Freewrite 1

{{Alright, this is freewrite. Basically I just started typing whatever came to mind without stopping. After that I isolated some sections, elaborated on them, forced out some more writing, and finally made a first draft of a piece to be looked at in workshop tomorrow. Lots of work to be done, but I felt like sharing the thought process }}

I’m not sure where I mam going with this or where I am beginning. I guess I could start with when I wqas a kid I drilled holes in the walls of my home downstairs in the dark where the babysitter couldn’t see and nobody was around but the triplets where watching I wouldn’t let them actually partake in the drilling because I I don’t know why not, because it was my ting? Because it was something that I was doing? Maybe. I just remember that I wanted a place for them to live and be safe. I don’t remember this vut apparently I tried to knock a hole in my aunts wall when I was little so that the spiders would ahhave a hoe. I wonder why I cared about them so much and I wonder why everyone else cared about them so little. What make sa person hate some thinf so much> A spider isn’t cute. Not cute. 8 legs, many eyes, not cuddly, In most cases all it’s bite can do is give us an itch. A dog can leave a steaming pile of crap, chew up our shoes, drool, bite and draw blood, be loud, be obnoxious, beg, demand thing s of us. I’ll very dynamic characteristics, and while a spider has none of these, they do nothing more play no deeper role than make us starer make us see them but not even make, small speck, living it’s life in warm home, unaware that we consider it a n intruder. Not cuddlt. Not demanding. In class stareing at wall, bored, at ork, bored, watxching tv lecture laying in bed lover beside me tracing circles on skin finger nail brushing slowly along arm to shoulder to neck nip of teeth on chin, bored, spider want s nothing

A drizzle of rain outside the window slowly sliding along the glass intricate rivuletds, not making a story but discovering paths and to the bottom and down pulled along by gravity. She lay on her side, arm warm against my chest caressing my arm and occasionally delivering a nip to my chin hoping to draw me from my early morning staring contest with the wall into awareness and indulgence of her wants and needs. Hoping for a long make-out before breakfast and responsibilities. Was she my responsibility? I flicker of life caught my eye, a spider, a fleck on the wall, crawled across the uppermost of my ceiling, making it’s way across like the rain drops made it’s way down. The spider didn’t pause in it’s path with wonder and curiosity like the rain though, it paused in hesitation and utmost awareness of it’s surroundings, heightened senses, attuned to the danger around it, but also the predator right? Waiting for It’s prey to step forth.

I slipped from pondering the feelings and possible quest of a raindrop into a memory from my fuzzy childhood.

Was I in need of change? What did I want, a change? Activity? I could climb out of bed, or even stay in bed, with my woman, and create the adventure I so craved

Sheets half-off and half-on my body, mind half-off and half-on like my sheets. Room lit with half-light from a half-sunrise. Sky half-clear by a half storm. Raindrops dripping a path from top of window to bottom with helf-interest.

Only pieces of the morning. Sheets half-on my body and mind half-on in the morning. Half-open eyes watching the dripping rain outside blinds half-open.

Pieces. My life is pieces.

The sheets were pulled partially up my torso and left my chest bare to the chill of morning and open to the chill of morning in a room where the heat was forgotten or the electric bill was too high last month.

The bottom line of last month’s electric bill was fairly high. At least for the pay check of a poor college student. That was the answer to my question of why it was so cold in here.

Pieces, everything was pieces.

The sheets were pulled partially up my torso and left my chest open to the chill of morning in a room where the heat was forgotten. No not forgotten, the bottom line of last month’s electric bill was fairly high. At least for the pay check of a poor college student, so in order to save money for food and books we had decided to give up heat. If only I had the energy to pull the covers the rest of the way up my body I wouldn’t be reaping the ‘benefits’ so much of this no heat business. Lying on her side, my lover tracked fingertips from elbow to shoulder. She waited patiently for morning fog to dissipate from my head. Raindrops tracked a path down the window barely lit by daylight.

Like the caresses of my lover they drew a meandering journey down. Unhurried, just following the pull of gravity, of influence.

My awareness was drawn from the path of raindrops to a fleck near the ceiling. A spider made its way across, raindrops quested downward, lovers nipped at chins.

When I was younger I had taken it on myself to shelter the homeless, the small, the weak. Spiders. How the idea got into my head that they needed this help is lost and unimportant. All I remember is taking a screwdriver to the new drywall downstairs and drilling holes for the poor defenseless arachnids.
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Raindrops slid in intricate rivulets along our window, barely lit by the morning light. Not unlike the caresses of my lover they drew a meandering journey down. Unhurried, just following the pull of gravity, of influence. My awareness was drawn from the path of raindrops to a fleck near the ceiling. A spider made its way across the powder blue vastness of our wall. Once in a while it would stop and rest before continuing onward. The spider didn’t pause in its path with wonder and curiosity like the rain though; it paused in hesitation and utmost attentiveness of its surroundings. The spider was a hunter that wished not to become prey. It knew that one false move would bring it to the attention of the sweet angel beside me and send her into hysterics that would bring a barrage of shoes and throw-able objects down upon its fragile body.

I slipped from pondering the feelings of eight legged creatures and possible quests of raindrops into a memory from my fuzzy childhood. When I was younger and found myself in a rare, unsupervised moment I took it upon myself to become the protector of the small and much misunderstood clan of spiders that had infiltrated my house. I suppose I was yet unaware that holes dug into walls with screwdrivers wouldn’t make very good homes.

