Friday, December 3, 2010

The impressive e.e. cummings

One of the things I really like about poetry is that it allows you to use words in a way that shouldn't make sense. By nature, this is a huge departure from my incredibly logical brain, so I occasionally have a considerable bit of difficulty with the practice of it. However, I still love to read it, (which is probably one of the reasons I didn't mind reading the first chapter of The Sound and the Fury, one of the most bizarre snippets of writing on the planet) which is why I thoroughly enjoy e.e. cummings(for the uninitiated, the name is not supposed to be capitalized). He had a way of playing with language that I find amazing, because he put words together that shouldn't logically belong and made them make sense in my head. In a way, his writing serves as a clinic on how the structure of a poem is as important as the diction, because his line breaks add to the message as does his syntax, (or lack thereof). Anyway, enough of my useless jawing about how awesome he was, see for yourself:

ITEM

this man is o so
Waiter  
this;woman is

please shut that
the pout And affectionate leer
interminable pyramidal, napkins
(this man is oh so tired of this
a door opens by itself
woman.)they so to speak were in

Love once?
now
                                           her mouth opens too far
and:she attacks her Lobster without
feet mingle under the
mercy.
                                              (exit the hors d'oeuvres)

Now, I have my own interpretation of this whole thing, but I would like to hear what you guys think this means. Don't worry, it's not an assignment, I just wanna know what you think.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

I'm a failure...

..or at least, I have failed. This month I was planning to participate in National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo), in an effort to push myself to explore non-poetic avenues. Things were going swimmingly, in spite of an oddly busy month of school/work/preparing for my first semester at Cal, I had a word count of about 13,000, and was planning to kick it up a notch, as I had felt like I was hitting my stride...
   ...Until about ten days ago, when I tried to open the file with my manuscript on it, and could not find the file. Regardless of the circumstances, my book was gone, every single, divinely-inspired word had disappeared. As things happened to fall, I needed to install a new version of Office on my computer, and that was a job that would cost me at least a day,(I had to find the torrent and whatnot). I then looked to see what my new pace needed to be, as I would not be defeated so easily, and discovered it was a healthy 2700+ words, tough but not impossible.
   Alas, I sat down to begin again (three days later, due to the busy month), and I was completely uninspired. Worse, actually, as I was repulsed by the idea of having to retread all the brilliance I spewed during the first ten days at a less leisurely pace. So, here I sit telling you that I quit. Not writing, or even that particular story, I still want to tell it, and I plan to finish it before next November, when I plan to participate again, I'm just admitting that life and November have beaten me this time. But rest assured, that next year, I shall wreak a fiery vengeance, the likes of which they have never seen!!! Though I have no idea how I would attack a month, but in a world where the Jersey Shore "kids" are famous anything's possible.
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Friday, November 19, 2010

Entrance

Whoever you are: in the evening step out
of your room, where you know everything;
yours is the last house before the far-off:
whoever you are.
With your eyes, which in their weariness
barely free themselves from the worn-out threshold,
you lift very slowly one black tree
and place it against the sky: slender, alone.
And you have made the world. And it is huge
and like a word which grows ripe in silence.
And as your will seizes on its meaning,
tenderly your eyes let go. . . .

                   -Rainer Maria Rilke

Friday, November 5, 2010

Whimper, Pt. 1

The following is a short story I wrote a few months ago. 



I saw a magician end the world once.  That sounds like it’s going to be a weird story to tell, and it kind of is. I should clarify that when I say magician I mean someone who was capable of doing something which defies my knowledge of natural laws. According to him, it was science, but I couldn’t tell the difference. Now, when I say ‘end the world’, the question comes up, “How are you and I here then?” The answer to that is that I didn’t mean apocalyptic, I just meant such a significant change, that no one can say anything is the same. Like, imagine an ice age instead of a giant comet crashing into Earth. So that’s what happened, a scientist started an ice age, metaphorically of course.
                It was about a month ago, and I was walking downtown to get some donuts. I was listening to my iPod in an effort to avoid all the havoc around me, the occasional ramblings of crazy people strewn in the air like so much confetti, the usual hum of a city’s commerce, plus all the visual flotsam of men and women in suits trying to get somewhere warm like mice in a flood. I heard a woman, whom I had dismissed as being schizophrenic or on some terrible drug, singing, “In the city is a great biggening beast, be afraid for when it wakes from sleep.” I heard this because my iPod had stopped playing for some reason. Amid all the havoc I looked down at my iPod and accidentally bumped smack into a guy.
                I apologized profusely, though I could tell I had taken the worst of the hit, he had continued to look at the device he was looking at which I thought must be some new kind of phone. Ordinarily, I would not be prompted to ask questions, but something about the way he stood transfixed to that spot made me curious. It was in stark contrast with the bustling fluid animal of the downtown which surrounded him, and it seemed for a moment, as though he were a skyscraper and all else was a field of grass brushed by the wind. To be clear, it is not that he was an especially handsome man, or that he had any other grand physical characteristic, but that he was possessed of a unique amount of focus.
                I asked him what he was doing, and he answered me thusly: “I am looking for the heart of the city; I believe I have found it”. Slightly perplexed, I told him that the exact middle of the city was somewhere in the city hall, having discovered this fact some years prior on a class trip. “Ah, I see where you are mistaken, you misunderstand me. You see, I am not looking for the center of the city, I was looking for its heart, and I have found it.” At this point, I was too intrigued not to follow up. “It is relatively simple,” he said, still not looking up, “Just as you and I have a muscle which pumps blood through our bodies and keeps us alive, so do cities.” Not willing to believe such a ridiculous statement, I posited a few reasons why he was wrong. “I don’t see why it is so difficult to believe, after all, Rio de Janeiro feels different from San Francisco, which feels different than London, et cetera.” I agreed. “Would it be a stretch then to believe that these are different beings?” I remembered a few things I had read, from Shakespeare to Neil Gaiman, realized that I might see something amazing, and pressed him for more information. “The answer to your earlier questions, and the reason I am here, is that the cities of the Earth have been asleep, this is why they do not respond to us in any way we would understand, though we have felt their nightmares and recorded the deaths of more than a few of them, Carthage, Pompeii, Hiroshima. I and the people I work with are trying to wake them from their sleep, and what better way than to- move to the left please- shock them in the heart?”

