the 17 point scale appendix

Microsoft Word is evil

2011-01-16T23:52:00.000-08:00

something weird is happening with my Microsoft Word Track Changes features--the user names have been replaced with weird characters...

list of potential writers

2007-12-17T23:57:00.000-08:00

the following list was compiled from andrew's mind, a sample of past contributors to image journal, and a brief internet search. some of the writers may be dead, may suck, or may write in a non-literary genre:

David James Duncan
Marilynne Robinson
Scott Cairns
Mary Karr
Paul Mariani
Lucy Shaw
Yann Martel
Kathleen Norris
Robert Cording
Annie Dillard
BH Fairchild
Philip Levine
Jennifer Maier
Paul Mariani
Mary Oliver
Daniel Tobin
Deborah Joy Corey
Doris Betts
Frederick Buechner
Andre Dubus III
Ingrid Hill
Wally Lamb
Gina Ochsner
Chaim Potok
Wendell Berry
Walter Brueggemann
John Irving
Garrison Keillor
Bret Lott
Greg Wolfe
Dan Wakefield
Elie Wiesel
Richard Wilbur
Leif Enger – peace like river
Lauren Winner
Donald Miller
Homer Hickam
Mary Kenagy
Athol Dickinson – River Rising
Douglas Coupland – (monotheist) – microserfs, generation x…
Larry Woiwode – What I’m Going To Do, I Think, Beyond the Bedroom Walls
John Updike – the rabbit books, etc.
Ron Hansen – the assignation of the outlaw jesse james…
Anne lamott

deleted tunes, sorted by artist

2007-07-18T15:08:00.000-07:00

Abra Moore	I Do	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Adam Richman	Mary-Anne	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Al Green	I'd Still Choose You	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Al Greet	Be My Baby	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Allison Moorer	Melancholy Potty	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
American Music Club	Another Morning	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Amy Rigby	Don't Ever Change	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Angela McCluskey	Dirty Pearl	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
Anne McCue	Crazy Beautiful Child	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Annie Quick	Hit Like A Man	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Ari Hest	They’re On To Me	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
At The Close Of Everyday	Hallways	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Autolux	Here Comes Everybody	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
Ben Harper	With My Own Two Hands	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Ben Kweller	The Rules	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
Bethany Yarrow	Black Is The Color	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Bill Mallonee	She's So Liquid	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Bill Mallonee	Life On Other Planets	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Billy Joe Shaver	Freedom's Child	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Blackie And The Rodeo Kings	Swinging From The Chains Of Love	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
Bob Schneider	Come With Me Tonight	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
Bonnie Hayes	Still Wild	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Brian Houston	Practical Reminder	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Bright Eyes	Take It Easy (Love Nothing)	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Brindley Brothers	Playing With the Light	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Brindley Brothers	Supernova	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Camper Van Beethoven	51-7 (Radio Edit)	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Caroline Herring	Trace	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Cassandra Wilson	What Is It	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Castanets	As You Do	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Cat Power	He War	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Cerys Matthews	Chardonnay	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
Chip Taylor & Carrie Rodriquez	Keep Your Hat On Jenny	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Chris Robinson & The New Earth Mud	40 Days [Radio Edit]	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Christopher Williams	Did Not Draw	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Clem Snide	All Green	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Coldplay	Brothers and Sisters	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Collin Herring	Back Of Your Mind	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Damien Jurado	Texas To Ohio	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Dan Bern	Jane	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Dapp Theory	Trickle Down	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
David Wilcox	Waffle House (Live)	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Death Cab For Cutie	Prove My Hypotheses	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Diego Sandrin	Dog	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Drive-By Truckers	The Day John Henry Died	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
eastmountainsouth	Hard Times	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Edwin McCain	Let It Slide	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Eisley	Marvelous Things	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Elgin James	Runway Song	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Emma Gibbs Band	Black Road	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Erin McKeown	Cinematic	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Eve Selis	Down To Love	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Fastball	Airstream	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
FEEL	Won't Stand In Your Way	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Five For Fighting	Angels And Girlfriends	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
Frank Lenz	The Hot Stuff	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Garageland	Superstars	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Garrison Starr	Gasoline	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Gillian Welch	Wayside/Back In Time	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Glenn Tilbrook	Untouchable	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Gomez	Silence	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
Grand Drive	A Little Like You	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Grandpaboy	Mpls	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Gus Black	Dry Kisses	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Hayden	Hollywood Ending	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
Hayes Carll	Hey Baby Where You Been	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Inara George	Genius	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Indigo Girls	Perfect World	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
Ivy	Thinking About You	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
J.J. Cale	The Problem	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Jan Krist	Dressed To Kill	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Jennifer Daniels	Welcome To Your Life	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Jesse Harris & The Ferdinandos	All My Life	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Jim Boggia	Made Me So Happy (W/ Jill Sobule)	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Joe Henry	Loves You Madly	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros	Coma Girl	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
John Austin	Cool Morning	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
John Brannen	A Pair Of Dice	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
John Butler Trio	Something's Gotta Give	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
John Davis	Me & My Girl	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
John Prine	Glory Of True Love	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Jonatha Brooke	Better After All	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Jonathan Rundman	Smart Girls	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Joseph Arthur	Can’t Exist	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Josh Ritter	Kathleen	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Julie Lee	Still House Road	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
Junior Brown	The Bridge Washed Out	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Justin McRoberts	Undecided	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Karrin Allyson	All I Want	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
Kathleen Edwards	6 O'Clock News	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Keb' Mo'	Let Your Light Shine	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Kerosene Brothers	Ellie Schaffer	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Kieran McGee	Waiting For A Friend	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
K's Choice	Losing You	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Lisa Loeb	I Control The Sun	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Lizzie West	Sometime	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Los Lobos	Hurry Tomorrow	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
Lost Dogs	Lovely Man (Full Length Version)	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Lovedrug	Rock And Roll	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Lowen & Navarro	Devil's In The Details	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Lucinda Williams	Sweet Side	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
M. Ward	Sweehearts On Parade	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Mark Heard	Nod Over Coffee	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Martina Topley-Bird	Need One	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
Marty Lloyd	Justified	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Mary Gauthier	Mercy Now (radio edit)	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Mary Gauthier	Good-Bye	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Matisyahu	Heights	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Matthew Ryan	Return To Me	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Michelle Shocked	How You Play The Game	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Michelle Shocked	That's So Amazing	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Minnie Driver	Everything I've Got In My Pockets	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
Nanci Griffith	I'm Not Drivin' These Wheels (Bring The Prose To The Wheel)	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Nick Cave	There She Goes, My Beautiful World	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Now It's Overhead	Wait In A Line	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
Of Montreal	Requiem For O.M.M.2	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Old 97's	The New Kid	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Ollabelle	Soul Of A Man	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Paco	My Love [Radio Remix]	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Pancho Sanchez	Mary Ann (Featuring Ray Charles)	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Patrick Davis	Rock Myself	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Paul Melancon	Overture	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Peter Case	Something's Coming (Radio Edit)	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Peter Stuart	With My Heart In Your Hands	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Preservation Hall Hot 4 With Duke Dejan	If I Had My Life To Live Over	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
Pushstart Wagon	Mary	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Quetzal	This Is My Home	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Rachael Sage	Of Blue	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Rachael Sage	Bravedancing	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Rachael Sage	Sacrifice	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Reckless Kelly	Broken Heart	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Rilo Kiley	It's A Hit	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Robert Bradley & Macy Gray	Down On Me	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Robert Earl Keen	Furnace Fan	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Rosanne Cash	Rules Of Travel	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Rosavelt	Last Heartache	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
Rufus McGovern	Burn	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Rusty Truck	Cold Ground	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Sam Phillips	The Fan Dance	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Say Zulu	Wish Me Well	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Screen Door	Shine For Me	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Shannon Mcanally	The Worst Part Of A Broken Heart	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Shelby Lynne	Go With It	Paste Magazine Sampler 16
Sinéad O'Connor	My Lagan Love (Radio Edit)	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Slow Motion Reign	Isn't It Time? (Rats)	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Solomon Burke	I Need Your Love In My Life	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Some Girls	Necessito	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Sonia Dada	Old Bones	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
Sonia Dada	Baby Woke Up	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Spottiswoode And His Enemies	Youngest Child	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Sputnik	Hello	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Starflyer 59	Teens In Love	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
Starsailor	Music Was Saved	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Stephen Clair	Stupid Game	Paste Magazine Sampler 15
Steve Forbert	Autumn This Year	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
Steven Jackson	The Leavers And The Left Behinds	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Stockholm Syndrome	Couldn't Get It Right (Radio Mix)	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
Suit of Lights	Goodbye Sick City	Paste Magazine Sampler 14
Summer Hymns	Pete Rose Affinity	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Sun Kil Moon	Glenn Tipton	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Susan Enan	Moonlight	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Taylor	Follow Me	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Terry Scott Taylor	LITTLE, big	Paste Magazine Sampler 2
Tess Wiley	The Shadown	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
The Arcade Fire	Neighborhood #2 (Laika)	Paste Magazine Sampler 13
The Black Keys	10 A.M. Automatic	Paste Magazine Sampler 12
The Black Keys	Set You Free	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
The Cardigans	For What It's Worth	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
The Concretes	You Can't Hurry Love	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
The Drexlers	Glass Head	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
The Elders	American Wake	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
The Flatlanders	Back To My Old Molehill	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
The High Llamas	The Click And The Fizz	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
The Incredible Moses Leroy	Transmission C	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
The Jayhawks	Tailspin	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
The Lost Trailers	Down In The Valley	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
The Polyphonic Spree	Section 12 (Hold Me Now)	Paste Magazine Sampler 11
The Proclaimers	Should Have Been Loved	Paste Magazine Sampler 9
The Subdudes	Morning Glory	Paste Magazine Sampler 10
The Thorns	I Can't Remember	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
The Thrills	One Horse Town	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
The Wailin' Jennys	Something To Hold Onto	PasteMusic.com Sampler IV
Tim Easton	Black Hearted Ways	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Tim Miser	Sweet Long Goodbyes	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Tracy Spuehler	Where Do We Go	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Tywanna Jo Baskette	Pretty Crazy Daisy	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Uncle Tupelo	Left In The Dark	Paste Magazine Sampler 5
Van Morrison	Once In A Blue Moon	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Vic Chesnutt	Band Camp	Paste Magazine Sampler 4
Victoria Williams	I'm Old Fashioned	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Vienna Teng	The Tower	Paste Magazine Sampler 3
Volebeats	One I Love	Paste Magazine Sampler 8
Wanda Jackson	Funnel Of Love (Featuring The Cramps)	Paste Magazine Sampler 6
Wideawke	Everyday Rockstar	Paste Magazine Sampler 1
Wilshire	Special	Paste Magazine Sampler 7
Zak Morgan	When Bullfrogs Croak	Paste Magazine Sampler 4

spiderman III

2007-06-28T16:58:00.000-07:00

although most people might rank the spiderman trilogy in the order that the films were released, i preferred the third film to its predecessor.

the creators of spiderman III try to weave three or more plots together; it makes the film entertaining, but i think that the added complexity actually makes the film seem more elementary.

i like that the creators tried to use this trilogy to grapple with darkness. while they're still painfully obvious with their morals and i sometimes had a hard time buying peter parker's nasty shortsightedness, at least the creators didn't settle on a feel-good movie.

i found this to be the funniest of the spiderman films. when tobey maguire embraced his dark side, i was laughing aloud.

here's a real review.

once i write a review, you will be redirected to that review

2007-05-23T23:20:00.001-07:00

italy story

2007-02-20T23:48:00.000-08:00

Minding the gap, I pull myself aboard, struggle through sliding doors as they close, and shimmy onto the platform. I ping-pong from wall to wall toward the next seat. Boarding trains with a forty-five pound pack is like playing human pinball. The advantage to train travel may be its ease—the conductors and crew appear to do all the work—but for a novice traveler, things are never as easy as they seem.

To my credit, I maneuver clear of fellow passengers—or they from me—flop my pack onto an empty seat, and slide across to the adjacent bench. With considerably less exertion, other riders take their seats too: scruffy olive-skinned men in slacks and open-chested flannels, women cradling the fixings for tonight’s pesto surprise, and a couple of intellectuals with noses buried in books. Everyone looks tired. It could be the weather; I’ve never known somewhere so humid. Where else can one make small talk like: ‘looks like another sweaty day.’ I’m melting, and maybe everyone else is too. Or perhaps everyone is aggravated at this American and his bulky pack—he’s certainly tired of it—filling an entire seat and muttering to himself in some foreign dialect.

Unfortunately, a foreign dialect is all I know, and—where’s my rail pass? As inconspicuously as possible, I frantically leaf through the many pockets of my Lowe Alpine Sirroco Classic® pack, ruing the day that I appraised an abundance of pockets as a convenience. The pleasant Seattle A giant oversight if you ask me. I could be lost somewhere in the Tibetan highlands, mind a bit fuzzy from the altitude, wasting my last breaths in futile pursuit of an oxygen mask locked far away in some forgotten pocket, or, worse yet, I could be missing my rail pass! Where is it? salesman said nothing about the inconvenience of something so convenient.

I’ve been riding the rails in Europe for a few months now. I first arrived in London with a group of university students from a small liberal arts college in Washington State. We toured Great Britain together, sharing our meals, lives, and love/hate relationships with Arthurian lit. And now I find myself prancing about Italy like a suddenly self-aware Don Quixote, a foolish spectacle for all to see. If my rail pass is lost, it might finally be time to doff the cap of traveler extraordinaire and face the facts. The carefree young man who left Seattle planned to embrace every little cultural unpleasantry with easygoing acceptance. No complaining, and most certainly no whining. I obviously didn’t anticipate this. Really, it’s unfathomable that a middle-class, white boy from the suburbs could expect to seamlessly blend into his surroundings and float effortlessly from place to place.

“Tickets please! Tickets,” hollers a voice in my mind. I’m convinced that any minute a train conductor will burst through the doors of our car with armed guards in tow. On the morning train from Switzerland, the train staff even searched some bags and checked our passports. Tossing shorts, socks, and underwear out of the way, I dig deeper. Hopefully, every Italian city is equipped with a friendly neighborhood US embassy. Although…I could probably write a darn good travel essay from a dank prison cell in Timbuktu, Italy.

The train is rumbling now, but still no onboard announcements or any sign of a conductor (or a rail pass). Groaning, the train flexes its tired mechanical muscles and jettisons forth from the station. Saying a quick prayer, I realize that if necessary I can probably purchase a ticket onboard. Besides, the other passengers, pretending to ignore my antics, have no tickets in hand ready for collection. I sit back and concentrate on the movement of the train, but its faded caramel seats, jarring motion, and cranky grinding of gears conjure unpleasant images of rickety old roller-coasters. Unconsciously, I reach for a lap bar and wonder uneasily if trains cave to the same barometric conditions as humans. Might our car suffer heat stroke and leave me stranded in Genoa?

But the train keeps going. And stopping. And going. And stopping, stopping at every little space in the tracks wide enough to accommodate a few benches of worn commuters. There! Beyond the benches and stucco high-rise apartments I can see thin strands of beach. With any luck, that’s the Mediterranean. But as each fresh likeness of tropical paradise rolls slowly by, the city names elicit no sense of familiarity. Still, these towns look nice. I could cut loose from my itinerary, barrel blindly from the seasoned advice of other travelers, and land myself in some obscure Italian village no one’s ever heard of, besides the Italians, of course. Some ordinary coastal community sifting wages from the sea rather than the wallets of tourists. Rent a raft and float away into the Mediterranean sunset…but seriously, maybe this is the wrong train. I ask a few passengers.