Mornings such as these my thoughts cling to questions like why a spider is hated over say, a dog. They may not be cuddly and have the ability to tilt their head in that adorable way, but they also don’t slobber, bark, piss on the carpet, etc. As it were, spiders only wish to be left alone as they eat the insects that drift into our homes. They hardly warranted a second glance, but glance we did.

A sharp intake of air was the only warning I had before Jennie shrieked and rolled from my side. A cringe for my abused ear and a groan to mourn the loss of morning peace, then I was shoving all my effort into calming the woman. Really, was this necessary? We had like a half hour of cuddling left before movement was actually required, all ruined. Damn that spider. Damn that Jeanie.

Final - Part 4 - Bonus Work

Creative Endeavor

As a creative part of my final I went a day without physical human communication and the day after that I went the day with only electronic means of communication. What I hoped to experience was the full limits of the human connection in both its different forms.

On the first day I had to hide myself in my room in order to avoid my roommates. I stocked up on food so I wouldn't have any reason to leave my room, a vital part of my plan to minimize contact with people. When I eventually had to leave my confines to go to the bathroom and had to ignore their greetings I made sure to explain my seemingly rude actions in an email when I was able to. To simulate what any normal day would be like, I made it a point to try and not reveal my experiment. While in my room I did things like text my mom, blog, plurk, check facebook, and updated twitter; in my opinion the whole shebang plus a small boom or two. It was a pretty relaxing day, although I did miss out on a party. My friends sent pictures of it though. It was... kind of the same. If by 'the same' I mean 'really fucking lame' of course.

Preparation and execution of electronic silence the next day was a little harder. Pulling the battery from my phone was like losing a limb, like the loss of Perceval’s wings in Dust. Every couple of hours I would feel phantom vibrations and think I had a text message, but my phone was dead in the other room. I continuously felt the desire to grab my laptop and check my email, my myspace status, anything! Those were all on my self-imposed ban list though. Finally I decided to see a movie with friends as a distraction; my roommates had to make the plans though because I had no means by which to contact anyone.

What stood out for me in this experiment was how much of an ass a person seemed if they didn’t interact with physical communication. I couldn’t speak to the people around me when I went for a glass of water (Water happened to be the one thing lacking from my horde of tasties) I couldn’t gesture at people who were kind to me on the road. The least I could do was twitter about them, not while driving of course. I also realized how impossible it is to stay in contact with a large amount of people without electronic devices. Those who are too far to drive to for a convenient visit are left to fade into past memories of the good ol’ days. Over those two days I came to a major realization though. I need both types of communication to keep on functioning the way I’m used to. Without the internet I’ll lose a great deal of my friends in other schools. The internet is an essential part of my life now anyways. It keeps me connected with my classmates and teachers; it makes me feel a part of something larger. As demonstrated on plurk, everyone’s thoughts mesh together and seemingly make a larger world of interaction. Those of us who continue to be on plurk after this class ends will become pieces of the next one. Internet connection through all these different web sites should be accepted, not looked down at like it is less genuine. Each new generation has evolved internet speak to more closely resemble and maybe even surpass the kind of speech you find in non-electronic conversations. Emoticons can be used to express emotions, as can abbreviated words such as 'lol' and 'jk'.

I recommend this experiment to everyone. It's a great way to learn more about yourself and your priorities. It also can give you a greater respect for the internet and the way it is changing relationships and connectivity.

Final - Part 3 - Limits

Topic: Limits

I always thought that the more you wrote in an essay the more impressive it was. What were 2 pages compared to 7? If you could say something in more words it could only strengthen the paper. The more details the better. These were the impressions I got growing up anyways. That’s what kids learn in elementary school, that’s what teens learn in high school. The limits put on me in college have begun to alter those beliefs ingrained into me from childhood though.

With language as much can be said in one word as can be said in a sentence. I can greet a person with “Hey Dr Nanhole, what’s up?” or I can say exactly the same thing by instead saying the monosyllable, “Hey.” Nothing is lost with the shortening, besides the common pleasantries. Who needs those among friends though? By using plurk I learned to cut out what was unnecessary from my posts or use shorthand so as to fit everything within the 140 character parameters. A harder task then it first appears. What I wonder most about language now is how in speech we often use many words for a small meaning. Let us return to the previously mentioned greetings. In the longer one I first acknowledged The Prich’s presence and then asked how he was, all that had nothing to do with what I want from Professor 9 though. I asked how he was, but what I really meant was “Tell me how you are so I can tell you how I am.” If I had only said “hey” as an opener then it probably would have been 'that one' who first asked me “what’s up?” and then I would have skipped a whole step in reaching my goal. The limits put on by plurk actually serve to focus a conversation and remove the fluff. The important stuff is under all the layers anyways right? I was very amused by what everything boiled down to when stripped of its length. I'm pretty confident that CalvinLawrence was able to sum it up quite nicely in a plurk of his, “the most popular plurks are, things people did today "mmm waffles", inspirational quotes, and cute pictures - this is what we are”(3/2/09). I’t's so very entertaining to find out that our favorite parts of the day to share with each other are the small parts. In fact, the first plurk I made was about how I’d made bacon or some other food.

