next on the top of the play list at 267 is Harmageddon by Apocalyptica--a finnish cello quartet that started with Metallica covers, this I like for the sounds that a cello can make: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qx4XNxHkMuc

Next at 254 is another Metallica song "Call of Ktulu" which is an instrumental and just really cool, it starts off with wind and then opens with nice easy guitar and transitions into the other instruments. It is almost 9 mins long: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWGOEWdV13M

Next at 201 is the Moldau (Vlatava) Smetana Symphonic Poem by Antonin Dvorak "From The New World." It is really pretty and starts light and easy and gets heavier and more dynamic. It was the basis for the Batman Theme.

Its late, so good night.

I have to take the dog to the vet tomorrow cause she probably has a bladder infection.

Poor Ninners.

Finals week reprieve--The Omen

One day in the heart of winter in Big Bear I walked to my car. I wore 9 layers of warm clothes and two hats because it was lightly snowing and it was 17 degrees out.

Everything was white. Kinda like the rolling stones song Paint it Black, but the opposite. White. And remove the emotion in the song, because nobody died on my way to school. I mean 6390 Americans die every hour, but I didn't know them, so I didn't care. I mean I say I do in social settings to not sound like a monster, but I don't really.

That's 107 Americans that die every minute of every day. The amount of humans that die around the world every second is probably around 3 or 4. The amount of life that ends per second is probably around 1,107 including bugs and whales and fish. I totally made that number up. You get the idea. Death happens all the time, every second of every day, but I don't pay any attention to it. I doubt you do either. Unless one of those 107 per minute is a friend or relative, then I am sorry for you loss.

This post is not about death. What follows actually happened.

Anyway, as I walked to my car through the winter wonderland, with crystal crusted pine needles and frosted tree trunks, there was a single raven in the scrub oak near my snow covered car.

Amidst all this white, that raven stood out as the antithesis of this monochromatic world. I stopped and looked directly at the raven. The raven looked directly at me. The wind stopped blowing, the trees stopped swaying, the snow stopped falling and for a brief moment all sound ceased. In that moment the raven cawed a piercing powerful caw that seemed to thunder throughout the silent world.

Maybe you heard it.

Maybe you didn't.

It froze me in my tracks. Bundled up with my books and bags I could only stare at the raven who held me with its gaze, its deep, dark onyx eyes looking not at me, but to me, into me.

As far as I could tell, the raven and I were the only two living things at this moment. Then the wind started up again, and the other noises resumed. The raven flew away.

I thought that this moment was significant at the time because it effected me for the rest of the day, and I write about it now.

After school I looked through my many books to see if I could find the reason this felt so familiar a situation. It felt like a Viking symbol for something, but the raven is a loaded symbol.

The raven is a powerful image. This could have been a crow, I can't tell the difference unless they are next to one another. (ravens are bigger, and smarter--but you can't tell by looking at them) Anyway, there is Edgar Allan Poe's Raven, there is the Sioux belief that the raven created the world and is a symbol of rebirth (the Sioux people saw ravens leap out of the corpses of fallen animals and didn't know they were eating and though they must sprouted out, similarly to the magical power of women who could spontaneously create life--man's input was not known to be needed for this.)

Odin/Woden/Wotan is the Scandinavian/German God referred to as the All-Father. He is a warrior/poet/sage. He is really interesting, take my word for it. He has an eight legged horse named Sleipnir (Slippy) who is black like the night sky with stars twinkling (literally). He has two wolves that follow him everywhere he goes named Geri (Greedy) and Freki (Ravenous). And he has two ravens that fly around the world at dawn named Huginn (Thought) and Muninn (Memory) and return to Woden's shoulders at dusk and whisper into his ear what they have seen.

(Here is a poem about it from Grímnismál:

Old Norse:

Huginn ok Muninn fliúga hverian dag

iörmungrund yfir;

óomk ek of Huginn, at hann aptr ne komit,

þó siámk meirr um Muninn.

