Sunday, May 22, 2005

 

people to never trust

so i'm a carsalesperson waiting to be assigned a group of vulnerable students to terrorize.

i've even gone through and done all the paperwork for one cardeal all on my own, well with a few phonecalls of help from my boss/brother. i did a pretty terrible job, and the mother of the girl buying the car used to work "in the business" i believe were her words, so felt inclined to question my every move and action as if i were intending to screw her over. truth was even if i had desired to cheat her i wouldn't have had any idea how, if i cared to do it. the other day my brother was busy and i was helping somebody look at a car, and i came in to ask tyler (brother/bossman) the price, he told me 1500, but we could take 1000. so i go out and tell the guy just that. when he came in and said that i said 1000 to tyler, both my brothers (my other brother who works managing a couple health food stores was visiting our office) quickly joined in on a lecture on how you never tell the low price first. my defence? i just do what i'm told.

which is actually fairly true when i work with my family, it's conditioning. and so for some reason when i am working with my dad or brother i have no ability to reason on my own. so i felt like i had to keep assuring the people buying the car that i am indeed NOT a complete moron. and then i had a vision of me trying to teach some college punks, as i mispelled the words ninty and totall.


hmmm.

well, carbuyers and students beware.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

 

a little bit of info on st. geoge living

so i came down on monday. on tuesday i went to the college where a collegue of my mom's was retiring, and my mom was throwing a party.

afterwards i went to visit an old professor of mine, she was in charge of the writing center tutors back when i did that in 2000, and still likes me. she wrote one of my letters of rec to apply to notre dame. so she asked me first off if i got in. said no. she asked me my plans. said stick around here, be graduated and get a job. she said, wait, you have a bachelors? yeah.

she leans forward, widens her eyes (maybe it's just from her glasses when she leans forward though)(maybe she doesn't even wear glasses, but it's a good comment), and half reaches out to me in her characteristic manner and asks

"do you want to teach for me?"

despite my shock and overwhelming glee I manage to not hesitate half a second in saying of course.

so anyway, i'm going to be teaching a freshman english class (Actually it's remidial english, i don't think you guys realize how dumb these kids are gonna be, it's like the dumb of the dumbs- but i will be their king) at dixie state college in the fall.

no big deal, i'll just be adjunct faculty at a state college is all. whoop-de-doo.

oh, and i'll probably be able to run the lab they have to go to, just sort of sit there and oversee/grade their worksheets and stuff. and if i still want more hours maybe i'll work as a writing tutor still. if i'm lucky i might even get a class over the summer.

yeah, so that was it, just thought somebody might think that was sorta kinda neat or something, but probably not, i mean who would really care right?

ps
while she was talking to me about what the class would be like i was giddy as a pubescent teen who just got accepted to the cheer squad and is having a panty party, goosebumps and all.

not that it is that cool or anything

Friday, April 22, 2005

 

sorry for not posting on 4/20

i meant to dedicate a post to 4-20 for all you all, but i didn't get round to that.

anyway. happy day graduation to all, even if you are sarah and refuse to walk, congratulations. I didn't see aa in the gruaduation either, congratulations anyway, and also for being accepted to the poetry program.

i was suffering from a rush of repentance, reading through the ensign, on Packer's talk about the light of Christ.

"The Spirit of Christ can enlighten the inventor, the scientist, the painter, the sculptor, the composer, the performer, the architect, the author to produce great, even inspired things for the blessing and good of all mankind."

"A teacher of gospel truths is not planting something foreign or even new into an adult or child. Rather, the missionary or teacher is making contact with the Spirit of Christ already there. The gospel will have a familiar "ring" to them. Then the teaching will come "to the convincing of [those who will listen] that Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations" 9Book of Mormon title page)."

"Marble will yeild to the hands of the sculptor so that others can see what he sees. In like manner, you can teach others to see intanglible, invisible stones of doctrine."

he talks some about the teaching by example, to give the concrete example to understand abstract concepts. And i think that this is what writing is doing, it is sculpting ideas, making clear the connections and ideas that are hidden.

I'm interested in the teaching idea, being platonic, the old "doctrine of recollection" idea. but that isn't what or why i'm really after.

we have talked a lot about what art is, what makes something beautiful etc.

