throwing clay

a few weeks ago, I was inspired to start sketching again (with paragraphs and writing), so this may not turn out to be a fully formed post. I'm working on being okay with that. it's been a good long while since I've written anything longer than a few paragraphs here. as I spent more and more time away from this blog, a "comeback" became a larger and larger thing in my mind. it didn't matter that I probably lost every one of my regular readers over that stretch of time; I wanted to "say something", stand out from other blogs (especially as more and more people created mediocre blogs.) after about three years, I found myself where I had already been. that's one thing about a journey of a thousand miles that some people neglect; with one leg an imperceptible bit shorter than the other, ten thousands steps forward will bring you back to where you began.

so I'm trying to shift paradigms a little. rather than thinking about these next years as a grand journey I embark on, I'm just going to doodle more. and by more, I mean a ridiculous amount. in code, in writing, in random contract pursuits, whatever. for my writing habits, in particular, this is a pretty huge change. for the longest time, my writing style was inspired by that scene in Amadeus where Salieri looked over Mozart's manuscripts:

...they showed no corrections of any kind. Not one. He had simply written down music already finished in his head. Page after page of it as if he were just taking dictation. And music, finished as no music is ever finished. Displace one note and there would be diminishment. Displace one phrase and the structure would fall.

I was inspired by the anecdote of Kerouac locking himself away and writing On the Road in three weeks on a giant roll of paper. the story goes that he got hepped up on benzedrine (or according to him, just coffee) and pounded everything out on this one giant roll of paper so that his inspired fervor wouldn't be interrupted by petty things like changing the paper in his typewriter. I imagined Douglas Adams as described in the Salmon of Doubt. he was the one who said, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." sometimes, it would get to the point where his editor would sit in his living room with an unfinished manuscript while Adams bounded up and down his stairs typing and delivering one page of a story at a time. I thought of the rogue Hunter S. Thompson and how he preferred the typewriter because nervousness about making any mistakes gave him the edge he needed to concentrate on his writing.

much of the early writing on this site reflected these influences. during college, I took pride in being able to write 4 and 5 page essays by hand with few, if any, rewrites. by late college, I discovered that to complete longer assignments I only needed as many hours as pages due. eight page assignments were started exactly eight hours before they were due, etc. the longest stretch I attempted a 15 page semester project that was began in the library so I could start my research exactly 15 hours before I ran into the classroom to turn it in. I got an A and the paper was pretty good, but I think I reached some threshold. my fifth year, I tried to pull the same stunt with an article I wrote for the college newspaper. I think the caffeine and lack of sleep blew a brain gasket at about 4am the day the article was due. my editors dragged the article out of me kicking and whining (both the article and me) and sent me home to sleep for about 15 hours. I was never quite happy with it, but never finished fixing it for this site.

at the same time, the stories of genius taking dictation from God were beginning to crack. Mozart's greatest contributions came much later in his career, after much experimentation and many "on the fly" revisions. Kerouac's work underwent something like three years of revisions. I began to develop an appreciation for Beethoven's near obsessive-compulsive grinding and polishing of pieces into perfection. I was reading and re-reading Dweck's studies about mindset and Ericsson's (et. al) theories about the ten-thousand hour rule for "genius." even chess masters' alleged ability to see a bajillion moves in advance was broken down by cognitive science into somewhat mundane component parts. not to join the pop-culture reference bandwagon, but this was the inception of a new philosophy.

start small

three broad goals for 2010
1/ follow bliss: be less hindered in the search for ecstatic moments. doing so requires the realization of: "any commitment, that is, any progression from a state of perfect balance, must create, a vulnerability."
2/ be more peaceful: "it does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. it means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart."
3/ reduce the moobs a little: seriously. or get a manssiere.

cleaning out some old email

Today, my professor was telling us about this one case where state police towed and impounded this car, whose owner hadn't put coins in the meter. The court found such seizure to be unreasonable b/c the car owner came running out, as the car was being towed, and offered to pay not only the meter, but the cost of towing and inconvenience, as long as they just didn't take his car away. The reason? Apparently, he had a bag full of rubber penises in his trunk, which apparently is illegal in Texas to have.

Anyway, this story made me think of you. Well, you and one of the quotes on your page.

Hope all is going well for you...

Jess
[04/2005]

white belt in verbal judo

this is a short piece I wrote for the ADHS website in 2005 regarding events of December 2003. the non-profit I was working for at the time was contracted by the Roman Catholic Diocese of Phoenix to give "Safe Environment" and sexual assault / abuse prevention workshops to all Catholic schools in the area. given that the POWER program was delivered to 7th through 12th graders, the junior high and elementary schools would often invite parents to an "information session" about a week before we would present to each school. through some fluke of scheduling, I was sent to this parent night pretty much by myself before I had ever delivered or even seen the entire program. (the other presenter mentioned is not Tom, but someone who presented another program and couldn't help answer any questions about mine.)

This "baptism by fire" will be funny in hindsight, I tell myself.

I barely stifle a smirk. I doubt that the men and women glaring at me would share my amusement. Surprisingly enough, even the nicest of people completely lose their sense of humor when perceiving a threat to their children. There is a moment of silence as I look down at the wilting piece of notebook paper my mentor had scrawled a very rough outline on. The answer isn't there, but even if it was, I wouldn't realize it because in this magical moment, I manage to forget what was asked of me.

Welcome to my first parent night ever.

email from the other side of the world

Raymundo
how you been? i'm in a very dark place...seriously, lots of clouds. there's a really cool coffee shop in walking distance. owned by a woodcarver, it's part art gallery part place to ingest caffeine while sitting on 60s? 70s? furniture of hues born of a color wheel that doesn't exist in college art courses (and perhaps with good reason). It's got a co-op vibe--when employee steps out for a smoke, customers take over barista responsibilities, which is ok bc there's no formal menu and Boss is an arthritic border collie, and she just don't give a shit. With dog hair on the couches and a fly in my steamed milk, i'm just waiting for the hint of a social cue to strip of my clothes and sip my java the way nature intended. i'll keep you posted on that front. anyway, this place naturally made me think of you. hope all is well.
Brien

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