English:

The whole world wide, every day,

fly Huginn and Muninn;

I worry lest Huginn should fall in flight,

yet more I fear for Muninn.

The play on words is better seen with a variant translation: Every morning the two ravens Huginn and Muninn, are loosed and fly over Midgard (Earth, lit: Middle Earth) I always fear that Thought may not wing his way home, but my fear for Memory is greater.)

They also bring omens.

To see either of them is good tidings. To have one of them look directly at you and caw once in the absence of sound is something entirely different.

That is an omen.

And the moment of the caw is supposed to be Woden's agreement with what you are thinking, if you were thinking.

What was I thinking? Was I thinking?

I had something on my mind, a quandary. Two difficult choices, and one of them received Woden's personal pledge as the correct thing to do. I can't remember what it was. Figures.

If it were 1200 CE and I was German/Scandinavian I would know exactly what that meant. I would probably get promoted to high priest status, having been chosen by Odin. And get extra mead and Viking babes.

But in 2009, what am I supposed to do with that?

I should share it.

I know what you are thinking.

"D00d, it was just a bird that cawed at you. Crows/ravens do that. It just so happens that the wind stopped and all noise ceased at the exact same time to make the caw seem more resonant to you. It was just a bird. It was not Huginn or Muninn because there is no Odin. There never was an Odin. You were trippin.'"

Now that I typed that I see the parallels when I argue with people of faith. If I believed in anything, it would be in Odin. And if I did, your words would have no effect on me. I see now how silly it was of me to convince people their belief in an imaginary person is misplaced.

He is the only God that cares about me. He sent me a sign. He loves me and wants me to be happy. Isn't it obvious?

I just wish I could remember what it was he thought I should do.

Finals week reprieve--Workshop

The creative writing workshop is a strange place.

If you are presenting you sit in silence and write down what the other people say that you think is important. I usually write it all down, which is difficult when people talk fast.

But this only works if the people do what they are supposed to do, namely read my story/poem before workshop, think about it, and write comments and ask questions.

Oftentimes that doesn't happen, they read it 5 mins before class, underline a word or two, write "That's dope" or put a star next to a line or something. I use to just shrug it off: whatever, you didn't read my poem, maybe you'll read the next one.

But when I look over the critiques I get back, where people have doodled all over my papers, I see how the vast majority of people did it 5 mins before class, or during the workshop. When I go to write a second draft useful critiques are in short supply and its very unhelpful to have so little. It bothers me, a lot. But it doesn't bother me because I am inconvenienced.

The reasons it bothers me: 1st, I take my writing seriously, and I take the writing of other seriously. 2nd, those slackers expect me to give them a thorough critique, which I do because it is required. But I think what bothers me the most is that those people get a passing grade just like I do, and they are ok with that, allowing mediocrity to flourish.

My advanced poetry workshop this quarter was awesomes. It was eight people and about 4 hours. They got into the nitty gritty and really ripped it apart. It was great.

Prose poetry on the other hand had about 15 people, 3 of which read my poem before class and wrote meaningful comments. The rest wrote down the things that the professor said. Like he said, "A prose poem has to get beyond it's subject, Brian." and 12 papers get returned to me that say, "A prose poem has to get beyond it's subject, Brian."

I guess I take objection with the mindset that that is an ok thing to do.

There is no story here.

I guess I am just whining.

Sorry.

Finals week reprieve--Strengths

As I understand it form my peers:

As a writer, my strength lies in description and attention to detail. I really focus on things, often times to the detriment of a story. I know this, and I don't know why I do it. I have to consciously reign it in, because people don't want to read that unless it is pertinent to the story.

Left to my own devices I would just describe the hell out of something and have the glimmer of a plot that would tie multiple descriptions together, and the flow of the language and words would be enough to enjoy.