Friday, October 29, 2010

For M.W.

There is no transcience of twilight in
The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpled face,
No flicker of a slender flame in space,
In crucibles, fragility crystalline.
There is no fragrance of the jessamine
About you, no pathos of some old place
At dusk, that crumbles like moth-eaten lace
Beneath the touch. Nor has there ever been.

Your love is like the folk-song's flaming rise
In cane-lipped southern people, like their soul
Which burst its bondage in a bold travail;
Your voice is like them singing, soft and wise,
Your face, sweetly effulgent of the whole,
Inviolate of ways that would fail.
                 -Jean Toomer

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Devastation

I am awake for months now
It is too painful for me to sleep
For love in all its subtleties
Has gutted me and left me breathless
upon your altar

Friday, October 15, 2010

A poem and a strategy

So, I've recently been a bit torn about posting my poetry here, as I am getting more serious about getting published. What I have decided to do is to post only those pieces that I feel wouldn't fit anywhere else. To be clear, this does not mean that I'm only going to post my 'bad' poetry here, but rather that I will simply be posting poems that don't feel to me like they belong in any journal for one reason or another. So without further ado, here's a poem on the Drake Equation:

The math is simple
The number of possible civilizations in the galaxy
is the number of new stars per year (big)
divided by the number that have planets(small)
then the number that could have life(just the possibility)
then the number that will actually have life(the reality of it)
then of those, the few that gain sentience (we are aware)
of these, the ones that can transmit
and last, multiply by their lifespan.
The universe is at least 14 billion years old.
There are billions of new stars every year.
We have been sentient for a million years.
We have been listening for 60.
But in all this numerical babble,
I learned something greater than science;
something as important as the knowledge that the soul
is infinite and immeasurable, and applied over all universes.
the point of the equation is not that the universe is very big
the point is that we are not
that life as we know it-
self-defining, self-organizing life-
is rare and significant.
The point is not to waste it.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

To keep going

Still and all, why bother? Here's my answer. Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.
-Kurt Vonnegut

Monday, October 11, 2010

Of the Simpsons, and why I'm conflicted about it

I am, like most Americans and many people around the world, a Simpsons fan. Have been for a long time. I am however , fully aware of the shift that the show seems to have taken from being edgy, cutting comedy to being rather wholesome fare. I was relatively sure of this feeling until last night when I saw this:



In case you couldn't tell, that was the opening couch gag for last night's episode. Dark, huh? Also, it was storyboarded and directed by Banksy, marking the first time that an outside artist has designed the couch gag.

This causes conflict for me largely because, I had just been having a conversation about how the Simpsons was no longer as daring as Family Guy, but also because the episode which followed it was still pretty non-outrageous fare.

Now, it's not that I don't like shows like the one last night, (Professor Frink's line about baseball only being understood by the Poin-dexterous was great), and I do like having my heart warmed occasionally by ep's like last season's "The Squirt and The Whale", but I find it hard to hold them in the same esteem as Family Guy, largely because the shock value that standalone jokes provide is missing. The Simpsons still puts out 26 new well-crafted episodes a year, which is an accomplishment, but maybe the show has failed to shift with society. Maybe The Simpsons becoming a global icon, meant that they couldn't shock us anymore, because now we have the sensibilities of their writing staff. The Simpsons is preaching to the choir, which sadly means that Family Guy is on it's way there too. Oh well, things could be worse, and I'll always remember lines like this one from Family Guy's season premiere:
Carl: So in the bear world, are pandas like your version of interracial children?
Bear: Yeah Pandas are something I don't agree with.
Carl: They're cute though right?
Bear: Just when they're babies.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

On the difficulties of blogging

The longer I persist, against all reason, to blog, the more apparent certain things about me become. Things such as my fundamental laziness. You see, this post was going to be in list form, because everybody loves a good list, but me being genuinely distressed by the idea of having to reach the five inches from my laptop to my mouse, decided I should just go paragraph. Sadly, I also know the html tags for lists, but again, in an effort to avoid superfluous typing, (made all the more ridiculous by my use of words like "superfluous") I figured I'd stick with the basic structure. So here is a minor gripe session about why I blog, and what I've learned so far.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Complementarity Pt. 13 (the end)

I just realized that I didn't post the end to my magniloquent beast of a poem, so here it is, the final piece of Complementarity. Comment, let me know what you think:


As I sit under the burning kerosene star
                Of my inspiring voice
Your face begins to be transfixed
Your slender hand, limply like a grain of wheat
Is moved by some unseen spirit
A touch then!
An inciting of the asphodel to blooming!
A word escapes you...!