“To Vernazza?” I ask. “Vernazza?” And point to the train.

Someone says the word for floor. Others shake their heads. One woman, obliging this strange foreigner, takes the lead, and offers me a helpful bundle of insight. Unfortunately, the rushing wind carries her words far away to the opposite end of our car. While Italy seems privileged to have experienced parts of the industrial revolution, like this train putting deliberately down the sun-soaked coast, other modern conveniences apparently have bypassed Europe’s boot. Despite the pressing humidity, Italians on the West Coast lack the crucial life support system we know as air conditioning. Thankfully, my train utilizes the predecessor to AC: wide-open windows. But in the context of conversations, Italian AC makes communication nearly impossible. Oh, well, her insight amounted to nothing more than Italian gibberish anyway.

“Prego?” I ask. I’ve often been told that when in Rome, do as the Romans do; in this case that means speak Italian. Earlier, as I crossed the border from Switzerland, a benevolent tour guide explained that the word “prego” serves at least a million functions, ranging from “may I take this,” “you’re welcome,” and “excuse me,” to a brand of spaghetti sauce. Thus, if lost for something to say in Italy, like now, “prego” might work. It does. She repeats her explanation. Great. I muster one last try, putting careful emphasis on each of the syllables. “Verrrr nahhhzzzzz uhhh?”

“Si, si.” So much for blending in. After a few “graci’s”, my bag and I ride the remainder of the trip in self-conscious silence. Cover blown, I discard any pretense of acting indigenous and pull dog-eared pages from a used copy of Rick Steves’s Best of Europe 2001. Staring at the map, I note how close Vernazza should be to Genoa. Barely a centimeter! Oh, well. I stash the map in the front pocket of my shorts with a camera, some German receipts, and a rail pass. A rail pass?! Hallelujah! I nearly jump out of my seat. My Italian train-mates must think I’m loony, or perhaps I’m behaving like a typical American. No wonder we have such a poor reputation abroad. After daring a last glance at my fellow passengers, I turn my gaze to the window and stare at the passing towns—in part to avoid further eye contact with the locals but more importantly to somehow verify that, yes, I am on the right train.

Hours later, without warning, our train unceremoniously emerges from a tunnel to that fabled city of Vernazza. Hoisting my pack, I happily stumble through the door and onto the platform. The haggard locomotive burps, coughs, and finally rumbles from the station, allowing the distant lull of laughing voices to fill its wake. An expectant smile flickers across my face. I can almost taste the gelato[1]. But first things first: I must secure a place to stay. No worries, my friend Rick Steves already allayed my apprehensions concerning the night lodgings: “The town is honeycombed year-round with pleasant, rentable private rooms, […] simply show up by morning and look around [….] Any main-street business has a line on rooms for rent […] no reservations taken, just show up at restaurants” (Steves 578).

So, down a flight of stairs and into the busy breathing city center. In Vernazza, the city center consists of a single pedestrian-populated cobblestone street that empties into a small cove well suited for sailboats and small fishing craft. Forming an artificial canyon of sorts, apartments, boutiques, Internet cafes, and restaurants are stacked one atop the other all along both sides of the avenue. Tourists are everywhere, sipping the local white wine—after all, where else but in the Cinque Terre is wine cheaper than coke?—and languidly reclining on apartment steps, all in all pretending to be Italians well practiced in the art of the siesta.

Following the natural progression of the boulevard toward the harbor, I eagerly approach the waterfront. Sidestepping some sunbathers, I lean forward for my first touch of the Mediterranean. Instead of experiencing a transforming moment where all historical references to this great body of water suddenly converge into one epiphany about my place in time—that’s how I imagined my first meeting with the Mediterranean—the great big bulk straddling my back lunges forward as if to leapfrog my shoulders. I somehow catch my balance, roll to the side, and narrowly escape a refreshing dip.

Shrugging my shoulders in mild defeat, I cautiously walk along the beach toward the first candidate for a good night’s lodgings: Gambero Rosso. I’m not quite sure how this works though; apparently all the harbor-side restaurants set their diners outside in a sea of plastic patio furniture. In fact, the various restaurants seem to encourage their tables and chairs to mingle amongst one another. Perhaps waiters from the various establishments compete, racing one another to each new guest: speedy service, guaranteed! While the lack of indoor seating ensures a marvelous view, it also makes it difficult to determine the best manner of approaching a restaurant proprietor. After a moment of indecision, I head toward the door from which the food seems to be flowing.

Passing through some dangling beads, I step into a dim smoky room. Contrary to my initial impression, this appears to be some kind of a bar. I spot a woman behind the counter and prepare for first contact.

“Uhhh…buona sera!” I greet her enthusiastically. That’s “good evening,” I think.

“Prego…” She says as she polishes a glass, inquisitively searching me with her dark hazel eyes. Apparently yet another use for the term “prego.” With my three word Italian vocabulary exhausted, I turn to the standby communication tool of all oblivious travelers: my hands.

I point to myself, bring my hands together against my right ear in the manner of a pillow, and ask: “Where place to stay? Sleep?” My English grows choppy. I even try a little French. Then, in a rare flash of inspiration, I conceive the perfect gimmick to illustrate my sorry plight. I pull the crumpled page from my Best of Europe 2001 and point to two boldface Italian words that preclude Rick’s explanation of places to stay. She squints at the worn page, shakes her head “no,” and mumbles something I take to mean that they’re+full. As a consolation gift of sorts, she nods and points across the square before returning to her dirty china.

Threading in and out of tourists, I cross the square. Outside the indicated apartment, a few men lounge idly about, laughing heartily through wispy clouds of cigarette smoke. I approach one, about to speak, but he motions me inside. I enter, make eye contact with a young man in an apron, and launch confidently into my new routine. As I thrust the page under his nose, I glimpse a sparkle in his eye. I think he understands. I’m a pro! Perhaps those games of charades really paid off.

Perhaps not. “Sorry,” he says, clear as can be, “You have no reservations? We have no rooms left.” Either I suddenly picked up Italian, or he’s speaking English. “It be tough to find room this time of the season without reservation. Try Paolo at Trattoria del Capitano,” he says, pointing next door at another restaurant.

I try next door. “No, no rooms.”

I try next door to Trattoria del Capitano but am referred back to Paulo. Like the Mary and Joseph of past millennia, I’m faced with the harsh prospect of no room in the inn. Unfortunately, there are no stables either. All these tourists, I belatedly realize, have places to stay. Quaint little Vernazza is brimming with hotel patrons. By eight in the evening, it’s an entire village of no vacancies. I am Cinderella at two strokes till twelve; catch my coach now, or things will get ugly. However, this is no fairy tale: there may be no night trains out of here.

concluded here (at the17pointscale.blogspot.com)

italy story

2007-02-17T01:28:00.000-08:00

“To Vernazza?” I ask. “Vernazza?” And point to the train.

“Si, si.” So much for blending in. After a few “graci’s,” my bag and I ride the remainder of the trip in self-conscious silence. Cover blown, I discard any pretense of acting indigenous and pull dog-eared pages from a used copy of Rick Steves’s Best of Europe 2001. Staring at the map, I note how close Vernazza should be to Genoa. Barely a centimeter! Oh, well. I stash the map in the front pocket of my shorts with a camera, some German receipts, and a rail pass. A rail pass?! Hallelujah! I nearly jump out of my seat. My Italian train-mates must think I’m loony, or perhaps I’m behaving like a typical American. No wonder we have such a poor reputation abroad. After daring a last glance at my fellow passengers, I turn my gaze to the window and stare at the passing towns—in part to avoid further eye contact with the locals but more importantly to somehow verify that, yes, I am on the right train.

travel writing (2)

2007-02-12T23:32:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately, a foreign dialect is all I know, and—where’s my rail pass? As inconspicuously as possible, I frantically leaf through the many pockets of my Lowe Alpine Sirroco Classic® pack, ruing the day that I appraised an abundance of pockets as a convenience. The pleasant Seattle salesman said nothing about the inconvenience of something so convenient. A giant oversight if you ask me. I could be lost somewhere in the Tibetan highlands, mind a bit fuzzy from the altitude, wasting my last breaths in futile pursuit of an oxygen mask locked far away in some forgotten pocket, or, worse yet, I could be missing my rail pass! Where is it?

[to be continued in a later post]

continued on the17pointscale

man of law

2007-01-27T12:07:00.000-08:00

(i like this essay, but if i were to write it today, i would trim a good 200 words)

Andrew David

Professor L. Reinsma

English 4225 Literature Capstone: Chaucer

June 6, 2003

A Quest to Free the Man of Law

Imagine John Grisham “in a medlee cote, / Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale” (GP 328-329) and you have Chaucer’s Man of Law. After all, the General Prologue of the Canterbury Tales leads us to believe that the Man of Law is more than our ordinary Canterbury storyteller. In the space of only twenty-two lines, the Prologue catalogues at least twelve virtues that identify the Man of Law as a master of courtroom fiction. Generally speaking, this medieval Matlock seems (a term I borrow from Chaucer’s description of the Man of Law) to be “ful riche of excellence,” for he “seemed swich, [and] his wordes weren so wise” (311, 313). But more importantly, the Man of Law knows his stuff. Although “he semed bisier than he was,” his extensive legal experience can be deduced by a “patente” he receives from the king (322, 315). The vast amounts of wealth on which he dotes offer yet another sign of his exceptional legal service (319-20). As for literary craft, he is infallible: “he koude endite and make a thyng, / Ther koude no wight pynche at his writying” (325-26). Finally, just in case we’re afraid that the Man of Law might launch into an enthralling tale of courtroom intrigue and suddenly lose his place, the General Prologue assures us that he has a sharp memory (327).

But somewhere between the General Prologue and the Man of Law’s Introduction and Tale our Canterbury-bound John Grisham sets sail for the twenty-first century and leaves us alone with an enigma. Rather than courtroom brawls, landmark cases, or behind the bench exposés, readers are treated to a moving saint’s life. In the transition from the Man of Law’s Introduction to the Man of Law’s Tale we abruptly shift from a worldly exhortation against poverty—entirely appropriate for a man of “fee symple”—to the reverent glorification of Custance, a remarkable heroine who quietly endures agonizing sea voyages and hellish mother-in-laws (319). Furthermore, not content to simply provide readers with an explicitly Christian message of constancy in faith, the Man of Law continually interrupts his narrative to remind us of this spiritual message. Indeed, the tale related by the Man of Law seems absurdly incompatible with the character readers have come to expect.

The incongruity between the Prologue portrait of the Man of Law and his actual tale may represent more than a temporary memory lapse on the part of Chaucer. Other Canterbury pilgrims share similar fates. For instance, while the Pardoner’s Tale paints a clear picture of its protagonist’s hypocrisy, the Pardoner’s motives for telling a self-incriminating tale remain inexplicable (Lawton 17). Likewise, while the Second Nun’s Tale offers no perplexing contradictions between teller and tale, it also offers no meaningful connection with the Second Nun. Thus, critics like Lawton insist that many tales find their place in the Canterbury Tales out of convenience. In the case of the Second Nun’s Tale, “the legend of St. Cecilia […] was probably incorporated from matter already at hand and was not designed for the Second Nun” (97).

Over the past century, literary criticism has approached such issues of narrative presence from two vastly different perspectives. In the early twentieth century, George Lyman Kittredge’s groundbreaking book Chaucer and His Poetry sent long-lasting ripples through the academic community by suggesting that “the pilgrims [of the Canterbury Tales] do not exist for the sake of their stories, but vice versa” (155). Grafting this proposition into their ideologies, ensuing generations evaluated the tales in terms of their connections to their narrators rather than the isolated plot that nestled within the tales. However, recent scholarship seeks to overturn Kittredge’s assumption. Writers like A.C. Spearing insist that many Pilgrims narrate tales that offer little if any insight into their own nature. Furthermore, such critics accuse modern readers of using Pilgrim narrators to shield Chaucer from any criticism concerning his tales, whether it be in terms of accuracy, writing quality, or modern moral issues (Spearing 725). These critics hope to return the primary focus of the structure and content of the Canterbury Tales to Chaucer rather than his narrators.

At the forefront of this debate is the Man of Law. Following the General Prologue, our first encounter with the Man of Law occurs in the Man of Law’s Introduction. As one might expect from a lawyer of his caliber, the Man of Law prefaces his tale with more rhetoric than his fellow travelers; rather than exchanging repartee with other pilgrims, he advances assertions about time, literature, and poverty. However, contrary to his Prologue credentials, the Man of Law makes a number of key intellectual mistakes. As he compares his forthcoming tale to other writers, his “Introduction […] and Tale are quietly networked with an interstitial pattern of errors about things literary […]” that betray a marked lack of wisdom and memory, the very traits for which he is heralded in the Prologue (Delasanta 291). For instance, at one point the Man of Law erroneously refers to a rape scene that is mentioned in Gower’s Confessio Amantis. He claims that Gower’s Antiochus “hir threw upon the pavement” and “birafte his doghter of hir maydenhede” (MLT 85, 83), but the Man of Law actually depicts a far more graphic scene than Gower’s tale—the very tale he is attempting to sanitize (Delasanta 292). Elsewhere he also makes mistakes with Ovid’s texts and some Biblical references.

At some level it seems that Chaucer must be at fault: either a character he earlier described in terms of wisdom and memory can’t keep a story straight, or Chaucer himself is in error. Such scenarios lead A.C. Spearing to warn readers against the slippery slope of assuming “that when Chaucer ‘misquotes’ or ‘misuses’ any text, it is a sign of his narrator’s fallibility rather than of the fact that (possessing a library much smaller than that available to any modern medievalist) he is quoting from memory” (720-21). Nonetheless, while Kittredge may put too much faith in Chaucer by proclaiming that “Chaucer always knew what he was about,” the literary competency of the poet’s other works make it equally presumptive to assume that Chaucer simply confused his literature.

Ultimately, the General Prologue portrayal of the Man of Law and the Man of Law’s Introduction leave us with more questions than answers. To what degree did Chaucer intend for the Man of Law to be inconsistent? And, what purposes do these inconsistencies serve? First, by returning to the General Prologue, one can argue that Chaucer erected the scaffolding for the Man of Law’s inconsistencies from the very outset of the Canterbury Tales. The flattering descriptions we read of the Man of Law are balanced with precise ambiguities: “He semed swich, his wordes weren so wise,” and again, “Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas, / And yet he semed bisier than he was” (GP 313, 321-22). The repeated use of the term “semed” offers an implicit challenge to the very compliments that the Man of Law receives. Indeed, it is not difficult to imagine Chaucer stooped over his manuscript smirking mischievously as he subtly pokes fun of narrators like the Man of Law.

But the most menacing challenge to this view still awaits. The discordant shift from the worldly matters of the Man of Law’s Introduction to the spiritually laden tale of Custance presents a disjointed effect that is hard to reconcile. Those who reject the image of Chaucer carefully managing his Pilgrims’ every word, insist that the lawyer that is so “officious, pompous, [and] full of self-importance and legal jargon” in the Prologue “has no significance in the Tale’s narration” (Lawton 97). To such critics, the Man of Law’s Tale might be more appropriately referred to as The Tale of Custance, or even Chaucer’s Tale.