I don't know why I am interested in describing things. It's the poet in me I guess. I have mostly written poetry recently with Advanced poetry and Prose poetry both this quarter, which would mean I have taken mostly poetry classes overall despite my nonfiction emphasis. And as it turns out prose poetry is really good for meditations, descriptions and sounds. So I can get my kicks with prose poetry and write other things.

Another strength I have is my intellect. I am not saying this to brag. I have a high intelligent quotient which allows me to learn new things quickly and remember a lot of stuff. The trick is to take that stuff and present it in simple terms to share with a reader how/why it matters. I oftentimes use my knowledge and intellect to place things in my writing to distract from the fact that I don't have much to say. I use this often, and I have gotten into this habit so much that I use it in social situations and around people. I do it to add to the conversation, not to be pretentious and say, "Hey look what I know that you don't," for example I was talking poetic theory with a friend and I quoted Aristotle's Poetics to make a point, and my friend said it was really cool that I was able to accurately quote Aristotle poignantly because it added to the conversation. One time in advanced fiction class we did an exercise where we given words and had to write a story. One of my words was "Wolf" Earlier that day I had learned there were less than 250k wolves left in the wild, so I put that in there and Erin said, "Only Brian would know something like that. It's totally him." Later we talked about it and I said it was this thing that I milk, like an udder, to fill my story up. She said hers was digressions. I like her digressions, she likes my random ass knowledge, so I guess I should embrace it as distinctly mine and incorporate it more often. Some people, Erin included, like to learn stuff when they read. I do too, so I regularly include stuff that I think most people don't know. Which causes me to over look or pass things up that I think aren't interesting enough to write about and find things that are eccentric and eclectic and oftentimes obscure.

Couple all this with my desire to have a lot of love and attention and you have my reason for writing. I write to entertain, to teach, and to have people tell me how cool it was, or how much they enjoyed it. I don't know why I do this. I must be odd. I want to be the smart guy in the room, but not the asshole smart guy.

It can be a fine line and I am good at walking it.

finals week reprieve--tommy has a pingin flap

While I was away at school my brother and my woman continued to create weird inside joke sillyness with our animals.

some highlights:

A cat we had named Arrow was very grumpy. When he was picked up he growled. A deep long growl like it belonged to a puma. rooowwwwwwwww! So Kevin, randomly, would squeeze the cat in such a way that he looked like an accordion which fluctuated his rowww-ing: roOW-ow-OW-OW-OW! for example.

Our dog Buddy, a chocolate lab who is really the sweetest most chill dog we have ever had became the object of sillyness when Kevin picked him up and sat down with him in such a way that Buddy's feet were facing the ceiling. Then Laura would ask a question, such as, "Who is a pooping machine?" And then Kevin would press on Buddy's elbow which would cause his paw to raise straight up in the air as though he were raising his hand to answer a question. All manner of questions could be asked, as long as the answer was always, "Me."

One of our cats Jasmine (AKA Jazzy, Murrs, Black Ball of Death (BBD) and Stupid Cat!, but mostly Murrs.) has her ears flipped inside out by Kevin at the cries of the rest of the family and then lets her go so she can walk about the house with inside out ears. The ones most bothered by this is everyone else, Murrs doesn't seem to care. But everyone chases after her to correct her inside out ears and scold Kevin at the same time.

So the new thing has been to take our big flabby cat Tommy, a tabby with patterns like an Ocelot, and hold her in front of himself like a rabbit. He holds her back feet with one hand and under her arms in the other and stretchers her out. Then he places something on her feet, like a plastic easter egg or a battery and scrunches her together. Her stomach flab comes plops down and oozes over the egg or battery or whatever and he says, "Tommy has a Pingin flap!" which is from Laura mispronouncing Penguin all the time.

I don't know why they do that. It is always the same.

Finals week reprieve--Hands Free July 1st, its the law.

Before it was illegal to drive and use a cellphone I noticed how many black light bulb billboards said the same thing one day on my way to school. The black light bulb billboards usually give time estimates to upcoming junctions or tell us to look for a certain kind of car that has abducted a child. But on the weeks before July first every sign said the same thing:

Hands free July 1st
It's the law.