I have gone ahead to light the torches West
I have lit out for the frontier which we have set no thought on.
For you the day has begun anew;
For you the river has opened itself.
The greed of the first mile from town lights upon you

Here is a diner by the side of the road
I will stop for a moment, have a burger, cross the street
Reserve a room, lay my hat on the chair,
Lengthen my skeleton and sinews upon the bed
And be patient until I hear you ambling into town.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Complementarity Pt. 12

It occurred to me that large portions of this work almost solely as a part of the whole, which is why it's sort of odd that I'm posting it in pieces like this. Anyway, the penultimate piece of Complementarity:


Farther away I begin to run from you!
Farther stretching myself into my work
Playing more as I am limbered
I am unfit for such a game

I do not compete
I do not measure myself against any man
I am the perfect thing
I am the proof that the next thing will be greater
If I am the meter
Then he who outstrips me proves me great
He who measures his lyric against mine renews my growth
I stretch and extend myself eternally

All poetry then‽
Walt Whitman, a kosmos!
 Leonnie Dickens, a nebulous singularity then!
The moon then! and the sun, its self-obviating spheroid!
This is the game of it
To make of oneself a dense and spinning thing
An expanding, energy creating, self-sustained system
A ball of matter, a ball of life, the water of the heavens
A wave of a man
A particle of woman
A whole human of starry effluvia

Friday, September 17, 2010

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son! 


 -Rudyard Kipling

a name change

So I have decided to change the name of the blog to, wait for it... Of Myself and the Universe. This is an advance warning so that people don't look at their Google Reader and get confused. The change will be official as of next Tuesday. that is all.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Complementarity Pt. 11

I shall explain myself in brief
I shall give you the key to unlock yourself
If you will hear it
I am a poet
   I transcend myself
If I am wholesome, can I decline to write of vileness
With as much warmth, and more volume?
Can I speak of the known more than the unknown?
Can I choose half the universe as good?
And not surveil the remainder?

But none are evil among the grand unity of the kosmos!
The singularity good, and the swaddling star good
The lightning is good, and the thunder is good
And neither is less than its other
The sequence good, and the chaos is good
The logic good, and the passion good
These are for me to know nascently
These are for me to find out anew
These are the form and bones of poetry
That nothing is irreconciled to any other

I am no less the singer of epodes
Than the odes themselves
I am Homeric, Byronic, Epic
I desire poems, I desire prose
I desire the cause of languages
As though I need to speak anymore!

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Complementarity Pt. 10


O! of odors! O! of perfumes!
The musky yellow of houses at dawn is mine
The creeping synesthesia that accompanies a living
I love too the vacuity of the fresh atmospheric scent after lightning
the emptiness which is a purity
the purity which fills the sky with virtue
I am excessively pleased with these
Even my own smell after I sweat
I feel it and am not reviled by it
For it is mine
As much as language in my mouth is mine
As much as water is mine

I, the child of futures
The father of pasts
The circuitous nephew of presence
I stretch myself against the day and measure
My voice against its voice
Being both taller and shorter
I will survive it
It does not fit me like a suit that is not mine
I shall not be a guest of death today
I shall be a companion of the dying, and the forever-living, they are the same

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Well Written books, with Pictures!

I recently stated that some of the best writing I have ever read was in comic books. I keep having to make the point that I am an English major (and a pretty good one, if my work so far is any indication), and here it should serve to reinforce the point that I know what good writing looks like. So as I go through my list of books on ComicRack (my digital reader of choice), I've decided to make a short list of some of the best writing I've ever read, comic-wise, in no particular order, (this is not a list of my favorite comics, but a list of the ones I think are the best written):

Cover of Cover of Watchmen
  • Watchmen, Alan Moore: I'll go ahead and explain the convention here of only naming the writer of the book, since I'm not making a list of most brilliant artwork in a book (though Dave Gibbons is no slouch here). Anyway, I am obviously not the first person to say Watchmen is awesome, and I won't be the last. This is largely thanks to an abundance of absolutely awesome writing, with Moore showing off his versatility by bringing together a world of vastly different characters, as well as an astonishing amount of background info about the world they live in. I never got to read it in its initial serial form, as I was two when it was finished, but it was one of the first graphic novels I added to my bookshelf, and I read the Dr. Manhattan parts repeatedly when I first got it, because it was so poetic. Every now and then I still reread it, and I never get tired. Everyone should read this book, partially because it is basically a genre-defining work, but mostly because it, like Shakespeare, or a Taco Bell Chalupa, is exactly as good as advertised



  • Bone, Jeff Smith: This is here for very different reasons, because there aren't as many singularly eloquent speeches here, but there is a clear sense that Smith knows exactly what he wants to do with this story, which counts for a lot. In the technical sense, the tone of the story is perfect, and it stays that way throughout. If I were to pick a favorite part, it would have to be Book 6: Old Man's Cave, largely because I looked for it in stores and online for well over three years, and could not find it until 2007, (that volume was released in 1999), when I bought the whole thing in one volume. It was totally worth it. 



    Cover art from Absolute PlanetaryImage via Wikipedia
    • Planetary, Warren Ellis: Because Warren Ellis is clearly a serial genius and John Cassaday is his shape-shifting accomplice, Planetary is awesome. The story of Planetary is not entirely new, as the whole series is an homage to hero stories of the past, but a story doesn't have to be new to be great, and Ellis' strength in my opinion, is his unbelievably clever sci-fi writing, which seems to be more along the lines of Asimov, than DC. Of particular note for me are issues #12 and 26, when awesomeness is afoot.
    • The Absolute Sandman, #1 slip cover.Image via Wikipedia
    • The Sandman, Neil Gaiman: Neil Gaiman = win. I don't know how to properly explain how good these books are, they are not only filled with haunting images(in a good way), but also some of the most intellectually challenging writing I have ever seen. Plus, there is an amazing amount of just plain beautiful verbiage, in every issue. For a best of the best, I'd go with Brief Lives, in which "we all know everything, we just pretend to ourselves that we don't to make our lives bearable"

    • Ultimates, Mark Millar: Up until this point, Marvel has been taking a serious beating on this list, since 3 of the previous entries are DC properties. However, I will go on record as saying that for the main brand, Marvel has much stronger writing. The Ultimates are a great example of this, with the ability to take these heroes(they're the Avengers, in case you didn't know) and make them real, socially relevant people. I cannot find the exact number of the issue I wanted to highlight, as blogger appears to make my computer really slow, but there is an issue in which Nick Fury is the focus, which I think is emblematic of the series: very strong characterization, and plot twists.