However, by highlighting the Man of Law’s suprisingly active role in telling this tale—albeit a strangely inappropriate tale—other critics make a masterful start to rescuing the Kittredgeian view in light of the Man of Law’s Tale. While most scholars acknowledge this contradiction, there are varying approaches to its explanation. Drawing upon the Tale’s excessive use of apostrophe and narrative interruption, critics have painted a picture of the Man of Law as “more than just another story teller among the Canterbury pilgrims: he is an interpreter, an interpreter of both his story and the world around him” (Wood 194). Indeed, if the many didactic interludes that fill the Man of Law’s tale are truly his, which is certainly up for debate, then he is among the most active of Chaucer’s narrators. The Man of Law’s digressions range from discussions of astrology and the treachery of fate to proclamations of God’s ability (and perhaps obligation) to save us from life’s calamities. It is commonly suggested that the Man of Law uses these monologues to impress his fellow pilgrims.

Moreover, in pairing the Man of Law with such a tale, Chaucer may be subverting the pilgrim’s intentions by bringing his hypocritical posturing to light and setting the Man of Law in direct contrast with his protagonist, Custance. To this end, Ann Astell offers a characteristic summary of how critics attempt to redeem the disparity between the Man of Law and his tale: “Chaucer’s satire, with its disparate voices, […] call[s] for reform […] by permitting Custance herself to speak despite the windiness of her self-appointed spokesman. And that quiet voice, articulating a practical belief in divine providence, manages to be heard” (97). In fact, according to such critics, it is the “windiness” of the Man of Law that highlights the quiet message of devotion, which underlies the tale.

While this may be the standard rendering of the Man of Law by the progeny of Kittredge, other portraits of the lawyer muddy this seemingly straightforward interpretation. In fact, Joseph Grennen swings wildly in the opposite direction. He asserts that “it is hard to believe that it [the tale of Custance] is meant to reflect badly on the lawyer” (501). Instead, Grennen praises him as a “devotee of justice in some ideal order […] rather than a legal technician grown wealthy through sharp practices” (501). Likewise, Walter Scheps characterizes the Man of Law as Custance’s “advocate,” protecting her by “lamenting the treatment accorded her, anticipating objections, and vilifying enemies” (qtd. in Harty 368).

To the company of this learned Man of Law and the more lawyer-like Man of Law, other critics add a third Man of Law who is ultimately transformed in the storytelling process. In the most moving of interpretations, Robert Finnegan suggests that the Man of Law begins the tale with pompous “self-promotion” but is so humbled by Custance’s unshakable faith that he is converted (227, 240). As evidence for this surprising twist, Finnegan suggests that the aforementioned abundance of narratorial digressions experiences an importance shift in the latter half of the tale. Rather than showing off his rhetorical skills, the Man of Law’s asides seek an escape from telling his tale as he pleads with the pilgrims: “I pray yow alle my labour to relesse; […] I am so wery for to speke of sorowe” (MLT 1069, 1071). Finnegan suggests that the Man of Law ultimately loses control of his narrative; he attempts to write a happy ending, but the facts keep getting in the way (237-38). Thus, the final lines in which the Man of Law cries out to God, “Jhesu Crist, that of his myght may sende / Joye after wo, governe us in his grace / And kepe us alle that been in this place!” can be read as sincere (1160-1162).

In effect, these explanations for the disjunction between the Man of Law and his tale serve the role that one might expect from the Man of Law: they launch convincing, textually based arguments worthy of the finest of courtrooms. Nevertheless, they can’t quite get their stories straight. Like the New Testament apostles, the various literary critics read the same story but arrive at something slightly different. To this end, A.C. Spearing refers to such interpretations as “absurd” (725). He suggests that such interpretations can be construed as creative but not necessarily accurate. Moreover, he prods readers to take a more historical view that recognizes that “in the medieval period […] the normal assumption seems to have been not that every story expresses an individual human consciousness but that stories have a kind of autonomous existence in a realm of their own (728). Therefore, according to Spearing, by creating such elaborate interrelations between tales and tellers, we unconsciously impose modern sensibilities upon medieval literature. In fact, the diversity of interpretations concerning the Man of Law and his relation to his tale may be sufficient evidence that creativity has taken the place of legitimate historical criticism.

Unfortunately, the star-witness to the narratorial debate is unavailable. Chaucer did not leave behind any explanation on the role of his narrators in their tales. Thus, it may be impossible to distinguish his actual design for such pilgrims as the Man of Law. Furthermore, despite medieval literature’s unfamiliarity with relating tellers to tales, even Spearing accepts that Chaucer was on the cutting edge of such techniques. Still, this process was only in its infancy. Thus, without a word from Chaucer, we cannot fit his work into particular interpretive frames. As Derek Pearsall suggests, “to suppose that the Tales are always or never dramatically conceived would be to restore Chaucer to the straitjacket he struggled so hard to escape” (45).

But then, practically speaking, how can we as readers prevent ourselves from becoming caught in a head-scratching flux between these two points? Chaucer’s text speaks for itself: the reason for the vast array of opinions concerning narratorial role, or lack thereof, is Chaucer’s characteristic ambiguity. He bequeaths us characters with enough maneuvering room that we as readers can develop our own understanding of the text. Historical context is important, but unlike the spoken word, literature grows beyond its original form. Thus, while a back-from-the-dead interview with Chaucer might fit most snugly with Spearing’s conservative view of tales and tellers, interpretation is forevermore out of Chaucer’s hands. Instead, it resides in the capable hands of his characters, his critics, and, ultimately, his readers.

Works Cited

Astell, Ann W. “Apostrophe, Prayer, and the Structure of Satire in The Man of Law’s

Tale.” Studies in the Age of Chaucer. Ed. Thomas J. Heffernan. Vol. 13.

Knoxville: University of Tennessee, 1991. 81-97.

Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Riverside Chaucer. Ed. Larry Benson. 3^rd edn. New York:

Houghton Mifflin, 1987.

Delasanta, Rodney. “And of Great Reverence: Chaucer’s Man of Law.” The Chaucer

Review 5 (1971): 288-310.

Finnegan, Robert Emmett. “The Man of Law, His Tale, and the Pilgrims.”

Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 77 (1976): 227-40.

Grennen, Joseph E. “Chaucer’s Man of Law and the Constancy of Justice.” Journal of

English and Germanic Philology 84.4 (1985): 498-514.

Harty, Kevin J. “The Tale and Its Teller: The Case of Chaucer’s Man of Law.” The

American Benedictine Review 34.4 (1983): 361-71.

Kittredge, George Lyman. Chaucer and His Poetry. Cambridge: Harvard University

Press, 1915.

Lawton, David. Chaucer’s Narrators. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1985.

Pearsall, Derek. The Canterbury Tales. Ed. Claude Rawson. London: George Allen &

Unwin, 1985.

Spearing, A.C. “Narrative Voice: The Case of Chaucer’s Man of Law’s Tale.” New

Literary History 32 (2001): 715-746.

Wood, Chauncey. Chaucer and the Country of the Stars: Poetic Uses of Astrological

Imagery. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970.

Because

2006-11-30T22:48:00.000-08:00

I. Because answers the questions Why? and How?

Because is a subordinating conjunction; it is used to introduce a dependent clause (Allen; Lunsford). More particularly, because tends to introduce adverbial dependent clauses that answer the question why? When because answers the question why, it relates directly to the original statement, as in I came [why did you come?] because I wanted to see you (Allen).

Non-because adverbial clauses may answer questions like where? when? to what degree? and in what manner? Of course, these questions are not usually explicitly stated in the sentence. Dependent clauses that begin with that, which, who, and whom are not adverbial clauses (Siegel).

Because sometimes behaves a bit like the coordinating conjunction for (see Section IV-B). In this role, it may introduce a dependent clause by answering the question how? For example, I know he committed suicide,[how did you know that he committed suicide?] because his wife told me (Allen). Notice that you could probably swap a for for the because and still be fine.

II. Because at the beginning

Mrs. Harrison and your other junior high teachers were wrong. Prepositions fit fine at the end of sentences, because makes a swell first word (Allen; The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition), and there is one space after a period, not two. It’s also acceptable to use because after an introductory it’s, that’s, that is, etc: It’s because these socialist values are apparently being incorporated into the party doctrine that many fascists are changing their political allegiance (Allen). It’s not a great sentence, but it follows the rules.

By the way, the reason that Mrs. Harrison decried the use of because at the beginning of a sentence may have been that she wanted you to avoid separating a main clause and a subordinate clause into two separate sentences (e.g., I don’t want to go to work. Because I’d rather sleep) (Louisa). See the end of section IV.

Mrs. Harrison may have been thwarting the unholy communion of because and a noun clause (i.e., any clause or part of a sentence that stands in place of a noun(Bowles)). Grammarians argue that because should only introduce adverbial clauses (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition), and naïve students may be tempted to write sentences like: Because the man is guilty (,) does not mean that he should be executed (Bowles), Because we don’t explicitly ask these questions doesn’t mean they aren’t answered (Allen), or Just because he thinks it a good idea doesn’t mean it’s a good idea (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition). This form is fine for colloquial speech, but in addition to breaking some obscure rule of grammar, this kind of construction is impractical: it uncomfortably delays the main clause (Allen). Therefore, in formal writing do not use a clause beginning with because as the subject of the sentence (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition).

III. Commas

Note the position of the commas in the section I examples. A comma should rarely be used when because answers the question why? It may be appropriate to precede a sentence-ending why?/because-clause with a comma if (a) the reason that follows the because is parenthetical (Siegel), (b) the writer is engineering an artificial or dialectical pause between the main statement and the reason, or (c) because is joined with of to form some kind of mutant prepositional phrase (this is probably wrong). I made those last two up. Here’s an example of a parenthetical (or prepositional phrase?) because: He’d have to watch his step…not to make a hash of things, because of over-anxiety. Notice that if you read the sentence aloud, it is natural to pause before “because of over-anxiety” (Allen), thus the comma.

Another instance when a comma may precede because is when it is used to answer the question how? For instance, in the last example of section I, the comma helps readers understand that because is not answering the question “Why did he commit suicide?”

And what about when because begins the sentence? There seems to be a nearly universal trend toward separating sentence-beginning adverbial clauses (especially ones that begin with because) from independent clauses with a comma (Rozakis; Siegel). However, occasionally you stumble across sentences like this: Because of the deterioration of the sugar in the blood it was decided, after consultation, to carry out an exchange blood transfusion (Allen). Notice there’s no comma. I suspect that the lack of a comma may be the author’s attempt to avoid a clunky comma party (Elisabetta).

Commas may also be necessary in sentences where the initial statement is negative. Please see Section VI for more information.

IV. Confusion with other words

A. Because versus As and Since

Because introduces a direct reason: I was sleeping because I was tired. (Notice that there’s no comma—it’s answering the question why?) In contrast, causal since (which has been a part of the English language since before Chaucer wrote in the fourteenth century) is useful as a slightly milder way of expressing causation than because. That is, since is appropriate when the first event in a sequence leads logically to the second event but was not its direct cause (Goldstein; The Chicago Manual of Style). The usage for as appears to be the same as since: As/Since I was tired, I was sleeping (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition; Dictionary.Com Unabridged (V 1.0.1). Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary)—that is, it reads more like: Because I was tired, I happened to be sleeping.

As should be avoided when it could be construed to mean while.

Bad: She couldn’t answer her page as she was examining a critically ill patient.

Less bad: She couldn’t answer her page, as she was examining a critically ill patient.

Good: She couldn’t answer her page because she was examining a critically ill patient (Iverson et al.).

Since should be avoided when it could be construed to mean from the time of or from the time that (Goldstein; Iverson et al.; The Chicago Manual of Style; Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association).

Bad: She had not been able to answer her page since she was in the clinic.

Good: She had not been able to answer her page because she was in the clinic (Iverson et al.).

All three terms (because, as, and since) can be used at the beginning of a sentence. However, when these words are used to start a sentence, as/since tend to emphasize the main statement whereas because emphasizes the reason (Allen). See Section II.

B. Because versus For

Because and for may be interchangeable. However, it’s helpful to understand which attributes of because are the most amplified by for. In the sentence I know he committed suicide, for/because his wife told me, for/because answer the question How? (Allen). In this sentence, I was sleeping, for I was tired, for introduces the reason, proof, or justification like an afterthought or a parenthetical statement (Dictionary.Com Unabridged (V 1.0.1). Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary). (Notice that there’s a comma in both examples; for is a subordinate conjunction (i.e., for, or, so, nor, and, yet, but), so the comma preceding the reason is essential.

C. Because versus Inasmuch as

This phrase implies concession; the main statement is true in view of the circumstances introduced by this conjunction: Inasmuch as I was tired, it seemed best to sleep (Dictionary.Com Unabridged (V 1.0.1). Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary). Inasmuch as is a rather formal and awkward expression—avoid it! It means “to the extent that,” “in so far as,” or more simply, “in view of the fact that,” and “since.” The preferred style is two words, not four (Allen).

D. Because (of) versus Due to

Use due to when the main statement or effect is (1) stated as a noun and (2) appears before the verb be. Use because when the main statement or effect is stated as a phrase (Allen; The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition; Iverson et al.; Lunsford).

For example, due to is preferred in this sentence: His paranoia was due to the marshmallow candies that he was eating. The due to needs a noun or pronoun as its antecedent and, in this case, that noun is his paranoia. But because of is preferred in this sentence: The turtle-man was sweating profusely because of the shell on his back (Lunsford).

Other examples of due to:

Pay Caesar what is due to Caesar, and pay God what is due to God.

Incorrect speed is generally due to a word idler wheel.

It was due to start at four o’clock.

Part of her happiness, her unaltered sense of her own superiority, was due to…(Allen).

This can get confusing:

There was a delay due to bad weather – it’s an inverted version of The delay was due to bad weather, so it’s fine. However, if you change the sentence a bit more—The train was delayed due to bad weather—you’re in trouble. The due is no longer grammatically attached and is therefore unacceptable (Allen).

E. Because (of) versus Due to the fact that

Due to the fact that is long, confusing, and a grammatical mess. Therefore, always consider because (of) before using this awkward phrase.

That this slippage is so slight is ~~due to the fact that~~ because the other staff have worked a great deal of extra time.

*In cases where there is a strong link between due and an antecedent noun, due to the fact that may be preferred: The success of the tampon is partly due to the fact that it is hidden (Allen).

V. The reason is … because

Avoid this construction; it is redundant (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition; Allen). The definition of because is “for the reason that” (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition), so the sentence The reason for this was because I was the coolest man in the world literally means The reason for this was for the reason that I was really redundant (Allen). Another reason to avoid the reason/because construction is that because can only introduce adverbial clauses and that reason is requires completion by a noun clause (see last paragraph of Section II) (Bowles). Writers should also avoid the phrase the reason why. In both cases the sentences can easily be rewritten using that instead of because (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition).

VI. Because and negatives

The last tricky characteristic of because is its use in negative sentences. For instance, what does this sentence mean: I do not eat chicken because of the feathers? Given the content of the sentence, we might assume that the speaker chooses not to eat chicken and that the reason he or she avoids chicken is because of poultry feathers. After all, who would want to eat feathers? However, without a comma between chicken and because, the sentence technically means something entirely different; the current sentence should technically be interpreted to mean I do eat chicken but I don’t eat it because of the feathers.

If it’s a negative statement with a valid reason for that negative statement, use a comma:

I do not eat chicken [negative statement], and the reason is the feathers [valid reason]

I do not eat chicken, because of the feathers. Notice the pause between chicken and because.

If it’s a positive statement with an invalid reason for that positive statement, don’t use a comma: I do ~~not~~ eat chicken [positive statement], but the reason that I eat it is not feathers [invalid reason]. I do not eat chicken because of the feathers. Notice that there’s no pause in this version; in fact, it almost sounds like there should be more to the sentence like I do not eat chicken because of the feathers, I eat it because of the tasty strips of beak.