Maybe it’s because the small is that which we most want recognition for. Eating, sleeping, shelter from the elements; all of these are basic needs and yet when lacking or in the act of fulfilling one we send it out into the plurk universe to line up beside other people’s posts of the same nature. Language and plurk serve as a way to keep a record of mine and my classmate’s fulfillment of our must basic needs. Once taken care of we can then move on to fulfill our companionship or intellectual needs. We can work on these only until we are again distracted by wants of the bathroom and more food. A cycle that has us moving towards the top where thought resides and dropping down when basic needs make themselves known again.

I’d like to think that I am more confident in my writing now that I can appreciate the value of not stretching for length, quality not quantity as they say. There is much more effort put into downsizing a piece of work then making it larger. At what point have you taken too much and damaged context and understanding? Where is the line between simplest form and loss of intended meaning? These are much more complicated questions then trying to decide where you can add in another sentence that basically says the same as the one before it, just rearranged in a new way.

I've also learned new ways to think about writing. In our plurks we experimented with using song titles as sentences. Doing this was interesting because we were taking a different medium, songs, and making them into language. It reminds me of how we took mundane thoughts and threw them into plurk to create a master collection of all those thoughts. A master collection that is read in a different way then one would read a book. New plurks are influenced by previous ones, old plurks can continue to extend with the attention of present responses. Plurk became a growing thing that the class nourished and still nourishes. A journal of our experience this quarter that can only be understood by those who have learned the language we inadvertently constructed. This was proven obvious by those few people outside the class that left confused comments about many of our plurks that they didn't understand. Didn't understand becuase they weren't there during class and hadn't read the texts we had, all of which contributed to the language that was our collaborative plurk.

Final - Part 2 - Filth/Censorship/Mores/Sex and Tech

Topic: Filth/Censorship/Mores/Sexuality and Technology

When talking in class about The Filth or The Ticket That Exploded it’s hard to be that person who thought reading it was fun. With the rest of the students only voicing disgust the closest some people got to saying they enjoyed The Ticket That Exploded is saying that they found it interesting. Reading the book could have been disturbing to some because it makes you aware of carefully hidden and ignored perversions within yourself. It has the ability to provoke uncomfortable sexual feelings with its pornographic scenes of fish-boys and bodily fluid. When reading The Filth in public places many of us found ourselves hyper aware of people around us due to the fact that the pictures were blatant proof that what we were reading included sex, giant killing sperm, old men jacking off, ect. The Ticket That Exploded and The Filth present sex and the things that go with it as no big deal while in contrast our own society says the exact opposite, that it is something to be ashamed of. As a result, it’s not a surprise that most the class could only respond to the books with comments like, “I didn’t like reading it”. The easiest way to deal with these uncomfortable realizations is to deny them, a basic defense that requires little effort.

The blogs held restrictions much like that of the classroom. Writing what you felt about the book wouldn’t immediately bring the rest of the classroom’s judgment down on you, but it would serve as an archive for whatever you said. Anybody could look and see and have proof of what you wrote. At first a lot of our posts consisted of us trying to distance ourselves from what we were reading just like how class discussions had begun. A blog post by Jonishere55 said this, “As I get into the book more though there is weird alien sex describing texts that are just way out there and I am pretty much starting to hate the book. I start to wonder, "Is this author gay or something"? Large portions of this book seem to be about Alien gay sex, I mean really I don't want to read this!”(01/23/09). As shown by Jonishere55, some students were trying to take what they were uneasy about and had negative feelings towards and justify it by applying it to who the author was as a person. Over time though people relaxed and became comfortable with themselves. This helped to calm those who were having trouble dealing with their inner turmoil. They were able to let go of that animosity so as to focus more on what was going on in the plot. The Ticket That Exploded was a tough read for me and I’m still not sure I understand it, but I did my best to point out the things I thought were important or at least curious occurrences. Prichard took control of the discussions in class and led us from how it made us feel to thinking about questions like whether language was a virus or not and why we found it important to find a meaning in the book. Having a theme to focus on especially helped us in reading the book since it was frustrating enough trying to figure out the best way to read the cut-up style, much less battle our squeamishness. The Filth was much more appealing because of its pictures, even if they did occasionally put us in awkward situations. A comic made for a more straight forward read after the complexity of the cut-up. I think many of us found it much less difficult to endure compared to The Ticket That Exploded and a welcome relief as well.

What I noticed about reading The Filth and its similarities to real life porn consumption was that we approached it the way we approached our sexual nature, in private. When able to we much rather preferred cracking open the graphic pages of this book in a secluded room then in a public place like a library. Our embarrassment at potentially being caught reading something that casually threw around sex overwhelmed us. Any cliché porn video has its base in the normalization of taboo acts in places where anyone could see. A task as simple as making a photocopy or delivering a report in the office place can blow up into a full out orgy. Porn taps into the type of society our discomfort has shoved way from our thoughts and to the dark recesses of our minds. That’s why porn works. With it we can tap into the need that has been growing in the sheltered depths of ourselves and best of all, we can do it in private. I’m not surprised that in more conservative states the porn rates are higher. Like stated in the article Red States Consume More Porn, “if you're told you can't have this, then you want it more.” As society continues to tell you that your sexual desires are scandalous and something to be concealed you become more frustrated. You can’t hide from them, you can’t get rid of them, soon you’ll feel the need to act on them. What else can you turn to but porn? It’s the perfect outlet because it can be watched behind a locked door and on mute if need be. Reading The Filth was much like that, you wanted to be hidden away somewhere so no one could speculate about you and your porn comic.