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    Monday, August 30, 2010

    Just a heads-up

    I am considering changing the name of the blog, mainly because I've been feeling like it is a bit of an impediment, and not entirely reflective of my blogging goals, whatever they may be. When (or if) I decide on a new name, I'll be sure to announce it. That is all.

    Saturday, August 28, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 9

    Whose voices are these rising from the sea?
    Are they refractions of the words we throw?
    Are they new voices from new horizons?
    Are they ancient sunken kingdoms?
    Whose voice is this, coming forth without accent?
    Is it an émigré who sings in this catholic timbre?
    A new savage with utterly new eyes?
    Is it an unsuspected familiar?
    Knowing notes which were not learned in classrooms?
    Whoever he is, he is loved briefly
    All men take him into themselves
    Even you let his spirit wash you
    You welcome him from his curious journey
    And hope for his tales to impart society to you
    This voice is the same with which I at times speak
    Not American, not of Niger, not of Samarkand
      of the universe, of real

    Wednesday, August 25, 2010

    Some school stuff

    I just started the final semester of my juco career,(did I mention that I’m going to UC Berkeley next spring? I should have taped the dance I did when I found out, it was epic). As such I am tempted to post a few of the tiny little things of which I am reminded every time a new school year begins:

    • Riding the bus sucks: In high school, I never rode the school bus to school, because I didn’t live in my district. I rode public transit every day which was easily the most terrifying thing about high school for me. At any moment, a fight could break out in the back, (or the front), a mentally handicapped person could try to hit on you (true story), some random person could ask you to sing (also a true story), or various other odd occurrences, which would be funny if they weren’t happening to you. Anyway, as an older, taller, more sarcastic person than I was in high school, the bus still sucks, but for different reasons. Mainly now that I’m in my 20’s and trying to be a responsible adult, my problem is teenagers, and the fact that kids today are just idiots. Now I should probably qualify that by saying that I know quite a few teenagers who are pretty smart, respectful individuals, but they are definitely the minority, and now that I’m not one I just wish that they would stop being so obnoxious. They talk too loud, don’t have any self-awareness, and seem obsessed with writing on the bus(seriously?! no one knows who you are, nor will they care that you were at some point on this bus, if nothing else this should serve as a sad reminder that the youth of today are our future)
    • People at the juco level just don’t care: Sadly I’m not just talking about the teenagers, who clearly don’t care, or they would probably be at a four year institution. I’m also talking about the adults, both those of us in our 20’s who haven’t finished and those who for whatever reason have decided to come back to school, though the system is decidedly worse than it was when they were school-aged. Anyway, it strikes me that these people should definitely be attentive, since they have less aptitude for learning new things (that’s just science) and yet without fail, there is a whole row of people of all ages that insists on showing up late for no good reason, and either having full-volume conversations during lectures, or monopolizing the class time with a series of mind-bogglingly stupid/ irrelevant questions. I hope desperately that this spring will bring a different experience for me, but I doubt that more each day.

    asleepinclass

    Seriously, why even show up?

    • School Sucks: Not the idea of it, but the current system is absolutely useless. I know it seems odd that I say this despite wanting to be a teacher, but I firmly believe that the problem is not insurmountable, it just takes good teachers. However I’m not going to get all preachy on this one, as I’ve clearly done that above. Instead, I’ll let someone else do it…
      Overall, I think that that’s mostly what I’ve been reminded of over the past week, although I’m sure I’ll have more to say at some other time.

    Tuesday, August 24, 2010

    Pretty true, so I’ll share with you

    A professor at UC Berkeley (Go Bears!!) gave the following letter to his students. I think it’s a brilliant example of social responsibility, and I totally want to take a class from this guy now:

    Welcome to Berkeley, probably still the best public university in the world. Meet your classmates, the best group of partners you can find anywhere.  The percentages for grades on exams, papers, etc. in my courses always add up to 110% because that’s what I’ve learned to expect from you, over twenty years in the best job in the world.

    That’s the good news.  The bad news is that you have been the victims of a terrible swindle, denied an inheritance you deserve by contract and by your merits.  And you aren’t the only ones; victims of this ripoff include the students who were on your left and on your right in high school but didn’t get into Cal, a whole generation stiffed by mine.  This letter is an apology, and more usefully, perhaps a signal to start demanding what’s been taken from you so you can pass it on with interest.

    Swindle–what happened? Well, before you were born, Californians now dead or in nursing homes made a remarkable deal with the future.  (Not from California? Keep reading, lots of this applies to you, with variations.) They agreed to invest money they could have spent on bigger houses, vacations, clothes, and cars into the world’s greatest educational system, and into building and operating water systems, roads, parks, and other public facilities, an infrastructure that was the envy of the world. They didn’t get everything right: too much highway and not enough public transportation. But they did a pretty good job.