Again, the context will often make the meaning clear (e.g., this sentence technically requires a comma but still meets Fowler’s approval even without a comma: Many people do not attend church because they are bored by ritualistic services), but a comma certainly helps oust ambiguity: The toy is not for every customer, because it does require some patience.

VII. Other subordinating conjunctions (see Lunsford)

VIII. Other compound prepositions (see Lunsford)

IX. References

Allen, Robert, ed. Pocket Fowler's Modern English Usage. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004.

Bowles, Richard. "Don't Use "Because" To Start a Noun Clause". November 30, 2006 2006. <http://richardbowles.tripod.com/gmat/sc/sc_type6.htm>.

The Chicago Manual of Style. 15th ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003.

Dictionary.Com Unabridged (V 1.0.1). Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary. Random House, Inc, 2006.

Elisabetta. "Beginning Sentences With "Because" ". Ed. Andrew David, 2006.

Goldstein, Norm, ed. The Associated Press Stylebook and Briefing on Media Law. Cambridge: Perseus Publishing, 2000.

Iverson, Cheryl, et al., eds. American Medical Association Manual of Style: A Guide for Authors and Editors. 9th ed. Philadelphia: Lippincott Williams & Wilkins, 1998.

Louisa. "Beginning Sentences With "Because"." Ed. Andrew David, 2006.

Lunsford, Andrewa A. The Everday Writer. Second ed. Boston: Bedford, 2001.

Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association. 5th ed. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association, 2001.

Rozakis, Laurie E. The Complete Idiot's Guide to Grammar and Style Penguin Group, 2003.

Siegel, Kevin A. "Writing: Commas, Commas, Commas." I Came, I Saw, I Learned... IconLogic, 2006. Vol. 2006.

in limbo over purgatory

2006-11-20T23:25:00.000-08:00

Fire licks their shins as they struggle upward. Haunting images of their past sins heckle them as they climb. Finally, just as the pain reaches intolerability, a man in a shimmering white robe offers a helping hand and carries the relieved figures through the pearly gates of Heaven. That’s how I imagined it anyway, but David Brown’s article, No Heaven Without Purgatory, presents a Purgatory coinciding with both logic and basic Christian doctrine. The article intelligently blueprints the necessity of Purgatory in Christian theology, surprisingly extracting my view of Purgatory from the imagination and delivering it into the realm of possibility.

As he begins his article, Brown identifies two competing models of Purgatory. According to Brown, the popular notion of Purgatory today is as “a second chance for those of whom it might be argued…had no proper opportunities in this life” (447). However, rather than supporting this catch-all conception of Purgatory, Brown defends the “traditional” view of Purgatory. In this view there are two essential characteristics to Purgatory. First, Purgatory is a “place of moral preparation (not trial) for those whose lives and decisions had already destined them for Heaven” (447). Using a three-pronged set of arguments, Brown spends most of the article supporting this view. Then he finishes No Heaven Without Purgatory by describing the second attribute of Purgatory: the intense pain of self recognition that is in some manner a necessary atonement for our moral mistakes.

Brown begins with the “temporal argument” which offers a comparison between our moral character at death and our moral character in Heaven. Brown asserts that at death we are fallen, bearing the inescapable mark of human sinfulness. Conversely, in Heaven, by its very definition, we will be perfect. Since both premises seem solid, they pose an interesting dilemma; either we immediately jump from one moral state to another or there is period of transformation between the two states. Delving into the nature of our human state, Brown claims that as humans we exist through a process of continual change. Under such circumstances, we must experience a process like Purgatory following death, for an instantaneous shift from sin to perfection would defy our very humanness (447-450).

Next, using the “argument from identity,” Brown builds connections between our sense of self and the necessary existence of Purgatory. He suggests that our sense of self is founded primarily on our past. Thus, in the event of an instant transformation following death, Brown contends that while we would retain our past memories, we would find them fully incompatible with the perfection in which we then rest. In other words, our heavenly self would experience an inconceivable lack of connection with the sin of its previous self. Thus, according to Brown, an intermediary state like Purgatory would be necessary to sustain our sense of connection, without which we would fundamentally cease to be human (451-452).

The final characteristic that Brown ascribes as important to our humanness in the issue of Purgatory is our free will. Similar to our class discussions of evil, Brown explains that “morally and psychologically, respect for persons is thus held to take precedence over an objectively right decision” (453). Therefore, Brown entitles this argument the “argument from self-acceptance,” declaring that for us to enter heaven we must accept God’s divine grace. However, Brown argues that if we are suddenly whisked from death to heaven’s door, there is no opportunity to make such a decision (453-454).

Finally, Brown brings the article to a close by explaining the nature of the pain inherent in Purgatory. He draws a careful distinction between pain as a punishment and pain as a cleansing device. Christ already paid the punishment. In this system of Purgatory, pain functions internally as we come to acknowledge our sins and how we could have avoided hurting others. Our only penalty in Brown’s system of Purgatory is that of self-recognition

Overall, Brown’s vision of Purgatory is very compelling, yet it is not flawless. Throughout No Heaven Without Purgatory, he raises numerous objections which he later solves. Nonetheless, after reading the article, I stumbled upon two additional objections that Brown did not seem to address. I will begin by applying an objection to the “temporal argument.” According to this argument, we must undergo a process of change following death. However, the assumption that this process of change must be Purgatory seems to be false. The doctrine Purgatory springs from ideas concerning Heaven and Hell. These ideas originate in the Bible, but there is no mention of Purgatory. Instead the Bible speaks of a “final judgment.” During this event, God will judge mankind and Jesus Christ will defend us. Similar to an earthly court case, the “final judgment” will be both more than sufficient to clear our name and produce the necessary inner cleansing. This objection also stands its ground under the “argument from identity.” Postulating an event like the “final judgment” preserves our sense of identity with our earthly life. Through the event of our judgment, continuity between our earthly life and our life in heaven is maintained.

At first, this objection seems to offer a plausible counter-example to Purgatory. It seems to overcome the pitfalls of previous objections cited in the text. Both the objections raised in the text to the “temporal argument” insisted upon an abrupt shift between death and Heaven. However, the “final judgment” reaffirms the necessity of growth and change to our humanness. It is during this trial that we are confronted with our deeds and subsequently forgiven. Furthermore, because the “final judgment” is an alternative to Purgatory rather than an abrupt means of moving from death to Heaven, it also preserves our connectedness as discussed in the “argument from identity.” Nonetheless, the “final judgment” objection is not invincible. Although it appears to offer the inner change necessary to convert one from sin to purity, the case for inner change is more explicit in the traditional view of Purgatory, which by its definition entails an inner purgation of sorts. The “final judgment” objection also falls into trouble because of its close similarity to Purgatory; both are temporal states in which one is forced to undergo self-recognition prior to reaching Heaven. Therefore the two events could be misconstrued as identical. However, by returning to Brown’s definition of “traditional” Purgatory, we discover that unlike the “final judgment” Purgatory is not a trial.

Another brief challenge to the “argument from identity” which is not mentioned in the text is an objection to the notion that we “can identify ourselves only through continuity with our past” (451). The following objection also contradicts Brown’s claim that without an intermediate “stage between earth and heaven, the resurrected individual could have no reasonable grounds for believing himself to be the same person” as his earthly self (451). On the contrary, it seems that as earthly humans one means of personal identification is via our personality. Therefore, if there was an abrupt discontinuity between our state of purity in Heaven and our memories of sin, we would still share a significant link between our new selves and past selves. I believe this is an important oversight on the part of Brown and a noteworthy objection. Brown must either dismiss such an objection as false or modify his position. To reject the fact that personality is a fundamental trait of human beings seems to contradict both psychological research and common sense. Thus, it seems that Brown would be forced to change his position to one stating that “the resurrected individual would have insufficient grounds for believing himself the same person as” his earthly self. Unfortunately for Brown, the term “insufficient” is more of an opinion than an absolute and therefore it is less evident that an intermediate state is necessary.

Ultimately, despite these objections, Brown’s theory of Purgatory still seems to stand strong. Though the “final judgment” may offer a reasonable alternative to the traditional view of Purgatory, it does not seem to cast the idea of Purgatory into the graveyard of false doctrines. In fact, it may be possible for the two views to exist in harmony. Likewise, although my second objection may weaken the “argument from identity” it leaves Brown’s remaining arguments unscathed. In conclusion, I found Brown’s support for the necessary existence of a “place of moral preparation” through intense pain and self-recognition to be more than sufficient to warrant shifting my view of Purgatory from fantasy to possibility.

the road.cormac mccarthy

2006-11-11T17:02:00.000-08:00

i intend to write a paragraph blurb on this book for image update. at that time i'll replace this quote. until then, i encourage you to go read it.

the 17 point scale endorses a no vote on initiative 91 (i-91) rough draft

2006-11-02T00:51:00.000-08:00

what is i-91? well, i-91 demands that the city receive fair value in any lease deals with for-profit sports organizations.

before i explain why this initiative is electoral garbage, let me offer two less relevant bits of insight. first, please recognize that i'm a political squirrel. in other words, the political corner of my brain is small and rather undeveloped. moreover, i spend most of my time running around looking for peanuts, so i don't nurture what little understanding that i may have--don't expect a flawless, bullet-proof argument. second, despite my political naivete, i feel that most of the propaganda against i-91 takes the wrong approach. arguments against i-91 tend to stress the fact that a yes vote is a big blow to local area sports. although this is true, i think it's a shame that i-91 rebuttals don't do more to appeal to non-sports fans. yes, a no vote is essentially an angry kick in colletive seattle sonic groin, but if you're a sports fan, i presume that you're already voting no on this initiative. thus, it makes more sense to begin by addressing the issue asportically.

who's supporting this initiative? citizens for more important things. i have to hand it to them: the bankrollers for this initiative have given themselves a clever title (but their website is messy and irritating; i felt like they were trying to sell me something. blechh!). cfmit was founded by nick licata (my least favorite city councilmember. earlier this year, president licata was quoted as saying that the sonics had "close to zero" cultural value in the city of seattle) and is currently led by chris van dyk, who, incidentally, isn't even a seattle resident. cfmit has noble aims. they hope that by slaying professional sports, money will be diverted to education and social services.

i-91 is EVIL!!!

2006-11-01T00:19:00.001-08:00

hi, i'm i-91, well, not really, but if i were, you shouldn't vote for me. i'm evil!!!

b12.the reverend.james perry walker

2006-10-31T00:26:00.001-08:00

i will have a paragraph blurb posted about this on image's website. soon, and very soon.

done. follow this link.

the crying of lot 49 / thomas pynchon

2006-09-29T00:36:00.000-07:00

i hope to say more about this book on my normal blog, but for now here's my quick first impression:

i wish that there was a market for re-edited, even partially rewritten, books. i know this is awfully hubristic sounding, but i feel like i could have significantly improved this book. i really liked it's crazy, interwoven themes. i really liked how tp has moments where his odd images suddenly coalesce in bright lights of clarity and are so well put. but i think that the work is dated. i doubt thatt ehre are many readers today that would pick up the crying and relate with o, the other characters, or even much of the plot. for this book to be meaningful, i think that we must have some connection with the narrator. unfortunately her bewildering sexathon in the beginning of the book spoils that for me. and i don't think thtat i'm just speaking as a moral conservative. there really is very little that connects o and i. consequently, there is nothing sane to keep me anchored to the book itself...

i wonder what happens after the book ends.

if you just linked here from my rated items, you're probably accustomed to finding actual non-andrew sites at the end of the link. well, here you go::

http://www.themodernword.com/pynchon/pynchon_lot49.html

annotations for heart of darkness

2006-09-14T00:33:00.000-07:00

without my edition of the book (it's green; has a balding, bearded guy and some jungle on the cover; and starts with the secret sharer) these comments may not make much sense. oh, well.

“sea and the sky were welded together without a joint…”

name of where they are: Gravesend

Captain is like a god

“Marlowe sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzenmast. He had sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect, and, with his arms dropped, the palms outwards, resembled an idol”

Bhudda plus three crosses…JC

“serenity became less brilliant but more profound”

“Reach Rested unRuffled…”

glorification of the past (ed: is it really glorification? Probably quite the opposite in retrospect)

“the dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs o empires.”

All light, except the town…

“and this also,” said Marlow suddenly, “has been one of the dark places of the earth.”

This?

Marlowe not like this (ed: the narrator claims that Marlowe not the typical seamen but is instead a wanderer…)

Sea=sameness=simplicity

first storyteller vs. marlowe

“a casual stroll or a casual spree on shore suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole continent, and generally he finds the secret not worth knowing”

how marlowe believes you find TRUTH (ed: Marlowe believes that something’s meaning isn’t inherent but found from outside) how to interpret it, it’s a murky process

TIME

Eng was like the Congo

Q: is Marlowe talking about English history or his own experience?

“darkness”

“and in some inland post feel the SAVAGERY, the utter SAVAGERY, had closed around him—all that MYSTERIOUS life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of WILD men”

“fascination of the abomination…the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate.”

Another Buddha pose

“men going at it blind—as is very proper for those who tackle a darkness.”

Marlowe: conquering (the darkness?) is also a black deed.

“one of Marlowe’s inconclusive experences.”

LIGHT

“it seemed somehow to throw a kind of LIGHT on everything about me…no, not very clear. And yet it seemed to throw a kind of LIGHT”

hee hee: “well, we won’t talk about that.”

“…but could not shake the idea. The snake had charmed me.” Mystery/charm vs. darkness

“I had an aunt, a dear enthusiastic soul.” Nate asks, “a cheerleader?”

senseless death and terror

“…a dead silence, grass sprouting between the stones…” compare to dead captain.

Danger=fascinating “I was going into the yellow. DEAD in the centre. And the river was there—fascinating—deadly—like a snake.”

“a white-haired secretary…beckoned me into the SANCTUARY.”

“and there was something OMINOUS in the atmosphere…I don’t know—something NOT QUITE RIGHT;”

“The swift and indifferent placidity of that look troubled me.”

(ed: compare these europeans at the beginning to something later in the text…)

-big section marked

“..though the house was as still as a house in A CITY OF DEAD…”

foreboding

Dr.’s theory of insanity

Stay CALM

“Something like an EMISSARY OF LIGHT, something like a lower sort of APOSTLE.”

Sexist?

“Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thing about an enigma. There it is before you—smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, ‘Come and find out.’”

ABSURD! (ed: referring to the shelling of blank countryside)

sounds fun! (ed: referring to “the general sense of vague and oppresive wonder grew upon me. It was like a weary PILGRIMAGE amongst hints for nightmares)

something gets in yer’ head (ed: referring to a suicide)

“The thing looked as DEAD as the carcass of some animal. I came upon more pieces of DECAYING machinery…”

“They passed me within six inches, without a glance, with that complete, DEATHLIKE indifference of unhappy savages.” I can’t believe I’m reading this for fun—must need my daily dose of death and decay.

“After all, I also was a part of the great cause of these high and just proceedings.” Presence=participation.

“…sort of life I had blundered into. I’ve seen the devil of violence, and the devil of greed, and the devil of hot desire; but, by all the stars! These were strong, lusty, red-eyed devils, that swayed and drove men—men, I tell you.” (ed: racist or actually condemning westerners…or both?)

okay, this is a sane and moral man’s reaction (ed: uh-oh, that was from my initial reading…perhaps I missed the racist tones on the first reading…uh-oh)

hee hee: “I avoided a vast artificial hole somebody had been digging on the slope, the purpose of which I found it impossible to divine. It wasn’t a quarry or a sandpit, anyhow. It was just a hole. It might have been conneted with the philanthropic desire of giving the criminals something to do. I don’t know.” (ed: he’s sarcastic, right? So racist?)