Final - Part 1 - Book Groups

Arenas/Areas of Activity: Book Groups

Discussion groups had a much different flow then that of the plurks and blogs. In the plurks you could take what you had been reading and embody it. A person could become Dimitri-9 and spout things the character actually said in “The Filth” or things that the character might have been prone to saying. Although taking on a persona nulled your ability to go back to your previous identity without revealing who you were before the transformation (unless of course you created a separate identity independent of your original instead of morphing your previous one into the new one) because when you took on a persona without a backup you risked revealing yourself if you slipped out of it to reclaim your original name for a plurk or two. Isn’t this what Greg Feely found out? He couldn't be both Slade and Greg. His 'original' persona was ruined when he let someone else take care of it. There were rewards to taking on the parapersona challenge that went alongside with the negatives though. What the class gains through the absorption of being introduced to another persona is actual interaction with the book. The person takes the book into them when they read it and then grant it life and share what they created on plurk. Suddenly the character isn’t bound by what is written, read, and discussed. There is another realm to be found here.

Blogs were a more personal endeavor then the plurks. Resembling a log or journal of all our thoughts about the class and the newest ideas presented to us, little interaction happened within them. When reading “The Ticket That Exploded” or “The Invention of Morel” it served as a place to put out your theories and confusions, a record of how your perception of the plot progressed. If you were lucky or actually put effort into making a theory or connection to something else in the class you got a lengthy comment from Prichard, if not then oh well. The blogs were sort of like Thuy’s metanovel in “Ribofunk”. Thuy saved it to a secure site and shared it when she wanted. Other’s input about it was welcome, but unnecessary to its continued growth. The work relied on the writer; the person scribbling in the margins was more of an accessory.

The discussion groups were 100% electronic. We only met once in class and only a handful were actually there for it. Without meeting face-to-face conversations were slow. After posting you had to wait almost a full day or longer for a reply. Input was also scattered. Some posts were repeats and the topics changed without transition. This contrasted the class room setting where it was fairly easy to follow along and the professor nudged the direction of it when necessary. The professor guided the class so that we were talking about why it was we felt a certain way toward some of the book’s uncomfortable themes and made us think on whether we should alter our viewpoint. In the online discussion groups we were without that guidance. When we thought we saw something important we attempted to lead the conversation towards it, but often we found ourselves unsure if what we were digging at had any significance at all.

The discussion groups had something on the class meetings though. In class few people actually spoke and of the many who didn’t speak only a small percentage used plurk in class or blogs outside of class to say what they were too shy to actually voice. With the discussion groups everyone had to say something so it forced people to open up. Even though what was said lacked substance most the time at least everyone was contributing and making an effort. I think the person who put it best was Trever Schy who posted, “Even though I do not think that the discussion board came very close to classroom discussions in the sense of bringing new ideas to light I feel like it was helpful for my comprehension with the story line. After reading the chapters, looking through what people had written in the discussion board usually filled the gaps in the story that I was missing, which made understanding the book much easier” (Dust discussion board thread GRADING, 3/14/09).

Between the three tools used in this class I would have to say that plurk was by far the best. The more casual feel took the pressure off trying to not look dumb. Within the realm of the discussion board there was no place for what dreams you had while reading your book or which music video best represented the book. In that way, the discussions were limited. Though without the personal noise, the discussion groups were more open to touching on things more in depth. Only a few actually took advantage of this, but the potential was still there for everyone. There was always the option to stay focused, on task, to pick about the book in the more traditional of ways. Going about this same route on plurk had its difficulties due to the character restraints and the fact that some messages were lost in the dark realms of “mark all as read”.

Another Prichard Theory

I think we were talking about how you can only ever find one sock in a matching pair. Not really sure, but this is what came out of Prichard's mouth:

"I have a theory about that actually. In the future they have invented time travel and the pastime is to go into the past and steal socks."

Only Prichard would have a theory explaining missing socks as the work of time ninjas ! I wonder what the they want with my socks though? I haven't done anything interesting in them, mostly just walked places. Nor is my frustration over having them missing the thing of legends or even amusement. I just buy more socks. If I could be a time ninja I would take some of Napoleon's socks or stockings or whatever it is he wore.

Time ninjas kind of remind me of the Hibraners from 'Postsingular'. Their theft of the cuttlefish is like the theft of socks. The loss of the fish didn't really pose as a concern or even get much of a reaction from people. Craigor spoke of it as a kind of unimportant common occurance. The only person to investigate was Chu.