I had no idea what they were talking about. I later assumed cellular phones, but I wasn't sure at the time.

So I did some research about the law that mandates hands free July 1st. This is what I learned:

First of all it is Dangerous! Using ONLY ONE HAND to drive and another to hold a phone to your ear robs yourself of valuable accident avoidance ability. It oftentimes causes the head to be tilted, causing the eyes to view the world askew and messes with our depth perception. Apparently any violent head movement distorts visual faculties and should be avoided at all costs, they are dangerous, which is bad.

Second of all the cellphone law is there to help us, stressing several times that driving with TWO HANDS is essential. Which is why a hands free device is substituted so you can still drive with BOTH hands AND talk AT THE SAME TIME!

Third of all you need BOTH EARS devoid of noise, which is why the hands free device is in only one ear. An iPod in BOTH ears is bad because you need to hear the accident coming, tires screeching and sirens.

It says in the California Drivers handbook that you must drive with TWO HANDS on the wheel at all times, failure to do so could result in death. Which is bad, and I don't want to be bad.

Based on this information, I like the cellphone law; it was created to make it safer while driving.

But now that I know of the dangers, I want more.

I had no idea that driving with one hand was so dangerous--indeed I have even driven with (look ma'!) NO HANDS, but with a knee or thigh or shin.

Which I will never do again, now that I know. (and knowing is half the battle)

But now that I know how dangerous it is, when can I expect a hands-free climate control law? Because I have to REMOVE ONE HAND from the steering wheel to adjust the temperature inside my car and beyond that I have to MOVE MY EYES downward to see where I am stretching my hand and fingers. This would require voice activated climate control most likely, that would be the easiest, or maybe maybe maybe controls on the steering wheel itself. Some car companies have already started doing this, like GM. But it would have to be accessible without removing the hands.

When can I expect a hands free CD player law? This would be similar to the situation above, except my hand would effect audio changes rather than temperature changes.

What about a hands free food law? It's dangerous to eat and drive because it takes ONE OF YOUR HANDS which you need for driving. I think this could be resolved by a robotic/automated feeder. Before you start your car you would place your food on the auto-feeder and then voice activate it to feed you as you drive allowing BOTH HANDS for the steering wheel, as it should be. This could be expanded to allow the eating of food that is rare inside cars like fillet mingnon, other steaks, sushi, udon and other noodle dishes like spaghetti.

What about a hands free urination law? Nothing is more demanding while driving than peeing at 70 miles per hour. This sometimes requires BOTH HANDS and BOTH EYES and focused attention AWAY FROM THE ROAD and OFF THE STEERING WHEEL. I think this could be resolved similarly to the auto feeder: The auto peeer. You would either have to plug yourself in before you start driving, or voice activate it as you are driving. Then it would have to unzip, unfurl, ready a catch-can and etc. This might be more difficult for the female population, but I think it could be done. Then we would have equality in peeing at 70 miles per hour, which is a step in the right direction I think. Think of the new experiences that could be given to 154.7 million women in the USA alone.

What about a hands free turn signal law? I have to REMOVE ONE HAND to use the turn signal. Now I would suggest maybe a voice activated turn signal, or a more intuitive auto signaler that detects steering wheel rotation and simply turns the signal on depending on the direction, but the turn signal is hardly used on the motor ways, I think we could just get rid of it. Its more of a distraction now anyway: "Whoa he just used his turn signal, did you see that?" And distractions may pull our eyes away from the road, which is dangerous, which is bad.

What about a hands free gear shifter law? This would remove a huge number of manual cars from the motorways. This would require retrofitting of paddle shifters like on Formula One cars, Ferrari, Lamborghini and BMW's. These paddle shifters can be activated by fingers while the hand still rests on the wheel itself, thus allowing BOTH HANDS for the wheel.

What about a hands free window control law? I think this could be on the steering wheel like a CD player and Climate control.