    Young people who enjoyed these ‘loans’ grew up smarter, healthier, and richer than they otherwise would have, and understood that they were supposed to “pay it forward” to future generations, for example by keeping the educational system staffed with lots of dedicated, well-trained teachers, in good buildings and in small classes, with college counselors and up-to-date books.  California schools had physical education, art for everyone, music and theater, buildings that looked as though people cared about them, modern languages and ancient languages, advanced science courses with labs where the equipment worked, and more. They were the envy of the world, and they paid off better than Microsoft stock. Same with our parks, coastal zone protection, and social services.

    This deal held until about thirty years ago, when for a variety of reasons, California voters realized that while they had done very well from the existing contract, they could do even better by walking away from their obligations and spending what they had inherited on themselves.  “My kids are finished with school; why should I pay taxes for someone else’s?  Posterity never did anything for me!”  An army of fake ‘leaders’ sprang up to pull the moral and fiscal wool over their eyes, and again and again, your parents and their parents lashed out at government (as though there were something else that could replace it) with tax limits, term limits, safe districts, throw-away-the-key imprisonment no matter the cost, smoke-and-mirrors budgeting, and a rule never to use the words taxes and services in the same paragraph.

    Now, your infrastructure is falling to pieces under your feet, and as citizens you are responsible for crudities like closing parks, and inhumanities like closing battered women’s shelters. It’s outrageous, inexcusable, that you can’t get into the courses you need, but much worse that Oakland police have stopped taking 911 calls for burglaries and runaway children. If you read what your elected officials say about the state today, you’ll see things like “California can’t afford” this or that basic government function, and that “we need to make hard choices” to shut down one or another public service, or starve it even more (like your university). Can’t afford? The budget deficit that’s paralyzing Sacramento is about $500 per person; add another $500 to get back to a public sector we don’t have to be ashamed of, and our average income is almost forty times that.  Of course we can afford a government that actually works: the fact is that your parents have simply chosen not to have it.

    I’m writing this to you because you are the victims of this enormous cheat (though your children will be even worse off if you don’t take charge of this ship and steer it). Your education was trashed as California fell to the bottom of US states in school spending, and the art classes, AP courses, physical education, working toilets, and teaching generally went by the board. Every year I come upon more and more of you who have obviously never had the chance to learn to write plain, clear, English.  Every year, fewer and fewer of you read newspapers, speak a foreign language, understand the basics of how government and business actually work, or have the energy to push back intellectually against me or against each other. Or know enough about history, literature, and science to do it effectively!  You spent your school years with teachers paid less and less, trained worse and worse, loaded up with more and more mindless administrative duties, and given less and less real support from administrators and staff.

    Many of your parents took a hike as well, somehow getting the idea that the schools had taken over their duties to keep you learning, or so beat-up working two jobs each and commuting two hours a day to put food on the table that they couldn’t be there for you. A quarter of your classmates didn’t finish high school, discouraged and defeated; but they didn’t leave the planet, even if you don’t run into them in the gated community you will be tempted to hide out in.  They have to eat just like you, and they aren’t equipped to do their share of the work, so you will have to support them.

    You need to have a very tough talk with your parents, who are still voting; you can’t save your children by yourselves.  Equally important, you need to start talking to each other.  It’s not fair, and you have every reason (except a good one) to keep what you can for yourselves with another couple of decades of mean-spirited tax-cutting and public sector decline. You’re my heroes just for surviving what we put you through and making it into my classroom, but I’m asking for more: you can be better than my generation. Take back your state for your kids and start the contract again.  There are lots of places you can start, for example, building a transportation system that won’t enslave you for two decades as their chauffeur, instead of raising fares and cutting routes in a deadly helix of mediocrity.  Lots. Get to work.  See you in class!

    I got this here, and I think he’s right about the onus now being on our generation to change the sorry state of California (and everywhere else). what do you think?

    Friday, August 20, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 8

    I am far from you
    And am fully contained
    Somewhere in the periphery of your heart
     
    Under the sea, life whirls
    In the calming algae blue
    I know the fishes here and there, I know them all
    They began long hours before the sunrise
    They struggle like you in the ever-illuminated sea
    The sea which is always dark and filled with weight
    The weight gives me form and flesh
    The weight of the hammerhead smashing its meal
    On the abyssal plain
    Or of the brain coral slowly building from the detritus
    Of the rich sea
     
    Each man dying on the lips
    Of his erstwhile friends
    Loses first this weight of the waters
    Then his own name
    Then is no more found in heaven
    And is at last banished from the heart of his loved on earth
     
    You have walked under the sea with me
    You have known what is my volume here
    Perhaps this then will make me lasting as I die
    As I continue to live
    I am under the spell of this!
    As the sunrise over the sea
     
    And where have you learned to speak of death?
    And where have you reckoned the end of things to come‽
    How sudden and how far off‽
    Do not equivocate the miles under the sea
    For days or years, they are instant
    At once alive and sustaining
    At once murderous and inert

    Monday, August 16, 2010

    How to be Alone

    I generally don’t plan on posting other people’s poems on here, but I couldn’t resist this awesome video from Tanya Davis. I love that the rhyme scheme is sneaky like an Eliot poem

    Sunday, August 15, 2010

    Perspective

    It is rapidly
    occurring to me that I
    am quite far from old


    Tuesday, August 10, 2010

    Patmos

    Summer crept away quietly,

    as though it had another engagement

    I had forbidden it.

     

     

    Autumn opens its mouth,

    blinking its expressive eyes,

    and I begin to court it slowly

    to draw it out of its guarded hours.

     

    Now begins the patient continuance

    the waiting in shadows

    and adjustment of myself

    in syllabic mirrors.

    Now the peeling away of self

    the apocalypse of one’s own soul

    begins. As though the rest had been

    a prologue to my real life.