“Inferno” = opposite

DEATH = disease, freedom…

“…a kind of blind, white flicker in the depths of the orbs, which DIED OUT SLOWLY.” Parallel to true death (ed: should I be interested in the WHITE flicker…?)

“…he kept up his appearance. That’s backbone.”

“Mr. Kurtz…he is a very remarkable person.”

“I felt I was becoming scientifically interesting.”

“Everybody had behaved splendidly! Splendidly!”

something faintly mysterious (re: manager)

“He was great by this little thing that it was impossible to tell what could control such a man.”

Hmmmmmmm….(re: “he sealed the utterance with that smile of his, as thought it had been a door opening into a darkness he had in his keeping.”)

“I flung out of his hut…”

“They wandered here and there with their absurd long staves in their hands, like a lot of FAITHLESS PILGRIMS BEWITCHED inside a rotten fence.”

“…waiting patiently for the passing away of this fantastic invasion.” Could be either…

what are staves?

it is both powerful, profound, and ALIVE…as opposed to the dead man.

he he: “anyway, it could not be found there and as it was not liely to be sent from Europe, it did not appear clear to me what he was WAITING for.”

Mixed up: “but very soon I became awfully curious to see what he would find out from me.”

a Kurtz wanna’ be

thus 2 candles go dark “he blew the candle out suddenly”

“…this papier-mache Mephistopheles, and it seemed to me that if I tried I could poke my forefinger through him, and would find nothing inside but a little loose dirt, maybe”

“It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream—making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams….”

Wow! The narrative breaks!

Narrator talks: “I listened, I listened on the watch for the sentence, for the word, that would give me the clue to the FAINT UNEASINESS inspired by this narrative that seemed to SHAPE ITSELF WITHOUT HUMAN LIPS in the heavy night-air of the river.”

rivets. STEVE!

the meaning in work

ooh, someone’s having fun!: “I tried a jig. We capered on the iron deck.”

END OF PART I

PART II

100

even language grows absurd: “ ‘Make rain and fine weather—one man—the council—by the nose’—bits of absurd sentences that got the better of my drowsiness…”

plotting, talk of kurtz

101

“Anything—anything can be done in this country…The danger is in Europe…” but

“Each station should be like a beacon on the road towards better things, a centre for trade of course, but also for humanizing, improving, instructing.” –someone else talking. The role to be ‘good’

102

at news of donkey deaths: “They, no doubt, like the rest of US, found what they deserved.”

“Going up that river was like travelling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. An empty stream, a great silence, an impenetrable forest....

103

inner reality vs. exterior reality

“I felt often its mysterious stillness watching me at MY MONKEY TRICKS, just as it watches you fellows…”

104

good cannibals eat hippo meat

 “Phoo! I can sniff it now…”

“Sometimes we came upon a station close by the bank…and the white men rushing out…with great gestures of joy and surprise and welcome, seemed very strange—had the appearance of being HELD THERE CAPTIVE BY A SPELL. The word ivory would ring in the air for a while—and on we went again into the silence…”

105

“We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness.”

“We were cut off from the comprehension of our surroundings…”

“…this suspicion of their not being inhuman. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped, and spun, and made horrid faces; but what thrilled you was just the thought of their HUMANITY—like yours—the THOUGHT OF YOUR REMOTE KINSHIP WITH THIS WILD AND PASSIONATE UPROAR. UGLY.”

Racist?! Yes, but grappling with it?

106

be TRUE. At least the natives are TRUE.

“The mind of man is capable of anything…”

107

uh-oh

108

“the simple old sailor, with his talk of chains and purchases made me forget the junge and the pilgrims in a delicious sensation of having come upon something unmistakably REAL.”

Cipher? (even the boat is dieing.)

109

“What did it matter what any one knew or ignored? What did it matter who was manager? One gets sometimes such a flash of insight. The essentials of this ffair lay deep under the surface, beyond my reach, and beyond my power of meddling.”

110

scary

“The rest of the world was nowhere, as far as our eyes and ears were concerned. Just nowhere.”

111

how unfair to the cannibals!

Steve

112

“One can’t live with one’s finger everlastingly on one’s pulse.”

113

all this in a seemingly frightening ordeal (re: the attack)

RESTRAINT

114

the boat brings grief

115

crazy creative descriptions—[?]

116

! the quiet attacks !

117

“ ‘Keep quiet!’ I said in a fury.”

119

“…his ability to talk, his WORDS—the gift of expression, the bewildering, the illuminating, the most exalted and the most contemptible, the pulsating stream of LIGHT, or the deceitful flow from the HEART OF AN IMPENETRABLE DARKNESS.” (ed: yet we only hear kurtz speak less than twenty words or so in total)

120

“I couldn’t have felt more of lonely desolation”

shoe comment

its like a disembodied voice of the wilderness

121

first reference to the girl.

“The thing was to know what he belonged to, how many powers of DARKNESS CLAIMED HIM FOR THEIR OWN.”

A dark, intoxicating affinity with it all

122

you’re either stupid, heavenly, or prey to the darkness….hmmmm don’t even know you’re tangling with darkness. How do you “breathe dead hippo, so to speak, and not be contaminated?”

123

‘whites like gods to savages’ K becomes suject of rites, who’s transforming who? Irony.

“ ‘Exterminate all the brutes!’ ” yikes

124

“Whatever he was, HE WAS NOT COMMON.”

“He had NO RESTRAINT, NO RESTRAINT—just like Kurtz—a tree swayed by the wind.

125

“I had made up my mind that if my late helmsman was to be eaten, the fishes alone should have him.” (ed: Marlowe not so racist?)

126

“It’s all right,’ yelled back the other, as CHEERFUL as you please. ‘…I am glad.’ ”

127

“He seemed to be trying to make up for lots of SILENCE…(re: Kurtz) you don’t talk with that man—you listen to him.”

128

Hey, maybe this is a novel about being alone; maybe its travel essay!

Something becomes clear…maybe its NOT all absurd: “ ‘this man has enlarged my mind.’ ”

END OF PART II

PART III

129

“The glamour of youth enveloped his parti-coloured rags, his destitution, his loneliness, the essential DESOLATION of his futile wanderings. For months…his life hadn’t been worth a day’s purchase; and there he was GALLANTLY<>

See 69. This (desolation) which marlowe is fascinated by.

“…as though he had absconded from a troupe of mimes…” funny image

“If the absolutely pure, uncalculating, unpractical spirit of adventure had ever ruled a human being, it ruled this bepatched youth.” Pure adventure. (ed: and problems!). At first you think, ‘I like this guy.’ (ed: But) Kurtz = dangerous: “I must say that to me it (ed: his devotion to Kurtz) appeared about the most dangerous thing in every way he had come upon so far.”

(ed: notice its not nature, its not the natives, its Kurtz that marlowe paints as dangerous.)

130

rapturous conversation

“…never before, did this land, this river, this jungle, the very arch of this blazing sky, appear to me so HOPELESS and so DARK, so IMPENETRABLE to human thought…”

they penetrate physically but not mentally—(ed: remind me,) who’re the brutes?

“ ‘Ah, it was worth waiting for!—sometimes.’ ” dude, tell me the ‘nottimes.’

“ ‘To speak plainly, he RAIDED the country,’ I said.” (ed: notice how close raid is to aid…so close yet sooo different.)

131

“they had never seen anything like it—and VERY TERRIBLE. He could be VERY TERRIBLE.”

Kurtz addicted; he can’t leave.

“desolate”

132

Yikes! (re: heads on posts)

133

“the manager said afterwards that mr. Kurtz’s methods had RUINED THE DISTRICT.” Thinking in terms of money or life or labor…?

“…had taken on him a terrible vengeance for the fantastic INVASION.”

“It echoed loudly within him because he was HOLLOW at the core…” (ed: an actual ellipse!)

tells of Kurtz being fascinated by his own darkness.

134

?he’s pulled by two forces: logic and conscience as he once knew it…and the blackness that has become kurtz.

CRAWLING into excuses.

“his voice lost itself in the CALM of the EVENING.” Vs. the westerner(s)

135

“I resented bitterly the ABSURD danger of our situation, as if to be at the mercy of that atrocious phantom had been a dishonoring necessity."

(absurd?) You said it. He does a good job putting words together that don’t normally belong together (ie, dishonoring necessity)

“…I saw the thin arm extended commandlingly, the lower jaw moving, the eyes of that appartition shining darkly far in its bony head that nodded with grotesque jerks.”

Random thought: I just saw a picture of the statue of N. Korea’s dead king. This reminds me of it.

“It was as though an animated image of death carved out of old ivory had been shaking its hand with menaces at a motionless crowd…” You become what you crave.

Conrad connects metaphors: the forest breathes, Conrad breathes…they’re connected.

136

kurtz “I am glad.”

Then leave, return, woman.

137

“passionate soul” woman has power.

138

Kurtz rambles. Who’s he talking to. GREED.

“ ‘No method at all,’ ”

Ahhhh…(marlowe saying “nevertheless I think mr. Kurtz is a remarkable man….Ah! but it was something to have at least a choice of NIGHTMARES.” Tell me, please, exactly what nightmare you chose.

139

“And for a moment it seemed to me as if I also were buried in a vast grave full of unspeakable secrets.” So tell the story and be resurrected? Oh. The secret sharer (wink)

“Mr. Kurtz’s REPUTATION.”

WOWZERS! : “Mr k’s reputation is safe with me.’ I did not know how truly I spoke.” (ed: and we don’t know how truly you spoke until the very END. Hmmmm…)

140

on the way to becoming another danny. Marlowe has more shoes.

he’s affected by kurtz but NOT the wilderness?

That dude (the clownish character) is cooler than kurtz (but just as misdirected)

I’m about to go see the 2 Towers at the cinerama. Is it fair to compare morodor with marlowe’s view of the congo?

141

he uses adjectives a lot…I wonder what dr. reinsma would think…

“the moral shock I received” ESCAPE?

Imminent onslaught = comfort? : “…the possibility of a sudden onslaught and massacre, or something of the kind…was positively welcome and composing. It pacified me…”

“it was WRITTEN I should be loyal to the NIGHTMARE OF MY CHOICE….the peculiar BLACKNESS of that experience.

“ ‘he can’t walk—he is crawling on all-fours—I’ve got him.’ ” Kurtz becomes an animal. Now who’s crawling?

142

“in that profound tone”

143

LOST

“he could not have been more IRRETRIEVABLY lost than he was….the ofundations of our intimacy were being laid—to endure—to endure—even to the end—and beyond.” Lasting

RACISM

“I tried to break the spell”

“He had kicked himself loose of the earth.”

He escaped—is this bad?

Kurtz’s dislodged self from reality YET marlowe describes reality as absurd too.

144

why such intensity to do anything?

A. being alone forces you to look soulward B. what’d he find? Nothing.

“But his soul was mad.”

Tension, tension, deadpan conclusion.

The boat: “splashing, thumping, fierce river-DEMON beating the water with its terrible tail and BREATHING black smoke…” who’s the demon?

“,,,strings of amazing words that resembled no sounds of human language…” except that’s what they were.

145

“…as if the words had been torn out of him by a supernatural power.” ?

“only the BARBAROUS an dsuperb woman…” racist

“and then that IMBECILE crowd…started their little fun, and I could see nothing more for smoke.” Evil!

A break in the text…why?

“the brown current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness…” Kurtz=river?

146

I don’t think I quite understand the depths of what’s happening.

“…it had penetrated fourght for the possession of that soul satiated with primitive emotions, avid of lying fame, of sham distinction, of all the appearances of success and power.” Love and hate.

To marlowe, the role of the west: “this grimy fragment of another world, the forerunner of change, of conquest, of trade, of massacres, of blessings.”

Kurtz is battling with the wild: “ ‘oh, but I will wring your heart yet!’ he cried at the invisible wilderness.”

147

kurtz: “live rightly, die, die…” (author’s ellipse). Did he/does he think he did this?

“his was an impenetrable darkness.” M spends time with him but doesn’t know what he sees. You can penetrate the congo, but not kurtz.

“I saw on that IVORY face…sombre pride, of ruthless power, of crave terror—of an intense and hopeless despair.” Is this experienceing life’s emotions to the fullest and greatest extreme? You scrape all the pretense of humanity away and only horror remains?

“The horror! The horror!”

an epiphany BUT epiphanies are associated with light, NOT darkness.

148

“I blew the candle out…” DEATH. End of epiphany. And then k’s dead.

“the most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself—that comes too late—a crop of unextinguishable regrets.” Point of life=to gain knowledge of yourself. To realize your regrets.but marlowe says he got near death and had no epipanies. Thus k’s greatness (to m)

149

see the big pic.

“piercing enough to penetrate all the hearts that beat in the darkness…”

“I remember mistily”

now, snap, he’s back in europe. “…to dream their insignificant and silly dreams. They trespassed upon my thougts. The were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretene, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew.” Because he’s set a part now.

150

“…from laughing in their faces so full of stupid importantce.” Again, the europeans.

“it was my imagination that wanted osothing.

151

“he was a universal genuis…”

“…he had the faith. He could get himself to believe anything—anything.”

“…and took himself off with this PLUNDER.” Europe even raids the coffers of their own dead.

152

“…no manipulation of light and pose could have conveyed the delicate shade of TRUTHFULNESS upon those features.”

HAUNTING

153

“he wanted no more than justice—no more than justice.”

“…she seemed as htough she would remember and mourn FOREVER.”

“…fair hair…an ashy halo from which the dark eyes looked out at me.”

154

“her tone of despairing regret, the summing up whisper of his eternal condemnation.”

“Intimacy grows quickly out there…I knew him as well as it is possible for one man to know another.”

“He was a remarkable man…”

155

“she talked as thirty men drink.”

Her “he drew men towards him by what was best in them.” I don’t know about that.

“…the whisper of a voice speaking from beyond the threshold of an eternal darkness.”

Faith is illusion is dark.

156

her “men looked up to him—his GOODNESS shone in every act…” !!!

maybe I’ll get this the third time around

157

she would have been just like the natives

“ ‘ the last word he pronounced was—your name.’ ” !!!!

see 66

“the heavens do not fall for such a trifle. Would they have fallen, I wonder, if I had rendered k that justice which was his due…but I couldn’t I could not tell her. It would have been too dark—too dark altogether.” The narrator forsakes darkness; the truth can be a weapon of the darkness (ed: really? Hmmm…)

158

“…and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth…seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness.”

THE END

Initial ideas:

Travel novel?