The other side of this dilemma is the cause of head tilting, skewing our depth perception. To this end I expect a law against sneezing. Now this maybe more difficult to do than some of the other ones. This biological dilemma is not easily solved. But major medical breakthroughs have been made when the need is great, and I think the need is great in this case. If not biological solutions, a mechanical anti-sneeze machine, or sneeze-guard may need to be invented. This machine would detect a sneeze either by voice activation or detailed tomography and spring into action. It would have to hold the head to prevent abrupt head jerks, and catch the boogers, saliva and mucus that flies out of the nose and mouth at 112 miles an hour. This could cause problems with other auto helper machines. The best solution would be to remove the nose all together. It's the nose that causes a sneeze in the first place. The nose serves as a filter to our lungs, but it is just a bunch of slime covered hairs; I bet a more effective HEPA type filter could be used instead to prevent air impurities from making us sick, and we would never have to deal with a runny nose again.

Also as cars get more isolated from the outside, and seeing how we need our ears, we would need to have the stereo transmit the music directly into our brain leaving our ears free to listen for accidents, tires screeching and sirens. This could open up a new genre of stimulation allowing for the transmitting of visual imagery to the brain rather than audio imagery--other imagery could be utilized as well. This would also require that all passengers not speak while the car is moving. Instead communication would have to be by mechanically enhanced psychic abilities or awakening dormant ESP abilities. That way the passenger's ears could also be utilized for accident detection.

And because safety is the ultimate goal here the next step would be to pass laws based on manual dexterity and the possession of two hands. A new corner of the DMV would have to be allocated to testing the dexterity of each driver's hand to make sure they can grip the steering wheel while flicking various switches and knobs. This would be a pass/fail test and would be added to the written license test, and the behind the wheel drivers test. And those people without two functioning hands would be outlawed from driving, including, but not limited to: those with hooks, pliers, prosthetics and lobster claws.

This could also open up an entirely new job market/skill set: Driver's Aide. This would be for drivers who might not be able to afford the auto machines and sneeze-guard, but could afford to hire a person to ride with them and utilize the turn signals, climate control, CD player, gear shifter, food and mobile urination functions. This would give more jobs to Americans, and this could be adopted to other countries, raising our GDP and might even help fight a financial crisis.

I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

This is a small price to pay for safety. I for one want to be as safe as possible and await these new laws with great longing. When they do come it wont be soon enough.

Finals week reprieve--one trick pony

A famous published poet came into our workshop one day. Her name was Barbara Goldberg, a little Jewish lady from the Bronx, she was (tough!) funny. Anyway, professor Simon was explaining sestinas to the class before Barbara came, and she was asking for end words to show how they repeated for each of the six stanzas and 39 lines. The students gave 5 words and then stopped, so for the six one as a joke I said, "Copernicus" cause it is the antithesis of the kind of word you want, some really easy word with lots of meaning and lots of homophones. And Maurya said, "You're going to be real sorry you picked that word because you want easy end words. It is impossible to write a sestina with Copernicus as an end word." and I said, "Oh yeah?" And she said, "YES!"

It was a challenge, and I did it, and did it well. I blew her mind and Barbara Goldbergs as well (also a lot of other poets and faculty). Anyway Barbara talked about how amazed she was with me, which was really cool, coming from a fancy schmansy publilshed poet from Nuwerk.

But when she got to my poem to critique she asked, " What is it about Brian's poetry that makes it distinctly his?" And I was wondering that as well because I keep hearing from my peers, "Wow this is totally you, Brian" or some version of that.

So then the class, rather easily, says, "The voice is usually intellectual, objective and factual with a pensive tone usually to solve some kind problem."

And then Barbara Goldberg said, "Yeah, I noticed that immediately. He writes a style of poetry called 'meditations'-- how one thinks, we go into their brain, see how their mind works, and its associations. It usually has to do with big ideas and research and it moves around the ideas, sometimes coming back to old ones."