Pres. Packer says art is touching of the Spirit of Christ. I remember reading "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night" vs. hmmm, i've forgotten the other poem, but it was on death, likely by Robert Frost, on the peacefulness of death, and the need to embrace it. And even though the poems take diametrically opposed views on death, I couldn't help but feel that they were not opposed. They were saying the same things to me, even though in different contexts, different ways. My teacher, of course, disagreed. But maybe they were both tapping into the internal truth. eternal as well.

and if there is anything to that, cultivation of art is cultivation of light and truth. And if that what art is, well then not only is it not limited to any genre, form, or even actually being art, but it means that when it comes to art, we have more than just a leg up than just about anybody out there.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

 

fish in a barrel

ahh yes

9:15, and no more 8:00 am classes for me. i'm likely to get a relatvely bad grade in the class, but what with riding on kapka and k's coattails to an a in xena's class i should be okay.

what will the monumental development be for me? going home, working at the lot again, hanging out with paul and picking up some mechanic tricks, hopefully a few rockin scars as well.

i think off and on about being 23, and about the poets and writers we study in class. most of them had already put together significant portions of important work by 25, and at least the romantics had become well known to each other by our age. You can say it was a different time, but it makes me ask myself how long it's gonna take me.

there is a utah council of arts contest this summer, the deadline is around july 24 or something. it's a good contest to enter, probably not one anybody like us is going to win, but a good contest. i'm rather proud of us, i think we're all just super. i'll get the info on that contest to people interested on wednesday for fad or april or whatever. is wednesday fad? if so what is going on with it?


anyway, it is time to start killing off another class or two.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

 

because kristen is the only reader/commenter

my [i think] final revisions. revision. i like that word.


Genealogy

Body from Body
like amoebas,
there is only one wise asexual parent
who’s regeneration preserved self
becoming first to rise after that early false night
turned dawn.

Body from body
one substance sole,
every life ripped off from the side,
incubating under an arm
stemming out of a hand
or foot.

Body from body
across generations—
membrane division of spirit—
pulling apart, becoming new.
A father, a mother,
all things collapse into one body;
mangled into a thousand parts,
blood strained from flesh.

Body from body
imbibing, engulfing the sacrificial carcass.
Cannibal transmission.
Piece by piece transcendence.
As birth is by breaking and blood
life is by breaking and blood:
a parental office.
Body from body
for one to rise one must fall.




another one where i'm not sure about the ending. i thought about either just striking the last line, or replacing it with something about death sustaining life.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

 

when people say "i'll let you go now" is it just because they want to go but are putting the blame on you? because i always tell them not to go for me

that is exactly to the character the longest title allowed by the blog.

i'm sorry that my blogs are always boring. but know that even if you only skim them halfheartedly, expecting a lack of entertainment, it is important to me to feel smart, so by giving me the impression of an audience you are affirming my existence.

Does the search for good in the world require overlooking the bad? i think that's where my dislike for optimism spawns from. i want the kind of optimism that says, we're all doomed while we're here, so let's go down jackin dudes and rockin like hell, cause that's the way to heaven. sure, it'll all work out okay, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't suffer plenty. sorry, i'm being dismal, but it's in the effort of constructing a new optimism.

anyway, i've already done poems for fall and winter. i'm not sure i like the winter one yet, but it's already spring, so here's this poem with two alternate endings. the second one isn't as good conceptually, but pay attention to the words, i tried to incorporate walcott's teachings on keats' vowel/consonant play.

Consensual Blindness

winter dies with the first day of muddy melting
and three days of March sunshine erase from memory three months of January gray.
So that when treacherous wind brings rain again
it falls on the unsuspecting and ignorant
as a new thing never known—
though they may have foretold
though they may have recalled.


As if by forgetting what was
they were learning something new


The chill of spring following
the snow’s swift thaw
will always be the year’s worst cold.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

 

an expired request

like a jukebox kicking in two hours after closing to play the song that was chosen by the teenager aching over a chocolate milkshake and thought his last quarter had been used in vain.

not quite tragic childishness

hair that every mother wants on her ten-year-old son
prim and uniform was the cut given to him.
college bachelor reformed from
shaggy beard and eye covering hangings.
spray mist cement
secured into place.
A face feels alien to itself with nothing for buffer
and even through the eyes are free
something still wants to flick hair aside.
A bachelor develops certain habits
that need not make sense.

A ten year old boy musses his hair
just to be fussed at by mom.

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