Kurtz

Rag dude.

devotional/confessional/psalm 143:1-12

2006-08-02T21:43:00.000-07:00

i was going to try and do something cool, but now i think i'll just go through the verse. let it speak to me. see what happens.

before i read this psalm i kneeled at my bed and prayed. that's unusual for me. recently i've been more the type to throw hail marys out there (in the non-catholic sense). i haven't devoted time to praying. i haven't devoted time to reading the word. sure, i think about doing it, but whenever i try i get bored. or i feel unable to separate myself from the reading. if i could go away, things might be fine. if you could strip away the andrew and lay bare all my thoughts, then i could say, wow! that's the holy spirit! that's not me talking, that's God! the problem is i don't know that i could do that. it sounds like a counter intuitive budhist emptying of the mind. how else will i separate God's voice from my own? God, how can I hear you? I ask to hear you.

i believe. that's not a problem. and i spend a bit of time thinking about the nature of humanity, the role of God in creation, Christ's sacrifice for me, and how that's reflected in nature and in others. i'm careful to consider things that teach me about suffering, forgiveness, and faith. i read important works that speak to me in their eloquence, in their portrayal of the world as it is; works that reach out for the divine. works that do what i so unfrequently do. Lord, i feel like i sometimes find you there. but's it's a knowledge thing. just like reading the gospels and memorizing the stations of the cross or the ten commandments--i'm learning about you, but i don't know how to seek a relationship with you.

i think there's something more than belief. something more like faith. i believe in a trinitarian God. i believe in the incarnation. i believe in the crucifixion and the resurrection. i may even believe some heresies, like that you speak in subtle ways through others. the Truth is in the Bible, but there is truth everywhere. i believe these things, but it seems like faith is something more than that. it's believing that you will take action. it's believing that You will speak to me., or more accurately, that i will hear when you speak to me. it's believing that you're more than a background force that makes the world go around, makes the plants grow, stops a traffic accident here and there. it's believing that you will do the impossible--you will stop this patten of sin that i have created and can't seem to break. it's believing that i can one day desire to read your book, that i can look forward to a conversation with you because it feels like something more than me talking to myself.

i say that i believe and i tend to equate that will faith, but it's something entirely different; i'm no abraham. we all know the story, God tells Abraham to sacrifice his son Issac. we're told this is faith, but faith of what? the one thing that's clear is that abraham is obedient. he does what's he told, he's an amazing example of how we're to follow God. but Christ doesn't praise Abe for his ability to follow directions, it's faith not obedience. it's funny though, this 'faith' has been harder to tease out for me. perhaps it's that abaraham is able to be obedient BECAUSE of his faith. so what's he believe? perhaps because of the conclusion, i always thought that abe believed that God would just tell him to stop before the deed was done. "once i get up this mountain, he'll tell me it's all just a test," he'd think. or maybe he believed that God would perform another miracle birth. after issac's death, model two would be born to a 200 year old sarah. believing that would take some faith right? but maybe it's even more than that. check out soren kierkegaard's fear and trembling...

...

...that's faith. do i have that? do i believe in the impossible? Lord, help me be an abraham. you who can do all things, help me to have the faith that i can be an abraham, that i can walk so closely to you that i can have something that burns brighter than belief. right now i don't have that faith. i believe that you hear me but my doubt in self overwhelms that belief.

¹Hear my prayer, O LORD; yes, Lord, hear my prayer.

give ear to my supplications in your faithfulness; i don't know what it is that i ask, but Lord answer me, and help me to hear that answer.

answer me in your righteousness.

²Do not enter into judgment with your servant,

for no one living is righteous before you.

³For the enemy has pursued me,

crushing my life to the ground,

making me sit in darkness like those long dead.

⁴Therefore my spirit faints within me; Lord, you know how this is true. i thank you for forgiving me and giving me your Holy Spirit.

my heart within me is appalled.

⁵I remember the days of old,

I think about all your deeds, job, job, alive, alive, blessings of friends.

I meditate on the works of your hands.

⁶I stretch out my hands to you;

my soul thirsts for you like a parched land. Jesus, i don't know that this is true. i don't know how thirsty i am. perhaps i've swallowed so much sand i can't even tell i'm thirsty. give me the thirst.

Selah

⁷Answer me quickly, O LORD; yes, Jesus, I am of little faith, give me faith to wait.

my spirit fails.

Do not hide your face from me,

or I shall be like those who go down to the Pit.

⁸Let me hear of your steadfast love in the morning, i know you love me.

for in you I put my trust.

Teach me the way I should go,

for to you I lift up my soul.

⁹Save me, O LORD, from my enemies; from myself, from the internet...

I have fled to you for refuge.

¹⁰Teach me to do your will,

for you are my God.

Let your good spirit lead me

on a level path.

¹¹For your name's sake, O LORD, preserve my life.

In your righteousness bring me out of trouble.

¹²In your steadfast love cut off my enemies,

and destroy all my adversaries,

for I am your servant.

amen.

the zombie nick licata's form letter

2006-07-20T20:57:00.000-07:00

i'm really, really, really sad about the sonics. check out my real blog for more info. anyway, here's what nick licata, president of the seattle city council, thought about my sadness:

Thank you for writing me about the sale of the Seattle Sonics to a group
of investors from Oklahoma City. I have been saying for months that I
would like to see the Sonics stay in Seattle, but not at a cost of over
$200 million.

As I stated several months ago, there is no doubt about it, my glib,
foolish remark on the relative unimportance of professional basketball
in Seattle was smug and wrong. In my clumsy way I was trying to point
out that Seattle is a world-class city for a variety of reasons, not
just because of the Sonics.

Public leaders need to ask the right questions, and then listen to the
answers instead of providing good press copy. As an elected official, it
is my job to weigh competing interests and decide what is the best use
of taxpayer dollars. Let me give you some background on this issue.

In 1995, after a City Council vote, the former Coliseum was rebuilt into
KeyArena at the request of the Sonics. That same year, the voters of
King County narrowly voted down a baseball stadium. The State
Legislature and the King County Council overturned that decision. In
1997, state voters narrowly passed a measure for a football stadium.

Partly as a result of voter anger at the baseball stadium vote being
overturned, state voters then passed a series of anti-tax initiatives
that constrained the ability of local governments to pay for basic
services. This forced cuts in services, and has had a lasting impact.
Some governments, such as King County, have had to eliminate entire
lines of business, such as providing swimming pools and park
construction.

Right now the Seattle City Council is considering a tax levy proposal
from Mayor Greg Nickels to provide funding for road and bridge
maintenance. This is needed because a principal funding source for this
basic, core service was removed by an anti-tax measure. One goal of
anti-tax measures was to force local governments to put measures on the
ballot for voters to decide what they want government to do, so this is
in line with the intent expressed by the voters. That is why I believe
it is fair for the City Council to insist on a public vote for any tax
proposal for a new basketball arena.

These initiatives have forced elected officials to carefully choose what
items to fund. For this reason, the Council crafted a set of reasonable
conditions for negotiations, and the Mayor's office began discussions
with the Sonics former ownership.

The economic model for professional basketball includes a reliance on
public subsidies, The level of subsidy required for a NBA franchise has
increased considerably in recent years. The Sonics consider the 1995
version of KeyArena obsolete, only 11 years after its construction. This
is not an isolated case: Memphis built a new arena in 1991, and then
again in 2004. The economic lifespan of NBA arenas is decreasing and the
amount of public subsidy-formerly a small portion-is now expected to be
the overwhelming majority. This is the economic model of the NBA
nowadays.

Keep in mind, the bonds used to finance construction of KeyArena will
not be paid off until 2014, four years after the Sonics lease expires.

The current business model of the NBA depends not only on public
subsidies, but on generating revenues from arenas that are much large
than KeyArena, in order to generate revenue from restaurants and shops.
They want all the revenue the arena can generate, including from
concerts, which are more profitable than Sonics games. NBA arenas are
becoming as much malls as sports arenas. That is why KeyArena is
considered obsolete, not because of any structural defects, or lack of
good sightlines, for example. As the KeyArena business plan notes, it
was rated "Best Venue in the NBA" in 2004, and has won Facilities and
Event Management's "Prime Site" award three times since opening.

The question is, how much is enough? The proposal for a $220 million
KeyArena remodel, when including the remaining debt, and financed at 6%
interest, would cost an annual $40 million tax subsidy for 15 years.

I developed a proposal that would have provided $8-10 million in new
annual revenues for the Sonics. The Mayor of Seattle proposed three
options to the Sonics. One of the options would have provided a $20
million annual increase in revenues for the Sonics. The Sonics former
owners did not respond to any of the offers, and instead sold for $350
million the business they purchased 5 years ago for $200 million. This
was their business choice; they chose to take their profits by selling
the team, rather than accepting one of our offers and submitting it to
the public for a vote.

Sincerely,

Nick Licata

i need help - no metaphor and next paragraphs

2006-07-19T13:11:00.000-07:00

this isn't prettied-up at all. but it's basically what i want to say. i'm also including a rough draft of a few of the next paragraphs...

The first step to treatment is diagnosis. Once a clinician is sure of someone’s diagnosis they develop a treatment plan. Unfortunately, the treatment of many psychiatric illnesses is not necessarily successful. While there is a great deal of research on improving treatment, perhaps it would be worthwhile to also take a second look at how we classify patients.

In any medical field, the first step to treating a patient is the assignment of a diagnosis. Once the patient’s symptoms have been catalogued and assigned to the appropriate diagnostic category, physicians can then work from within that diagnostic paradigm to arrive at a treatment plan. Despite this systematic approach to medicine, many mental health patients are unresponsive to treatment. As a scientific community we are diligently searching for more effective methods to reach these patients, but it is critical that we reconsider our diagnostic criteria: it is time that we permit etiology a say and acknowledge that a system of psychiatric nosology is incomplete without an exploration of causes.

AND THEN THE NEXT PARAGRAPH:

To understand this _____, one must turn back the clock to 1980, the year that Mount St. Helens spewed volcanic ash across the Pacific Northwest and the year that the APA rocked the nation with a third edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-III). By publishing this new diagnostic tome, the APA provided a universal—even international—language for psychiatrists; it instituted a focus on objective, precisely structured diagnoses; and it inaugurated the much lauded multiaxial diagnostic system. However, the makers of DSM-III and each subsequent volume employed a classification system that was atheoretical to causes. Indeed, the revised versions of the DSM concentrate so heavily on symptoms that they risk ignoring etiology. SPEAK ABOUT FORMER ETIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE. Thus, while useful in many ways, this shift in diagnostic practices may have misdirected the field of psychiatric genetics.

The completion of the Human Genome Project has ushered in a new era in psychiatric genetics. Specifically, successes in the identification of risk genes in schizophrenia (e.g., dysbidin, neureglin reviewed by xxx), these successes may be the turning point for genetic studies in depression, anxiety, substance use, bipolar disorder, schizohprenia, autism and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder....

i need help - no modest mouse fire metaphor

2006-07-19T13:10:00.000-07:00

not done yet

i need help - modest mouse fire metaphor

2006-07-19T13:04:00.000-07:00

so far i think this is the best. beth liked it, mark didn't...

In their album Good News for People Who Love Bad News, the alternative band Modest Mouse observes that “Everyone is a building burning, with no one to put the fire out.” To the casual listener these words may smack of pop-rocker metaphysical angst, but in the context of contemporary psychiatry, the lyrics begin to sound more like an indictment. While many mental health patients are successfully stabilized, countless others are treatment resistant—their fires rage on as mental health practitioners desperately fling pharmaceutical cocktails at the flames and hope for the best. As a scientific community we are diligently searching for more effective methods to fight the blaze of mental illness, but it is also critical that we step back and reconsider the nature of this fire. If every patient is indeed a “building burning,” perhaps it is time that we learn to differentiate between a garden variety fire and an electrical fire and then treat our patients accordingly: it is time that we permit etiology a say and acknowledge that a system of psychiatric nosology is incomplete without an exploration of causes.

since debby probably isn't familiar with modest mouse, i may give it a little different spin and rewrite it without the quote (see i need help - no modest mouse fire metaphor; you'll have to scroll up or down to find it--this isn't a link)...

i need help - candy dish metaphor

2006-07-19T12:57:00.000-07:00

i wrote this in about five minutes. in my opinion it's super-freakin' ridiculous. but mark thought it worked best...

in the waiting room of every american doctor's office is a weathered stack of people magazine, a fish tank, and a dish of candies. if one day that dish was filled with antipsychotics, benzos, and anticonvulsants, i would be about as shocked as if brad and angelina suddenly climbed from my magazine and into the fish tank--besides breaking about a million laws, it would sever the traditional "present --> diagnose --> prescribe" formula that forms the backbone of medical practice. however, as a mental health practitioner, the candy-dish approach to psychiatry may sometimes seem more attractive than the hopeless trial of medication cocktails that is the routine for many patients. psyciatric research is chugging away at a more practical solution for the disconnect between diagnosis and treatment--new drugs are in the works (actually that's false, but something like that could go here)--but perhaps it is time that we rethink our methods of classifying patients.

i need help - algebra metaphor

2006-07-19T12:48:00.000-07:00

this was my first try. beth thought it had promise but rebecca laughed at the simplicity and struck it down with an iron fist of fury....

The medical model treats patients like algebraic equations. Doctors take a diagnosis, apply the prescribed treatment, and then watch for an improved outcome—if x is diabetes, make y insulin; for syphilis, administer penicillin. But in contemporary psychiatry, mental health practitioners must contend with a frustrating disconnect between diagnosis and treatment. Indeed, patients are sometimes more responsive to a physician’s last-chance pharmaceutical blend than any regiment that is particular to the patients’ diagnoses.

excerpt from mari's 17 point scale guest post

2006-06-28T19:06:00.000-07:00

Blue Scholars Lyrics!

Perhaps you've noticed that a complete set of lyrics to the Seattle-based, thoughtful hip hop group Blue Scholars is unavailable on the internet. Well, let me be the first to congratulate Andrew for now having the first ever complete set of lyrics to the Blue Scholar's self-titled album!

Check it out; leave me a comment here if you have suggestions about words that don't seem quite right.

solstice: reintroduction (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T19:05:00.000-07:00

We labored and debated while you waited for sabbatical
Bound to rock your body as we turn the party radical
I can see the game like the blind feel the pain
Both sides colliding with the concrete and rain
The pacific northwest take the spotlight now
My people pump your fists like your Manny Pacquiao
Mad child with the wild style right to be hostile
Folks feelin like a rottwiler in a dog pound, forward
In this generation triumphantly
Even wack sound boy speakers couldn’t muffle me
Its up to me and Sabzi to bring back the quality beats to rock the audience
Between the politics, I seek the knowledge that your colleges lack
While we always used to come late and sit in the back and crack jokes
Instead of takin notes wrote this line after line afterschool hit play press rewind

Blue scholars in the place to be, we got one DJ and one MC
And that’s it, that’s it, that’s it
Come on put your hands up and continue this shit
Blue scholars in the place to be, we got one DJ and one MC
And that’s it, that’s it, that’s it

On the youth of the solstice I wrote this, focused on a singular purpose
To get rid of the curses, that afflict us, we live what you only see in pictures
The biggest hypocrites usually quote the most scriptures
But my approach is a diligent task
and rockin shows pro bono is a thing of the past
Dr king said freedom at last and some interpreted that
To mean we’ve come to the end of the path
But instead the long march hasn’t even begun, yall
Political power, manifest once the guns drawn
Right like shit will pop off with one song
Watch what I feed to my seed and keep my son strong
And on and on the anonymous work,
And a modest compensation’s all they ask in return
It’s the passion that burns within, lets begin
My philosophy to win, is callin me to spit this shit

Blue scholars in the place to be, we got one DJ and one MC
And that’s it, that’s it, that’s it
Come on put your hands up and continue this shit
Blue scholars in the place to be, we got one DJ and one MC
And that’s it, that’s it, that’s it

blue school (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T19:03:00.000-07:00

Microphone check, microphone check

I’m a blue scholar worker studying the art of labor to create
Flavor to relate to listeners, alleviate the danger associated with strangers
Isn’t it strange how we estrange ourselves from our neighbor?
Enables us through music to connect, releasing fluids in our neck
With the rhythmic forward movement of our heads and back again
Indeed as we succeed the pioneers
Maybe give back all that we’ve been taking through the years
I bleed, for what I believe to be the truth, nurturing the seed planted in the fertile youth
The poetry, hangin’ from the branches eat the fruit
Pluck the most succulent, and suck upon the juice
So what’s up with you, frequently they ask
Been hibernating writin’ till the last page cypherin’ the past days by
Bypassing the lies and the bullshit
Get up off the mic, and save it for the bull pit (pulpit?)