    Now I venture guesses

    Now I sally forth into the lonely rivers

    of my former tears

    Now I examine my sadness and joys with equanimity

    as a scientist with a quantifiable phenomenon

    and approach

    the intangible fruit of a million hours, burning

    Monday, August 9, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 7

    At length I am obliged to offer help
    And so I take the train at evening
      and the gentleman next to me
    Into my confidence

    He is a teacher heading home to his wife
    He loves her greatly and is buoyed by the prospect of rest
    I engage him to unburden his ended day upon me
    I am free and can carry the load while we pass under the cityscape
    It is his passion which obliges him to unload
    After he leaves the train we continue to converse
    I go with him too
    To his home on a quiet street
    I am filled with peace as he enters the nattily attired cul-de-sac

    You should have been there when I left the station!
    How you would have loved the company of the workers at the docks
    The salty stories told in the barely lit breakroom

    I journeyed from there up by a lilac field
    Where I briefly luxuriated with a friend
    From which I wandered woefully towards
    A park, watching the day rise with a vagrant
    He watched me warily until at length I had coaxed him
    I shared with him poetry and he
    Shared the weary sensation of the cold nights
    We sat comparing despair
    As his retriever rested lazily on the dew

    Wednesday, August 4, 2010

    Some odd observations

    A few things I've noticed while tumbling through the blogosphere:

    • Misuse of the term quarter-life crisis: The average American lifespan is 77.9 years (according to the CDC), if you divide that by four you get ~19. This seems to mean that a quarter-life crisis should not be applied after say 22, as that's a pretty ambitious lifespan. I think my real problem with the term is that people have this strange desire to give a name to the confusion and paralyzing freedom that comes after high school/college, but that already has a name: your 20's. Plus it's not really a crisis, I doubt that anyone has ever faced serious consequences because they were debating whether they wanted to completely ignore their degree in Super Accounting to become a bohemian performance artist. Slightly odd side-note: the quarter-life crisis label maybe especially misused if you believe, like some, that people will soon live to be 1000
    Jack Kerouac by photographer Tom Palumbo, circ...This is Jack Kerouac, I doubt he would've said "quarter-life crisis",
    • An abundance of poetry, and unfortunately Poetry: As an aspiring poet, I obviously spend a great amount of time looking for poetry, partially in order to refine my own skill and partially because I just like the stuff. That said, I find that the percentage of good poetry in existence on the blogscape is, in my opinion, about 35%. Now, that doesn't seem so bad, but if you consider the amount of bad poetry that one must read to find it (and I'm being generous with that number), it's a bit disconcerting. Part of the problem, I think is that people are taught loosely about poetry in school, meaning that everyone attempts it, and as American Idol has proven, there are plenty of people who are never made aware of their deficiencies. The result of this is a lot of people who write what a Creative Writing teacher of mine called "Poetry". In other words, the formally rigid and now-pretentious styles that were genuine products of their own time, but just come off forced and wrong when written by people who don't properly comprehend rhythm and such. I also find that I'm limited by my influences when it comes to writing 'contemporary' poetry. I might not find it terribly difficult to imp Whitman's free-flowing love for the universe, or Neruda's intimacy but the currently prevailing, off the cuff, informal styles which I have seen done very well in many places, baffles me, at least for now. Give me six months and we'll see how I feel about it.
    • Am I in Iraq?: I like to learn new things, and since I don't have school for at least another two weeks, I turn to the 'net to slake my thirst. I've recently been looking at my dashboard and checking out Blogger's Blogs of Note. After I decide I'm not interested in yet another QLC blog (yeah, I just did that, and yeah, I abbreviated it), I decide to hit what strikes me as the equivalent of my iPod's Shuffle feature: the next blog button on my blogger toolbar. Occasionally, I find something cool (all but one of the blogs I currently follow came as an eventual result of this) but most of the time, I find that my search is stopped because I can't read Arabic, yes that's right Arabic. Invariably, the next blog in line is in this rich but unknown to me language, and when I click next blog, I get more Arabic. So I click yet again, and it goes back to the first illegible page, rendering it impossible for me to do any more searching, thus limiting the number of blogs on my Google Reader. It strikes me that I should almost never see a blog in a language that I likely don't understand, and that the next blog feature should be smart enough to know that I can't read an Arabic blog, since it knows where I'm from, and should definitely know what language I type in. Plus there's the whole "getting stuck between two pages" issue, especially since it's always the same two. I can only hope that by chance someone from Blogger reads this and decides to address the issue, though with my current following, that's a very slim chance. (That's your call to action folks, shill for me, and I shall reward you handsomely, with knickknacks and gewgaws aplenty when I rule the blogoverse)
    Arabic as official languageImage via Wikipedia
    I don't live in any of these nations, and Blogger knows this
    So anyway, that's all I could think of for now. I apologize for making all of this one post, but my focus on the blog is still mainly poetry, so I wanted to take up as few archive listings as possible. Some of these will probably still be expanded on as ideas for individual posts. Though I'm still uncomfortable with the right length for a blog post, so I could have my scale all wrong. Whatevs.