And I was like, "So that is what my poetry is. That's what makes it distinctly me. That's pretty cool." I thought at the time, having discovered something new about myself.

But when I got home and looked at some of my old work I saw that it was the same kind, meditations, all of it.

All this time I thought I was trying new things and stretching my abilities, but I see now its all the same thing, like I am some kind of one trick pony incapable of writing anything else.

It made me really sad.

Here is the impossible Copernicus sestina:
The end words are: five, century, hide, or, Copernicus, done. the order changes for each stanza, and the words must repeat. They can be homophones. So I use Oar, as well as Dun a couple times.


Counting Alligators With Nicolaus Copernicus
“…25 alligators, ready or not here I come.”
~me, circa 1991

Yesterday I turned twenty-five
and realized I’ve only been alive for a quarter of a century.
A few days earlier I was "it," facing a tree and counting alligators for hide
and seek. Will my life always involve remembering simplicity, or
will it be simple again? Did the great men before me—Caesar, Alexander, Copernicus—
wonder where their time went? Did they compare their lives to what others had done?

Julius Caesar was in Spain at my age, saddling his shaggy dun
to ride out and quell a rebellion. When Alexander reached twenty-five
he was proclaimed Master of the Universe by newly conquered Egypt. Copernicus
wrote the heliocentric theory published in the sixteenth century,
theorizing that earth encircled the sun and our world wasn’t the center of the galaxy or
the universe, as the scriptures said. He didn’t have to hide

like Galileo Galilei, or Isaac Newton did. Hide
for fear of the inquisition branding their skin—Heretic—their lives done
for, forfeited. Did they ever wonder what marks they’d leave on the world? Or
were they too busy inventing calculus and trigonometry at twenty-five—
something indispensable for my century,
something that would have changed the theory of Copernicus,

had he known? I imagine Copernicus
standing on a boat traveling through Venice, his hide
cloak hanging to his boots, papers wedged under his arm. In his century,
did he realize he made a liar out of God? Could he imagine what would be done
five-
hundred years later with his theory, or

was he focused on balancing in the boat; each stroke of the oar
worrying him—clutching the only existing copy of heliocentric theory? Copernicus
(smiter of the faith-based geocentric theory at twenty-five)
challenged eons of belief, paving the way for the future, without need to hide
in fear of excommunication. When the last dun
evening came, did he realize what he had given his century?

Will I give anything to my century?
Will my words be hailed like Shakespeare’s, 500 years after my death? Or
will I be the first victim of some new disease they will name after me? Done
in by The Me Disease, like Lou Gehrig, or George Huntington. Copernicus,
greatness did not hide
from you when you reached alligator twenty-five.

I wish I could ask you, Nicolaus Coppernicus,
I feel like I am counting alligators, one for each year, playing hide
and seek with greatness, and I want to know there are only twenty-five.

finals week reprieve--autopilot

so its finals week, last final is saturday. I don't like the word so. I never have. But on my poetry revisions from people they say to add a "so" here and there and I am like, "NO way!" so is a stupid word and is only good for conversations and informal writing, but poetry is supposed to be all highfalutin.

"Each word is valuable real estate, words like so, like, kinda, well, alright, blah blah blah shouldn't be used"

says the poetry professors, and I am inclined to agree. This post is not about so.

What it is about I don't know, but I think I am becoming neurotic.

Which is medical blanket-statement of the literary equivalent of "something is amiss," and I don't know what it is. I wonder if it's from my solitary confinement at the cabin this quarter?

Like I need to re-learn how to socialize and be around people all the time again.

Here is a story I don't want to tell:

I was walking across campus at 3pm one day (I had been up since 5am doing ancient history and Chinese philosophy homework) and I walked by a writer friend who I hadn't seen in a year probably. She recognized me and smiled great big and said, "Hi Brian!" And I recognized her and I smiled too and I planned to say, "Hi Virginia!" but my lips were stuck together and I couldn't open them to speak.