Postsinguler Part 2

I'm guessing that Chu and his father ended up getting caught by Gladax and her mad hop skills. I'm not sure I understand why she doesn't want them in the Hibrane. What damage could they be doing that she wouldn't also be doing in the Lobrane?
I'm really enjoying the kiqqie's story. Jayjay and Kitty's fight over Thuy is entertaining and I think its cool that the orphnids make it easier to live unconnected from 'normal' society. The orphnids united everyone, even those who live on the outskirts. The Big Pig high is strange to think about. It's an addiction that has no direct affects on your health unless you actually neglect your health. Much different then smoking which causes lung cancer or drinking which ruins your liver. It speaks to the harmfulness of just being addicted to something. I think its interesting that jayjay can recognize that hitting the Big Pig makes it harder for Thuy to complete her art, but doesn't try very hard at all to support her decision to quit or even quit himself.
It sounds to me like Thuy is on her way to creating the jump-code with her metanovel. She mentioned how it would resemble a sort of knot which reminded me of the knot Chu made. How long will it be till Gladax catches on? Could it be that she is too busy with Chu to notice or maybe she doesn't think Thuy can actually do it?

Postsingular

Chu was made for the all connectedness of the orphid world. Before it he could barely function in society. His tantrums and hate for disorder made people uncomfortable to be around him. His own mother questioned whether the trouble to take care of him outweighed her love for him. Then with the introduction of the nants Chu's abilities proved vital to returning Earth to what it was before.

After the nants came the orphids. They have so far proven themselves to be a much safer version on nanites. Instead of breaking down all of earth's material and replacing life with virtual life the orphids connect all life with life. Its like the earth has it's own consciousness now that can see all and that everyone is linked up to.

The world of the orphids is much more suited for Chu. Instead of trying to fit into society, the world has changed to fit society to him. Chu has no problems getting used to the change. He even discovered the "angels" that where taking the cuttlefish.

I guess it just fascinates me to think of all the people we prescribe drugs to and feel sorry for could actually be evolutions first steps toward singularity. In the future it could be the people without autism that are pitied.

Ribofunk: Splices

Little Worker seems very human. Her obsession over Mister Micheal could be likened to that of a stalker. She does her best to find her own solutions to what she believes his problems to be. She dispenses of the andromorph and gynomorph very cleverly. The destruction of the gynomorph seemed to be more for her benefit though. Then there was the death of Mister Micheal's wife. Little Worker clearly planned that out. The intruders could have been killed at anytime, but she waited for her ideal moment. Jealousy and devotion. Qualities any human could have. What makes a person a person if not emotions?

Hamster and the PI have an amusing relationship. The splice's mellow attitude and literal interpretations of what his partner says are very entertaining. The PI doesn't seem to care for Hamster, but his death obviously hits him hard. I think the PI was as surprised as anyone to find that it affected him so much.

These two splices have likes and dislikes and different personalities. They can react to situations in ways that serve themselves. What more do you need to be human and not property. Has humanity really been reduced to numbers and percentages? If you are 51% human then why are you not also 49% property. Kat didn't value all life, but I think he made an important point about splice life. They should have equality. They shouldn't have to rely on humans to keep them alive.

The Filth chaps 8-11

Tony's death was rather upsetting, but not surprising. The comic was definitely building towards it. I was glad for the death of the Greg para persona, he was a real douche. Every time he mistreated Tony I hoped the cat would become feral and pull a Cujo on him.
Just as upsetting as Tony's death was the revelation that Tony was merely a copy. Who am I to mourn? The real... no, original Tony or the Tony that I have an actual connection too? The original's death is felt with nothing more than second-hand-sadness, something akin to how I feel when reading about a murder in a newspaper. The death of the copy I feel with more remorse though. Does that make the copy the 'real' Tony? Is it possible to have two 'real Tony's? I guess the situation is not unlike that of parallel universes. Should someone from a neighboring universe be thrown into ours they would be considered the unreal double of their copy here. In the parallel universe though, they would see the situation as one of their own being thrown into an 'unreal' universe.
I think this problem of 'real' and 'unreal' is very important to our future. With cloning technology, laws should be made for the rights of clones. Being a copy doesn't make you lesser then the original. At least it shouldn't. It would be silly to say that a clone is the same as the original in every way except in worth, that actually defeats the purpose of calling them a clone.
I'm really interested in talking about this book in class and hashing out the themes in it. I have a lot of curiosity regarding the book's mentionings of love and the twist where Slade is the one who holds the pen that The Hand harvests ink from.

The Filth up to Chap 7

In the beginning I was a little lost what with the leaking parapersonality, afros, toupees, and The Hand. As his adventures continue though I find it easier to read if I just accept that there are gigantic killing sperm and the like. It's nothing worse then what I read in The Ticket anyways. In comparison, The Filth isn't that bad at all.
When the I-Life where introduced I started thinking of how it related to humans. They are helpful to their host as long as there is a supply of energy, but as modeled by Doctor Soon's death, when this supply runs out they consume what is available. The majority of humans on Earth are consuming its resources without a second thought. There are no sentimental feelings for that which makes it possible for us to even exist.
Speaking of sentimental feelings, I have found myself hoping the Tony the cat gets better. Every time Slade returns from a trip Tony looks worse. He has to make a choice between cleaning up the filth of the world and protecting the reality most people live in or let the filth fester and take care of Tony. That cat is Slade's only attachment to the 'real' world. When I say 'real' I mean 'the world that is most familiar to the reader'. This distinction has to be made because the definition of 'real' is 'actual rather than imaginary'. For The Hand to exist and for the world of Greg to exist one must be false. Up to chapter 6 The Hand is believed to be the real 'real'. In chapter 7 this is questioned though. Could he be imaging it all? Is The Hand only in his imagination? If so then the deteriorating health of Tony is because of his neglect while he acts out these fanciful adventures in his mind.
Other things that caught my attention while reading were The Crab and the people altering the story line of a comic book by free falling into it. Comic book characters altering the world of other comic book characters, hilarious. I wonder if they would be so quick to alter the events in the other comic book if they realized they were a comic book as well. What would happen to the comic book inside a comic book if it realized what was going on? My hopes for the chapters to come are that the characters in the comic inside a comic rebel and have war on the characters outside the comic.