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    Tuesday, August 3, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 6

    In the morning I begin an education
    When at length I am awoken
    After basking unfettered

    I, Homo Naturalis
    Against the stark moon
    Am all alone
    Companion of the stars
    Likewise oscillating, differing slightly in luminance
    Greatly in ancientness

    And the wood whispers a vague rumor
     about the city
    and the city creates a susurrus about the wood
    and I alone under the night sky hear them all
    and see the stars with ancient, wizened faces
    as they chuckle softly at the ignorance of such temporary things

    Sunday, August 1, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 5

    The following is the fifth part of Complementarity. Enjoy and comment:


    Is my poem too long?
    Then my poem is too long
    The journey from me to you
    Is immense and filled with freshly shifted eyes

    Have you left your body behind yet?
    Have you outgrown its conceits and melancholia yet?
    Have you dug into my poems to dig me out into your mind’s eye?
    I am imponderable there, loose in the rapidly bloviating forest
     

    Monday, July 26, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 4

    The following is the fourth part of my long poem, "Complementarity" :

    The light begins to dance its way through the dying rain
    It begins to settle itself upon the morning
    I sleep but dream the dreams of those
    who busily begin about me

    The jogger on his way around the green lake
      the mother packing extra pudding for her child
        the business minded gentility on their way to an early meeting
         the baker beginning his bread, the night watchmen closing his orbit
    all with a similar dream which I dream
    I don’t need to describe it to you
    you dream it too every sleep
    And are likewise disturbed when awoken by the real sun
    Which is unlike the rosy dreamscape
    in which the mothers, bakers, guards, and businessmen, and you
    and I are more free, more electric, and of newer stuff
    Happy as in the old ages of a fairy tale

    Or do your nightmares wait within your heavy eyelids?
    Where only the closeness makes them more real?
    What more than a veil is your eyelid? See through mine instead
    and I will reveal to you what only you have truly seen
    that only I have understood

    Saturday, July 24, 2010

    And now, for something entirely different

    Well, not entirely different, but I figured I'd take a break from what is shaping up to be a post-heavy month, to mention a few basic things about myself and why I started blogging in the first place.
    • My name is Leonnie Dickens, which you already know, I feel no need to hide my identity as this isn't a terribly personal blog anyway.
    • I don't think I'm a very interesting person most of the time. Now, don't misunderstand that; I'm a very confident person, and I think of myself as being very smart and very funny, I just know that I tend to be very excited by things which most people don't comprehend/ care about.
    • I am preparing to attend UC Berkeley in the Spring to obtain a B.A. in English (w/ a minor in linguistics). Before people ask, yes I plan to teach. Hopefully, I can pursue my Master's at Berkeley too.
    • I wouldn't be pursuing this degree if I felt that being a writer was a viable career decision, but clearly it takes a lot of luck to get Dan Brown rich.
    • I obviously like to write, mostly poetry because it has always come easier to me, but occasionally fiction, which may pop up here if I ever finish one of the 20 stories I've started in the last 6 months(sadly, that's not hyperbole, I have at least 20 stories at various stages of incompletion on my computer right now)
    • I like getting critical feedback on my work, and I haven't found too many places for that to happen out there on the interwebs, so I decided to start a blog where I could post most of my pieces without dealing with the hit or miss internet poetry scene
    • I seriously dislike what I have witnessed in the past year while looking for people to share my poetry with. I appear to be much less thin-skinned about my writing than other people, although I just think that criticism is necessary sometimes if you want to improve.
    So that's a bit about me and mine, and I'm sure that I'll elaborate on many of these points as time goes on, but for now, I think that those will suffice to explain my motivations, as well as to give an idea of the writer behind the writing. Oh and because I know how tedious all this text looks...
    Work by BanksyImage via Wikipedia
    Banksy, I am such a fan
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    Friday, July 23, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 3

    Part 3 of Complementarity, or A Song of Us

    After work it begins to pour
    The rain rings heavily on the rooftops
    In echo of my sweat falling
    In echo of my toil’s engendered fluid
    The sky is sweating deeply in the night
    I smell the perspiration and am invigorated
    Each drop of mine a fractal brother of this
    Each drop a bulbous fractal of a liquid fig
    Returning the cycle as quickly as I began it

    It began me long ago
    It was begun long before that
    All have begun again a million times
    All have a million more beginnings
    The rain proves this

    The water which comprises it is not new to the universe
    The water is comprised of antique hydrogens
    Primeval oxygen
    There is only so much stuff to be had
    Yet there shall continually be new waters
    New oceans, new seas, new tides
    New men and women with original energy
    And new poetry, the rain is a new poem every time
    Giving the earth a new sensation every time
    Breeding new tubers and roots and imaginative flowers
    Feeding bees, feeding birds, feeding life
    With new waters until it is time to return them
    The sky is filled with new waters
    Heaven’s face staring down at its produce
    It is new like my face is new every morning
    When I am shaved
    And when my beard is full at night and dark as the blackened sky
    My skin covered in rain proving
    New universes from old waters every hour
    The apocalyptic dance of a trillion veils of the universe

    Wednesday, July 21, 2010

    Contemplating a Spine by Daylight

    Another from my cycle of poems, Of The Women, and a companion to my previous one

    Can I lift your slender form?
    Can I pick the fruit of your shadow
          When you are stretched cat-like in the sun?
    Can I cause the excellent extension of your vertebrae?
    Can I daydream of your stretched silver silk blouse
          When you shrug off sleep in mid-lecture?
    I must have pondered too long from where I sat
    For I was awoken from this by a voice
    which tore my questions, unresolved
    spilling back into my mind
    like the sun, dripping lightly
    upon your small back

    Tuesday, July 20, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 2

    The following is part 2 of my long poem, entitled Complementarity

    Happy am I as I work
    As sweat gleans my substantiveness
    As I vanish into the toil

    I am the vacuum humming as I enjoy my work
    The symmetric lines are my Socrates and Sappho
    Knowledge passed in the carpet
    I am the plate, the fork, all cutleries am I
    All feeders, all silvers, all irons, all!

    This is to work
    Have you earned the liquid monies of the spirit?
    Have you seen your currency spent to moisten the earth beneath?
    The replenishable forehead of the galaxy?