In the blue school, class is in session
Ask us a question, cause class is in session
(Repeat x4)

I’m an exile, motherland stepchild, metropolis dwellin’ middle Americas prisoner of war
Combat the paper till the blankness is gone
Listen now, talk about the beat after the song
Astronomical, cause that is just a modest measurement
Of my ability to represent my family correct because I be about it,
Ain’t no other way to say it
discovered my potential when I stayed late to tape it in the basement
with an ancient karaoke stereo in lieu of a studio, we made due with everythin’
layin around, and if I’m not mistaken isn’t that improvisation what hip-hop Is all about
if you poppin at the lip then I will sock you in the mouth
sonically to render you the opposite of loud
apology accepted in advance, I think its kinda cool at one point
that you thought you had a chance

In the blue school, class is in session
Ask us a question, cause class is in session
(Repeat x4)

a veteran’s fate written on pages of mixed tapes
I’m all about a government that citizens dictate
Sick of fuckin’ dealin’ with the presidents mistakes
To sit back and rant is just misplaced anger
So I cradle, pens, from now until the fable ends
Takin’ friends for granted, but now I’ve got to make amends
Callin out the big talk small walkin cowards
High above the ground yo we shakin down your tower
And demandin our money back, plus reimbursement
For parkin and shit, I put my heart in this shit
And all my arteries connect to the amplifier wire,
Music make the flames in my inner fire higher
I reinvent the language in the image of a dancer
Contorting where the floor becomes an answer
Blue school graduate dog, after this last verse
When the revolution comes we gonna shoot your ass first

In the blue school, class is in session
Ask us a question, cause class is in session
(Repeat x4)
..strapped for protection, whatever you do
whatever you say, step up front. Be good at what you do.
At least be good at something. Writing, reading, producing, DJing, umm, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, something. Learn an art, a trade, be somebody.

bruise brothers (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T19:02:00.000-07:00

The blue is for the color of the collar of my mother
And my father plus the scholars that we be,
The blue is for the nighttime moon, swingin tune
Of every bluesman singin what its like to not be free
I want to be the conduit movin the music among the masses
Hit the spot rock upon sight like medusa as the true surpass the wicked
Used to sneak in shows without a ticket
till I slowly got familiar with the local promoters
hopin to blow, focused on the open mic
not claimin to be the dopest I just want to be noticed
to find producers in the circuit to work with,
for certain it was hurtin at first fuckin with studio virgins
to purge the wack, I download the upgraded version
now performin our percussions
constructed up by the Persian beatmaker extraordinaire
you talk about the journey but we’re takin it there
payin a fair, say it again said

the blue is for the color of the collar of my mother
and my father plus the scholars that we be

The blue is for the nighttime moon, swingin tune

Of every bluesman singin what its like to not be free
the blue is for the water and sky
in the middle of the fire I burn to find the light in the darkness
the blue is for the color of the bruise we use to be reminded
that the body isn’t made to be timeless

the blue is for the ocean we cross to foreign lands
where we work with our hands, and home is where we stand
where the poetry swims, in the lunacy of moonshine light
reflected right upon the surface of skin
verses burst out the pen, like it hurt not to be written
you immature amateur writers are copy kittens
in the coffeeshop kids are spitting individualistic
petty bourgie pseudo revolutionary ??bullshit??
??or miss this?? resistance is more than just a fist in a wristband
and incense, that won’t make you free, fuck a bachelors degree
I’d much rather defeat the evil thieves in my scenery
Seemingly detached, indeed as we proceed to see the heathen meet his match
And everything not givin up, we take it back
I bleed upon a track, my verse written in red
The blue is for the balance yes and everything I said, I said

the blue is for the color of the collar of my mother
and my father plus the scholars that we be

The blue is for the nighttime moon, swingin tune

motion movement (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T19:01:00.000-07:00

It’s been long years gone since we rocked the linoleum
Blastin the broken boom box open closin
And the most awkward b-boy stance you can imagin
Grab the mic tradin my backspin for rappin
Back when the sinners dance
Dancers were listeners
Answers to caller response chance ridiculous
Pants demanded saggin
Never bigger than our britches
But the britches burned, britches were scratche
Our sins were repented for
Much later, hey yo DJ blessed the crowd with the sign of the cross
In time we find things to refine, at the same time, the heart articulating rhyme
I think it’s amazing kids are waiting outside
Habitual leaders at the solidarity of this ritual see
Each invidual reach out, speak to teach the invisible how to be invincible

Motion Movement
Architects, blueprints
Showin’, groovin’
Teachers, students
Reachin’ for truth in a self-revolution
The roof is on fire, what’s your solution? (2x)

This be the sum, of love plus one
Mold breakin, soul searchin
My carriage is my feet (?) pointing hella deep like sea urchin
Indeed be certain
Proceed to test your reflex knee jerk
And hid it behind a curtain on the stage
Burnin inside with rage
Rewrote the script
With my voice inside of the page
I’ve decided the ways
Previously paved for me to walk
Will never see me, nor my footprints
I stalk in the nighttime
Avaying(?) our hands to the sky
Like the clock at midnight
Convinced of my demise
Concluded that the crowd throws their hands in the air
Because the sky is falling
No one else seems to care
or want a piece of the pie
Not a generous share
Can I possibly prove
My intentions are clear
I’m just a word in a rhyme
And a kick in the snare
Swimming inside of inkwells to find if my spirit is there
You can find me inside of a pen waiting to burst
Drowning in the reservoir quenching my thirst
My first love’s second home was my headphones
First time I wrote what I felt because I said so
Unless there’s any protest allow me to begin
The weather’s never deep enough to wash away my sins
So I drop it on the one
My tongue beating the drum
Beating meaning to the beat

Motion Movement
Architects, blueprints
Showin, groovin
Teachers, students
Reaching for truth in a self-revolution
The roof is on fire, what’s your solution?

selfportrait (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T19:00:00.000-07:00

(always writing, always revising)

Shorty feels the pressure on his shoulders as he’s liftin it
Wonders why the elders always tell him not to question it
Options at the bottom of the ladder got him desperate
But all he ever wanted was a weapon to protect him with
Riding a 36 through the veins of the beacon
The water is the heart, its rainin when its beatin
In the city that I sleep in I’m dreamin while I’m awake
The miserable escape and theyre too high to ponder faith
But who am I, to use their plight to illustrate a rhyme
With everything around me that I’ve never had to live
But I observe the inner qualities to serve the people properly
Tell them that their freedom isn’t found in private property
Prostitutes are more than just the folks who sell their bodies
See this shit applies to those whose souls are a commodity
I can hear the colony callin me back to be
The bullet in the belly while they lock, load, and squeeze

Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
They made a mockery out of the possibility
But under constant revision is the poem that I be

Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
I be the emcee in the place not to be
But under constant revision is the poem that I be

Shorty feels oppression on his shoulders as he’s liftin it
Wonders why the elders always tell him not to question it
Conjuring the courage just to conquer whats been killin him
He says its fucked up cause he knows no other synonym
Hidden from the truth, seen youths turned to troops
Whose goal at 21 is to turn 22, true tuition’s too high
and those with the privilige to pay don’t listen, it’s a shame, go figure, in
The name of the father, the son and holy lyrics
I suppose those who know what I’m sayin when they hear it
Might rage against the system, or hate me for dissin
The house in which they live in as a slave to the rhythm
But I walk the broken sidewalk paved with the magic
Of those who walk past it, just to survive traffic
If paybacks a bitch, then gravity’s a bastard
Avenues I used to call familiar turned backward
Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
They made a mockery out of the possibility
But under constant revision is the poem that I be

Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
I be the emcee in the place not to be
But under constant revision is the poem that I be

Yo.. shorty’s getting grown old enough to read the messages
Understands the elders as he then begins to question them
One generation handed down what they’ve inherited
Another generation rewriting the master narrative
Older folks overdose on broken hopes often
Children then begin to grow comatose and lost up
In the clutches of the wickedest fingers
Indicative of the systems inhibited
Ability to listen to the voice of the dyin who’ve been tired of cryin
Nightsticks fall where projectiles are flyin
Through a straight path narrow like the gap between heaven and hell
They skip class cause they know it’s a jail, true
Students prevail when the knowledge is passed
But others sent to fail sittin flat on their ass
And now I be the emcee in the place not be
Under constant revision is the poem that I be

Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
They made a mockery out of the possibility
But under constant revision is the poem that I be

Rebel with a pen lettin off buckshots in threes
Rewriting what it is into what it ought to be
I be the emcee in the place not to be
But under constant revision is the poem that I be

freewheelin' (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:58:00.000-07:00

I draw words out of pens like swords out of sheaves
Humidity intervene, now I’m high on God’s speed
Upon the mic, immobilizing globe trotting colonizers
Stomping on the rights of the poor,
The destitute I testify will rise in the matter of a lifetime
So climb into the mind through the scale over spine
When hips start slitherin to bass line sizzle
Make the wallflower blossom
Make me feel anonymous and conscious at the same time
I can’t remain calm waiting for repeats or a beat for the bomb to dro
So find us in a record shop with or without distribution
independent from the bullshit of a major
Remember Monday evening in the record stores at 12?
Midnight to cop the new album off the shel
We were savin up allowance or your minimum wage
For eight dollars, one tape man, you listen for days
I’m missin the days, freewheelin mean-muggin rivals,
For no good reaso
Just me an adolescent to breath in, believed in
So far believing that this paradise is hard to believe in

I’m leaving
To a place dominated by spray-painted dreams that ain’t what they seem
I’m leaving
To find myself clinging to the edge of a notebook page, writin for days
I’m leaving
YO I’m going home to atone for abandonin my native tongue grown
From the soil of my soul that I’ll toil till I’m old
Passin the torch like the mic that I hold
Plowin in the field allowin little time to rest
Fly by night daytime I’m chillin in my nest
Where memory is sending me
An astral projection to way back then
I’m chasin Roacqin through the speakers
Reachin for the makeshift microphone
Mark’ll make your mom bark “Turn down the radio,”
complainin about the cursewords
Times absurd, the lines got blurred, another kid got served
And the whole house party bore witness to the occasio
Thus started growing my early reputation
Early 90 second generation fat basses
Used to get hip bruises breakin in the basement
Mixed tape makin was an art that we’d forsaken
And the hardest thing to do was cue the tape
I’m waiting on a Sunday night listening to nastiness, payin the dues
When KEXP was KCMU, true, I’m missin the days
freewheelin mean-muggin rivals,
For no good reason
Just me an adolescent to breath it, believed it
So far believing that this paradise is hard to believe in

The horticulture’s in the pipe
So torch it with the light unfortunately
it’ll be gone, but not tonight (2x)

the inkwell (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:57:00.000-07:00

Yo, you ever go outside at night, look up into the sky, into the big, immense sky…and think to yourself that’s a big sky!
Like an inkwell…
In a city that’s been waiting to blow since big butts and team spirit
Many make music you can hear it, secluded in the upper left dominantly grey-shaded sky
Every other day, sorta like today
Just a little bit wetter And cold in the winter
Proximity to water make the soul a little gentler
Out of towners don’t be knowin about the best-kepts
Ain’t nothing better than the summer in the northwest
Microphone check 1-206
Through the smoke, who da smoke, can I get a quick fix
To lift this eye to the level of needle in the sky
Lookin over the sound against the shores of the suicide capital
Bust the magical dust, grammatically just (?) the satellite
What makes seattle tight?
The fruits of this ripe in spite of all the bull,
And last second changes of plans __________
And prodigal sons, whose motto is run whenever possible
Watch Mr officer shoot before he aims
And claims self-defense in the name of the citizenry
Spd’s spread the city like an STD
I’m rollin’ rainier bumpin bets carefree
While the people sleep, I must speak till they wake
Let me push my pen to create
Beat, seat rhymes and life
Each time I write the fire ignites
I light the sky
There’s an infinite inkwell high above the city
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody
They paved rock candy and put up a parking lot
It was a spot for them and it was hot
And then the cops lit it up when the thugs fisticuffs
Then the mayor was quick to up and pin it on hip hop
Shows got dropped for us in the block crush
What’s left of the scene, rose up from the dust
It must have been many times overfrustrated
To watch the downfall of those who could’ve made it live
Some waited for the next mixalot to blow
Others made moves said ‘shit we got to grow’ but
Time moves slow when the clock’s overweight
Meaning those who wait as opposed to create
But those who make bread and not break the mold
I was only 19 but my rhymes were bold
When the things got for real I got up in the fold
And put up into practice all that I was told
Wickedia came up and showed love
We called ourselves ‘Phase’ and ironically it was
Became the last kid still writing at 9-5
B-town ciphers with tale and justify
Moved to the city started posing as a journalist
To get press passes and prove instead
Put down the pen, picked up the mic
Came in for competitor’s heads
And when I got down severin several losin
Started getting down with hella producers
They welcomed me into the big house
But they didn’t feel the city so they moved back south
And other dudes weren’t even worth it to work with
And if I see wonders about to believe a word of it
You get two double zero one
The trouble just begun to bear fruit
At the end of a troubling youth, Sabzi got me to speak over beats
Like the key to unlock me, and I’ll be damned
Ten years the summer I began I’m still up in the lab
Other people sleep I must speak til they wake
Now let me push this pen to create
While the people sleep I must speak til they wake
Now let me push this pen to create
A Beat’s, rhymes and life
Each time I write the fire ignites
I light the sky
There’s an infinite inkwell high above the city
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody (repeat)

burnt offering (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:56:00.000-07:00

I offer nothing but the uncertain promise
That I’ll honestly pursue the crooked path of the conscious
Not just another body in the battle for the soul
Never sold self for its weight in platinum and gold but
Man we’re getting grown
Wisdom got us thinking in the interest of our children

even if they ain’t been given their flesh
Their bones
Their homes or their names yet
I’m aiming for the change in my pocket for the payback
The change augmented by the government to nothing
The change of a whirlwind unraveling the coming of that next shit
I can’t wait for when it comes, shit
It better be worth the shit that I paid most my life with
It’s nice when it rains sometime
Cleansing minds in my habitat
Imagine that I’m digging to find
What was hidden by the myth of a god up in the sky
Knowing that She meant for me to rhyme

So I
Give thanks to the most, the least that I can do
I wear this skin to find the me inside of you
When I dream that I’m dreaming I feel most alive
Sacrifice nights
Write to survive
Proper hand gestures conjure ancestors
Drinking from the bottle that was meant
For the message that was sent from the tired and the true
I give thanks to the most, the least that I can do

Way back I used to call upon the Father often
I fought the devil last night and almost lost –
Now I’m drinking bottled water
Flushing out the toxins
Vomiting and coughing feeling closer to the coffin
Than I ever had
Every morning that I arrive
Is a night that I survive
Just to be alive – sipping chai
Listening to my favorite DJ
Communicate the music, what my rhymes would say
If they were written
With a needle
To the groove
Of a paper
Stylus to papyrus, record to the player
It’s more than just therapy or excessive energy
I undo the mechanism meant to imprison me
Spiritually
The view from up is not enough
I dwell below to find the god that I rebuff
Redesigned, redefined what it meant to be divine
Knowing that She meant for me to rhyme

So I Give thanks to the most, the least that I can do
I wear this skin to find the me inside of you
When I dream that I’m dreaming I feel most alive
Sacrifice nights, Write to survive
Proper hand gestures conjure ancestors
Drinking from the bottle that was meant
For the message that was sent from the tired and the true
I give thanks to the most, the least that I can do