Media Control and Culture

Why control of movies and music by big media corporations harm society and culture:

In my opinion the big media corporation’s domination of music and movies is harmful. People are bombarded by one view point of perfection. They are only shown one version of the perfect woman, man, family, and lifestyle. Women are supposed to be docile, innocent, and skinny. From childhood they grow up watching movies showing happiness as finding a man to take care of them. Disney movies like “Snow White” and “Ariel” continually suggest that the way to get the perfect man is by being beautiful and helpless. Men are taught that they need to be a provider. They are shown that emotions are a weakness. In music videos such as “Candy Shop” by 50 Cent or “Boss’ Life” by Snoop Dog, men see women as seductresses and completely objectified; lips, legs, breasts. They are told that in the perfect nuclear lifestyle the men need to take care of their wife and be able to buy them expensive material things.

This mindset ingrained into people from childhood causes women to go to great lengths in trying to improve their bodies. Time and money are spent in this search for perfection. Lives are lost because of it. Women starve themselves, let surgeons cut open their skin, and even endure spousal abuse hoping to one day appeal to their soft side. On the other hand men are finding an outlet for their bottled emotions through the only acceptable means media presents to them, violence. They have already been conditioned to view women as pieces, as things. If being a man means not being sensitive then is it any surprise that when upset these troubled boys see no wrong in taking it out on women, on objects.

A single-minded point of view crushes diversity. When there is only the nuclear family being shown, other lifestyles become invisible. Living as a queer becomes stigmatized as abnormal. Without this way of life in the media people have trouble understanding and accepting it. We have a tendency to fear what we can’t comprehend. The only outlooks about the queer way of life that viewers get a glimpse of are ones that the big media corporations deem tolerable. Things like Katy Perry’s song “I Kissed a Girl” and characters like Jack in “Will and Grace”. In Katy’s song, being queer is presented as ok if it is done to impress a boyfriend. In “Will and Grace” Jack is shown to be flamboyant and promiscuous. Both these personas completely undermine the gay identity. It confirms stereotypes of the queer phase, experiment, or bad copy of heterosexual norm. These beliefs devastate the gay image. In this dominated media a homosexual relationship can only exist if there is a feminine and masculine character. When this model isn’t deviated from then that is all the viewer will be familiar with.

The Much Delayed Prichard Quote of the Week

No idea why this has taken me so long, but that is unimportant. On to the quote! Unfortunately I have completely forgotten the context, but regardless I'd like to share it:

"Wouldn't it be great if we had access to other people's dreams? No no, that would be the worst thing ever, that would be a nightmare."

What struck me about this quote is how much I really wouldn't want to know the thoughts of friends or strangers. The mind is a scary place where thoughts are best understood by those thinking them and even then it can be quite confusing. My internal comments are carefully censored or completely purged before they make it out of my mouth. I assure you that this is done with good reason. Speaking your mind is important, but speaking your entire mind is not always necessary. Nobody can ever truly know your reasoning, your intention, or your anything behind a thought.
This is the same for other people. Whatever they are thinking has a meaning behind it that I can't grasp due to our varying pasts and experiences. As far as I am concerned our minds are separate worlds. Language can links us though. It can be the bridge that connects our minds, but using language waters the message down. The ability to accurately explain myself is limited. The person I am speaking with is left with words that can be interpreted many ways, nothing as complete as the whole thought in my head.
Recently I had a dream that my roommates turned into werewolves and terrorized the city. In the dream I was distressed and the feeling stayed with me when I woke up. It was a silly dream, but it still greatly affected my mood. Imagine the lifetime of dreams you have had or will have. Many are pointless, ridiculous, and mean nothing. Now imagine if others were exposed to them. Those dreams would be looked at as a legitimate opening into your psyche. Silly things to you would be analyzed and pondered about by them. "What is the meaning behind your roommate's transformation? Why werewolves? "
Prichard is right, the realm of other's dreams is not to be shared. Scary things lurk under our skulls. I'd hate to accidently witness the thoughts of someone like Ted Bundy or *gasp* Britney Spears.

An alsex

It has come to my attention that there are some misconceptions about anal sex which I would like to clear up. Anal sex is not gay sex. A straight couple having anal sex isn't having gay sex, they are having ANAL sex. Just like the use of penetration between a lesbian couple isn't straight sex and no penetration between a straight couple isn't lesbian sex. It's SEX. Some of it is kinky and some of it is vanilla, get over it. Sex is sex is sex.

In The Ticket That Exploded there are men anally penetrating other men, but this doesn't mean that a gay person is going to be any less disturbed by it then a straight person. There are no women in the book as well, does this mean that women are more prone to enjoying the book then men are? No.