They hadn't been opened all day. (but I didn't know that at the time)

I was surprised and had to fix them with my hand and then said "Hi Virginia!" And we talked briefly, and then went to our separate classes.

It wasn't until I sat down at my next class that I realized why it was my lips were stuck together.

I was in autopilot. I Woke up, studied, wrote essays, came down the mountain with food on the go, went to class one, took notes, went to class two, took notes, walked to the science library and checked out a book, and never spoke to anyone.

If Virgina hadn't said "Hi!" to me I wouldn't have noticed I was autopilot and ignoring people and not speaking.

I would have remained in autopilot as I slipped into bed.

I also started talking to myself, just to hear a human voice, when I was alone up there.

My mom talks to herself sometimes. I must get it from her. Thanks mom.

I think being alone gave me ADD. Today my girlfriend of nearly 4 years and I were on a date (1st one in several months) and she was talking to me about...well I don't know what it was about because I tuned her out.

I was focused on dragging my chopsticks through pools of soy sauce to connect them and watch the capillary action (which is actually pretty poor, not like water) as drops flow into one another. Then I started connecting the drops and making a new shape that looked like the continental USA so I started working on that.

"...did you hear what I said? Are you even listening to me?" she asked.

"Yeah," I lied.

"What did I just say?" she asked. I thought back to see if I could remember. I could remember December. And also she started about school and not knowing which one to go to.

"School didn't get your transcripts until December." I said as though stating the sky was blue, or giving my weight.

"Close. It's disgusting how well you lie."

"Yeah."

"You weren't even listening to anything I was saying."

"I started to."

"And then?"

"I stopped."

"Why."

"I got tired of listening"

"That's great. At least your honest."

"Yeah."

And then she got mad and started to make a scene, so I just got up and left. I held my hand out behind me as I walked and she dropped the keys in my hand and I drove back to where I parked. I think she scolded me while we were in the car. I dont really remember.

What I do remember was the realization that I didn't care; and how disgusted I was with myself because of it.

I was on autopilot, coasting through life, doing the bare minimum to pass by without attention while my mind occupies itself with frivolous things until the next task.

I was on autopilot with her.









I was on autopilot with her.
Jesus

It keeps blowing my mind up!

a book showed up at my favorite space in the science library called Reverse Time Travel. It was black and boring with gold face type. The title alone was enough to interest me, so I flipped through it. It was full of pictures and charts and diagrams and...math equations...which were really scary. But I figured Kevin might like it. So for the first time ever I checked a book out at UCR. That was easy.

I gave it to Kevin, said it looked cool but I know nothing about...equations...and the like. He said he was really busy but he would try to read it. He texted me the next week, "D()()D! That book is crazy! It blew my mind!"

When I came back the next week he gave it back and said I should read it, and that the...equations...weren't so bad. I started reading it 2 days ago.

On page 3 I think my brain exploded, and so on and so forth. I am halfway through it now, but it truly is amazing despite the...equations...

For example, a 10 foot long space craft decreases in length the closer to light it travels. At half light speed (335 million miles an hour) it would be about 6 ft long because space and time are just two different ways to measure the same thing. What?!?! [HEAD EXPLODES]

Warp speed or SciFi's answer to everything is FTL (faster than light) travel, usually involving "jumps" or "warps." This is impossible because the acceleration forces would turn a human pink vapor. The fastest you can continually go is the speed of gravity (9.81 meters per second squared) cause that is what we are use to.

OK, I got to go now but I will come back and blow your mind again.

I leave you with one more thing.

As you travel faster towards the speed of light the craft scrunches up until at light speed it is so thin it is two demensional, like a piece of paper. But the destination, or the distance to the destination also shrinks, that is called time dilation. So even if something is 100 lightyears away you could travel at the speed of light or close to it, and reach it in about 33 years, but to you on board it would seem instantaneous, too everyone else it would take 33 years. [brain explodes]