    Have I not sung in the noon heat while working,
    If not more, as much as in the Sunday reverie?
    Have I not lent my baritone to the eternal harmony of a laboring universe?
    What I have sung, youth and love, you shall sing
    What I shall echo, you shall my echo ring

    Monday, July 19, 2010

    A Backbone by Night

    I've recently been working on a cycle of poems, entitled Of the Women. The following is the first piece,A backbone by night:

    I sit idly on the grass
    And watch the night sky reflecting on your back
    Your blue back under the moon
    I watch the exploding universe upon your narrow frame
    As you exhale, nebulas collapse in on one another
    Take in breath and restore the shape of things
    As long as your spine is blue
    I know the safety of all life
    And can stare at the terrific expanse of your ribcage
    For as long as the Night lasts

    Wednesday, July 14, 2010

    Complementarity Pt. 1

    Okay so the following is the opening of a longish poem I wrote a while back. I will post the rest in pieces every so often.

    We are differing, you and I
    I sing our sameness out of the swirling sky
    Here is the river! Here is the discovering of life
    I, the child of this song of songs,
    In my 24th year, with fiery muse begin

    Is it me you love?
    Then you love nothing
    Less than the whole cosmos
    Is it my heart you have striven to reach?
    Then you have reached across yourself
    And within yourself
    To escape yourself

    Follow me a little way
    And I will peel the veil
    Like a ripe orange on the universe
    I will show you whose heart and how
    The where and when will wear out at this
    The nature of things

    You will not need to know when we will lose the moon
    Only that it is dancing away
    Until it is free in the void

    Thursday, July 8, 2010

    glory

    Curious at the stinging majesty of life,
    I begin to sleep less and less
    until I am consumed
    by the rain
    in a fluid torrent.
    As though it filled me
    until I overflow
    into the street
    and wash down the road endlessly…
    until
    under the universal genius of the starscape
    I am hailed
    by conquest
    by fire
    by a minor miracle.
    There on that quiet
    beach or bed
    or midnight road,
    words fail
    dreams fail
    my own wearied hands fail
    and the beauty of this ashen night
    sings a hallelu upon my eyes.
    How peaceful then is the night.

    Tuesday, June 29, 2010

    Of myself

    I am given to long poems

    Which ramble on about loneliness

    Because in the end I have considered all

    And I am alone


    If you find me talking at length about

    This glory or that wonder

    Do not stop me

    For I have lost myself at the end of it

    And cannot cease until I find myself by wandering

    About the magical paths that my fancies take


    I do not love the odd marvel

    Of a perfect silence

    Or the slowly expanding flame

    Of a woman’s spine

    Because it is primally enthralling

    But because it is a strangely symmetric thing

    Like the sea anemone, or the divided cell

    Providing sustenance for my hungered soul


    In the end I complain too much

    I wander along fascinated with the joy of life

    I focus too much inwardly

    To the point of being stymied when others ask me things

    As though it is impossible that they should not know me as well

    As I do

    I am fathomable, and often measured,

    Mystic, and too rarely clear

    Perhaps tomorrow I will have changed entirely

    Perhaps I can shed this skin as easily as if it were a coat or shoes

    Perhaps I will not be a poetic, perhaps not so much enraptured

    Perhaps free, perhaps you

    Perhaps

    Wednesday, June 23, 2010

    Nothing new, but...

    I've been sort of taking a typical-for-me, post-semester break from everything, which involves a lot of tv and video games, and way more sugar than a human being should ever consume. In the process I haven't been writing as much as I should, or for that matter, at all, but I have recently been reading more for pleasure than I normally get to (being an unorganized English major usually means that most of my reading is assigned, no matter how brilliant I find it). Instead of posting my creative work, I figure that I'll give a rundown of what I'm reading right now:

    A friend introduced me to this book called The Physics of Superheroes, by James Kakalios, as the consummate nerd with an interest in both physics and superheroism (the regular kind does nothing for me), I am finding this to be an awesome read. So far the author has rhapsodized about kinematics by talking about the force needed for Golden-Age Superman to leap tall buildings in a single bound, as well as posited that Krypton must have been partially composed of neutron star matter, which of course explains why it exploded, sending young Kal-El to Earth. I am not doing it justice of course, as I seem to have lost my knack for wit in the course of the day, but rest assured it is a brilliant read, which explains physics concepts in a way that is both intriguing and effective for a layperson.
    Speaking of intriguing and effective...



    I don't think I have to say it any more but I suppose it's possible that there may be someone I don't know reading this blog(yeah right), so I'll admit that Pablo Neruda is probably my favorite poet, period. His Odes to Common Things is a huge reason why. For the past year, I've told people who asked about Neruda, my interest in Neruda, the nation of Chile, slightly unusual poetry, or the weather about this collection of poems. Basically, it's like a brilliant poet sat in his house and said "I'm going to write about every thing I see today". The result is a profound look at things from a bowl of soup("Ode to Conger Chowder") to a suit ("Ode to My Suit") that gives them context which is much broader than "this chowder is tasty" or "this suit is nice". There is no real point in advertising this book since the author is long dead, but if nothing else I just think everyone should know that a perspective like this existed in the world.

    I am also reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon. At the moment I don't have much to say about it other than it won a Pulitzer and that it has good tone. Also, I find myself endorsing it to other people without having finished it, or even really having gotten deep enough into it to have a strong opinion...hmmm...must be a good book. I intended to be much further along than I am but it was misplaced for a bit, so I got thrown off.





    I am actually reading, like three or four other books right now, but these are the ones I'm really focused on, so they will be the ones with the largest immediate effect on my own writing. Anyway, gotta get back to my sugar and videogames