The person who finds TTE to be a great read will most likely be someone who can look past what makes them uncomfortable and enjoy the writing style and rich word choice behind it. It will have nothing to do with sexual orientation, gender, or I don't know... whether or not one arm is longer than the other.

Prichard Quote of the Week

While discussing the differences, if there are any, between letters and emails Prichard said, "If the internet has the capability of being this finite thing, does it not mirror our existence here?"



Beyond that I would like to comment on Anderson's male spiders, the ones that came up with the empty-package trick. Bravo. Way to stick it to us females. Never been so impressed with an insect's ability to keep from being eaten.

The ticket that exploded my mind

Making sense of The Ticket That Exploded is not high on my easy meter. The absence of commas makes sentences an interesting experience. Punctuation doesn’t seem like that big a deal until you don’t have it anymore. Removing that one small thing changes the whole flow of a sentence. Not necessarily a change for the worse, just different. Actually, much of the book is different. Burroughs uses a splicing technique which really throws me off. Probably my biggest problem is that I keep waiting for that “ah-ha!” moment when everything is revealed to me and makes sense. Each chapter I think, “This is it, this is when all will become clear”. Instead I am presented with a handful of individual scenes which are comprehendible out of context, but mean nothing to me when I try to apply them to the big picture. Sex, conversations, odd jobs, dreams; all these mundane actions I can grasp and examine outside the story. As a whole though, I’m unable to fit them together. Occasionally I feel like the book is a jigsaw puzzle that I have most the pieces to (and a few pieces from other puzzles), but a handful of them the author spilled water on so now they have expanded and are waterlogged and don’t fit… and on top of that, a few of the pieces are actually from other puzzles.

Let us talk about the side notes. Whoever wrote them obviously is trying to inform the reader in some way. In my opinion though, there are far more important things to be explained then the immersion tank and accumulators. Knowing about those is helpful, but not the information I want. Could it be that the creator of the notes is confused? He has no insight to give besides those few tidbits. Or is he simply expecting too much from the reader? Neither answer is comforting. If I’m just not reading it right then I feel pretty dumb. On the flip though, if the fact of the matter is that the writer of the side notes is as confused as me then who isn’t confused? Does the writer even know?

Sigh.

I suppose I am impressed with Burroughs’ ability to take bits and pieces from other books and songs in order to… err… enhance his own writing. The “do you love me?” piece was cute in its own way and was a surprising change in attitude. The distance and lack of caring toward previous sex acts made the affection (passion?) shown in that chapter stand out. Previously everything had a numb feeling to it. Sex, no big deal to those involved. Where the Nova gang is involved though, sex appears more enlivened. Inspector Lee’s discontentment towards enjoyment of sex reminds me of something similar in our own culture. The taboo state that kink and s/m has in our minds shows our own close-mindedness or fear of things we can’t understand. Oh hey what a coincidence, I fear The Ticket That Exploded because I can’t understand it. Maybe that is what Burroughs is trying to show the reader. Fear of the unknown doesn’t give one right to condemn it. What I fear might be what another takes pleasure in and vice-versa. Our feelings toward something are only chemical reactions so it’s very possible for a common place positive emotion for me to be negative to an opposing culture.

[This blog is has now been hijacked by Sarah’s roommate who sat in on Thursday’s class: The lack of a stream conscious makes following even a simple paragraph an arduous task, which lead him to conclude that Borooughs goal was not so much to tell a story as it was to force the reader into contrasting the individual scenes with his or her own personal beliefs and values. This process would be similar to being tied to a chair and beaten across the face with a slightly decayed trout only more scarring. He also felt that Groundhog Day was interesting in that the main character was unable to break the cycle of the repeating day by lashing out and trying to take control of his destiny, but instead was only able to move forward and end the cycle after he essentially gave up his own nature and conformed to society’s beliefs over what a conscientious citizen looked like. It is basically the death of the one for the benefit of the many. He doesn’t ascend to a higher morality or try to find spiritual enlightenment; he throws himself to the mercy of his situation and begs for absolution.]

Prichard Quote of the Week

While discussing the way the narrator in "The Invention of Morel" idolizes Faustine, a student brought up how our society does the same with people like Britney Spears. This of course led to talk of our culture's apparent fascination with the downward spiral of her life. Prichard then interjected with "I have a theory about her, that that is her legacy."




About the movie Groundhog's Day:
What WOULD someone do if they were doomed to repeat the same day over and over. I particularly enjoyed his endeavor to eat whatever he wants and sleep with who he wants. That would get old pretty quick though. His quest to win over Rita was cute and reminded me of 50 First Dates. Only so far you can go with a person in one day though, which he learns the long and hard way. I guess I would learn to cook. That's something I wish I was better at and perpetual groundhog's day would give me the opportunity to accomplish that.

Cooking would of course come after building an army of fierce snowmen though.

"The Invention of Morel" by Casares from page 53 to end

Alright I’ll be honest. My ideal ending had Faustine pulling off her fleshy mask of deception and revealing herself to be a cyborg. I was quite disappointed to instead find myself with a fair amount of answered and unanswered questions.

First off, since we never find out what had the narrator on the run from the cops I decided to make up a felony for him. Our dear fugitive was charged with the murder of a repairman who he was holding hostage until his washer was fixed, the poor guy died of a stroke (which was brought on by fright). Really though, I’m very curious as to what the true crime was and just as curious to know why the narrator found it unimportant to tell the reader about it.