Our Father
my art is Heaven, hallowed be
The drums beating me and my tongue into submission
I can hardly speak breathing this indelible high
From an endless supply of Godspeed, and I need
A brand new prayer to read
Seems the old ones grew tons of mold cuz they’re narrow as hell
Sometimes they be thinking that this heavens for sale
Worse than that, they still think God is a male
But
Moms used to hang up pictures of white Jesus
Fist clutching rosary beads, over the years
I began to question this Father Almighty
Made in His image but don’t look nothing like me
But we be the children of the most high
Ghosts of the colonized lost in the time
Redesign, redefine what it meant to be divine
Knowing that She meant for me to rhyme

evening chai (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:54:00.000-07:00

I taste the evening and breath in the crisp pacific northwest air
As it’s leavin my lips crack the bits
This visual kiss, the Puget Sound
And the bluest of skies
Two sides of the abyss
This city was built on the backs of the brave who gave up their home for a dollar a day
The same folks who rose up to ban the minimum wage
Unofficial slaves not given a page, a photograph or a paragraph written to claim them
Some got the nerve to say go back to where you came from
Same ones who Stole the land from chief sealth and then named the city after him
as if to say we honor you
Right after we conquered you and pillaged your home
Soil fertilized with indigenous bones
Jimi Hendrix, ray charles and quincy jones
Japanese jazz now hip hop in home
That’s seventh and Jackson the microphone’s open
Subvert a culture genocide seven years goin’ in the moment and the music
Time to show improvement
Never will you see me be a Judas to the movement
Used to be a student of the beat until I mastered it
And then I set it free to let it be the energy
That I command when I spit, in this shit heard out of mangled tight lipss
I like sister with hips, I like sisters with hope even better than those who blow spirit through the smoke out my mouth and my nose
I pose questions like ‘at night’
Or the moon is too bright
These dudes with tight shirts and spiked hair
Hit up the late night Chinese joint with bad fare
Fresh off the club, One stumblin drunk
Ain’t worth my time just to mumble ‘punk’
He be acting like a chump but he still my brown brother
Sister by your side dyed hair with fake eyes
Probably wonders why she attracts the fake guys
I sigh under south side night skies
My people, young brown and gifted conversely,
The people I belong to
believe me it hurts me to use the same fist that I raise against the system
to cock back and hit em
Getting all caught up in the movement and the music
Time to sure improve it
Never will you see me be a Judas to the movement
Used to be a student of the beat until I mastered it
And then I set it free to let it be the energy
That I command when I spit, in this sh-- heard out of mangled tight lips
I like sisters with hips, I like sisters with hopes even better than those who blow spirit through the smoke out my mouth and my nose
And then I breath out my mouth and my nose
And then I breath out my mouth and my nose
And then I breath

blink (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:53:00.000-07:00

With war rising over the horizon
It’s hard to start writing
Been fightin in the belly of the titan, my tourniquets tighten around the livin’ but dyin’
My pen floods the pages while the children are crying
I want to put on an iron shirt, chase the devil out of earth
Spit until my tongue and saliva glands burst
But first I invoke the spirit of the long gone and coming back through the song
I am one with that all-seein’ being but
It seems as if we’re being tricked into believing that which we think we believe in
Even if we disagree on who the best mc is,
We bob to the beat as if we’re nodding in agreement
I write to freedom, though freedom hasn’t come
I let it ring to leave a message on my answering machine
I see a movement has begun
As soon as we become the true truth seekers
Down with this Babylon regime
To think you can die in the blink of an eye
I bid you to try, to test I & I (?)
Been destined to fly But I’m restin tonight
And one bright morning I will take flight
But until then, I’ll be rockin on the m
I see the future drippin out of a pen
If sleep be the cousin of death
Then every time I blink’s one step closer to my last breath
It’s said talk is cheap, but war is expensive
I speak cuz it’s free and these words are my weapons
Don’t think for a second I will not question US foreign policy, imperial aggression inventing war for he quenching of the thirst for the oil
Cuz money don’t trickle down to workers who toil, you see
Blood trickle down from the wounds of the soil
And broken antennas with aluminum foil
Standing on televisions, transmitting propaganda of millionaire senators
And your so-called commander in chief, b, I’m telling you the man is a thief,
In his head he holds a plan to ban your freedom of speech,
To build a pipeline, put Afghanistan on a leash
When it bites back blame the Taliban for the breach
Of security in each and every first world country
Where life more dissin’ If you’re thirsty or hungry
To think you can die in the blink of an eye
I bid you to try, to test I & I (?)
Been destined to fly But I’m restin tonight
And one bright morning I will take flight
But until then, I’ll be rockin on the m
I see the future drippin out of a pen
If sleep be the cousin of death
Then every time I blink’s one step closer to my last breath
America romanticizes the old war story
Heroes, ammos, guns, blood guts and glory
And no wonder the majority wants a war with Iraq
Even if only 15% know where it’s at on a map
With our backs against a stockpile of weaponry
Enough to turn the earth into a memory, ‘cept there’ll be
No one to remember this planet
If it happens god damn it, if I get drafted today
I swear to God, Ja, Allah and Yahweh
I’ll toss the letter away and I’ll pull a Cassius Clay, In the military
Minorities comprise the majority, Surprised? are you kidding me?
The lies rely on brown bodies to fight for white puppet masters
I cannot fathom how the caged bird drinks
Until he thinks he is free
A critical mass between the heavenly future, and a hell of a past, now
To think you can die in the blink of an eye
I bid you to try, to test I & I (?)
Been destined to fly But I’m restin tonight
And one bright morning I will take flight
But until then, I’ll be rockin on the m
I see the future drippin out of a pen
If sleep be the cousin of death
Then every time I blink’s one step closer to my last breath

sagaba (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:50:00.000-07:00

Sister sits on the steps
Cigarette rests on fingertips
Takes a sip of slow death deftly through her lips,
She blows a kiss
Which I can only resist in vain
She got the gift of gravity pulling to ask her name
She says Sagaba
What’s it mean – she says in Ilocano
it translates into suffering
I’m pondering the irony to conjure up the fearlessness to find a conversation
She offers me a square, I decline the invitation
It reminds me of the days when I would chain smoke
Broken with no hope
Like broken like the manner she spoke
We both
Two people seeking
Solace and remembrance
And wondering if miracles were meant for us
But intent was just an innocent thought between a sister and a brother
Who been building in the guidance of a mother
And the storyteller stops
Waiting for the beat to drop
Gathering his thoughts in the wind, breathing in like…

Now
I couldn’t stand to see the queen breathe her dreams away
And tell me her tomorrow will never become today
I say I used to know a woman just like you,
Beautiful but jaded by the multitude of men who’d often try to
Justify their lies with twisted notions of survival
And hide behind their armor when karma completes a cycle
She replied
That just because I knew a woman well it doesn’t mean I know them all
She begins to feign farewell
Eyes up to the sky, she sighs, I need nobody
True indeed, sister, but you still need everybody because
We hardly know ourselves if we know nobody else
And only in our loneliness can home become a hell
Exhale
The cloud in the loudest form of silence
Watches as it rises like suns over horizons
The storyteller stops
Waiting for the beat to drop
Gathering his thoughts in the cloud, breathing out like…

Dreams be the ashes
Burns and thrashing in the wind
Flying out the burning bush attached to sister’s hand
Who whispers “word”
Smiling and giving thanks, living in doubt no longer
As she figures out the riddle to the song
Saying why must we suffer now and not suffer later if later
Never comes soon enough to soothe the hatred
And hatred
Is the cancer born out of love’s absence
And the absence is the void left from missing every chance to
Challenge our fates and perhaps our very names
Sister says peace and prays for rain and change
Tosses out her lighter
Walks out of the cipher
For shizzle it starts to drizzle and then I begin to write this
Inhale the imagery – a queen walking steadily
Effortlessly
Ready to be
Every woman and now the
Story teller ends
Waiting for the beat to fade
Gathering his thought near the edge of the day like…

the ave (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:48:00.000-07:00

I be a patient man, waiting for the rain to come down
My feet touch the ground, but my head’s in the clouds
I be Prometheus Brown, stealing the fire outta heaven
The setting is several city blocks off the seventy-one stop
I walk around the district, distracted by the decadent madness of
All the undergrads and addicts
Club rats, heads, space cadets, crackmatics (?)
One of the few places that they coexist on the planet
Whatever happened to the avenue before the summer of 2002
Lounging with Coo on 42nd
My how time flies when we’re waiting for the chari,
Eating vegan sandwiches but can’t undersubtract our sobriety
Pondering society itself, he’s eying me like I ain’t gonna bring it to his health
He don’t want it, cuz certainly he knows
he’s just another sucker without his fraternity brothers to back him up
Campus parkway, up to 41st, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, and up to 47th
To the edge of the bubble all the way to(?), saying
F--- class, get your education on the ave!
Campus parkway, up to 41st, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, and up to 47th
To the edge of the bubble all the way to (?), saying
F--- class, get your education on the ave!
I be a patient man, waiting and checking for the sound
of potential break records up the second time around
In fact, we made this track from a sample we jacked,
from some vinyl we dug up out of the crates on the ave
Rats escape the lab infestations in all
There be cracks on the sidewalk made from the fall
A nazi dreadlock (?) strumming on his broken guitar
Singing Bobby Lanfau (?) outside of the bookstore
I purchased a journal in which the verses I recite, reside
I write vividly to capture the vibe,
I’m like hey kid, walk straight, master your high
If you listen you can hear the eye of the city cry
The sound is often drowned by Hollywood scholars
Intoxicated so save it for the coffee shop philosophers
The so-called artists, the poets and the prophets
Scenery is changin’, ain’t nobody can stop it
Campus parkway, up to 41st, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, and up to 47th
To the edge of the bubble all the way to (?), saying
F--- class, get your education on the ave!
Campus parkway, up to 41st, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, and up to 47th
To the edge of the bubble all the way to (?), saying
F--- class, get your education on the ave!
Walking to the 71, to the 72 downtown…

life & debt (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

I like… making you so happy!
Yo, life and debt, light a cigarette smoke the stress,
take a deep breath baby, let’s rearrange the mess we’ve inherited
Alienated from what is rightfully yours in my land
is life, money is time paid for labor
Working eight to five, sometimes six seven eight
we come home and barely know the neighbors
Bills are usually late
Interest accumulates at a usury rate
Collection agency waits from
Pay check to next one, budget like a noose
Working while we sing the proletariat blues
On 501-C3 community plantations,
non profit sector propped up to kill the movement for the changes in production relations
But woman you’re my comrade, ride and die, revolution-making mother earth
standing with me in the grocery line
While I’m paying with a jar of pennies, nickels and dimes
And I love how you don’t like art without a message
I love how you call some fellas …femme-ish (?)
Third world sister, never sacrificing substance for style
But stylish with a golden type smile
I love how you organize with other strong sisters
Love how you talk about tearing down the system
Like a soldier, my dialectical reflection, yes is the answer to your question
Life and debt, write another check to the landlord,
no time to dwell on all the things we can’t afford
gotta baby in the womb, a soldier for the future that we’re fighting for
concrete conditions that are fighting for (?)
the payback, it’s way past due
and they say that the masses ain’t ready but
We know that ain’t true, you and I both children of Filipino immigrants from the same island, our ancestors smiling,
Cuz we found one another in a strange land struggling
Moms tryin’ to tell us not to protest instead pray for peace,
But that ain’t the nature of the beast
So lady grab a bullhorn and take it to the streets
Yellin power to the people, el pueblo unido, hamas and abansito
Til the wealth is spread equal
You 21st century Gabriela Salaw
Pierced like Lorena with a rifle in the arm
And I love how you love the people as much as self
I love that how you want redistribution of the wealth
Third world sister, never sacrificing substance for style
But stylish with a golden type smile
I love that how you organize with other strong sisters
Love that how you talk about tearing down the system
Like a soldier, my dialectical reflection, yes is the answer to your question
Life and debt
I like…making you so happy! I like…making you so happy! I like…making you so happy!
Cuz making you so happy makes me happy too!

no rest for the weary (blue scholars lyrics)

2006-06-28T18:42:00.000-07:00

There’s no rest for the weary, just another day grinding up stones
Till they turn into dust it’s tough times in the rough
Time it ain’t enough to cover up
A corrupted and fucked up legacy of strange food, bloody whips and small pox,
trigger happy cops, barbed wire and fire water ya’ll don’t stop
When the colonizer came with the cross and the sword,
I’d be the first there that said “I declare war”
I’m a battle scar wearin’ and reparin’
The sentence come along with the age of proletariat (?)
So check the work ethic in the name
The lessons might change, but the essence of the message is the same
So when they say anything, say “why is it?”
Class is in session til the teacher gets a pink slip
I ride the rhythm and buy the little whine talk
Head hit the concrete in line with your spine
I speak to find peace, but it’s war all the time
It’s deep like the drive from renton to shoreline
I’m a more mindful guy ever since finding out that
I’m about to be a father, and doubt is not an option
And now I can’t be getting’ crunkifated as often (?)
So get your hands dirty cuz your prints are great enough boss (?)
What cross?
We got crucified by buckshot
One million Jesus’s and Judas got his nuts off
Pages, turn out the memory of those who remain
Shackled with the chains of international capital gain
They claim civilized, but they animal ways
Peace to Oakland
I’ve never been a fan of the A’s
But some days you can find me inscribing my soul on the page
Every crime has an alibi
Discipline and organize is how I handle my
Jack suspending mad time only that’ll rhyme
I can’t knock it if you find it entertaining
I rep those whose labor ain’t compensated
So check the work ethic in the name
The lessons might change, but the essence of the message is the same
So when they say anything, say “why is it?”
Class is in session til the teacher gets a pink slip
Forty to a class, no wonder we’re delinquent
Half the school district never make it to commencement
I been the spine of the track until it snapped
Pops working overtime and he got a broken back
Got three little sisters, one brother in iraq
And ma prays to Venice (?) to keep the fam intact
But the song ain’t a psalm waiting for God to answer
Brothers call me dog, they got the letters backward
I’m back with a plan of attack
To repossess my name, face and history, ya’ll
One test my capacity to spit caliber shit
Into a rhythmic lesson and (?) it’s a legitimate weapon
Igniting the cipher session I’m deciphering life,
and blending both theory and into practice
I write vernacular, in actually fact, God, no posturin’
A thousand pointing fingers I defied every one of them
I ride for my brother and he carry the burden,
of a future uncertain til the fall of the curtain
You better move, hold your head high, soldier, it ain’t over yet
That’s why we call it a struggle, you’re supposed to sweat
So check the work ethic in the name
The lessons might change, but the essence of the message is the same
So when they say anything, say “why is it?”
Class is in session til the teacher gets a pink slip
Crazy landlady tried to switch up on the lease
If she raises up the rent again it’s time to say peace
Peace, peace, and that’s my piece
It’s still all about the woman in the belly of the beast
From the east, my brother, we came
The lessons might change, but the essence of the message is the same
So when they say anything, say “why is it?”
Class is in session til the teacher gets a pink slip
So keep marching till your feet split open
No rest for the weary, blue scholars keep goin’
We’re going to talk about war, cuz war is a matter that you can relate to, know what I’m sayin’? Cuz that’s what the whole message about everything that we rhyme…it’s what we try to connect.

hi

2006-05-05T23:42:00.000-07:00

this is an appendix to my real blog. sometimes i serially post things on my blog, which makes it difficult to read a story in its entirety. therefore, i'll post such entries in their entirety on the 17 point scale appendix. i may also post rough draft stuff here, that way you can see the writing process if you are so inclined...