Something I found interesting was how on page 56 the narrator hides behind a statue of a “dying phoenix”. This really stood out for me because Morel’s immortality leaves behind skinless, hairless carcasses. It has a kind of parallel to the myth that a phoenix is reborn from the ashes of its dead body.

As for Morel’s invention, it was very presumptuous of him to believe that people wouldn’t mind that he was using his machine on them. What of those who believe in afterlife? You can’t be reborn, go to heaven, or even ascend if your soul is stuck on repeat. Morel doesn’t even stop to wonder if maybe some of his friends don’t WANT to be immortal. If what he has done can even be called immortality. You wouldn’t even be able to interact or be aware of the passing time outside their own. He also assumes that the time they spend on the island is full of happy memories. Does it not occur to him that maybe some of them are unhappy there? All Morel really accomplishes is capturing a piece of what he and his friends were, a shard of their lives.

Here is one of my most irritating questions, what of the copy made of the narrator’s hand? Morel says that your soul is transferred to your copy… so wouldn’t the narrator’s soul of already begun to transfer to it? If he has two copies of himself then where does his soul go? I think he has created variables that could disrupt Morel’s machine or just destroy the attempts the narrator was trying to make to spend eternity with Faustine. Morel said that he can’t create life. That means that their souls come from their real bodies, it’s the original, not a back up. If the machine can’t create life then one of the narrator’s copies is shit out of luck in the soul department. Things aren’t looking good for him. Especially because, of the two, the soul will probably go to the copy recorded first.

Prichard Quote of the Week

After watching the strange german subbed film about nanobots, grey goo, and creating a backup of our conscious Prichard remarked on how we were unfortunately "left with the taste of nano-beef".

---

As for the film:

I'm very interested in those robots that taught themselves to walk within seconds of having a nervous system thrown at them. Kinda scary and entertaining. Oh, and the computer model with the creatures fighting for the green cube... I'm wondering if that is where the idea for Spore came from?

"The Invention of Morel" by Casares up to page 53

I am about halfway finished with “The Invention of Morel” and what follows are my thoughts on that first half.

I think that when the narrator started the machine on the island and screwed around in the basement, the one where he got freaked out by his own echoing footsteps, he messed with the dimensions of his reality. He threw his reality of the island back into Faustine’s reality of the island (which could possibly be the past?). Also I think that Faustine’s reality is unfortunately doomed to repeat itself, as shown by the repeated conversation that Faustine and Morel had. So not only is the narrator in two realities, but he is caught up in the other’s loop; a rather harsh punishment for being curious.

This is only my current assumption though. While reading the book my opinion is constantly changing. In the beginning I thought that the people who had been on the island before the narrator (the ones the Japanese found without hair, skin, and fingernails) had been killed by robots that took their skin and whatnot so as to wear it as their own. If you are wondering how I came up with that it’s because Faustine seemed to be so set in a routine that the presence of the narrator didn’t even affect her. Like she was only programmed to do one thing, watch the sunset.

Other things on my mind:

Am I ever going to find out what the narrator supposedly did to become a fugitive? He’s skittish and always afraid someone will tell the police where he is, but what was he accused of? Why did he have to flee to some horrible island where he constantly gets sick from the food he is forced to eat? Another thing that keeps cropping up is the question of whether or not the narrator is who he thinks he is. In a dream of his the narrator finds that he has to kill a man, but he IS that man. Something I imagine is always troubling to realize. In another dream Morel is the director of an asylum, but sometimes the narrator was the director of the asylum. It makes me wonder if the fugitive and Morel could be one in the same. If not, then maybe the fugitive’s reality is so frayed that it is trying to correct itself by merging the two realities. That is, if there even are two realities.


What I am finding most difficult about the book is coming to any true conclusions about a character. I can’t yet comprehend what is happening on the island so how can I pass judgment? I have no idea who is real and who isn’t or even what is really going on in their lives. I feel like while reading I have to keep my feelings at arms length so as to better adjust when everything is finally revealed. If I get too distracted with the narrator’s obsession with Faustine am I going to miss something? It’s really hard not to get sucked in though. The narrator has developed feelings for a woman that he used to watch from the bushes and he has never talked to (or at least never had a conversation with). Furthermore, he says creepy things like, “I think I shall kill her, or go mad, if this continues any longer” (p. 37). The actions of the narrator make me really interested in finding out what he was accused of. I’m not so sure he was innocent anymore. Yes being alone on an island can make a person crazy, but he doesn’t even question if some of his thoughts about Faustine or wrong.

And what of perception? All I have is the narrator’s point of view. He could be missing the small things or interpreting them as something else. He passed off the repeated conversation, Faustine not talking to him, Morel’s indifference to his flower bed, and even the museum returning to normal after the partiers left. I wonder what details aren’t being written down that are small to him, but would be huge to me. I’m sure a lot of things are going on that the narrator just doesn’t feel are important enough to write about. I’d like to know what he or even the others on the island are doing during some of the time gaps.

Overall the confusion and anticipation for the answers are manageably frustrating. I’m excited to have things figured out and if that doesn’t happen then I’m at least excited to find out what Morel’s invention is.